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cordria · 3 years

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Twin Cores - DP

Saw this headcanon on Tumblr… awhile ago? It stuck with me, and I ended up writing this, and now I can’t find it to give the person proper credit. Lemme know if anyone recognizes this idea and knows who came up with it. (heart)

Was gonna do this idea for the Big Bang thing, but I forgot all about signing up. ;) Wonders. So I’ll just post it and come up with new ideas.

~2,700 words.

Danny floated high above the clouds, up where the air was thin and cold and the stars sparkled brightly overhead. It was terribly late, and Danny knew he’d be paying for this at school tomorrow, but this was always the best part of his week. He couldn’t come up here all the time, but when he cound, he always found himself relaxing. Hands behind his head, he floated on his back, studying the stars.

He let out a breath through his lips and brought a hand forwards to massage his chest, closing his eyes. Yesterday had not been good day. An accident with some of his parents’ technology had completely ruined his day. For reasons Danny didn’t understand, his chest had felt overly full since. Almost like he needed to cough up something - which couldn’t be, because his ghost form didn’t have any real lungs to cough with.

With a groan, Danny stretched and rolled his body through a bunch of sharp loop-the-loops and twists, hoping maybe he could work out the kink. Nothing. Hopefully it wouldn’t prevent him from getting a good night’s rest. He was exhausted.

He floated for a few minutes longer, watching the sky and hoping for a meteor or two, slowly turning the overfull feeling over in his mind. He pushed and prodded at the odd sensation, trying to come up with what in the world it could be.

It had to relate to his parents’ invention. Unfortunately, the day was a fuzzy blur in Danny’s memory and if something in particular had happened to him, he wouldn’t be able to remember it on his own. All he could do on his own was a vague understanding of what had happened.

Getting zapped with one of the newer devices yesterday had resulted in Danny getting split - again. His ghost half had fallen captive to the hero-like obsession of his core, and had gone on a hero-spree. A memory of rescuing a cat from a tree in a very overblown, comic-like way surfaced and Danny buried his face in his hands, embarrassed for himself. “Ugh, I hope nobody videoed that. Or anything else,” he muttered.

His human half had wandered aimlessly through the day, not knowing what to do with no driving force behind everything he did. Vague memories of eating pizza and not noticing the ghost haunting the place next door until Sam pointed it out filtered through the shadows.

From what he remembered, it hadn’t been a horrible sort of day for either half of him. His ghost half had been allowed to play with his obsession all day and his human half had gotten to just be… human. But he’d been split for much longer than ever before; Tucker and Sam were unable to work through how the strange invention worked.

Danny didn’t remember being much help with the endeavour. In fact, he sort of remembered his human half stealing the device, passing it to his ghost half, and the thing getting placed on top of the school for the afternoon. Jazz finally got it using some of the newer modifications to the Fenton’s vehicle that allowed it to fly.

By the time the three of them figured out how to reverse the effects, it was late in the evening on the second day - more than 36 hours since being split. Phantom had started to turn more and more ghost, losing more of his humanity each hour, delving deeper and deeper into this hero obsession. His eyes had turned more ghostly, teeth sharpening, fingers turning into claws. Even a cape had started to mist into view.

Danny slowly ran his tongue over his teeth - they were still a bit too sharp - and pulled his hands far enough away from his face to glance at his fingers. They weren’t claws, not like many ghosts had, but… his fingers no longer really looked human. The changes that had happened to his ghost form the last two days appeared to be permanent, even now that they were rejoined back together.

Danny… didn’t want to think about that. Not yet.

And his human half had started to go through changes as well. Danny vaguely remembered - towards the end of the escapade, when he’d convinced himself that he didn’t want to be rejoined with Phantom - trying to avoid everyone and ending up in a tree, floating in a very inhuman way. His totally human form regaining some of its ghost powers.

Danny mentally poked at the odd, full sensation in his chest again. Perhaps it was that his ghost powers had grown while he was separated. Phantom hadn’t been exactly a half-a-ghost when they’d been slammed back together. And Danny had been just a bit of ghost too. Perhaps now he was somehow 60% ghost and 50% human… and his body was trying to adjust to being too much ghost.

His mind poked at the sensation in his chest just a bit too hard. Danny slammed his eyes shut tight as he felt the sensation of transformation travel through him - lightning sharp and aching into his phantom bones. Panic set in a second later. He couldn’t transform up here - there wasn’t enough oxygen for his human form to breathe. He’d pass out and fall to his death.

He gasped and threw his arms out, instinctively trying to grab something even though he was on the edge of the atmosphere, as the transformation arced through his arms and legs. He kept his eyes closed as he fumbled for his ghost side. He needed to transform back fast. His human side would already be aching to breathe, desperate for oxygen after the last hour of being in ghost form.

But his ghost side… was…

Danny opened his eyes as he realized he wasn’t falling. As he realized his ghost form wasn’t something to grab for, because he was still a ghost.

“But…” he whispered, startled and confused. He’d felt himself transform. There was no mistaking the sensation that had swept through him. He looked around, almost as if the answer would be written in the air next to him.

Then the stars caught his gaze. He froze, mouth falling open, as he stared up at the sky. There were more stars than before, the whole sky alight with points of light. And he knew them - with each star he focused his eyes on, he knew what that star was. How far away it was, what it’s name was, what kind of star it was…

Delight sparkled inside him as he let his gaze drift across the heavens. Stars he didn’t even know existed seemed to soak into his skin, whispering all their secrets in his ears. “How…?” he breathed, twisting around and around and looking everywhere he could. “Why?”

His gaze snagged on the moon, crescent-shaped and gleaming. He almost felt like he was drowning in it’s glow, feeling everything about it. The ice hiding in its craters. The human-built machinery peppering its surface. The soft warmth still coiling in its dying core. He could just… go there. He could be there in about three seconds. He could just…

He threw up a hand, blocking the moon’s glow, blinking hard and pushing the thoughts out of his mind. “Holy shit,” he whispered, breathing hard, focusing on Earth, on human thoughts, on normalcy. “What is this?”

Then he saw his hand, thin fingers topped with sharp claws, glove missing. His forehead furrowed as he realized both his gloves were gone, as was the logo on his chest, and the white belt around his waist. A black shirt and black pants. His boots looked like his normal shoes, just moon-lit white. Actually, minus the claws and some color changes, he looked… like he had yesterday. “Uh… What is going on with me?”

He could feel the pull of the stars overhead. He knew he could just lean back, put his arms behind his head, and float there, watching the sky forever. Just revel in space for all time. Instead, he kept his gaze down towards the tops of the clouds.

At least the first step of what he should do now was clear. Whenever he was dealing with anything out of the ordinary, Sam and Tucker knew what to say. They’d help. He’d go home, grab his phone, and call them.

Danny flew towards Amity Park-

-and suddenly drew to a stop. He twisted around, eyes wide, realizing that he’d somehow overshot his home by a dozen miles or more. “What the fuck?” he said. He’d only been flying for a moment - how was he all the way over here? “I…”

He licked his lips and tried again. He set his gaze on Amity Park and flew-

-right past Amity Park again. It was an eyeblink of time between one side of the city and the other. Danny hung in the air, confused and slightly annoyed. “What is going on?” he said. A new power, obviously - but one that had unfortunate timing. His fingers curled, the claws digging uncomfortably into his palms. “This is what I get for leaving my phone behind,” he groused. The phone wouldn’t have done well in the thin, cold atmosphere. Even if he’d have brought it with, there was no guarantee it would have still been working.

“Are all my powers wonky?” Danny asked, raising his hand and pushing energy into his hand. Instead of a steady, gas-like glow, the energy sparkled and hissed, like he was holding onto an exploding firework. “Odd.”

His powers were working differently, so it was time to try using them differently. Time to change tactics. Instead of focusing on a direction, Danny focused his mind on a destination. He closed his eyes, picturing where exactly he wanted to end up. Opening his eyes and taking a deep breath, he tried to fly as slowly as possible.

The world seemed to blur and twist, glowing uncomfortably bright for the fraction of a second Danny allowed himself to be in motion. When the world settled back into place, Danny found himself hovering about ten feet off the ground, within the city of Amiry Park, only about a half-mile from his house. “That worked a lot better,” he said, rather pleased with himself.

Instead of chancing another attempt at flying, Danny figured he’d turn himself human. A ten foot drop wouldn’t be too bad, and he could walk home. It would be the least-tricky way to get home. He took a moment to worry that this new power would prevent him from turning human as easily as normal, but then slammed that idea shut and closed his eyes.

Danny pushed his ghost form away, pulling at that warm and heavy feeling in his mind. There was a sparkling sensation in his mind, then the sharp pain that came with turning himself human again. He dropped, landing lightly on his toes, breathing a heavy sigh of relief that at least this was still normal. He bounced a few times, testing out a few basic powers - invisibility seemed to work like normal, as did phasing through things. He didn’t try floating, for fear of accidentally ending up two towns over and two hundred feet above the ground in human form.

He walked home, rubbing his chest at that strange, too-full sensation, and snuck in the back door. Despite the fact that all the lights were out, he kept himself invisible to avoid his parents. It was so far past curfew that Danny didn’t even want to think about the trouble he’d be in if they realized he was still out.

His bedroom door was still locked. Danny phased through it, flipped on the lights, and dumped himself into his bed. “Ugh,” he groaned, feeling the drain of the last two days on his body. He glanced over at the clock. Just before two in the morning. Part of him wanted to just curl up in his bed and fall asleep, try to get a few hours of sleep before tackling school tomorrow. But too much of him had a tight ball of anxious curiosity.

He groaned as he rolled out of bed and stepped in front of his mirror. He looked awful. Dark rings under his eyes and a horrible, pale tone to his skin. He looked half dead. “On the positive side, nobody will question it if I want to stay home sick tomorrow,” he muttered. He shuddered and shifted his weight, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then triggered the transformation.

His ghost form spread like lightning across his skin, slammed through his head, and settled into his chest like a cold ball of fire. He squeaked one eye open just a touch, not sure of what he was going to see.

Phantom was peering back at him. Danny relaxed, letting his eyes open, and studied himself. From more than a few feet away, he looked absolutely normal. But up close, there were minor changes from the last few days. Teeth that were too pointy. Fingers that were a little more claw-like than normal. Hair that was more… smokey. Just a little. His mouth twisted, unsure of how he felt about the changes. “At least there’s no cape,” he murmured. “I’d look too much like Vlad with a cape.”

He squared his shoulders, set his teeth, and tried flying. He floated up and moved around his bedroom like normal. “So normal.” He caught sight of his claws and shivered. “Mostly.”

“Now…” He took a deep breath and jabbed hard at the over-full feeling in his chest. He was half-hoping nothing would happen. But light sparkled along his body, that tingling almost-painful sensation changing him in very subtle ways. His clothes changed from a jumpsuit to shirt and pants, his shoes looked like they would squeak on the floor as he walked. He was still glowing and transparent. “I’m… a different ghost?” He spread out his arms, feet firmly on the floor afraid to hover. “And I have like… superspeed.”

He took a very careful step forwards, peering closely at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked the same, with the normal green glow. His teeth were sharper, canines almost like little fangs. And… he leaned in, studying his freckles. They glowed, star-like, forming constellations across his skin.

His mind veered off tangent, remembering the stars overhead, the glittering facts that swirled through his mind, the odd bubbling joy that came with even thinking about space. The freckles on his cheeks rearranged themselves into the constellation Draco, and sparks and speckles swirled into life across his clothes. A supernova that resolved itself into the stars overhead. Danny could trace the stars in his clothes, knew everything about each star. He was caught by the strongest urge to fly there. To zip through space to Alrakis, a binary star system eighty-eight light years away. It would only take him 221 years, 5 months, and 3 days…

Danny jerked himself out of his thoughts. He couldn’t fly for over two hundred years. He shuddered and blinked, settling back on his heels. The glowing freckles on his face settled down, his clothes faded back to black. The familiar sort of pitch-black of space. The sort of black Danny imagined the universe looked like before stars existed. “I have space powers now,” Danny realized, his voice slow and excited. “I have space powers! I’m a space ghost!”

Curious, Danny poked at that over-full feeling in his chest again. The world tingled and flashed, and he was back to his old self. Phantom, with the logo and the better posture and the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. “I’m two ghosts, somehow? Two ghosts… and a human...” Danny stared at himself in the mirror. “Or...” he rested his hand on his chest, feeling that strange overly-full feeling. “Or something…?”

Danny shook his head, not sure where to even begin processing that one. Then he turned himself human again, watching the world get dark as the ghost energy faded away. He scratched at his scalp, trundled over to his bed, and dropped into its softness.

There wasn’t much he knew right then. The first was that space powers were the coolest power he could have gotten. And the second was that all this would be easier to process after a few hours of sleep and a large cup of caffeine.

#danny phantom #twin cores #space core AU #this was fun to write #thanks for the idea :)

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shirophantomvox · 3 years

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Chrollo, Hisoka, and Illumi Headcanons

Chrollo, Hisoka, Illumi, and Leorio headcanons

Hello, anon! I am so sorry for taking longer than usual to respond to this post. I have been so busy with A LOT lately but I have time now! I don’t know if you want N/SFW, romantic or non so I’ll go based on what comes to mind! I know many Tumblr users have made these types of assumptions for them a lot but I wanted to join in. I started writing this last night so forgive me if there are any unbearable grammar errors. I hope you like it anon, I tried my best. I have to work on my headcanons for them because I try to keep them in character. Since we don’t have much background info on ⅔, I have to keep it as realistic as possible. FYI N/SFW content is mentioned.

Discord for Voltron and HxH fans

Let’s start with Chrollo.

Chrollo (SFW)

I’ve seen on here that a lot of you headcanon Chrollo to be an understanding man when it comes to feelings for his significant other. Given his soft voice and calm demeanor, I’m sure that is somewhat true.

It seems like Chrollo isn’t on board with over-the-top PDA meaning he would agree to hand-holding and his arm around you but nothing more. He saves the...other stuff for when you two are alone. Because of Chrollo’s past, it seems like he wouldn’t want to be seen in public that much because that can cause him to get caught by the authorities.

He takes your safety very seriously. You understand that when he is with the Phantom Troupe that you are not to interrupt until the business is over. He doesn’t allow you to get involved with the missions because of how dangerous they can be (example: the auction). He knows you can handle it, he prefers for you not to be involved. Feelings and work can make things difficult.

Although Chrollo hides in the shadows, I imagine he lives in a penthouse with expensive furniture, white and black color pattern, and large windows that have an astonishing view of Yorknew.

After you both have worked long and hard, you open the door just to see the lights dimmed so dark that it matches the night atmosphere. There are rose petals leading to the bathroom where a bubble bath is waiting. As you enter the bathroom, your boyfriend is waiting there, submerged in bubbles sticking his arms out. Candles light up the tiny room casting a romantic shadow from your body. You grab his hand and gently sit in the tub. The warm water felt amazing; it helped your aching muscles (from exercising) feel better. Chrollo gently grabbed your arm and pulled you into a warm, loving embrace. He wrapped his toned arms around your body and rested his chin on your shoulder. He didn’t say a word but instead breathed heavily, kissed your shoulder, and leaned back against the wall. On days like this, he didn’t say much but his actions spoke louder than words.

Chrollo NSFW

I think Chrollo is a passionate lover. This assumption comes from his calm demeanor. He seems to be incredibly patient so if you aren’t positioning yourself the right way or something, he’ll work with you to make sure you get it and you are comfortable.

He is touchy. That means during the nitty-gritty, he likes to touch your face, chin, lips, and your torso as a way to show more affection.

When he is in the mood, he moves slowly then very fast. He cannot resist the urges and feelings he has for you.

He loves to do this while the drapes are open although you have expressed that you like your privacy. It’s ironic. He doesn’t like extreme PDA but is ok with sleeping with you while the lights from the city shine near your penthouse window. Ah, guys are confusing.

After the climax, he lays flat on the bed and pulls you close. He leaves about an inch in between because heat is still radiating off your bodies and it’s summertime.

Hisoka (SFW) If his significant other was shy.

People have mixed feelings about Hisoka, feelings, and whether or not if he is gentle or not. I don’t think that Hisoka is gentle but begins to lay off the harsh jokes or pranks as he sees that you both have fought before and you’re not as weak as he thought.

Unlike Chrollo, he is all for PDA. This ranges from hand holding to playful kisses to passionate kisses. When I saw Hisoka for the first time, I immediately thought he was a fuck boy. A fuck boy is a boy that is only interested in sleeping with someone and doesn’t intend on pursuing a relationship.

He’d take the pleasure of appreciating your presence as well as testing your patience. If you are shy and are easily flustered, he will change that. He’ll do things like kissing you, calling you affectionate names, or anything that will cause you to respond. You hit him jokingly. Still not getting the message, he continues and you hit him harder. This is where he releases a medium moan which causes everyone to look in your direction. You freeze; face flushed and he’s laughing his ass off.

“What’s the matter,” he asks, covering his mouth. “You look flushed~♥.”

“You’re doing too much. Stop playing around! People are staring~💯.” You cover the side of your face. True enough you were a little mortified but in a good way. You knew he did this because he liked you but sometimes he played too much.

This is when he pulls you closer to his face, your ear next to his mouth, and whispers something in your ear that sent chills down your spine that made you blush more than before. He nearly puckered his lips as he spoke. He took his index finger and thumb to caress your cheek.

“Raising your voice at me? That simply won’t do. Aren’t you aware of the consequences~♥?”

You knew better than to not say anything because he would cup your cheeks and pull you into a deep kiss, and wouldn’t let go until he was sure that everyone was looking.

Both of you enjoy red, white, and rose wine. To him, wine equals classiness and sophistication. After fighting each other for hours (which he considers training for you and exercise for him) drinking wine and watching Lifetime (television for idiots) is a great way to end the night.

NSFW

As stated above, I originally thought that Hisoka was a fuck boy, so I am going to roll with that thought. This man has the potential of being rough and if he is too rough this is the time where you can speak up and say so. He’ll listen to you. Similar to Chrollo, he can be very romantic if he wants to. The rose petals gimmick was played out.

Instead, he hides in the darkest part of the living room waiting for you.

You turn on the lights and immediately head to the kitchen to drink a bottle of ice-cold water. Summer nights in Yorknew were hot and humid, almost unbearable. It felt like you were being suffocated. Becoming impatient, Hisoka clears his throat loudly causing you to nearly jump out of your skin; choking on the water you were drinking. He released a sexy chuckle. When you turned around, there stood your chiseled buff boyfriend bare with a ribbon tied in various directions around his body. Your birthday was two days ago and he was your gift. Although you have seen him like this before, for some reason you were too flustered to make a move. He already knew that you were tired from work, so he carried you in his arms to the Exercise Room and laid you gently on the floor. You smiled as a rush or passion took over your body resulting in you tearing off the ribbon tightly wrapped around his body. Since this was your birthday gift, he made it a night you’d remember forever! Surprisingly, no roughhousing, just soft and gentle. This proves that Hisoka has the capability of being humane. His strokes were to your liking and the gazes that you both exchanged were mind-blowing. Why couldn’t he be this way all the time? After it all, you fell asleep at her quickly. You were on the floor but now on top of your king-sized bed, with the message control on high. He stayed awake, watching TV, and thought about how he was going to pick a fight with you at the crack of dawn.

Hisoka’s ability to flirt and send the intended person swooning is a talent of itself. Lots of people do not possess this talent. Sometimes it's intentional and sometimes it's not. He speaks softly and smoothly, are he has to do is ask and it shall be done.

Illumi SFW

Illumi gives the impression that he is a “quiet” freak. This means that true enough he is focused on his job but if the moment comes along he will give in. He isn’t into PDA at all and if he does feel like showing some affection it will be done in private. Even though he appears to be a zombie, laying on or even cuddling with his significant other will help him relax for once. Imagine having to complete many missions in a day, exhausted, and have a wonderful person waiting to act as a human pillow for your weary head. Even Illumi can’t resist that.

If he likes you and plans to marry you, he will make that known to everyone to avoid confusion. Illumi represents the stereotypical shy boy; he is anti-social, prefers to only be around people he knows and trusts, and carries out the duties of his job.

After everything has been completed for the day, he wouldn’t mind ( and secretly begs) for silent cuddles with his significant other and to just fall asleep. At this point, you are used to it so this is all you want and you are satisfied. When he does talk, it’s usually about something he found out from work that he knows should be kept quiet but he tells you anyway. Late nights are the time of day where Illumi vents for a few hours. The details of these vent sessions could range anywhere from “I wish you were there to see it” to “No, it would be too much”. As quiet and reserve as he is, his love is shown in a unique way that you have grown accustomed to.

NSFW

When the urge slaps him across the face like a sack of rocks, he cannot resist. Usually, he fights off the urge by exercising (mainly because you are out of the house or sleep) but this time he couldn’t shake it.

Before he gets started with anything, he styles his long hair in the shape of a bun so it doesn’t get in the way of action.

Although he is portrayed to be an emotionless zombie, he has some feeling deep inside him that he unleashes just for you. This is shown by gentle moist kisses being placed along your neck and once he reaches your shoulder that is when you wake up. Halfway through your sleepy eyes, you see a man with a devilish smile painted across his face. Who is this man? This couldn’t be your boyfriend. No way, no how.

Once he sees your sleepy smile, he just releases so many kisses that you throw the blanket off and he pulls you in closer.

Illumi will allow you both to switch the roles meaning he is in charge one time and you are on another day. Since you were still asleep, he decided to take on the role. He is surprisingly gentle in the beginning but as soon as it takes off, your ride him like a donkey. It ironic; he releases more noises than you! You have to remind him that noise travels! Great, you’re doing your job well! While it is important to take your job seriously, you need to have time to release that stress.

He uses his large eyes to stare into yours; you always found yourself lost in his gaze.

After it all, you lay back down waiting for your boyfriend to return from the kitchen. Illumi craves food like crazy after a good session. What’s better than donuts at 3 AM? COMFORT FOOD!!

These urges also come when you two are training together. Several times he’s had to guide you from behind on how to aim his needles. This time you noticed the packing of his pants which surprised you.

“Any questions,” he asked in a monotone voice.

“Yes. Why did you wear jogging pants? You’re giving yourself away.”

It was at this moment, he knew he fucked up. But let’s be honest, ok? He is standing behind the most beautiful person in the world, nostrils full of perfume, hair tied up, and has his left hand placed loosely on your thigh?! What was he thinking by wearing jogging pants when he was with you? He acted as if he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“You really don’t know?”

You kicked your backside out against him causing him to fall to the ground.

“Wow! Your legs are like jelly!”

“Why tease me,” He asked breaking out a small smile.

“You’re the one denying it.”

“Just get to it. I can’t wait any longer or else I’ll explode.”

The quiet ones are always the freakiest.

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

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Verboten 2 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 2

“I’m honestly surprised your parents allowed you on this trip, Danny,” his friend Sam mentioned as they and their other friend, Tucker, packed their bags onto the bus.

The now seventeen year old Danny shrugged as he focused on trying to make sure his bag wouldn’t be squished in the luggage compartment of the bus during the trip. He brought a foldable telescope with him in case he had a chance to stargaze, and he didn’t want it to get broken.

His school, Casper High, had some sort of deal with one of the local National Parks. The school was allowed to camp at the park at a reduced rate as long as the students helped the Forest Rangers with some minor tasks. Both parties considered it a win-win situation as the Park Service received some extra hands, and the school was able to pride itself on the survival and conservational experiences its students received. Technically, the trip was voluntary for seniors, but the teachers indirectly pressured the students to participate.

“To be honest, I’m more surprised they convinced Tucker to go,” Danny eventually replied after he was satisfied with the location of his bag.

“You’re telling me!” Tucker whined as he waited for his two friends while he fiddled with his PDA. “My mother actually threatened to stop making her meatloaf for me if I didn’t go! They said, “It would be good for me”. Can you believe that?”

“I think a little bit of hiking do you some good.” Sam poked him in the stomach for emphasis.

As Tucker shouted in protest, Danny and Sam exchanged a glance. Tucker did not like the outdoors, and he was very vocal about it. His world primary consisted of technology, and while it was amazing what he could do with his handheld and twenty minutes, his physical prowess was lacking.

“But seriously, Danny,” Tucker injected after he finally fended off Sam, “how did you convince your parents to let you come?”

Danny shrugged as he headed towards the door of the bus. Shouts from the teachers made it clear they would be boarding soon. “It seems like the school board managed to somehow convince them. All I know is that they had a meeting with them to raise concerns and to tell them I wasn’t going to go, but they came back stating it was fine. It must have been one heck of a persuasive argument.”

“That’s because my mother was involved.” The boys glanced over to see Sam angrily kick a rock out of the way. Her parents were often a taboo topic. “I thought I told you she was on the school board. I don’t know the full details of it, but I know she was preparing counterarguments to objections.”

“I’m honestly surprised your parents are so gung ho about this trip. You’d think they’d consider camping beneath them.”

“It’s because of the prestige. They can brag that their daughter and their daughter’s school has ties to a government agency.”

While Danny raised an eyebrow, he admitted it seemed petty enough of a reason. Sam’s parents were very wealthy and liked to show off their wealth, much to their daughter’s dismay. They often argued with her regarding her appearance, music tastes, friends, after school activities, and other issues as they believed their daughter’s choices reflected poorly on them. However, they were usually fine with their daughter’s activism regarding conservation and animal rights as long as she didn’t go too far with it, such as the time she tried to stage a break out at the local zoo.

Their conversation ended as the boarding began. The three somehow managed to get the back of the bus, which allowed them to continue to talk without interruption. Most of the other students tended to avoid their group. They didn’t know why until one of the band members, Mikey, once asked Tucker how he put up with being so close to Danny. Confused, Tucker asked him to elaborate.

According to Mikey, a lot of the other students felt unnerved by Danny. As polite and quiet as he tended to be, there was something odd about him that no one was directly able to pinpoint. Mikey said he thought it could have been his eyes, citing how at times it almost seemed like Danny saw the world in a slightly different way than the rest of them. Tucker just laughed it off and explained that Danny had a traumatic event as a child so he often seemed unusually reserved. Mikey seemed to accept that answer, and afterwards, at least some of the students involved with the band were more open towards Danny.

The Fentons moved to Amity Park two years after Danny’s disappearance, so the majority of the student body was unaware of the event. If he was honest, Danny would never have told Sam and Tucker what happened, but his parents’ eccentricities forced the issue.

When his parent’s found out about Sam’s activism the first time she and Tucker visited their house, they made her swear she would not take their son into the woods with her. When he was finally allowed to take them to his room after Sam promised she wouldn’t, he hesitantly explained why they were so intense. His friends were very understanding, though they were just as puzzled about the entire thing as he was. Tucker even offered to hack into the old case file if Danny ever decided to look into it.

Sam did mention that it did help explain why they sometimes caught him staring off into space. She figured he was probably traumatized by something he couldn’t quite remember. Danny mentioned his sister once told him something similar, but he honestly didn’t remember anything that happened.

What he never admitted to his friends was that he knew why he sometimes seemed distant. Ever since his disappearance, he sometimes saw figures out of the corner of his periphery. Usually, he thought it was another person, but when he tried to check, whatever it was had disappeared. More recently, however, the figures seemed to let him glimpse them for a second or two. He could never make out anything other than the vague shape as a person. Since no one else seemed to notice them, he figured it was some weird sort of paranoia due to a repressed memory.

….

About a half hour after they left, Danny received a voicemail from his parents. He had forgotten he had put it on silent, but there was no way he could call them back while he was on the bus since Mr. Lancer was the chaperone for his bus, and that man was a stickler for the rules. Instead, he made a mental note to call them back as soon as he had permission as he clicked the play button.

His mother’s voice sounded absolutely frantic. “Daniel, you call me as soon as you get this! I don’t know what came over us, but we never should have let you go without some sort of protection. I should have never have let you go. If the teachers won’t let you call us, jest remember to never be the last or first in line, and never, under any circumstances, go anywhere alone. And, this is important Danny, if anyone you don’t know offers you food, don’t take it.” His dad could faintly be heard in the background talking about some sort of weaponry he made.

“And here I thought only my mom could sound like that. What was that about?” Sam asked. Her raised eyebrow told him she wasn’t going to let it drop until he had an answer.

“I think my parents finally realized I was going into the woods,” he replied as he put his phone away.

“I thought you said they were fine with you going,” Tucker chimed in while he rummaged through his back for a snack.

Danny didn’t immediately answer. He glanced away for a moment before finally he decided to open up about something which had been bugging him. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but my parents almost seemed like they were in a daze after that school meeting. They were so adamant I was not going to be allowed to go on that trip, and then they just changed their minds and stopped voicing their concerns. It was so weird that I actually called Jazz.”

It was true. He had called his sister at collage because of how out of character it was. While Jazz understood his concern, she reassured him one of the teachers or other parents managed to ease their concerns, and/or they realized some of their worries were silly and unfounded. He tried to tell her there was something more to it as she couldn’t physically see how off they were, but she just told him he was being paranoid and to enjoy himself.

Tucker whistled. “It must have been weird for you to do that.” Both Sam and Tucker knew full well how Jasmine “Jazz” Fenton tended to overanalyze almost everything. As a result, Danny often tried to avoid asking her questions regarding why a person would act in a certain way. The resulting explanation was often too lengthy to be interesting.

“As weird as that is, do you really think anyone in Amity would do something like drug or hypnotize your parents?” Sam argued.

“I… I don’t really know. Look, I never told you guys this,” Danny sighed as he steeled himself, “but, there has been a second incident prior to us moving. Our old house had a wooded area behind it. It wasn’t dense or anything, and you could see in it for like a half mile… but, according to my parents, and Jazz confirmed it, I went missing again for several hours in those woods. I don’t remember saying this, but they said I mentioned something about my playmate from the forest in Arkansas payed me a visit. There’s been an unspoken worry that this guy is following us for some reason.”

Neither of his friends said anything for a while until Sam spoke up. “That’s really messed up, but do you really think that’s the case? How would this person be able to find you? Do you even know what he or she looks like?”

He shook his head. “You know my parents are big names in fringe science. It’s possible he found us that way. I know that it’s really unlikely… It… It’s just… it was too weird, you know? With how my parents go on and on about other dimensions and being spirited away, them just suddenly changing their minds went against everything they believe.”

“Don’t worry, Danny. You’re with us and a bunch of other students. We’ll keep an eye on you.”

“And if something does happen, Sam can chase off the bad guy with those boots of hers. Ow!” Tucker glared at Sam as he rubbed his shin. “That was a compliment.”

She just snickered which caused the two to start bickering. The familiarity of it helped ease some of Danny’s worries. He knew he was just being paranoid, and that it was very unlikely anyone did something to his parents. It was just that he couldn’t shake off his uneasy feeling.

….

Their camp ground was in the Cuyahoga Valley region which was on the outskirts of the Allegheny plateau. The hills in the area were rolling due to the plateau and ancient glacial activity, but they were nowhere near as large as the ones found closer to the mountains in the next state over. Like many forests in the plateau, it was surprisingly old and dense.

Danny was unsettled by it. The hardwood trees blocked out a large percentage of the sun which cast permanent shadows on the area. Not only was it unlikely he would be able to stargaze, he kept thinking he saw something peek out from behind the trees. Chalking it up to paranoia, he decided to focus on the interior of the bus until they reached their destination. He didn’t need to freak out this early in the trip.

Due to the amount of students, the school split them into groups of about thirty and split them around the park. His group was sent to a series of cabins near one of the ranger stations. There were five or six assigned to each cabin. Thankfully for Danny, Tucker was also assigned to the same cabin.

After Mr. Lancer told them some general rules, they were told they had an hour to settle in before they would met up for lunch. The unpacking was fairly uneventful, though Danny was dismayed to learn some of the football players would be in his cabin. Most of them tended to leave him alone, but the one, Dash, liked to bully him. It was strange since he was the only person aside from Sam and Tucker who would come anywhere near him. Thankfully, other than a warning to keep his weirdness to himself, the football players decided to ignore him and Tucker.

He unpacked fairly quickly, so he decided he had enough time to try to contact his parents. Stepping outside, he tried to make a phone call. Someone picked up on the other end, but the signal must have been poor as the call was extremely choppy. After several minutes of trying to figure out what she was saying, he told her he would ask the Rangers if they had a land line he’d be able to use before he ended the call. He frowned as he checked the bars on his phone. There signal was strong enough that the call shouldn’t have been that choppy, but it was a cheaper phone since he had a bad habit of breaking them, so that could have been the reason.

They ate lunch at a mess hall in the camp complex. It was a fairly modest meal, but the beef and gravy was surprisingly good. Danny mused it was probably because his parents often experimented with cooking which often created strange results. He was also surprised that there was a vegetarian option available for Sam, but the school must have called ahead to let them know.

When they were finishing up, Mr. Lancer announced that one of the Rangers had an announcement. Danny glanced over to see a stern man, possibly in his late thirties, move towards the front of the room. He was fit and weathered, but every once in a while, there was a haunted look in his eyes.

The ranger, Rusty, gave the group a rundown of the general rules. He then paused for a moment before he spoke again. “This is unprecedented, but we are going to need your help for a search for a missing person.” Murmurs of excitement ran through the students. “This is a serious matter, and I request you pay attention. We have our search and rescue people and volunteers out right now looking for a twenty-two year old male. He is Caucasian and was last seen in a red jacket and blue jeans. He goes by Aiden.”

“Because you are not properly trained,” Rusty continued, “I only ask that you walk along the nearby trails for a couple hours in groups of two or more. Each group will be given a walkie-talkie. If you see or hear anything strange, call it into us. Don’t go off the trails. We don’t need more people getting lost today.” He fell silent and seemed to argue with himself for a moment before adding, “If you hear what sounds like screaming, particularly a woman screaming, call it in immediately. Large cats sometimes make that kind of sounds, and we definitely have Bobcats around. Luckily, they tend to avoid people, but we do like to know when we have signs of them.”

Twenty minutes later, the teens separated into their groups. Each group was provided a map, compass, and walkie-talkie. Rusty took them to a large map posted outside the Ranger station and explained a little about the area. The trails he wanted them to take circled the surrounding area and were well marked. Before he let them go, he again warned them to report anything off, but did try to reassure them by letting them know other rangers would be regularly sweeping the area.

“Well, isn’t this a reassuring start to our trip,” Tucker sarcastically mentioned as he tried to figure out the map.

“It can’t be helped,” Sam told him as she ripped the map out of his hands and corrected it before handing it back to him. “They must be desperate if they’re asking students to help.”

“Hey, I’m not used to replying on handheld maps.”

“You could try bringing it up on GPS,” Danny mentioned as they headed towards the one trail.

“That’s a great idea!” Tucker fiddled with his PDA for a moment before turning back to his friend. “Are you okay, dude? You sound a little off.”

“Oh, I guess this would hit a little too close to home,” Sam mentioned as she examined his expression.

Danny sighed as he glanced away from her. “Kind of. Even though I don’t remember it, I was in this exact same situation before. I hope they find the guy, at least for his family’s sake.”

The trio fell silent as they began their walk on one of the easy trails. They didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, though Tucker complained starting about halfway through the hike. Sam tried to distract them by identifying some of the local flora, but it only worked for so long.

By the time they made it back to camp, it was almost dinner time. Danny was glad to be back around the group. Although he never mentioned anything to his friends, he felt as if he was being watched the entire time. The trees seemed oppressive at times, and he was honestly surprised he didn’t have a panic attack while they were on the trail.

After dinner, he asked Rusty if there was a phone he would be able to use. Rusty told him that he would have to wait until the morning because they needed the line for the search. Danny understood and thanked the man.

Before he had a chance to head back to his cabin, Rusty called out to him, “While you’re here, make sure you never go off on your own.”

“I know. I mean, my parents drilled that into me for years,” Danny admitted with a shrug.

Rusty examined him closely before stepping closer and whispering, “You’ve witnessed something strange in the past. I can tell by the look in your eyes and how tense you are. In any heavily wooded area, the more open you are to the unusual, the more likely it might show up again.” He walked off without another word. Unnerved, Danny returned to his cabin and waited for his friend.

Tucker still wanted to complain about the amount of walking they did when he returned to the room, which prompted a discussion regarding how in the world Sam was able to enjoy things like that. Danny was about to bring up what the ranger told him when the football players burst into the room. Normally, Danny would just ignore them, but this time, he was intrigued by their excited whispers.

“Hey dweebs,” Dash addressed them, much to Danny and Tucker’s surprise, “did you hear what happened?” An evil grin appeared on his face when they told him they didn’t. “Kwan overheard the rangers talking earlier. You know that guy they were looking for?”

“Yeah,” Danny answered, “Did they find him?”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t alive.”

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me. They’re saying he’s dead.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- End of chapter notes :

The Cuyahoga (Ky-ah-HOE-ga) Valley is a real place. I chose it for some very specific reasons. 1) The forests in that area are extremely large 2) I’m fairly familiar with the landscape and weather as I grew up in another part of the Allegheny plateau 3) The parks in that area are a bit unusual as you have a mix of privately owned and government owned areas which I’m using to my design as there’s more leeway with what they can and can’t build in those areas 4) some old towns have been “swallowed” by the national park including one famous “helltown”

The Allegheny (Al-ah-gain-ie) plateau is one part of the Appalachian Mountains, which are said to be the oldest mountains in the world. You don’t really have the high peaks or rock terrain associated with other ranges since they’re so worn, but there are a lot of hills, valleys, creeks, and streams. There are also a lot of coal mines since it’s a coal rich area. What’s also very strange about the plateau is that you can be in a town or suburbs, but within 15-20 minutes, you can be on the outskirts of a deep forest. There are also some swamps and marshy areas within the plateau as well.

Also, a lot of the names for natural landmarks in the Allegheny plateau originate from the tribes who originally settled there. There are even some burial mounds in the Cuyahoga area.

#so i heard you like folklore #danny phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom au #dp #dp au #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fantasy #supernatural #sam manson #tucker foley #maddie fenton #jack fenton #vlad plasmius #folklore #sooooooooo much folklore #Verboten

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kinghoranshit · 3 years

Text

Tell Me A Lie (NH) Ch 6

Word count: 1997

Warnings: swearing, minor assault

The following day was spent mostly indoors. Niall had more writing to do and it gave me the opportunity to finish editing. That was until Niall insisted we go out to take photos. He took us to all the popular spots, including the angel wings, and honestly it was fun. Very cliche, but fun.

He had a few people recognize him and ask for a photo. That was a bit bizarre. He was so nonchalant about it though.

After we got back, I went upstairs to lay down. I definitely needed time to recoup before going out again; especially if the crowds were going to be large. Clubs in Iowa aren’t necessarily wild, they could be but not in the way I assumed LA was. And the college I went to, Wartburg, was in the small town of Waverly which only had a couple bars and only one allowed under the drinking age kids. I didn’t really party until my final year when I’d realized I hadn’t experienced that part of college and it led to some terrible relationships.

Granted, I knew that life wasn’t always rainbows and butterflies; Wartburg wasn’t my first choice. It induced a lot of my anxiety nowadays, despite having it before it all went down. I could be negative about it, but it made me stronger in a way.

I rolled over onto my back and pinched the bridge of my nose. The frontal headache was slowly showing itself. I found my pill pocket and dragged my feet to the bathroom to use water from the sink. Then I rifled through my clothes to find my black elastic harness, white boxy tee, dusty blue satin skirt, ripped sheer tights, and black oxfords. I switched out the outfits before I somewhat settled on a focus on redoing my hair and makeup; I left it down, straightened it quickly and created a couple small braid strands, and did a darker ombre on my lids with winged liner.

“Holy… shite,” Niall breathed as he waltzed into the room wearing a blue suede trouser and jacket set with a white crew and brown boots.

I took a step back from the body mirror and turned around to observe what he was wearing. “How did we manage to match but not match at the same time?”

“It’s the blues for sure,” he replied.

“Right.” I turned back around to assess myself once more, deciding whether or not I needed any last touches. Niall came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my torso. His head rested on my shoulder.

“You look great, Kelly.”

“Would it be cheesy to get a mirror couple selfie? The fans would eat that up.”

His laugh vibrated against my back. “Use my phone.”

Niall held his phone out, keeping one arm around my torso. I stuck with a normal smile, that was before he surprised me with a kiss on the cheek. My expression scrunched up as my body curled inward. I couldn’t stop the giggles at the ideas that crossed my mind.

“Hold on, crouch down by my legs. I’m gonna take a fit pic and pretend I don’t see you.”

He had a hard time keeping a straight face, but we managed to get a couple good shots. “I know what I’m posting.”

Niall smiled as he flipped through his. “Me too.”

A minute later, there were Twitter and Instagram notifications from him. I opened it up to see he had attached a normal picture of me smiling and then one of me scrunching up my face as he kissed my cheek. The caption was ‘A night out dancing with this beautiful woman . Don’t get many of these lately . Love you babe <3”.

There goes the flutter in my chest again. Fuck. I mentally cleared my throat and moved my slightly shaky finger to like each post, then replied with “Love you too Nialler <3 <3”. As we slipped out into the night, I created my own posts. I chose one where Niall was looking right up at me and captioned it “Tonight’s fit feat. Niall. You’re my number one admirer. I love you always <3”.

I threw my phone into the temporary black, mini crossbody; I’d also thrown my wallet in it. If I’d worn jeans, I would’ve just put them in my pockets. My sight traveled to the blurred lights outside the window of our Uber’s car. There was definitely a vibe here; I could see why people loved to live here.

“What’s the first place we’re going to?”

“It’s a standard nightclub. Nothing over the top.”

I nodded. “Alright.”

My jaw dropped when we finally got inside. If this was standard, then I don’t want to know what the bouche nightclubs were like. The dance floor was enormous, dancers had their own little stages sporadically around it. I had to force myself to not stare at the beautiful women covered in glitter. I noted the bills in their straps. Maybe I’ll leave a tip for one of them at some point. Niall pulled us through the crowd of people and we stopped in front of the bar.

“What do you want?”

“Sprite and apple pucker.”

He nodded and faced the bartender again. I tried to not let the loud music overwhelm my mind. Niall lightly touched my arm and I looked back at him, in a small daze from observing the place, and everything and everyone in it. I sort of felt out of place; like I wasn’t really there. The feeling was too familiar, and I didn’t like it.

He set a clear square glass in my hand. I gave him a small smile and took a sip of it. The bubble popped on the top of my throat while the alcohol burned down. Niall had a Guinness in hand and took a swig of it.

I took a few more sips of the jolly rancher drink, observing once again, and I kept close to Niall. His presence, and sweet drink, made me feel somewhat better.

We found a nearby table to chill at for a bit. Let the alcohol soak in. I’d eventually gone to get refills for us. My eyes landed on one of the blonde dancers and she looked directly back at me. She smiled, turned to me, and reached a hand out.

“Dance with me!” she yelled.

I looked at her slightly dazed.

“Go on,” Niall encouraged.

I tried to not cough on my own spit. “Y-you’ll be fine for a few?”

“Of course. Go!”

I handed him my clutch, then let the dancer guide me up onto the platform floor. I swayed back and forth slowly, letting myself get lost. I recognized the next song, Tumblr Girls by G-Eazy feat. Christoph Anderson, and got giddy. I allowed myself to sync deeper with the music. My hips swayed more, and I brought my arms above my head.

The dancer closed in even more, resting hands on my hips, and grinded on one of my legs.

“You’ve got some moves! What’s your name?”

I flushed. “Lauren, and you too. You?”

“I’m Flora! Is that your boyfriend?”

“N-” I cleared my throat and nodded. “Yeah!”

She laughed. “Well, he seems to be enjoying this.”

Heat ran deeper in my cheeks and I glanced over my shoulder to see Niall watching. He had his elbow resting on the table, hand under his chin. His beer bottle hovered over his privates.

I bit my lip, laughing under my breath. “I gotta admit, I’m having fun too.”

After a couple more songs, I decided it was time to get off the stage. No one else seemed to be getting invited by the dancers to join them up there, so it was awkward now. I grabbed a ten out of my wallet and handed it to her.

“You are absolutely stunning Flora. Thanks for the fun!”

Flora kissed my cheek, then winked. “You too, babe.”

“That didn’t break any rules, right?” I took deep breaths to calm my high. I wanted to keep dancing for sure. Just not on show for everyone else.

He shrugged. “I won’t tell. Come on, I want a turn.” He reached his hand out and I smirked.

The music pace changed to something by ILLENIUM. I started to bounce with the rest of the crowd and did dumb arm movements. Niall busted a laugh, following my pattern. A few songs later, I had the urge to pee. It was immense.

I gestured towards where I remember seeing a restroom sign. “Gotta use the girls’ room. Be right back.”

I hurried into one of the stalls and relieved myself. I washed my hands and looked into the mirror, just as a girl who looked to be about a year or two older than me came out of a stall.

She looked at me deviously. “You look familiar.”

“Don’t we all in these places?” I laughed, slightly nervous.

“Yes, but no, you look familiar for a different reason.”

“I’m sure I do.” I busied myself with drying my hands. Then I exited without saying another word.

On my way back, a stranger touched my butt then pulled me into their chest to grind. “Shake that ass for me.

Without really thinking, I batted the hand away and turned around to throw a smack. “Fuck off!”

The guy glared. “What the hell, bitch?”

“You touched my body without consent! You’re the bitch!”

“Whatever,” he scoffed. “Your loss, baby! I got a date to get back to anyway!”

I didn’t bother giving a proper response. By the look on his face, I knew I wasn’t the only one who would give him shit for violating boundaries.

“What was the crack with that fella?” Niall asked, gesturing in the direction I came from.

“Nothing.” I shrugged.

He shot me a look. “You look pretty flustered, Kelly. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, can we just go home though? I-I’m tired.”

“Of course, yeah.”

Niall’s hand found mine. On our way out, the same guy glanced in our direction as he grinded with a different girl. A smirk spread on his lips, his hands tightening on her hips. There was a phantom feeling and I swallowed. I subtly ran my free shaky hand over the back of my skirt and looked away.

The night air was much cooler now compared to the inside of that club. We paused momentarily so Niall could call for another Uber. Niall wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on top of mine. A few minutes later, a Rover pulled up to the side and Niall approached to confirm it was for us. Then we both got in.

Niall’s hand didn’t let go of mine until we were back in the house. I couldn’t lie, I was grateful for it. I let go though.

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asked.

I nodded. “I’m gonna get pjs on first.”

I couldn’t look at him before I left to go upstairs. I went for my oversized tee and floral shorts, and paused momentarily in the middle of the room. Finally, my feet moved toward the living room.

Niall was propped on the couch with a blanket and when he saw me, he opened it up for me to snuggle into. He enveloped me in his arms before he hit play on the movie he chose. My brain wasn’t registering much of it. I focused on the warmth of Niall. The sturdiness of his body. He was a firm base.

“That guy touched my butt and grinded on me without consent. I don’t really want to talk about it, but I also don’t want to brush it off.”

He tightened his arms around me, snuggling his face closer to mine. “I’m sorry that guys are so shite. You didn’t deserve that.”

I subtly shrugged, then whispered, “At least I’ve got you.”

I could hear him smile. “Always, Kelly.”

We both fell silent again and returned to the movie.

Next part: Ch 7 (to come...)

[Masterlist]

#Niall Horan #Niall horan fic #Niall horan fanfiction #Tell me a lie #romance #drama #comedy #ch 6

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homebody-nobody · 4 years

Text

these skeletons got ways of coming out

k so I actually published this a few days ago but tumblr was being a butt so I couldn’t cross-post it til now anyway This is a Pope Heyward character study that ABSOLUTELY NO ONE ASKED FOR and I wrote anyway bc I needed to fix him before I could use him as a character in the rest of this series. If you disagree with the way that I've extrapolated very little data into detailed headcanons, I don't blame you but also just like read elsewhere

title from "Brother" by Kodaline ------ ao3 ------

And that -- the intersection of John B and Kiara -- the overlay of his two best friends in his heart -- that’s what scares him.

Pope realizes some things after the Phantom goes down. Things that change the way he lives his life ------

I used to be free Of any fear of emotion But these skeletons got ways of coming out I used to believe That someday you'd see That baby you got devotion in every little motion

And I won't see the storm When the rain's coming down Never let you go Never let you go Even when the madness has broken you apart Even when the madness has broken you apart

Objectively, Pope is not an idiot. He knows this. He gets good grades, and he knows more about computers and physics and a lot of other things than the rest of any of his friends. He’s a smart kid. Even though he skipped out on his scholarship interview and his grades took a very sudden dip at the end of last semester, he has a solid GPA, a fantastic ACT score, and a glittering array of colleges waiting for his application in the fall. He’s spent his entire life waiting for his chance to get out of the Cut and prove all of those motherfuckers on Figure Eight wrong. He has potential. So why, when it comes to the simplest of things, does he feel so lost?

He was sure he was in love with Kiara. Dead certain. Everything lines up. She’s kind and beautiful and intelligent, everything that matters. He feels comfortable around her, natural, like he doesn’t have to try to be funny or charming, like he’s not constantly afraid of fucking up. Everything he’s read about being in love, all the books and the articles -- it all follows. And it’s a good story, one other people will nod their heads and smile at, high school sweethearts, best friends who found solace in each other during the most difficult part of their young lives. But there’s something about it that still feels -- wrong. Uncomfortable. Like there’s the Pope that everyone else sees and then the Pope that he is, and the one in love with Kiara isn’t the same one who lays in his bed at night and stares at the ceiling fan begging for his brain to shut up.

It’s strange, to feel so separate from himself and the life he lives. He doesn’t think it’s normal. He wishes he could talk to his friends about it. It’s not like they’re dumb, the rest of the pogues. Well, not fundamentally so, anyway. John B and JJ definitely make interesting decisions sometimes. But they all inhabit their bodies without question, so sure in their skin and the feeling that they belong with each other. He slips in and out of that too readily to feel completely comfortable at every boneyard party and through every misinformed adventure. The ease is less a standard and more a pleasant surprise; there are some nights when his friends fall quiet around a bonfire and Pope realizes he can’t stop smiling, that he loves every single one of them with his whole heart and he knows they love him, too. And then he starts doubting himself, and gets nervous and quiet and weird again, and they all brush it off as Pope being Pope -- but he’s an outsider even in their little chosen family and that starts to chafe, after a while.

Honestly, he was doing a pretty excellent job of not thinking about it until John B died. Or disappeared. Or whatever you call it when your best friend goes out in an open boat in the middle of a storm and disappears off the radio and the capsized boat is found three days later with no sign of him or his kook girlfriend. Pope’s angry at him, for that. He also really, really hates Sarah, for driving him to make that choice. For her. If it was him, he would have made John B turn around. He should have tried to stop him in the first place. He shouldn’t have helped get him to the Phantom , shouldn’t have let him go.

He hasn’t been haunted by guilt like this since JJ took the blame for sinking the wakesetter, and, for some reason, this is worse. It chews at him, a constant gnawing in the center of his chest that leaves him empty and hurting every second, swallowed by a hunger consuming itself. He hasn’t stopped thinking about John B since that deadly, neverending moment of radio static. Memories flash on a constant film reel through his head. Surfing at Rixon’s, parties at the boneyard, bonfires at the chateau, afternoons on the HMS Pogue. All the moments this summer when John B smiled and Pope followed, unquestioning.

Surfing the surge. That was so beyond stupid, and Pope knew it, even before they got to the beach and saw the huge, angry waves. But John B asked, with that insane glint in his eye that he always got when he caught hold of an idea, unable to let it go, so Pope went. Someone had to keep him alive when Kie wasn’t around. And that -- the intersection of John B and Kiara -- the overlay of his two best friends in his heart -- that’s what scares him.

The whole summer, he’d watched them, first their strange tension with an undercurrent of possibility that tugged at his stomach and made him feel sick, and then their familiar platonic intimacy as they finally became comfortable in what they were to each other. Jealousy pinched and prodded at every moment of eye contact, every kiss on his cheek or lighthearted shove of her shoulder. And the way his heart soared at the salvage yard when John B told them she’d rejected him. That had to have meant something -- and what followed logic was that Pope was into Kie, and he wished himself in John B’s place.

Right?

The night the Phantom goes down, Pope thinks he’s the one who should be dead. His parents arrive to take him home, talking to him about how worried they were, how happy they are to see him safe, but his head is still full of that gut-wrenching radio static. He doesn’t hear anything they say as he watches red and blue lights dance across their faces. They pull him into a fierce hug, JJ tugged in next to him, and all he feels is hollow.

Every step he takes echoes off the side of the tunnel of his thoughts, black and void. He stays as still as he can, spread-eagle across his bed, still dressed, just to avoid the clanging of the empty air when he moves. The barest stimulation is too much, the dimmest light blinding. His chest feels like someone has reached in and turned his ribs inside out, split them with a chest-cracker and opened him up on a steel table. In the far, unexplored regions of his imagination, he can see his own autopsy, surgery performed on a perfectly silent boy, hands at his sides, eyes still open, heart still beating.

Night falls around him, from grey dusk to the unforgiving ink-black you can only get in power outages on a tiny island fighting to breathe through the salt marsh. The only thing that drives him from his bed is the urgent cry of his bladder, and it’s easier to get dressed for bed once he’s already moving across the floor. The floorboards creak under his feet and while he would normally walk lightly for fear of being hassled for waking the house the next morning, his steps are heavy and dragging. Staring at the counter, he reaches for his toothbrush and squeezes toothpaste out onto the worn bristles. He puts it in his mouth and looks up, making eye contact reflection for the first time.

You love him.

The realization hits him as clearly as if someone had whispered directly in his ear. It’s like an icepick through the center of his exposed, defenseless heart. He lowers the toothbrush slowly, the silence of the house ringing in his ears like sirens. His breath quickens, his bare chest rising and falling as he backs away from the counter, fear and grief and disappointment and a thousand other things he can’t name swirling in him like the storm that ended life the way he knew it. The tears start, flowing down his face silently at first and then, as he loses all control of his breath and his hands find their way into his hair, accompanied by gut-wrenching, heartbreaking sobs, broken sounds of grief and loss in too many respects.

Heyward rushes down the hall, throwing the door open, fear for his son wild in his eyes. He finds Pope doubled over, hyperventilating, face a mess of snot and tears, eyes squeezed closed, as he shakes and sobs. After a moment in the door, he pushes in, pulling Pope into his chest, wrapping firm, solid arms built from hard work and weather-beaten skin around him. “It’s gonna be alright, kid,” he whispers as Pope shivers violently against him. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Pope doesn’t remember being folded into his bed, or how the glass of water and bottle of Advil ended up on his bedside table. He wakes up well into the afternoon, the room heavy and sticky with the day’s heat, the air conditioning rendered useless with the lack of electricity. The golden light fools him into a pleasant kind of ignorance for half a moment before the reality of the previous night crashes over him ,and suddenly the comfy nest of his bed feels like a prison, sucking him down like quicksand into the mattress. He puts his hands over his face, pressing fingertips into aching eyes, trying to keep himself calm by counting backwards from four hundred, a number with each breath. When he reaches three hundred and fifty four he feels like he might be able to move again, and he reaches for the water and gulps it down, a note stuck to the bottom fluttering to the floor.

He swings his legs out of bed to pick it up, recognizing his mother’s handwriting on the pink post-it note, smudged and running from the condensation. Breakfast in the fridge , it says, don’t worry about the store. Rest. We love you. It makes his skin itch, rather than being comforting. The storm in his head turns a tide toward guilt, like he’s keeping a secret that he just learned, himself. The bed calls, but he knows that if he collapses back into it he won’t move for the rest of the day, and that he should stand before he changes his mind. The ache in his belly forces him up, and he pads through the empty house, feeling halfway like a ghost. Eggs with peppers and cheese, sausage, and hashbrowns are on a covered plate in the fridge, and he unwraps it and puts it in the microwave, watching the food rotate as his mind comes to grips with consciousness.

He’s in love with John B. The boy that taught him how to play beer pong and smoke a bowl, the surfer that pushes him while they’re out on the water, daring him to bigger and bigger tricks, making him better. The idiot that chases gold and kook girls without a glance at impossibility, simply because he has no understanding of the idea. The John B that died last night.

The microwave beeps and he takes his food to the counter, hunched over it, twisting a fork between his fingers and feeling like his stomach might feel better on the outside of him. He takes a few bites, to see if maybe just the potatoes might go down easy, but they taste like ash, and he sits back from the plate, sore and exhausted. He wanders through the house and eventually back up to his room, standing in front of his closet, knowing he should get dressed but overwhelmed by even the simplest choice. Finally, he just pulls on a plain t-shirt over his basketball shorts, and, after catching a glimpse of his hair, puts a snapback on backwards. He doesn’t feel like sitting, so he doesn’t, tucking his keys in his pocket and sliding on a pair of flip flops, leaving the house without his phone or any sort of destination, just walking as his thoughts churn and crash over each other without being much of anything at all.

The heat sends sweat rolling down his temples and between his shoulder blades but he barely feels it, keeping his eyes on his feet as he shuffles down the side of the road. Normally, he’d be listening for any sound that might indicate Rafe or Topper coming up behind him, constantly judging the proximity of the cars, quietly bemoaning the blister forming under his left big toe from the strap of his sandal. But the only thing he senses is the slap of his shoes against the asphalt, carrying him aimlessly across the island.

His own denial fights vocally to be heard under the stifling realization, but it’s something he’s been pushing down for years, ignoring even as the obvious signs wiggled their way into his every day life, like the goosebumps at John B’s touch or the expansion of his chest when John B laughed. It was always there, waiting for him to see it, quietly growing and climbing its way like ivy from his heart to his head, finally bursting from underneath his skin at the worst possible moment.

He’s going to have to tell his dad. There won’t be any way to explain the grief crashing over him without the truth. That settles itself on his shoulders right next to the realization itself and everything else he’s been holding up for months. Knowing the name of it, at least, makes it easier to handle. He’s been carrying around his feelings for John B without knowing what they were, mis-assigning them to Kiara and fucking up what’s probably his favorite friendship. He’s gonna have to tell her, too. He’s not looking forward to that.

As he walks, it settles in, making a home along with all the other true things about him. Pope Heyward. Black. Sixteen years of age. Six feet tall. Pogue. And, he guesses, gay. Maybe bi. But probably gay. Looking back, no girl has ever made him feel the way that John B makes -- he swallows. Used to make him feel. With his stupid floppy hair and his kind brown eyes and that absurd jawline. Tears cloud his eyes and the path in front of him blurs. His best friend is dead . And it took that horrible, heart-shattering tragedy for him to figure out how he felt about him.

He keeps walking for a while, choking back tears and half-planning conversations with his parents and Kie, listening to the slap of his sandals on the cracked asphalt littered with long, dry pine needles and cracked seed pods, signalling the nearing end of summer. He feels, gratefully, a little more clear-headed, less freaked out than he thought he would be. He always feels better, having a plan, no matter how vague and ineffectual that plan may turn out to be.

After a while, he looks up, and finds himself in Figure Eight -- a very dangerous place to be, given the current social climate of the island -- not very far from Kie’s house. He heaves a sigh. Better now than later. Pausing before mounting the porch, Pope spares a second of a regret for his appearance. Kiara’s parents have never been keen on him or either of the other boys, and he knows that showing up in tattered shorts and flip flops won’t exactly help his case. Anna opens the door, looking surprised to see him, and Pope is momentarily relieved it isn’t Kie’s father.

“Good morning,” she says, wary.

“Hi,” Pope replies, lacking his usual magical parent-charming abilities, exhaustion and grief sapping the energy from his bones. There’s an awkward pause as Mrs. Carrera awaits the explanation of a rattily dressed pogue boy on her porch and Pope scrambles for one. He settles on the obvious. “Is Kie here?” He doesn’t know where else she’d be, honestly, but it’s the usual go-to for when they’re dragging Kie back to the Cut for nonsense and potential delinquency, and he’s hoping her mom won’t question it.

“She’s not,” Anna says, concern coloring her tone. “She isn’t with you?” Pope feels his eyebrows draw together, a betrayal of his own confusion, an immediate admittance of guilt.

“I, uh --” he says eloquently as panic overtakes Anna’s face. “I mean, she --” He’s saved by the girl herself riding down the sidewalk on a bike that looks like it’s seen better days, rattling loudly as she cruises toward the house. “There she is!” he says, with a disturbing amount of forced enthusiasm that puts the same expression on Kie and Anna’s faces. “So, we’re all good. Thanks, Mrs. C!”

But Anna isn’t gonna let her daughter slide so easily. “Kiara,” she says, “You weren’t in your room this morning.”

“I went for a bike ride,” Kie replies coldly. “I needed to think.”

“For three hours?” Anna asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

Kie shrugs. “I needed to think a lot.” Anna looks like she wants a little more information out of her daughter, but she looks at Pope, clearly reluctant to start a fight with him around. He feels caught, standing on the porch between mother and daughter, like he’s in a room with a half-constructed bomb. Kie’s hands fidget with the handlebars. “C’mon, Pope,” she says.

“No way,” Anna interjects. Kie opens her mouth like she wants to argue, but her mother’s words cut her off. “You two can hang out on the porch for a while, but when you’re done,” and here, she looks at Kiara like she might actually commit murder if her daughter doesn’t listen to her, “Come inside. We have a lot to talk about.”

Kie heaves a heavy breath. “Fine,” she says. Satisfied, Anna turns and goes inside. Pope drops off the porch and walks with Kie as she walks the bike over to the garage.

“Hey,” he says, his heart in his throat. This is a complete turnaround from the emptiness of earlier, every inch of him hyper aware of her body language, the changes in her expression and her attitude towards him. His entire life feels like a shipwreck, dashed against the rocks after careful years of building, after months of planning the perfect voyage. “Bike ride?” he asks, because he always knows when she’s lying.

She props her bike up against the side of the garage. “I was with JJ,” she blows out on a sigh. She doesn’t look at him as they walk around to the back porch. “At the Chateau.” Pulling her hair out of it’s ponytail, she splits it over her shoulders, fidgeting nervously with the ends. “I didn’t want him to be alone.”

He’s about to say that he was alone, that maybe he wanted to have his friends around him, too, but then he remembers his father catching him in the bathroom, waking up in his own bed, water and a note on the bedside table. JJ wouldn’t have gotten any of that. He can’t even go home, not after Luke Maybank finds out what happened to his precious Phantom . With John B -- gone -- JJ doesn’t have anyone left. Except for them. And Pope was too wrapped up in his own grief and bullshit to think about something like that. He takes a second to be grateful for Kiara.

They reach the steps to the Carrera’s back porch, and she sits down on the second-to-last one. “I have something to tell you,” she says, and she still won’t look at him. Half of him wonders what she’s upset about while the other hopes she can’t hear his heartbeat, it’s pounding so loud in his own ears.

Slowly, he sinks down next to her, the morning sun radiant across her skin, amplified by the reflection off the channel. He takes a deep breath. “I have something to tell you, too.” Her eyebrows draw together. He licks his lips. She pulls her knees up to her chest. He stares at his feet. They’re afraid of each other, and the awkward tension in the air makes him hate every wrong thing he said, every lie he told her, even though he believed them when he said it. She doesn’t say anything else, and he takes that as his cue to go first. He looks up, before he says anything, taking in her kind brown eyes, the soft lines of her kind, intelligent face. He wants one last picture of her before he changes everything. “I don’t love you,” he says.

Her face contorts in an expression of surprise and offense, and he rapidly backpedals. “I mean, I do.” he says. “Of course I do, but like, like a sister.”

“A sister,” she says incredulously, confusion rising in her eyes.

“Not -- Oh, fuck, that’s not --” He drops his head in his hands, his blood rushing so loudly in his ears he can’t hear himself think. “This is not going well.”

“No shit,” she says, but there’s a little bit of relief in her voice. This bumbling, tripping-over-his-words Pope makes a lot more sense than the one that lost his shit and nearly killed Rafe Cameron the previous day. (And God, was that only yesterday?) He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, and she notices his breath start to quicken. “Pope?” she asks, leaning forward and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Kie, I’m gay.” It falls out of his mouth like a boulder, hitting the ground and shaking the earth with its weight. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, and it’s terrifying, to have it so concrete in front of him, no longer nebulous and trapped in his head. He can’t take it back, can’t lie about it anymore, to her or himself or anyone else. He has to live with that truth, now, no matter how he feels about it. Part of that, while intimidating, makes him feel just a little bit more free.

“Oh,” she says, and he’s too panicked to discern anything in her tone. “Okay.” He doesn’t want to look at her, doesn’t want to see the horror or anger or whatever else must be settling there.

He rushes to explain himself, like he didn’t hear. “I’m sorry that I thought I was in love with you,” he says, even as she feels a thousand worries slip from her shoulders like coming up from diving under a wave. “I just, I was jealous, and I thought that it was John B I was jealous of, but it wasn’t, it was you, and then he--” Pope blows by his name before he chokes on it, realizing what he’s said aloud, how dangerous and loaded a once-familiar thing has become. “It wasn’t him I was jealous of,” he repeats, lacing his fingers over the back of his head, dropping it to his chest. “It wasn’t him.” He squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing down the tears fighting their way up his throat.

Kie hesitates in reaching for him, but the moment her fingertips brush his shoulder, she falls against her best friend, wrapping her arms around him as best she can. “Oh, Pope,” she whispers, as tears well in her own eyes. “Oh Pope, I’m so sorry.” He falls into her embrace, all his anger and uncertainty dissipating like fog at dawn. They both cry for a while, her silently, him shaking. She does her best to comfort him, but his grief has taken on a different tone she can no longer imagine.

When his breath finally slows, he sits up out of her arms, wiping under his eyes. “You aren’t mad?” He asks, in true Pope fashion.

“Why would I be mad?” she asks, disbelief echoing in her words.

“Well, I was…” he sniffs, watching his hands fold over each other. “I was kind of a jerk about it.” He feels bad, about the way everything went down. He was drowning, in disappointment and confusion and a million other things he still doesn’t have words for that he wishes he could explain. He was an asshole to her when he should have listened and

She knocks their shoulders together with half a sly smile. “Yeah, you kind of were.” It feels good to be joking with him like this again, after the last couple of days of chaos and anger and disappointment after disappointment. They’re best friends for a reason, her boys and her.

“And then --” he swallows, remembering the moments at the Dump after John B disappeared into the marsh, moments he still doesn’t understand. “Y-you kissed me, and --”

The smile falls off her face. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she says. She shifts her weight between her feet, her knees moving back and forth as they sit side by side on the porch steps, picking at her nails. “That wasn’t --” she looks at him, and he looks back. “I shouldn’t have done that.” She stretches her legs out in front of her, knocking her sneakers together, her hands dropping to her lap. “I have my own shit to figure out, Pope,” she says. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

Pope leans over, “You wanna talk about it?” he asks pointedly. He knows she likes to talk things through, make sense of them by pushing everything out into the atmosphere so she can see it all, pick out the pieces that make sense. He also doesn’t want to talk about him, anymore.

“No,” she says abruptly. He leans back into his own space, holding his hands up a little, and she bites her lip, like she does when she’s thinking too hard about what to say next. “I’m sorry,” she admits. “I just --” she knocks her feet together again before pulling them back up to the last step, her chin falling onto her knees. “I gotta think about it some more, I guess.” She looks at him, screwing up her face in that way that makes everyone agree that she’s adorable. “I’ve got some more I’ve gotta work out.”

“You know you can still talk to me, right?” he reassures her. He used to be the best listener, before he went and fucked everything up. Kie would talk to him about things John B and JJ would never understand, usually about parents or family pressure, things she felt guilty discussing with either one of their practically-orphaned friends. Pope understood, and it was easy to let Kie just let everything out, answering her own questions, defining problems and putting together solutions in the same breath. It’s part of the reason he assumed they would end up together, before -- well. Before. She trusted him, and he fucked that up, and now he can only hope that he can earn it back.

“I know,” she says, folding her arms on top of her knees and looking back out across the channel. “It’s not because of --” she stops, unsure of how to define it.

“Yeah,” he answers. He doesn’t want to talk about it either.

“It’s just --” she goes quiet for a second, picking through words like the wrong ones are rotten, and he watches her, the slight breeze off the water picking up strands of her hair. Her shoulder drops as she moves her head, and a few curls shift enough that he can see dark red marks tracking up the side of her neck. Hickies? “I don’t think I have words for it yet,” she says, finishing her sentence. JJ , he thinks, her confession about her absence this morning circling back through his mind. The word is JJ .

Pope isn’t blind. He sees the way JJ looks at her. He always has. It never unsettled him like the shared glances between Kie and John B, and now he knows why. It’s a little relieving, to not have to manufacture false jealousy in the pit of his stomach, to have to lie to himself in order to make his constructed, false worldview make sense. JJ and Kie -- they’re going to be something else to handle, with the inherent chaos of how they both handle their emotions and the forced bravado they both put on, but he supposes they were… inevitable, in a way. Kiara was misinterpreting her own feelings, just like he was, forcing herself to believe she loved someone who made more sense, someone that was easier to accept than confronting the truth. John B was his truth -- JJ is hers. He’s grateful, in a way, that they’ll have each other, through this -- once she gains the same clarity he’s come to.

“It’s okay,” he says, as everything slides into place. He’s not gonna rush this, not gonna make her take steps she’s not ready for. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.” She smiles at him -- a weak thing, but genuine.

“Thanks, Pope,” she says.

He shrugs. “What are best friends for?” She drops her head against his shoulder, and for the first time since Shoupe confirmed their worst fears, he feels like things might, someday, be okay again.

They stay like that for a while, and then she asks him if he wants to talk more about it, and Pope recounts the moment of clarity in the bathroom, his thought process on his walk across the island. Kie listens, because he’s still her best friend, and it’s one of his favorite things about her, the way she makes it so easy to let everything out, the way she makes him feel seen. She doesn’t say much, but she doesn’t have to, because everything is still so fresh and bleeding that he doesn’t know what he wants to hear, yet. She reassures him she still loves him, that she’ll stick with him no matter what, just like she’s always promised to do, and that seems to do the trick.

Eventually, Mrs. Carrera comes out and offers to drive Pope home, a very pointed instruction to the both of them. She goes to get the car, leaving the two of them to say goodbye on the porch. Kie stands with her arms crossed over her stomach, like she’s holding herself together. “My parents are probably gonna have me on lockdown for a while,” she says, biting on the corner of her lip.

“Mine too,” he answers, with some inkling of what she’s about to ask him.

“Do you think you could --” she starts, and she’s staring somewhere around his collarbones, because JJ means more to her now, and makes this request, somehow, different. “I mean, with service down, it’s gonna be hard to keep in touch and I just --” She sighs, frustrated with herself, that she can’t get the words out. “When his dad figures out what happened --”

Pope interrupts her this time, reaches a gentle hand out for her arm. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” he promises. “I’ll talk to my parents…” he says, automatically, his usual main resource for help or assistance, and pauses, remembering the note he left on with his father, how things might go without the overhang of a recent disaster. His parents. They’ll be out all day, at least, won’t know about his sojourn to Figure Eight. But they’ll be back, and he has a lot to face.

“Will you just make sure he’s safe?” she asks, small and scared, and, in true Kiara fashion, ashamed to be asking for help.

“Yeah,” he answers. He wraps her in a tight hug, grateful to have his friend back, to be centering somewhere at least slightly left of normal, to be spiralling down from the insane high of failure and the chaos of being half a fugitive. “Yeah, of course.”

Mrs. Carrera drives him home, and even though she tries to ask him how he’s holding up, he answers monosyllabically, avoiding small talk by staring out the window and doing his best to stave off the encroaching panic as he anticipates the upcoming conversation with his father. Anna watches him carefully, and he can feel her eyes on him. It makes him uneasy.

Watching Figure Eight slowly melt into subdivisions and condominiums and then, as houses get smaller and the weeds get wilder, into the Cut. In a matter of minutes, fantastic wealth descends into abject struggle and poverty, a jarring display of privilege and elitism that Pope and the others are no longer shocked by. They grew up in it, cut down over and over again by a system that simply wasn’t built for them, grew up before their time because the kooks never will, abdicating responsibility and ignoring the fallout. Pope’s thoughts wander to Topper’s wakesetter, bile rising in his throat. His impulsive mistake ruined JJ’s life at sixteen, and the Thorntons, well. They’ll just buy another boat.

When they reach the Heywards’, Anna cuts the engine, and Pope doesn’t move, staring at his family’s little house, shabby but well-kept, his mother’s vegetable garden in full swing, bursting with a physical manifestation of love and care in an explosion of green leaves and colorful fruits and vegetables. He thinks about the Carrera’s neatly kept lawn, the decorative plants placed carefully on their wraparound porch, the contrast between the two images. Chaos and love, wealth and precision.

“I love your mother’s garden,” Anna says, almost like she doesn’t mean to. “I wish she’d tell me her secret.”

You can’t have it , Pope thinks, selfishly. He wants this one thing, for his mother, for his family. Instead, he answers; “I wouldn’t know.” This, he realizes, is unfortunately true. When was the last time he helped his mother with her garden? Asked her what she wanted to do on a Saturday? He helps with the store, of course, but in that, he doesn’t have a choice. He’s spent so much time chasing John B, first his promise of adventure, and then his approval, and then, desperate to help him in his hour of need. When was the last time he helped with the yard work? Helped make dinner? Stayed in on a Friday night?

His parents love him violently, work hard to give him opportunities they never had. His father breaks his back, works the store, the delivery service, any hard labor job he can get, used to being a tool, something to be taken advantage of, a means to an end. He does it so Pope can go to school, have a laptop to do homework and apply for colleges on, have a phone to text his friends and stay in contact with his parents. His throat thickens with the realization that his father was right -- he has been ungrateful. He’s been disrespectful, and rude, and if it was him, he wouldn’t even let himself back into the house, much less comfort him, leave him breakfast and reassuring notes.

Anna takes the emotion in his eyes for something else, and she puts a hand on his shoulder that feels so distinctly different from Kiara’s that it’s fundamentally wrong, and he freezes under her touch. “I know this is hard,” she says, in a tone that tries for concerned mom and lands somewhere closer to patronizing school counselor. “But you’ll get through it. You have each other, and that’s the most important part.”

“Thanks,” he says coldly, reaching for the door handle before climbing quickly out of the car. When his feet hit the packed-dirt drive, he stops, feeling like an asshole. “And thank you. For the ride.” He goes to shut the door, but she interrupts him.

“Pope,” she says, and he looks up at her, making eye contact for the first time since he got in the car. “If you -- or your family -- needs anything…” She bites her lip the same way Kie does. “Just, don’t hesitate to ask.” Pope usually rankles under the suggestion of charity, pride bred into him alongside a stubborn willfulness that rivals even his father’s, but she knows life in the Cut, has faced the same things he and his family deal with every day. It’s an odd juxtaposition, her inherent compassion and her dislike of her daughter’s friends. It’s what, at the end of the day, separates her eternally from Kie.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Of course. Thanks, Ms. Anna.”

When he reaches the door, he hears tires twist in the dirt, and Anna Carrera drives away, back to her house, her daughter, her life on Figure Eight. Pope lets himself in, showers off the sweat from his trek to Kie’s, and sets about cleaning the house, both as a distraction and a desperate appeal for his parents’ forgiveness. The whole afternoon, he rehearses a million different versions of the same speech, apologies and admittances, going back and forth about copping to the sinking of Topper’s boat, afraid of his father’s wrath and the legal consequences, but still guilty and anxious to the point of nausea over it, desperate to do the right thing.

Pope was raised with a strong sense of right and wrong, a deep and little-discussed Catholic faith, and a strong sense of familial pride. What Heywards are and aren’t, what they do and don’t do -- it was all drilled into him from a young age. Heywards pay their debts. Heywards don’t complain, don’t argue, don’t talk back. Heywards work hard. Heywards work honest.

Heywards aren’t gay.

It was never said, but Pope knows his dad. He knows what counts as acceptable behavior, the future his father imagines for him. A college degree, a Good Job, a house, a wife, kids -- he knows what’s expected. He tries to wrestle with the disappointment that he’ll never own up to that image as he scrubs the stove, tears welling up as he works at a particularly stubborn grease stain. He’s already disappointed them so much, just in the past few days. What will they say? What will they think of him?

He knows he’s lucky, as a kid in the Cut with both parents still around, still willing to work, still willing to love him. There are too many kids like John B and JJ, left behind, ignored and neglected, the victims of vicious cycles and cruel tragedies. Pope still has a whole family, as small and broken as it may be. He should start acting like it.

He’s just finished dusting the living room when he hears tires in the driveway, the rattling engine of his father’s old pickup, and he freezes like a prey animal caught in an open plain. They’re home. His mother makes quiet comments on the improved state of the house as they toss keys in bowls and remove shoes, speaking calmly to each other, the soft noises of domesticity and routine. Routine he is about to monumentally disrupt, more than he ever has.

Pope has a speech planned. He has things he wants to say, sentences he needs them to hear in the same way he has them planned. Everything needs to follow the course he’s laid out, or it could be open to misinterpretation. He’s prepared. That’s what he does -- he plans, he structures, he researches and prepares. All of that disintegrates the moment his father walks into the living room.

“Pope,” he says. “You cleaned.”

“Dad, I’m sorry,” Pope says, and the words choke him, tears welling and spilling in the same instant, like a faucet turning on after winter. He tells him everything, about Topper’s wakesetter and the failed treasure hunt and the impossible hope that drew him from his scholarship interview, the desperation and the certainty that he was following, determined to be the final piece of the puzzle, the thing that saved his friends. He begs for forgiveness, crying and broken, looking for himself in his fathers eyes. Heyward doesn’t say anything for a long time, soaking in the information. His wife is struck dumb, at Pope’s heart breaks with the horror in his mother’s eyes, at his admittances of all he’s done.

“Please,” Pope begs. “Say something.”

The silence that hangs in the living room feels like a gun against his temple, his father’s finger on the trigger. “Well son,” Heyward says, “What are you gonna do about it?”

“What --” Pope’s brain stops, too overwhelmed to process this reaction from his father. There is grief and anger, guilt and fear, and a thousand other things he cannot name. He is out of words, out of ideas and out of power. He wants someone to tell him what to do, because cannot possibly summon the energy to determine a path himself.

“You sunk that boy’s boat?” Pope nods, dumbfounded, answering on instinct. Heyward looks tired. “You let your friend take the fall?”

“I --” It’s hard, to hear it in his father’s voice, to hear the disappointment there, to feel it, real, metallic, and cutting in the air. “Yeah.”

Heyward shrugs, like it’s simple. “What are you gonna do about it?” Maybe it is. Pope got himself into this mess, and now he needs to get himself out.

“I don’t --” he starts, with nowhere to go.

“You gonna do the right thing?” His father asks, his tone implying that there is one answer.

Pope straightens up, closes his mouth, swallows down all the tears, all the uncertainty and vulnerability. He has asked for guidance, and his father is providing it. There is no more room for weakness here. “Yes, sir.”

Heyward nods, and turns to Yvonne, who has tears in her eyes. “He’ll be fine, sweetheart,” He says to his wife. “We’ve got a good boy here. He’ll be fine.” He wraps his arms around her, folding her into his chest in a familiar, nostalgic gesture. Pope feels awkward, watching his parents comfort each other, but he knows that his feelings are not the most important in the room. His chest hurts knowing he’s the one who caused their pain.

But this conversation still isn’t over. “Dad, um,” he says, and Heyward looks at him with exhaustion in his wizened eyes. “there’s one more thing.”

Heyward turns toward him again, leaving one arm around his wife. “Well I don’t know if you can shock me anymore today, Pope,” he says, “so go ahead.”

The words dam up behind his lips, and his hands flex at his sides, clenching into fists and spreading out again, and there’s no way out of this, not anymore. It was easier with Kie, for some reason. “Dad, I’m gay.” It hangs there, bigger and somehow more terrifying than anything he’s said since his parents came home. The air in the living room doesn’t move, stale and muggy in the North Carolina evening, without the hum of the fridge or the air conditioner for reprieve.

Heyward blinks. Once, twice. Yvonne shakes on a silent sob, a noise that cracks Pope’s ribs open. “Okay,” his father replies.

It is somehow relieving and disappointing all at once. Pope doesn’t lie to his parents, at least, as much as he can help it. “Is that all?” he asks, because he expected -- something more? Something beyond indifference. Maybe rage, maybe affirmation. Maybe some indicator that this was just as big of a deal as he made it out to be.

“What else do you want me to say?” Heyward asks, knowing this is the most he and his son have talked about anything in years. The last mention at vulnerability came before the ill-fated scholarship interview, less than a minute of conversation before Heyward left his son to take a job. Sometimes he kicks himself for that, wondering about what might have happened if he’d waited, been there when his son made one of the most impulsive decisions of his young life. Could he have caught him coming out the door? Talked him down? What would today be, if Heyward had been there?

Pope looks at his father through a haze of tears, his breath somewhere other than his chest, uncontrollable and foreign. “You don’t hate me?”

Heyward shrugs. “You’re still my son, ain’t you?” Pope nods, sniffling and backhanding tears off of his face. “Well then, I guess I still love you.” Pope doesn’t remember the last time his father said that to him. “Pope,” Heyward sighs, heaving himself off the couch. “You’ve done a lot these past few weeks I don’t understand. I’m not gonna pretend I’m not upset with you.” Pope looks at his father’s feet, weary and sore on the threadbare carpet. “But you bein gay? That ain’t why.”

And that, that breaks the tenuous control he has over his emotions, and he sobs, loud and hard and echoing in the small living room. “I thought maybe -- maybe you might --” Pope tries, his arms at his sides, fists clenched, chest shaking. Heyward steps forward, wrapping his arms around his son, because he may not know what Pope is going to do, what he’s going to do as a father, as a man. Even though neither of them know how they’re going to get through this, how they’re going to deal with the police department, the Thorntons, John B’s death, and the rest -- they know this, they know the faith they have in each other, the love and respect that lives there, even after everything.

Pope’s father pulls back from the embrace, places his hands on his son’s shoulders and levels him with the same stare that Pope has known his whole life. “What are you?” he asks, the same way he’s asked a million times before. This is a routine, between father and son, in moments of desperation, a way of taking a step back up from the most crushing of lows, of taking back control, setting their shoulders and facing into the wind.

Pope knows the answer. “I’m a Heyward.”

#pope heyward #pope #obx #outerbanks #pope x john b #john b x pope #kiara carrera #anna carrera #heyward #mrs. heyward #outer banks #outer banks fic #my stuff #my writing #season 2 spec #angst

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questions-within-questions · 6 years

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My big The Last Jedi post

Spoiler free until you get to the page break

I love the theme of this film. It’s pretty much exactly the theme from the star wars sequal trilogy I had playing in my imagination when I was a child. But it really took me in surprise with how the film executed it. It’s not as simple as “there’s a lesson the heroes are learning, meanwhile the bad guys and some idiot Jedi are standing of the way of that”

The pacing of this film? It’s well documented that I hate the pacing of the Star Wars films. I think all of them, save for Revenge and Awakens, have terrible pacing. This film has three story-lines and is really, really long. I love long films, but even I thought “Wow I don’t expect a star wars film to feel this long” but the pacing almost makes it work because there’s a clear plot (Screw you Phantom, Clones and Empire) and a lot of the film keeps you on your toes about how it’s going to end.

A lot of the reviews I read have complained that Finn and his story-line is the short end of the stick? I don’t understand that. I freaking love Finn and Rose’s story here. It’s not big on character arcs but it is big on character exploration, world building, and damn I love Rose? I was always eager for the plot to return to their story.

And I LOVE that world building. Thing I disliked about Awakens? No space politics; I didn’t feel like I understood how this setting worked. And, yes, I still don’t really feel like I know what the Republic even is at this point. But Finn and Rose go to a core world planet (which, we never see in the movies. Courasaunt is literally the only planet we spend any time on that isn’t a sleepy back water in the films. Naboo is the next in line and even that felt like an outsider in the republic) I freaking love seeing what that looks like. Rose says some really profound stuff about the people who live in the side of the galaxy which isn’t war torn. I’ve seen a lot of people complaining about Luke having his character ruined. And I am so freaking happy because I hate fanon Luke. Everyone expects Luke to be a chosen one and to be a Jedi Grand Master like Yoda in the prequels and to be this super-sayan human deity. And yet Luke’s entire character arc in Return is realising that he’s better than that, beyond that. And I’m glad this film follows through with it. It’s a great performance from Mark. Hux is, weirdly enough, the character I think who benefits the most from this film? Like, he’s not in any way different from how he was in Awakens, but the tone and plot just benefits him more. I didn’t even notice he existed after my first watch of Awakens, but in this I was always happy to see him on screen. Shippers are going to have a fucking field day.

Kylo Ren also is a character who’s arc I really, really enjoyed in this film? Which, woah that’s a surprise. I still think Rose and Finn’s storyline is more enjoyable, but Kylo’s and Rey’s is really compelling and had me surprised. Their conflict is really easy to understand and ties in really well thematically with both the film and where the franchise is right now. Kylo is probably equal only to Poe in terms of how much character development he gets, with Rey in a close third place. SPACE BATTLES. Damn, I complained that Awakens didn’t have enough battles and this film did me a solid. Now that writers seem to have a strong hold about how battles actually work in this setting, especially in space, things are just really satisfying. People have complained that this film is too funny? What? How is that a bad thing? Y’all just want a star wars film to make you miserable because that’s how you think you remember Empire making you feel. Anyway time for Spoilers ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Lot’s of spoilers now. If the prequel trilogy is about the failings of stoicism, the original trilogy is the triumph of emotion, this trilogy is setting up to be about letting things go, moving on.

Which, you know, Star Wars really badly needs to do. It’s horrifically formulaic. So having Luke Skywalker say “You don’t need Luke Skywalker”... it works for me. I’ve been hating on the Jedi for a decade now, and Luke’s criticisms of them ring so true. The force isn’t something to be wielded. Hording the force into super soldiers isn’t what the force is here for. The force is something that is best utilised by everyone, together, rather than a lone hero. Which I think wonderfully explains why the Jedi failed and the Rebellion succeeded. Yoda seemed to realise this, a finally reached the end point of his character arc. Forgoing his hubris and helping Luke destroy the temple. I was actually about the forgive the green bastard but then he makes this pun “There’s nothing in the library that Rey doesn’t already posses.” BITCH KNEW ABOUT THE BOOKS. But this is why I love that Luke’s last battle isn’t him using the force in an amazing display of power to destroy the first order, but rather using the force in an amazing display of power to cause a distraction so that the Resistance can live. But how amazing is Rey and Kylo’s take on this? Two kids who spent the entirety of the previous film obsessed with the past admitting that actually, the past has been cruel to us. Kill that sentimentality. Of course the reason they differ is because Kylo is evil and thinks the end point of this is destroying the republic, resistance and the first order. Rey literally rolls her eyes at this shit. But it’s really compelling to see why these two kids would both do a 180 and turn on the legacies that previously controlled them, all be it in very different ways. Rey is just ungodly powerful, and that’s fascinating. It’s revealed that she has no lineage, she’s literally nobody special. She’s just some random kid who happens to have amazing power. (And damn she’s strong in the dark side too) which makes for a very interesting Star Wars protagonist. Because we’ve had Anakin and Luke both be chosen ones due to their conceptions. Anakin defined by the dark side and Luke by the light. It feels fresh to have Rey be the hero now. Luke literally says, “I’m going to give you three lessons. Not about how to be a jedi, no, about why the Jedi suck”. She drops out of Luke school before even taking the third lesson! She still kicks ass fighting the royal guard. It’s impressive. It’s all pretty damn dwarfed by some of the shit Luke and Snoke pull. That galaxy spanning stuff has the be the biggest displays of force power we’ve ever seen mortals do in the films. I know people are saying that Leia flying through space like an angel is bullshit powerful, but damn, if you watch Star Wars Rebels; force pulling yourself through space is just the easiest thing to do. Very pretty. Though her cloak billowing up to look like angel wings? A bit heavy handed what with Carrie’s recent passing. Speaking of Snoke. The number one Raylo shipper? Snoke. I love his evil plan in this film. I know it rhymes a lot with the Emperor's plans, but it’s like he watched Return of the Jedi and was like “Hmmm, I could use this to my advantage” and I love that he died like a punk. I still have no idea where he came from, why he has such weirdly long legs, what his motivation is, or why he’s such a obvious retread of Palpatine, but hay it was fun watching him be an evil bastard and die so to be a stepping stone in Kylo’s story. He also slapped Rey in the face with her own lightsaber using the force? Literally yesterday I posted to tumblr wishing this would happen. (I also theorised that Rey was her own parents so shit me did I gasp when she saw herself behind the dark side mirror) That scene in Snokes throne room is a wonderful subversion of Vader’s promise to Luke in Empire? “Together we could overthrow the emperor and rule this galaxy” this is a subversive look at, “Hay, what if Vader had actually followed through on that?” Speaking of Raylo. Damn the ship wars are going to be intense. This film gives massive material to all of the popular ships. Huxlo and Raylo especially, without saying anything definite at all. There’s literally nothing in the text to suggest that Hux, Kylo and Rey aren’t all disgusted with each other. But damn there is fuel for those fics now. I did a little dance every time Phasma turned up. She’s so cool. She’s somewhere between Bobba Fett and General Grievous in terms of “really cool character who does nothing and dies” So that final scene. It’s already controversial. And I bet the editing team were anxious about leaving it in. It was probably tempting to end on our cast of heroes. But you know what? Empire did that and that ending sucked. Having a force sensitive kid telling his own stories about the Resistance as he looks up at the horizon? Thematically it’s just more satisfying. Though this film really does try to have it’s cake and eat it too with killing the past. The Jedi temple is destroyed, but the books survive. Kylo shuns the Vader mythology, but plays the exact role that Vader did in the battle of Hoth in the final battle. Luke says we don’t need Luke Skywalker, but the final scene is a boy being inspired by his mythology. LIST OF STUPID THINGS I LIKED Adam Driver visibly slipping on those really polished First Order floors, and the editor just keeping it in. Space nuns!? BB-H8 turning up and the film instantly recognising that this droid is A MAJOR THREAT. They killed off Admiral Ackbar!? Luke’s smile when he saw R2!!! Rose looking out over the casino planet. Saying all these people are happy. And not one of them cares about the war we’re dying in. Damn. I love it.

#Big media analysis post #star wars #The Last Jedi #The last Jedi spoilers #luke skywalker #Rey #Finn #Poe Dameron #Princess Leia #Kylo Ren

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capnjay21 · 6 years

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the importance of being idle, 12/12

A/N: aloha! I posted this on AO3 a little while ago, but it has yet to make it onto tumblr. I wanted to say thank you so much to everybody who stuck along for the ride, it wouldn’t have been anymore than a oneshot without you! I’ll ramble a little more at the end, but here it is.

Rating: M

Catch up on: AO3 | tumblr

the importance of being idle get-out-of-my-apartment-(no-really-get-out)-you’re-hot-but-I-got-shit-to-do rock ‘n roll AU. Captain Swan.

Neither the fragrant dispensable hand soap, the superior quality of microwavable goods nor the silent as smoke bathroom door could make living in the Blackbeard’s Revenge tour bus a salvageable experience.

Admittedly, she’d only been there for just over twenty-four hours.

But it still fucking sucked.

After watching the Jolly Rogers drive away, she’d had little else to do except move her camera equipment and her small suitcase onto the other bus. Of course, the only free bunk happened to be right next to Blackbeard’s, but at least she wasn’t ousting any back-line equipment. If she was going to be here for the next month and a half, she would keep her head down and stay out of trouble, collect her money and go.

And try not to think too hard about the band that had driven away.

She spent the entire day in her bunk, alternating between attempting to read and adjusting settings needlessly on her camera, ignoring any offhand remarks sent her way. Blackbeard’s Revenge clearly had their own rhythm, the radio flipped onto some postseason baseball game while they alternated between relaxing and trying to coax a rise out of Emma. There were only so many ‘and how goes our forlorn freelancer, darling?’ she could take before she took a leaf out of Tina and Killian’s book and socked one of them in the jaw, but their every jibe strengthened her resolve. The only small mercy she could think of was the lack of Neal, since he had his own car he’d been using for that leg of the tour.

Eventually, the men dozed off and Emma was left in peace, scrolling idly through her phone. She didn’t text Killian. Her immediate instinct was to wait and see if he texted her first, but remembered too late that they never actually got to a point where they’d exchanged numbers — she only had his because of the note he’d left in her apartment that very first night. Along with his shirt.

(The shirt she had, in a moment of weakness, decided to throw on.

She’d brought it on the tour under the pretext of giving it back to him, and it had sat at the bottom of her suitcase until she could find the right moment — which now, of course, had obviously passed her by. It felt oddly symbolic of her entire relationship with Killian, to her chagrin.)

August had messaged her a string of salsa dancing women emojis, assuring her she’d pull through the other side. In response, she’d merely sent him a tired looking selfie with the book she’d secretly swiped from his bunk; Pinocchio. His reply was scandalised.

I knew there was a reason you said no to my fairytales. ‘Finding your own destiny’ my ass.

<b>that’s not v gentlemanly </b>

They’d bantered for a few minutes before she let the phone lie, a dull ache settling in the centre of her chest. She missed him. She missed all of them.

And before she let the rattling of the bus on the highway lull her into an afternoon nap, she couldn’t stop feeling the phantom scratch of stubble against her temple as a kiss was laid there, a murmur of sweet dreams, Emma, carrying her away.

***

BR had managed to recruit some local band last minute to open for them that night in New York, a city where no shortage of musicians lurked waiting for a chance like that to come along. They’d been okay, the style leaning a little too far into pop-punk for Emma’s liking, but dutifully she took photos and acted much the same as she had on every other night. It was a job, now. Nothing more. Take photos, go to bed. No lingering backstage, no welcome distractions, no banter as the venue was set up — all she cared about was her finger over the shutter release and the thought of getting back to her bunk, Killian’s shirt folded neatly underneath her pillow.

She’d gone back to the bus immediately after the gig. Even with that vestige of him surrounding her, it had been a restless night’s sleep.

They were performing just one more show in New York, and the next morning Emma couldn’t help but let her thoughts stray to the fact that it would be the last time she worked with Neal. If it weren’t for the fact that it left her alone with Blackbeard’s Revenge she would’ve been more relieved, but as it stood Neal was both a buffer and an inconvenience. They both knew it in their unspoken, mutual agreement; this would be the last time they saw each other. There was no use prolonging their association — the past was firmly in the past, Emma had closure. She didn’t know what Neal had, but it sure as fuck wasn’t anything that concerned her, and there was something decidedly liberating about finally setting fire to that chapter of her life, and letting it go up in smoke.

While most of her freedom to decide had been taken from her over the past day, it felt good to still be able to make some choices.

As the hours ticked by into the early afternoon, Emma was flicking through the photos she’d already taken from the last month or so, Blackbeard and Isaac playing cards in the seating area, with Pan listening to music as he lay back in his bunk. Jefferson had disappeared a few hours ago. It was a bitch to get into the city from the parking lot they’d been assigned near Newark, but the bassist seemed to be the only one interested in giving it a try. Emma couldn’t bring herself to give it a go, and it was highly likely the other three had already been before. The precarious peace, however, didn’t last long.

The door at the back of the bus swung open, sunlight beaming through and making Emma blink against the sudden brightness. Assuming it would be Jefferson returning, Emma didn’t spare it a glance — he was easily the most tolerable of the lot of them, but that didn’t make him any less complicit in the reason she was there.

“Ah,” Blackbeard greeted loudly, and Emma reached for her headphones. The least she could do was drown him out. “Jones. You’re late.”

Her head shot up so fast her neck cracked.

To her utter disbelief, Killian Jones stood silhouetted in the doorframe.

It took mere milliseconds for his eyes to find hers, a vivid blue like the glow of a lighthouse scattered on the waves. Although rationally she knew it had scarcely been a day and a half, it felt like far too long since she’d seen him, and she wrenched her gaze away to try and take in the rest of him — somewhat dishevelled in appearance and, if she wasn’t mistaken, wearing the same rumpled clothes as the day before. With his raven hair sticking up at odd angles on the back of his head, he looked as if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

“Apologies,” Killian was saying to Blackbeard, “this place isn’t exactly convenient to reach.” Blackbeard waved a dismissive hand, before turning back to his game.

Before Emma could even fire off a query about why he was there, Killian cut her off.

“Pack your stuff, Swan,” he said, “we’re going.”

She didn’t move.

“What’re you doing here?”

Killian let out an exaggerated huff. “What does it look like? I’m attempting a dashing rescue.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Isaac hummed in amusement from his spot on the sofa opposite Blackbeard. Emma ignored him.

She didn’t get why everyone was being so goddamn calm.

As if sensing her hesitation, Blackbeard quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “You’re welcome to stay, Miss Swan, if you so desire.” The look he gave her could be described as leery at best. “But he has come all this way, and even I don’t advocate for that sort of cruelty.”

“Time is rather of the essence, love. Cab’s out front.”

Killian was watching her earnestly, and she followed the movement of his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. He was nervous, by now she could read his posture like a map, and something about it suggested to her that his sense of urgency had little to do with a taxi fare.

What the hell was going on?

Cautiously, she reached for her bag, gaze darting between the man in the doorway and those sprawled on the sofas. “You’re saying I’m allowed to just walk out of here?”

Blackbeard spread his hands. “Of course.”

“No invoices in the post?”

“Not even for your pilfering of my vastly expensive soap.”

Emma wasn’t about to wait around for them to change their minds.

She gathered her stuff as quickly as she could, shoving any loose items around the bunk back into her suitcase before carefully disassembling her camera and safely packing away all of the components. After she descended the ladder and made a quick check of the sheets for anything she hadn’t seen, she threw one last look over her shoulder at the three members of Blackbeard’s Revenge. Malcolm was still lying on his bed, eyes closed with his headphones on, not having even acknowledged the turn of events. Isaac and Charles’ attentions had returned to their game.

Emma opened her mouth to try and check one final time that she was in the clear.

“Call,” Charles said mildly, “you really do have the worst luck, Heller.”

“I’m sure my luck will improve once you stop using those two extra aces.”

They weren’t even the slightest bit interested, and she owed them nothing. So, after throwing them the proverbial middle finger, she merely stepped out of the bus and into the early afternoon sun. Killian’s hand was at the small of her back, guiding her to the entrance of the parking lot where two cabs were already waiting. From their brief distance, she could see August, Robin and Smee in one, Tina in the other, with piles of their equipment stuffed in between.

“Killian —?” she started.

“Sorry to press you, love,” he smiled widely at her, before throwing a furtive look back at the bus, “I’m merely eager not to tempt fate.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“You’re going home,” he said firmly, and the heat from his hand just erred on the side of scorching through her sweater. “That’s all that matters.”

“But how —?”

They’d reached the taxis, and all too suddenly the door had swung open to the first and she realised there was an empty seat beside August. Killian brushed a hand over her hip just briefly before he retreated to the other, dropping into the backseat beside Tina. Emma, entirely baffled but not too fond of questioning her good fortune just yet, saw she had no other choice but to buckle in. When she entered the cab it was to a few scattered cheers and August squeezing her hand affectionately.

She may have no goddamn clue what was happening, but it felt good to be back.

***

The Jolly Rogers were going to get signed.

The moment the door to the cab had shut, August, Smee and Robin were practically tripping over each other in order to relay the good news, an energy thrumming through them that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. Apparently, they’d had some incredibly busy twenty-four hours.

From Jefferson’s mansion in Connecticut, it had taken around eight hours of straight driving to get them back to Storybrooke, Merida testing the speed limit at any moment she could — it was a race against time, they’d decided, to see if they could make something of the exposure from the national tour before the news that Blackbeard’s Revenge had dropped them hit the press. There was no telling just how Gold Records would spin the news, and just how much of an effect it might have on any potential labels interested in signing them.

As it turned out, somebody had been waiting for them. Eric Triton had never been the bitter sort, he had confessed to them, but if his time with Blackbeard’s Revenge had taught him anything it was that he far favoured the reward that came with nurturing a band who actually cared about music to playing whatever it took to top the charts. After his departure from Blackbeard and company he had turned his attention to producing, eventually partnering up with the Poseidon Music Group after a providential meeting with the CEO’s daughter on a beach, and had made it his business to constantly be scouting for new talent ever since.

Apparently he had attended their gig at Warehouse 4, the one Emma herself had skipped what felt like a hundred years ago, and he was one of the calls that had Smee’s phone vibrating for days afterwards. You could imagine his exasperation when Blackbeard’s Revenge got to them first.

It was why, he’d told them, he almost felt glad that they’d been dropped from the tour — it gave him a second shot. The moment one of his contacts had alerted him to the disagreement at Jefferson’s mansion he had started camping as near as he dared to the town line, predicting correctly that they would be racing back to Storybrooke as soon as possible. He accosted them as they stormed into town, and the next thing they knew they had an invitation to play before Poseidon himself next week. Which was only a formality, of course. The deal was as good as done.

“Have you guys slept at all?” Emma gaped, and the dark rings around their eyes spoke volumes.

All three of them were giddy, exhausted but exhilarated, and constantly iterating just how glad they were that she was able to share in their good news, but not one of them would say a second word on just how they managed to wrangle her out from Blackbeard’s grasp, insisting that it wasn’t their story to tell. Emma had an inkling of just whose it was, but her curiosity only compounded the longer she sat sandwiched between August and the door of the cab.

It was a couple hundred bucks for the fare, something she insisted on covering once her cheque from Blackbeard’s Revenge came through, but mercifully they wouldn’t be paying for all the way back to Maine. The taxis dropped them off in New Haven, at a trucker stop they'd agreed to meet Merida and her coach at. The driver was offering the trip pro bono out of something she denied was affection, but it did mean they had to work around her schedule — hence why they were cramming most of their equipment between them in the taxis.

“We don’t have anywhere to live,” Robin had pointed out, “and we didn’t have time to find a motel. We haven’t stopped moving since we left you!”

It was here that Emma was finally able to approach Killian. While the others milled around outside, perched atop amps and keeping an eye on the flow of traffic for Merida’s coach in the early evening, Emma watched him slip away and head into a diner, not wholly unlike the one they were abandoned at all those weeks before.

A fluorescent green light blinked in and out of life overhead, and a buzzer went off somewhere behind the counter as she entered — loud enough to draw Killian’s gaze instinctively. He had just finished buying sustenance by the look of it, and once his eyes landed on her a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He held out a paper bag towards her.

“Onion ring?”

Emma took one of the proffered items. “I thought you hated onion rings.”

“You don’t,” he pointed out.

For a moment they chewed in silence, her on an onion ring and he on what looked like a carrot stick, before wordlessly moving back outside. Behind them, the neon light from inside the diner shimmered, casting fluorescent shadows against the crunch of gravel underfoot. From twenty or so feet away Emma watched August stand, take ten paces in one direction, then turn and walk back. Everybody was waiting for something, some new start. Anticipation tickled through the air.

“I heard about your record deal,” she found herself saying, “congratulations.” Although a little stilted in its delivery, the sentiment was earnest. She was still wrapping her head around things but she couldn’t be more proud of the Jolly Rogers.

“Well, nothing’s set in stone yet,” Killian demurred, but she could see the pleased flush working its way up from his collar. “We were just lucky to come across the one person in the industry who might hate Blackbeard more than we do.”

Lord knew Eric had every reason, if what Emma had heard was true.

“Still, it’s exciting.”

“It is,” he agreed.

A few pregnant seconds passed, and Emma waited for him to volunteer the information he must know she was eager to find out — just how the hell she was there, and not back in a tiny bunk on Blackbeard’s bus resigned to another evening of ignoring their jibes as best she could.

“Killian…” she began.

“Carrot stick?”

Emma waved the bag away, along with his futile attempt to divert attention. “How is it that I just walked out of there?”

Killian shrugged, making every effort to appear nonchalant. He almost succeeded. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does,” she insisted. His and the others’ reluctance to discuss it only had her anxiety climbing higher and higher, wondering just what stipulations Blackbeard had latched onto her release. “If you’ve traded your soul to Hades for me then I want to know about it so I can —”

Thank you? Knock the living daylights out of you?

“—make it right.”

The corner of Killian’s mouth quirked upwards, the static light of the diner casting his eyes in an electric blue. Alive, aware. Watching her as closely as he always had. “You’d climb down to hell for me, would you, Swan?”

“If I had to,” she replied neutrally. A fierce truth rang with every word.

“Well, you needn’t worry,” Killian continued brazenly. He finished his final carrot stick as she waited for a response, crumpling up the packet in his palm and letting it drop into the trash can beside them. “My soul is safe and sound. We merely offered to cover the cost of your termination fee and Blackbeard was amenable.”

The declaration caught her off guard; the termination fee was five thousand dollars, that had been non-negotiable. If the Jolly Rogers had that sort of money lying around they would have already offered to foot the bill — she may not have known them long, but she knew that much. They were great people who cared about her wellbeing, and she couldn’t imagine August at the very least permitting the act of driving away from her if they had the means to release her. It was why she spoke her next words with a cautious, amused confidence.

“You guys couldn’t string enough cents for a cardboard box, no less five thousand dollars.”

“That’s the thing about commerce, darling. Money is easy enough to acquire if you have something of value to trade for it.”

He had his guitar, of that she was certain — by the edge of the curb she could see Robin leaning against the familiar case. Killian was avoiding looking at her, reaching a finger behind to scratch at the shell of his ear. Emma’s heart steadily began to beat a rhythm against her ribcage. To her spinning mind, it sounded a lot like Lavender Rose.

“And what was that?”

“Why the Jolly Roger, of course.”

For a moment Emma blinked, lips parted, not entirely sure what he was referring to. For a petrifying fraction of a second she imagined Blackbeard had insisted the band break up for her to be let go, but belatedly shook the thought when she remembered Eric Triton and the record deal that supposedly awaited them in Storybrooke.

His gaze dropped and she followed it, before suddenly realising the silver chain she could usually see peeking through the collar of his shirt had vanished.

This, here, is the Jolly Roger.

His watch.

Killian was still speaking, but her eyes were fixed on the absence of the accessory.

“Did I forget to mention the casing was overlain with sterling silver? An ivory clock face, seventeen jewels — and all natural sapphires, not synthetic, mind. Fetches about eight thousand dollars at retail. One of only fifty novelty Peter Pan watches made in 1955, I believe.”

Emma didn’t care about that, not about sapphires or rubies or silver.

He’d said, he’d told her; that watch was the last thing he owned of his father’s.

“Cruella Feinberg gave me a fair price back in Storybrooke when I went to her. I could’ve probably gotten more if I hadn’t rushed it, but I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to track the BR bus after New York.”

He seemed to notice that she hadn’t so much as murmured a response, and squeaked out the remainder of his explanation. “I, ehm… I was in something of a rush.”

Emma couldn’t wrap her mind around it. This sodding impossible man had found time in between trying to negotiate a deal that would decide the future of his entire career to trade away his most valuable possession, for a girl who had barely been able to tell him that she liked the song he wrote. For her. She was stunned. Fucking mortified. Beyond moved.

Despite your best efforts, Swan, I was utterly charmed by you.

Thank you, she had said, when he’d first shown her the watch. Somehow it didn’t feel like enough now.

She became more aware of the way he was angled towards her, hanging on her every breath. Fuck, she had to say something. She had to say something.

“You sold your watch for me?”

She thought he might turn away, cower from everything she was asking of him — that after all that, she needed to be sure. She needed to hear it, just one more time. She wanted the beat of Lavender Rose thumping through her, the scent of rusted strings on his shirt. He’d already done so much, but she couldn’t let him get away without saying it, not with her heels slammed into the earth the way they were.

Tell me, she begged.

Killian’s vibrant blue gaze met her head on, like he knew — he probably did.

“Aye,” he said.

Emma wasn’t sure which of them moved first — she thought it was her, she hoped it was her — but after several long seconds her hands wound their way around his shoulders and he was dipping his head to meet her. When their lips connected, she sighed; at once familiar, she knew these lips by now. She knew the way he kissed, as he undoubtedly knew hers, she knew the way his hand would curl at her waist to scratch against the leather of her jacket. She knew the way his mouth would part, the way he would breathe unevenly through his nose against the skin of her cheek to avoid breaking away.

She knew his heart.

He would let her pull away, if she wanted to. After everything he would let her let him go.

Not that she would.

Killian’s right hand rose to brush reverently against her cheek and at once they parted. A flicker of what she knew to be trepidation flashed in his eyes, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Something inside of her crumpled, and it felt like only really then that she understood just how many times she had let him down. Knowingly and unknowingly both.

I’m sorry, she wanted to say.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said instead.

Killian’s shoulders lifted in the barest shrug, his finger tracing a line behind her ear to wind its way around her hair.

“I’m done dwelling on the past.”

To his evident delight Emma tugged him back down to her, this time for longer than before. It was only when they broke apart to the whoops and crows of three other, equally delighted, people, that she realised just how not-alone she and Killian were. The other three Jolly Rogers watched from their spot at the side of the road with matching shit-eating grins.

Emma raised an eyebrow at Killian, whose arm had moved around to tuck her closer into his side. “I’ll never be able to get ten minutes alone with you, will I?”

“I could do with a break.” At Emma’s look of disbelief, he shrugged. “What did I say about refraining from kissing me after you’ve had onion rings? I can barely stomach you.”

Merida’s bus pulled into the parking lot to the chorus of Killian’s yelp, with Emma leaving him clutching at his side as she walked back over to the others.

***

"Swan?"

The hoarse whisper hovered just over the low rumbling of the bus, barely loud enough to rouse anybody from sleep —but then, Emma hadn't been sleeping. She had a feeling Killian hadn't been either.

When his face popped up over the edge of her bunk, eyes bright in the dim light, it all but confirmed it. He looked abut as wired as she felt, and she met his gaze warmly. He beamed.

"Mind if I —?" The guitarist gestured to the slim line of space between her and the railing at the edge of the bed, and in response Emma shuffled away to allow him a little more room. As quietly as he could, Killian hauled himself up the ladder and slid in beside her. "Christ," he muttered," these beds weren't made for two — ow." He knocked his head on the tip of the ladder and scowled, while Emma stifled a laugh.

A glance at her watch informed her it was nearly two in the morning. It also made her stomach twist both pleasantly and anxiously all over again when she thought about watches. The accessory had played crucial roles in some of the worst and best moments of her life now.

Killian, meanwhile, had righted himself as best he could, slinging his right arm over her hip and tugging her closer. Emma did not resist, and even nudged her leg between his.

"Hello," Killian murmured, just before their lips met gently.

Emma smoothed her hand up his chest, stopping once it reached the curve of his shoulder. "I'm sorry you sold the watch." She wanted to be a little more articulate than she had been when he'd first told her — it was important to her that he knew that.

"I'm not," Killian replied with the barest shrug. At Emma's disbelieving look he carried on, rubbing a hand down her back. "Honestly, Emma. It was just a piece of jewellery."

"You said it was the last thing you had left of your father."

For a moment he was silent, eyes dropping down to her fingers tracing patterns into the front of his shirt. "My father was not always a decent man," he said finally, although it was clear the words had been difficult for him to get out. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see it go to a deserving cause." Before she could reply he hastened to continue, murmuring her name to cut her off.

As she watched him expectantly, he breathed out an uncertain laugh. "I, erm… forgive me, I have to know. You're not going to get off this bus and change your mind, are you?"

His hand had frozen on her lower back, almost frightful of her response. With his mouth twisted in a wince and his body tensing, he appeared so much like somebody bracing for an impact that she laughed and knocked her forehead into his chest.

She could feel his smile into the crown of her head, but he worked on putting some space between them all the same. "I'm serious," he said, although the mirth in his eyes somewhat belied it, "I'm not sure I could make it through another of your unpredictable tides."

After a moment the laughter subsided, she let herself watch him, truly take him in a way she hadn't done for some time. His eyes appeared a deep navy in the low light, his left eyebrow raised in that barest approximation of hope she had come to see there, lips parted just so like he was waiting for her permission to breathe. Emma touched a hand to his cheek and his eyelids fluttered shut, leaning into the movement. He would let her back away, even now. Even with her in his arms he was offering her that one final chance, and she felt affection surge for him all the more because of it.

"I'm not changing my mind," she promised.

Killian's eyes flew open, watching her carefully.

"I want to see where this thing goes. I'm not saying I'm not terrified, because I am." Like standing at the edge of this unknown precipice, a jump she'd come so close to so many times before with this man — but now she was ready. "I'm petrified."

"I can feel you shaking," he hummed quietly, pressing a kiss to where her neck met her shoulders. "Trust me."

"I do," she murmured. "I want this future with you, and that's what scares me. Does that," she paused, pulling his face back up to meet her eyes, "does that sound crazy?"

Killian shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which quickly morphed into something more confident.

"It sounds like music to this pirate's ears."

Emma laughed, a loud, happy thing, and Killian did his best to hush her by drawing her into a kiss. For a few moments they just lay there, chuckling silently and trading affection, the slant of his lips against her own a welcome feeling. It was just as she felt his hand sliding lower across her back, sending a shot of excitement through as his eyes met hers, his intent clear, that she remembered exactly where they were.

And that they weren't entirely alone.

"Guys, that was adorable, but I swear to God if you have sex on this bus I will never forgive you."

Tina's voice pierced the silence like bursting a balloon — Killian instinctively shot back from Emma, which only led to him smacking his head onto the railing behind him at the edge of the bunk. Emma immediately snorted with laughter, which only increased as he rubbed the back of his head and sent a reproachful look in her direction.

"We'll turn you into Merida."

Robin's voice, too, floated down from further up the bus. Emma was grateful for the dark as she felt her face begin to heat up — it was hard enough laying herself bare in front of Killian, let alone his three best friends. Because she was certain, as much as she could be, that August would also be awake. The damn guy didn't miss a thing.

Tina made a noise of agreement. "Merida specifically said she wouldn't tolerate any funny business."

"Yet somehow," Killian bit back, "she tolerates you lot just fine." After a moment he clearly has no interest in ending, he reluctantly sat up on her bunk and shuffled back towards the ladder. Emma's hand on his leg served as her only protest, and Killian lifted it to place a kiss on the back of it. "I guess I'll have to wait to finally show you a good time, Swan," he winked, "and have you remember it."

Bizarrely, she found herself thinking of one of the post-its he had given her in Storybrooke so long ago. She'd very much like to know how it felt to hear him scream.

"I guess you will," she replied, making her intent clear.

She could tell Killian just resisted letting out a low whistle, before dropping down the ladder.

"Much better," Robin assured them. "No 'good times' should be had on the bus. Only terrible, not good times."

"August, stop reading," Tina urged, "I know you're doing it. Nobody can have fun on the bus!"

A barely distinguishable rustle came across from August's bunk. "Don't bring me into this."

As the teasing escalated into a sock skirmish (thus determined, claimed Robin, by August's tendency to use socks as missiles when disturbed) Emma forgot about her embarrassment. They were good at that, the Jolly Rogers. Helping her forget. Making her feel comfortable even when the only place she had ever felt safe was a hundred miles away. They had driven for hours through the night so that they could get to her, had defended her even when her opponent had been one of their closest friends, had cared for her. Without strings. Unashamedly. Wholly.

Mary Margaret would always be her sister, or as close to a sister as Emma would ever get. But these guys?

They were her family. The one she had chosen for herself.

And the one she would continue to choose, every fucking chance she got.

***

"You ready?" She had asked, a week later, as Killian wiped his palm on the edge of his jeans. To try and get rid of the sweat, she knew, it was practically rolling off of him in waves.

"As we'll ever be."

Emma squinted through the viewfinder on her camera, using Tina fiddling with the height of the microphone as her focus point. Beside her, Killian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, anxiety driving from him. At the other end of the room, Poseidon himself, his executive assistant and Eric Triton were just settling themselves into three large chairs. With their high backs and elaborate deorations around the arms, thrones was the first word that popped into Emma's head when she'd seen them. Imposing, powerful. Intimidating as hell.

Part of the reason Killian was reminding himself to breathe in and out.

"You heard what Eric said," she assured him, "this is just a formality. It's practically a done deal."

Killian looked at her sharply. "Not if he doesn't like us."

"He will."

The activity in the room was slowly beginning to wind down, each party slowly running out of ways to delay the inevitable. Emma gave him a gentle shove.

"Now get lost so I can take some decent photos, yeah?"

This time when Killian smiled down at her, she could tell he meant it. It was one of those goofy, wide smiles she had found he couldn't keep back when she was around. It had a somewhat irritating habit of making her stomach drop pleasantly. He smoothed a hand down her back.

"Such glowing words of encouragement," he mused, leaning to brush his lips against hers.

"Why bother?" she smirked once he pulled away. "It's not like my lack of encouragement ever held you back."

In response he patted his hand against her, and gave her one last amused glance over his shoulder before heading over to the others. His strat, perched primly against the wall, was soon lifted and slung over his shoulder, as he exchanged a few quiet words with Tina and August. Robin was settling himself down onto the stool behind his kit, and Tina then hummed a few quiet tests into the microphone.

Emma, meanwhile, took a few preparatory shots. After deciding the look Killian had sent her was altogether too deliberate, she stretched her arm behind her back — true enough, her fingers grazed something stuck there. Tugging it free, she realised it was a post-it. Some things never changed.

Wish me luck.

—K x.

When their eyes met again, she shook her head with a smile. He didn't need luck.

Soon enough, the low murmur of noise in the room slowly sunk into silence, Eric no longer murmuring into Poseidon's ear and the huge man instead surveying the group of musicians in front of him. Despite herself, Emma felt her pulse begin to thump a little bit quicker, glancing between the two sides of the room.

The twang of August's bass lurched from one of the amps, before fizzling out into nothing as he rushed to still the string.

Poseidon shifted in his seat. Emma's finger hovered over the shutter button. Killian cleared his throat.

Robin lifted his drumsticks to eye-level, pausing before clacking them together —

One, two —

Three, four —

The shutter clicked. The room exploded with sound.

And that was it.

And that’s it, folks! An epilogue will follow sometime in the near future because there are a few loose ends I’d like to tie up and I will always love my jolly rogers. almost as much as I love all of you! thank you so so much for your endless support + patience with my gaps between updates, I’ve loved being able to tell this story in the way I always wanted to.I hope you all liked how it ended, and maybe I’ll see you next time on another project!

peace & love / over & out!

-jay x

#jay writes #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs crew #ouat #emma swan #killian jones #cs au #the importance of being idle #complete #here is the finale!#I really hope you guys like it #it's been quite the ride #so for the final time #enjoy!

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magickalmenagerie · 7 years

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[Click Here for Leaderboard]

[Click here to submit a post for points if it is not reflected on the leaderboard after 48 hours.]

Welcome to the Phantom Fair! This event is going to be quite a fantastic journey and will hopefully bring our community even closer together. The Phantom Fair Tournament is based off of the Tumblr Platform and will require a Tumblr account to take part. They are quick and free to make, and you will find a fantastic spirit companionship community there.

The Phantom Fair is based off of three teams. You can choose which team you'd like to be on, and do item #1 on the task list at the end of this section to officially begin taking part. We will have a roster with names, teams, and points that will be updated periodically. If you have checked back twice in 48 hours and not seen something you did posted on the roster, but you completed it and followed the rules, please send us an email with the subject line "Phantom Fair Points."

Here's a little about the fabulous teams taking part in this year's Phantom Fair.

These fabulous teams are based off of three amazing animals -- the Deer, the Raven, and the Ox. These three teams represent some fabulous quality that people in our community have. If you feel you identify with one over the others, you have just found your team!

How does the competition work?

The competition is composed of a number of people on different teams. Every post you make and activity you complete will gain you and your team points. The team with the most points at the end of the period will receive a very special prize explained below, and the person with the most points will get a special prize as well.

You simply perform a task, post it publicly on tumblr, add your hashtags as described below, and tag @magickalmenagerie so that we spot it. If you have not seen it uploaded on the leaderboard here within 48 hours of completion, please email us with the tagline Phantom Fair Points.

There will be certain spotlight events that will award large sums to teams or individuals based on the structure of the event. We will announce these in advance.

Remember, you aren't required to do everything, so if there is something that you are uncomfortable doing or are unable to do, you can still compete!

The Easy Challenges are meant to get you connected with your community, connected to good vibrations, and thinking about yourself, your life, and your network. They should be easy tasks that take no more than 5 minutes. Don't overthink it!

Note that 3 and 4 are the only ones on this list that won’t require a post of some sort.

Choose which team you wish to be a part of, and make a post about why you wished to choose that team or why you think it is fitting for you.

Find yourself a Fair Buddy. This can be someone you know already, or you can make friends by reaching out and asking someone (you can use the tag #phantomfairfriend). Your post seeking a fair buddy or a re-blog of the fair advertisement with your friend’s name tagged will complete this challenge.

Change your ID tag to your team tag (click for link).

Follow @magickalmenagerie and write “followed” in the comments on the original advertisement.

Write a list of 8 things that inspire you.

In one paragraph, explain your dream altar and things that you would have on it.

Make a playlist of 3 or more songs that get you in the mood for magick. Share them with us!

Write an elemental magick haiku using your favorite element.

Write a post about/dedicated to someone in the community (or not!) who has inspired your craft.

Make a collage or color scheme dedicated to one of your spirit companions. If you do not have a spirit companion, dedicate it to a species you feel drawn to, a deity, or an element.

Watch a movie or show with a certain companion and write about your experiences.

Make a crystal grid to pay homage to an entity, energy, or deity.

Do a sketch or draw a quick doodle to pay honor to an entity, energy, or deity.

Light a candle offering for your entity companions, energies, or a deity/deities.

Fill an offering plate with sugar and spices for your companions.

Take your companion's vessels outside or place them on a window-sill. Take a family picture.

Reblog a picture of a place you would like to visit for spiritual reasons. Tag as needed.

Post an image of how you believe one of your companions looks.

Make a post listing your companions, what they are good at, and how long you have known them for.

Make a list of your favorite spirit keeping blogs.

The Intermediate Challenges are meant to allow you to get to know your higher self, your companions, and your goals much better. These tasks could take anywhere from 5 minutes to 30 minutes depending on the task and how much focus it requires. These can be done many different times for points as long as the post itself is remarkably different.

Write or illustrate your dream temple, if you could have one, and what it would include.

Write a story, real or imagined, about an astral journey with your closest guide.

Write a letter or homage to one or several of your companions.

Make a small altar or describe one that you would make for your companions. Bonus points for linking neat items you find on amazon or on other websites.

Write about one of your favorite paranormal species and why they interest you.

Write about one of your most intense or exciting spiritual experiences to date.

Write about a past life experience or recall that you have had.

Make a Pinterest board dedicated to one or multiple entities [Inspired by @divineeclecticism]

Write about what spirit keeping/companionship means to you and why you got involved in the first place.

Write about ways you have grown spiritually in the last year.

Write about your belief system, or what type of paganism/witchcraft/religion/spirituality that you follow or believe in, if any, and how your worked on forming your beliefs.

Get into the spiritual zone and write a magickally charged poem.

Make a playlist of songs, one for each of your companions.

If you could meet anyone in the astral, whom would it be and why?

Make a moodboard for your witchy self that describes your path and passion.

Draw a sigil for personal peace, personal wealth, or personal health, and share it.

Find and share a poem or literary excerpt/quote that means something of significance to you spiritually or has inspired you in some profound way.

Make a list of magickal arts, traditions, skills, or abilities that you wish to excel in.

Share one of your favorite witch tips, something that has helped you substantially.

Do you have a family history involved with spirituality? If so, talk about it. If not, explain how you became interested in the spiritual arts.

Write something motivational for others today, inspiring them or helping them hold out hope.

What is the largest lesson that your spiritual path has taught you, and how did you come to learn it?

How do you see or perceive your astral self? Do you like this image or not? Why?

What helps you get into the witchy 'zone'? Aromatherapy, crystals, music? Share what helps and why you think it helps.

What do you think is the largest misconception in the spiritual pursuit, spirit companionship in particular.

The Expert Challenges are meant to help you communicate with your companions better, experience other planes, and strengthen your astral skills, as well as peering into yourself more deeply. These may require a bit more time and patience, so set aside time for them, and don't be upset if you cannot complete them in one sitting. You can still write about your experience even if you feel it is 'incomplete.'

The Mermaid: Download and work on the Beach Bliss Pathworking, and review your experience with it, what you saw and experienced.

The Vampire: Align your chakras, and visualize them. What do you see? What do you feel as you energize and realign them?

The Fairy: Go into nature or if you are in a concrete jungle, find a store or location that makes you feel close to nature. Bring home something that calls to you (don't break the law!). Take a photo and share why it's significant.

The Muse: Download and work on the Adventures in Oichana Pathworking and review your experience. Explain what you saw, who you met, and what you did.

The Vision: Draw, Paint, or Illustrate a spiritual scene or spiritual figure that means a lot to you.

The Priest/ess: Create and set up a seasonal altar for Autumn/Samhain/Halloween. Simple is a-ok! Take a photo of it and share any pertinent details.

The Cook: Share a recipe, herbal blend, or tea recipe that you feel lends power and influence in the season. A spirited tea, harvest entree, or salve for a cold would be a good idea. If you take this recipe from anywhere, please be sure to cite the author.

The Visionary: Download and work on the Chalice of Visions Pathworking. Share what you saw, what was significant to you, and what you felt during your pathworking.

The Hermit: Write about a powerful spiritual experience you have had, and why it left you in awe. The difference between this and the Intermediate Version, is we would like you to share how you prepared for this event, how you felt afterward, and if you feel it is still having an influence on you.

The Dreamer: Describe a powerful dream you had, what you think it meant, and explain what you felt from it and if anything bizarre happened after you had the dream.

The Child Seer: Describe your earliest paranormal experience, who it was with, and if you told anyone/how it was received.

The Diviner: Download and work on the Soul Purpose Meditation. This is a two part meditation. Claim 100 points each for writing about each part in a different post.

The Merchant [I]: Share your top ten wishlist of witchy items, spirit companion custom conjures, books, herbs, and more!

The Merchant [II]: Download and work on the Bazaar Adventure pathworking. Talk about what you saw, experienced, and even bought.

The Herbalist: Share your favorite incense or herbal blend, the recipe if you have it, and what it is good for.

The Bride: Is your significant other spiritually minded? Do you wish they were if not? If you are single, what do you look for spiritually or religiously in a mate if anything?

The Familiar: Do you have an animal or spirit familiar? Write about them, what their name is, what they look like, and how they have helped you.

The Teacher: Write about a historical figure you feel uniquely tied to or are strangely fascinated with. Who were they? What did they do? Why do you think you are drawn to them?

The Mage: What is the most powerful magickal or spiritual thing you have ever done? How did it go? What memories do you have of it and would you/could you do this thing again?

The Illusionist: Download and work on the Manual Re-Set Ritual. Explain what your experience is like, if it benefitted you, and what your thoughts are on it.

The Dragon: Display your magickal item treasure trove -- whatever items you are comfortable showing. Explain what they are and what they mean to you.

The Siren: Take a magickally charged bath (salts and hydrogen peroxide are purifying, but you can definitely use a bath bomb, powerful herbal concoctions, anything you are not allergic to, really). Endure this with the intent of purging that which you do not want to keep with you. What did you let go today? What did you see?

The Oracle: What would your ideal witchy-self look like? how would they dress? How would they speak? Where would they live? What would their hobbies be?

The Warrior: What are you fighting most with your spiritual journey? What are your biggest fears?

The Wizard: Write a spell in poem or limerick form to help with a problem you are having. Share it with us.

The Hierophant: What has been your biggest struggle on your path? Do you have to hide it from anyone? What has aided you on this journey?

The Mirror Maiden: Ask your companion to show you a sign, symbol, or vision when you close your eyes. Wait for it. It could be a number, a plant, a word, a sound... don't rule anything out. Once you see, hear, or feel it, see if you can't find out what it means. Use dream dictionaries and symbolism websites.

The Keeper of Memories: Share your favorite memory, one you can call on when you feel overwhelmed. Why is this memory so impactful?

The King: What is the change you wish to bring to the world, and is there a way that spirituality can do this for you?

The Queen: Is there a change you wish to bring about inside yourself, and is there any way that spirituality can do this for you? What do you hope to achieve?

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natsubeatsrock · 7 years

Text

An Open Letter to the Nalu Fandom

Dear Nalu Fandom

Not too long ago after I was rereading my letter to the anti-Nali fandom, I saw a letter from a Nalu fan that accused the anti-fandom of being in denial. I saw a person respond to the letter saying they were wrong, but the truth is that they were right.

The anti-fandom is totally in denial.

I mean, the new wave of people in the anti-Nalu camp totally isn’t just a natural reaction to a ship they didn’t like that was totally popular not being officially confirmed by the series creator. No, that’s totally insane. You guys are right to say that this is just our way of coping with the fact that Natsu and Lucy are clearly in love.

There are plenty of people who might say, “Mashima said that he wasn’t planning on making Nalu canon?” While it’s true that he said that was his original plan, in the same interview, he also said that he’s writing Natsu and Lucy to be “more than friends, less than lovers”. That obviously means that his plan is to make them grow from being friends into lovers, just like he always planned on doing. Because of course friendships between guys and girls will end in a romance between them. I mean, it’s not like there’s popular romantic ship in our fandom that involves two characters of the opposite sex liking each other and not actually being friends first.

But even if that wasn’t clear enough for us, the last chapter should have made it clear as day. I mean, it’s obvious that Natsu’s insistence that they would “still be together from here on out” (I use the official translation), was one hundred percent a romantic statement and not in any way related to the fact that they were going on the Century Quest with the rest of Team Natsu. Obviously, we want to interpret it as the latter because we hate Nalu so much as to ignore what has obviously been portrayed in the series. Not to mention, there were no Nali moments in the last chapter.

And frankly, this wouldn’t have been the first time. You guys have been calling us out on how much we don’t care about canon. I mean, as a Nali shipper myself, I find it hard to grapple with the fact that there are so many romantic moments and character interactions between the two main characters of the series as opposed to a ship that hasn’t had a moment since the beginning of the arc. Obviously, that’s better and more profound than liking a ship you’d have to believe would withstand a separation of two years and the grieving process. There are so many examples of that in media already.

Obviously, Lucy’s reaction to Natsu groping her after Universe One was a clear sign that she was okay with Natsu groping her and not a totally disgusting fanservice moment. As was the fact that a while earlier, he had no real reaction to seeing her in her underwear. His complete and total apathy towards Lucy’s state of undress, especially as opposed to Loke’s reaction, shows that he absolutely can’t be asexual. Take that, FT fans in the LGBTQ+ community that claims to want to have harmless headcanons about being represented that don’t necessarily affect the prospect of Nalu. Clearly, the only reason you care is so that you can discredit the true one true pair of Fairy Tail. Or as I like to call it, the TOTPOFT.

Clearly. Natsu leaving her a letter after deciding to abandon her to train without telling her to her face made his actions okay. And getting the guild back together after seeing Lucy’s map was a great way for him to apologize for hurting Lucy even though what he did was apparently not wrong. I mean, it’s not like they would have gotten the guild back together because Natsu wants the guild back and Lucy has a way to get them back. Or that Hiro Mashima messed up in making Natsu seem correct for his clearly wrong actions, while also making Gray the villain for basically doing the same thing. Even to the point of addressing that issue in canon. I just made two posts about that subject because I’m in denial.

Clearly, stuff like chapter covers, which are usually not actually part of the chapter proper, point to how romantic Nalu is. I mean, chapter covers like that for chapter 520 obviously are proof that Natsu and Lucy would go on dates and that he’d let Lucy wear his scarf, which is the only thing he now has to remember his dad by. And it’s not like there’s a chapter cover of Natsu, Happy and Lisanna together, right?

And don’t even get me started on the omakes and filler. Clearly, if the stuff that’s a part of the canon universe mean nothing to us, then the stuff that, if anything, have even less if any weight on the actual narrative of Fairy Tail should have convinced us that Natsu and Lucy are totally in love.

How could anyone not see the Opening/Ending 15 and not realize that Natsu and Lucy totally like each other, despite containing events that never actually happened in canon?

How could anyone have read the chapter Mashima made outright clear isn’t a part of the canon timeline and created an explanation for every out of place special chapter after it and not see that Lucy’s most important day together was when she met Natsu?

Don’t you remember that scene near the end of the Key of the Starry Sky arc where Natsu ran to save Lucy from falling from the sky? Clearly, as a callback to the scene from the Phantom Lord arc, it’s a sign that he would only have done that if he had romantic feelings for Lucy, and in no way similar to the exact same moment happening in the last arc with Erza.

(I’d make a comment on Stone Age here, but I haven’t read it.)

And we haven’t even got into the Twitter stuff. Guys, if the stuff that’s even only kind of actually happened in the series hasn’t convinced you that Hiro Mashima has made Nalu canon, the stuff that’s never actually happened and, in many cases, never could happen should have convinced us that he’s made Nalu canon. I mean, it’s not like he would draw things that he knows a lot of his fans will enjoy for fun. He’s doing this to prove the idiots that still think Nalu isn’t canon wrong.

Take those two Nalu pictures from a while ago. It’s obvious that Natsu and Lucy are totally in a BDSM relationship with each other. I mean, you’d have to be an idiot to believe that a couple with as much development as they do wouldn’t be in a sexual relationship with each other. What kind of idiot would actually believe that Nalu would just have a special kind of romantic relationship where nothing overtly romantic happens? That would be out of character for them. And it’s not like Mashima drew a picture of, I don’t know, Makarov and Ichiya in the exact same pose.

So, yeah, you got us. We’re clearly just unable to face the reality that the best and most popular ship in Fairy Tail is canon. ❤️

Sincerely,

A member of the Anti-Nalu fandom who’s clearly been too hurt by Nalu not happening to make a new anti post and isn’t busy following other series, working on other projects or anything having to do with real life responsibilities. To be honest, I wanted to talk about Gajevy, but I finished this first so...

P.S. Nalus (I ain't done yet.)

I also want to apologize on behalf of the people in the anti-Nalu fandom who have said mean things about the Nalu fandom on their own blogs. Clearly, the fact that anyone has the audacity to say that the Nalu fandom is terrible after having plenty of bad incidents with their fans, seeing the mean things they say to other people and having almost no good interactions with any of them is in the wrong and that makes it okay to harass them and call them mean names. This especially applies if they properly tag their stuff and the only reason you’re able to see it is that you don’t understand Tumblr’s search and tag systems.

Our bad, Nalu fans.

#fairy tail #anti anti anti nalu #anti nalu #nalusgonnanalu #poe's law #look it up #real talk: ed 15 was trash #adding it into the anti tag because the joke is done #should i do this more?#fav

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wingslovesfiction · 7 years

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tagged by: @monkeysatemylastrolo (here is her post) who is writing the lovely Supernatural/Avengers crossover fanfic Trading places on AO3 under the username Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge. I think I found your AO3 profile and therefore your fic through your tumblr, then promplty forgot about it cause you have a very different username :D rules: you must answer these 85 statements and tag 20 people tagging: This is so difficult... @tigerlilynoh @semirahrose @denugis @l-e-i-n-t-h @posingasme I’d tag @eruthiawenluin but she’s already answered here, @rirren @fioreitaliano @mixgoldenphoenix @forlorn-kumquat @waterbird13 but only if they want to. Any anyone else who wants to. :)

Sorry, but I’m incapable of giving short answers, apparently.

the last 1. drink: water. pretty much always. 2. phone call: my father, day before yesterday, about some potential tenants. 3. text message: ...also to my father, apparently. It was over a week ago, letting him and my mom know know when I was getting back. 4. song you listened to: not sure... it was in a fanvid, probably? I’ve rewatched sone SPN fanvids recently. Oh, no, it was that Anaconda/Phantom of the Opera mashup on here, wasn’t it? Yikes. 5. time you cried: I cry pretty rarely, and that’s usually because of a piece of fiction... it was either Atonement (movie with James McAvoy), or else a movie I don’t even know the title of, it just involved a grandmother almost dying, and I happened to be in the room at that part, and a relative of ours died recently - and I did not cry then, this stupid movie just triggered it somehow. 6. dated someone twice: how do you even count dates if you’re aroace but you slowly drift into a relatioship with your best (only) friend on a “I want to try this” basis? But I suppose the answer is: now, since I have a boyfriend at the moment. 7. kissed someone and regretted it: 2012 iirc, first time I tried kissing and hated it. But it was also good to know I don’t like it, so it’s not a big regret. Recenty it turned out I can like kissing, though. 8. been cheated on: never. 9. lost someone special: Mum’s cousin died a couple of months ago. 10. been depressed: it’s not to diagnosable levels, but I’m depressed and anxious a lot when I’m stressed, so this January-April had some difficult parts when I was writing my thesis. But 2013 autumn (I think?) was the only time I went to a therapist for it, cause wanting to die instead of dealing with stuff is not a nice thought to have that often. 11. gotten drunk and thrown up: never. I drink so rarely and so little when I do that I don’t think it will ever happen.

3 favorite colors 12. green 13. blue 14. yellow if mixed with the first two. Otherwise silver?

in the last year have you 15. made new friends: yes (but not close friends) 16. fallen out of love: so far I seem to be 100% aromantic... 17. laughed until you cried: Laughed a lot, yes, but I don’t remember if I ever cried from laughing. 18. found out someone was talking about you: what does this even mean? in secret? no. 19. met someone who changed you: do people who teach you stuff count? 20. found out who your friends are: ...no? 21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: what facebook list? I only kissed one person, and we are friends on fb, yes...

general 22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: All of them. I only have people on there who are to do with my real life, not my internet life. “knowing” them might be an exaggeration, though. 23. do you have any pets: my family has one cat atm. 24. do you want to change your name: Nope. 25. what did you do for your last birthday: parents, siblings & their SOs, cake. 26. what time did you wake up: Midday... 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: sat in my parents’s car, coming back from a day trip to the Cserhát mountains. 28. name something you can’t wait for: I’m good right now... I’d rather this summer dragged on forever, since I just got my degree and start work in September (as much as I love my future job). There’s movies I’m looking forward to, but I can wait. 29. when was the last time you saw your mum: a second ago. 31. what are you listening to right now: birdsong; my parents talking at times. 32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: I don’t think so. Maybe. Does the Hungarian equivalent of the name count? 33. something that is getting on your nerves: politics and news. More personally (tmi?): the roots of my body hair getting inflamed all the time. 34. most visited website: gmail, technically, from where I go to FFNet or AO3 for fanfic updates. Recently, tumblr is creeping back up. 35. hair colour: brown. 36. long or short hair: short (pixie!). I got it cut almost exactly 2 years ago, I wore it long before then. 37. do you have a crush on someone: No, still aro. 38. what do you like about yourself: I have a high IQ. It has its drawbacks (mainly my conscience screaming “why are you not doing MORE if you have the ability”), but I don’t know what I’d do without it. 39. piercings: no. 40. blood type: I don’t know. 41. nickname: Wings on the internet, rather not say in person. My given name is from the Bible so it’s pretty common in a lot of countries, but the nickname for it that I use only exists in my country (Hungary). 42. relationship status: like I said: ‘dating’ my best friend who knows I’m aro and (mostly?) ace, on the basis “let’s give it a try since we enjoy each other’s company”. It’s going well, so far, but he’s been in Germany for the past few months on a scholarship. 43. zodiac: Taurus (ascendant: Libra) 44. pronouns: she/her 45. favourite tv show: I have a lot of stuff I love a lot, it changes over time which one I’m focused on. I don’t have the objectivity to choose from them. Supernatural and Stargate: SG-1 deserve mentioning because I haven’t only read a ton of fanfic for them, I have also written a bit. 46. tattoos: nope. 47. right or left handed: right. 48. surgery: None. My broken arm only needed a cast. 49. piercing: I’d like to leave monkeysatemylastrolo’s answer here: “Why is ‘piercing’ any different from the ‘piercings’ of question 39? Is there some special magical power people gain depending on the number of piercings they have?” 50. sport: Tai chi (Taijiquan). It’s great. It’s martial arts and meditation but it’s slow moving and graceful and I could start it when I was out of breath just going up the stairs. Never looked back. I would like swimming, if *something* wouldn’t always get in the way. 51. vacation: I’m spending my summer with my parents in my childhood home. It counts as vacation because there’s clean air and lakes and I won’t be living here from September, when I start working in Budapest. 52. pair of trainers: yes? What about them? I have two pairs of cheap flat-soled ones for tai chi, and a pair of not-really-trainers for street wear (white, black, and light green, respecitvely). 53. eating: I just had some ice cream cake left over from my dad’s birthday. 54. drinking: water. again. 55. i’m about to: dunno. Read fanfic, probably, or answer some emails if there are any potential tenants. 56. waiting for: my graduation ceremony in two weeks? 57. want: realistically? To enjoy and earn enough money with the job I’m starting in September. Unrealistically? Superpowers, preferably ones involving flight, preferably wings + the assorted powers I made up. 58. get married: Probably not. I might enter a long-term relationship in order to raise children, if I come to want any, and then it might be worth it for legal&economic reasons, but... 59. career: Translator (Hungarian, English, some German). Just starting out. 60. hugs or kisses: Hugs. Not from everyone, though. 61. lips or eyes: is this a “what do I notice on people as attractive” question? In person: nothing. I do notice the eyes of some actors I’m a fan of, and the lips of one cause they’re always improbably red. 62. shorter or taller: I’m of average height for a woman, I think. 63. older or younger: Than whom? I’m 27. 64. nice arms or nice stomach: again: is this a “what do I notice on people as attractive” question? Again, nothing. 65. hook up or relationship: Mostly neither, but I have to say relatinship since I have something like that at the moment, and I never had a hook up. 66. troublemaker or hesitant: I’m mostly hesitant, except about stuff like climbing a tree on a hike or stuff like that.

have you ever 67. kissed a stranger: No. I’m definitely not attracted to strangers. 68. drank hard liquor: yes, to try the tase, or to settle my stomach, but always just a minimal amount. 69. lost glasses/contact lenses: Nope. Never had contacts. I did sit on my glasses on a holiday once, and they warped pretty badly, so I was without them for a little over a week... 70. turned someone down: Yes. All three people that ever asked me out, all of them after one or two dates (I felt like I had to try), all before I heard or thought about aromanticism and asexuality. The second involved a lot of tears, but then I was friends with him for a long time after that. 71. sex on the first date: Nope. 72. broken someone’s heart: I don’t think so. It might be on the horizon, though, if the boy I’m dating comes to love me and comes to hate the fact that I don’t feel that strongly... 73. had your heart broken: Romantically: nope, still 100% aromantic. It breaks my heart what we’re doing to the planet (and ourselves), though. Seriously, I have cried about that more than once. 74. been arrested: No, not even close. 75. cried when someone died: I think I only cried at the funeral, not when I got the news. 76. fallen for a friend: Never been in love!

do you believe in 77. yourself: Repeat after me: “I believe in myself.” 78. miracles: I believe in some stuff that sceptics would say is unscientific nonsense, partly cause I’ve experienced some of it, partly cause I’m hoping it’s true, but I wouldn’t classify them as miracles. 79. love at first sight: for some people, I guess it’s possible, I mean, there are enough stories about it. 80. santa claus: we don’t even have him in Hungary in the same form as americans&co do :) A dude based on Saint Nicholas comes on his day, the 6th of December and brings chocolate, tangerines and peanuts, but I know it’s my parents :) Christmas gifts are brought by the baby Jesus’s angels (again, also known as my parents). 81. kiss on the first date: Is that something to believe in? If you want it, do it, it doesn’t have anything to do with me. 82. angels: Ehh... no? Souls or similar, yes, some kind of afterlife, yes, because I don't think the human mind is just flesh, but anything as specific as angels? I have no way of knowing, and I don’t want to dismiss other religions by saying I believe in something that’s specific to only a few of them, so...

other 83. current best friend’s name: I only have the one close friend, who I’m “dating”, and I’m not telling you his name. (I’m bad at relationships. Not just romantic ones, but friendly ones as well. I have people I’m friendly with, but maintaining a relationship outside fixed programs like school, work, tai chi training, choir practice, etc. - how does one even do that?! I’m too lazy and too selfishly satisfied with my own company to spend my energy on that, apparently.) 84. eye color: green, but brownish (is that hazel?) 85. favorite movie: see question 45 about favorite TV show, except I never actually managed to write fanfic for any of them. How do I choose?!?! Star Wars, I guess? Return of the Jedi, if I have to choose one from them. The Matrix, if you want something a bit less fandom-y.

#I'm not proofreading this #sorry if I accidentally left in an answer by monkeysatmylastrolo #or for spelling mistakes #I have my spellcheck off because you can't set two languages at the same time #so it would always underline either everything in hun or everything in eng and that got annoying #personal #tumblr stuff #tumblr games #reblog if...#my post #post by me #I need to revise my tagging system #this took absurdly long #but it's way less stressful than answering people lookinf for a flat #which is what I'm supposed to be doing

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the-captains-ayebrows · 7 years

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A Family For Christmas (2/2)

I swore to myself that I would post this thing by the end of January and here it is with 6 minutes to go! This is at least partially unbeta-ed so please to forgive. I may go back and fix it later if need be.

This is the second part of my Gutter Flower Christmas gift to @shady-swan-jones. It does verge into M-ish territory, but Sophie, I must confess that it’s not as M as I told you earlier. I tamed it down a bit... Sorry?

Recap: Emma Swan and Killian Jones have a deal. She helps him find his half-brother, he helps her adopt her son. Her case is going great. His... not so much. Over late nights and Chinese take-out, their partnership has developed into friendship. Or could it be something more?

When we last saw Emma and Killian, Emma had just completed her home-study visit with Sister Blue from Henry’s orphanage, who (shocker) mistook Emma and Killian for a couple. There was hugging. There was almost a kiss? Maybe?

Catch up on AO3 here, or Tumblr here.

Re: Cause No. 2016-362-0815, “In the Interest of Henry Swan”

Dear Mr. Jones,

After review of the adoption request submitted by your client as well as the initial home study report by Sister Blue, it is our great pleasure to inform you that your client, Ms. Emma Swan has been approved…

Killian scanned through the rest of the email quickly, already buzzing with excitement on Emma’s behalf. She could meet Henry that very day. His first instinct was to call her immediately, but this news was far too important to give her over the phone. No, no. He would text her - some flimsy pretext to get her to his office - then he would tell her. Maybe make her squirm a bit first, let her pester him for information as to whether he’d heard back from the Sisters or some such thing. Her face when he finally told her would be well worth it. Yes, that was just what he would do.

-/-

“Okay, I’m here. So what’s with the cryptic text m-”

“You’ve been approved to meet Henry!”

Emma blinked once, twice, as Killian’s outburst began to sink in. Bloody hell, he’d practically shouted it at her. So much for making her squirm. Ah, well. He hadn’t counted on the way she’d look before he told her - the furrow of her brow, the way her body seemed to be tensed like a spring ready to snap.

Still, even that was better than the way she looked at him now. She stood stock still, eyes wide as saucers - clearly in a terrible shock - and Killian’s hand began drifting up to rub at the back of his neck, a stammered explanation on the tip of his tongue.

“I, ah - I mean to say the Sisters-”

“I get to see Henry?” Emma interrupted in a whisper almost as though afraid if she spoke too loudly this small victory would be taken away from her.

Killian couldn’t help the warmth in his gaze, nor the smile that spread across his face and grew broader as Emma’s own lips seemed to finally catch on and mirror his. “Aye, love. You get to see Henry.”

“I get to see Henry!” Suddenly Emma’s entire being changed from that of a stone statue to a confetti-filled balloon bursting in a flurry of joy all over his office.

Never in a thousand years would he ever have believed he’d see the day that Emma Swan bounced - literally bounced - around his office babbling like a brook, and yet here she was. He allowed himself to savor it, awash in amusement and amazement as he observed her, never interrupting except to give quick answers to her when’s, where’s and how’s. Storing the images up to warm himself on some lonely night in the near future when her case was complete and she wouldn’t need him anymore.

Not that he thought he’d never see her again when the case was over. They were friends (as he kept reminding himself over and over each time he felt the phantom of Emma’s embrace from the day before) and would remain such. Yet, he’d grown accustomed to her constant presence in his office and his life and surely that would taper off once she began caring full time for her son. Killian wasn’t jealous of the lad, not at all. It’s just that… well, he would miss her.

And so he watched her celebrate. Just a moment more. Just one last look at the way she glowed as she gestured wildly in her excitement, and then it was time to resume his role as her attorney. He walked around his desk to catch her by the upper arms, chuckling as she quivered in his grasp.

“Swan, there will still be more steps in the process after this. You’ll be limited to supervised visits at the group home before Henry can move in with you, and then there will be a second home visit either by one of the Sisters or a social worker after Henry’s been settled a couple of weeks. You’ll have to submit character references to the court and-”

“I don’t care!” She shook her head, still smiling bright as day. “Killian, I get to meet my son, and it’s all thanks to you and…”

She trailed off and Killian only had a fraction of a second to notice the way her eyes had drifted down to his mouth before she lunged forward and kissed him. It wasn’t a romantic kiss exactly, more like a protracted smack of lips. He didn’t really even have time for his brain to catch up and give him the wherewithal to kiss her back, but it was enough. He felt rather like a cartoon character who’s just been struck with a frying pan, his ears ringing with the sound of that same bell he’d heard the day he met her, but this time the chimes echoed the very thing that he’d tried not to think, tried not to admit to himself, but could no longer deny. He was in love with Emma Swan.

He didn’t have time to dwell on the realization, however. Some part of his mind registered as she pulled back that she looked for a moment nearly as stupefied as he felt, but then she swatted his arm, snapping him back to attention.

“Get your keys!” She shoved him lightly in the chest to encourage him to move.

“What?”

“So you can lock up. This could take - wait. You don’t have anything scheduled for the rest of the day, do you? Nevermind. I don’t care, just reschedule it. We’re going to meet my son!”

“We are?” He’d assumed Emma would want to go alone to meet Henry for the first time - it was such a pivotal and personal moment after all. Surely, she wouldn’t want him tagging along?

She strode past him toward the door, and turned back to stare at him as though he’d grown a second head. “Of course we are. Come on!”

He shook his head minutely, clearing out the last of the daze left behind by her kiss, then retrieved his keys as commanded. “As you wish, Swan. I’ll drive.”

-/-

Emma’s initial exuberance waned the longer they drove, giving way to agitation. She began with worrying her lower lip between her teeth, which admittedly Killian found a bit distracting for reasons completely unrelated to his concerns for her mental state. Next came the fidgeting: crossing and uncrossing her legs, a bouncing knee, a complete inability to keep her fingers off the radio buttons. By the time they reached the orphanage, her white-knuckled grip on the door handle indicated she’d reached a level of outright panic.

“Alright there, Swan?” Killian asked as he shifted the car into park.

She turned to him looking like the proverbial deer caught in headlights. “What if he hates me? I mean…” She inhaled deeply, flopping back against her seat and turning her face skyward. “What am I supposed tell him when he asks me why I gave him up? Why it took me so long to find him?”

Gingerly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to, Killian reached out and took her hand. He waited until she met his eyes to speak. “Just tell him the truth. He’ll understand - in time if not right away.”

Emma started to turn away again, but Killian tugged gently on their joined hands to bring her attention back to him. “Emma, look at me.” She met his gaze, and he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging nod. “He’s going to love you.”

Emma still looked unconvinced, but she laced their fingers together and squeezed tightly. “Thank you.”

“You ready?”

Emma gave a tight lipped smile and determined nod. “Let’s go.”

-/-

The bloody chair in the bloody waiting room was uncomfortable as all hell, and how bloody long could it possibly take to go and find a ten year-old boy in a building this bloody small, and if Emma didn’t stop picking at her bloody fingernails she’d end up a bloody mess. Literally. Oh god, he was a nervous wreck on her behalf.

To be fair, it had truly only been about fifteen minutes since Sister Nova had greeted them at the door and showed them into this “introduction room” as she’d called it, but every second felt like an eternity. He wanted to hold Emma’s hand again, to offer her some measure of physical comfort, but it didn’t seem appropriate. He’d already given the Sisters the wrong impression once about his relationship with Emma. He blanched a bit, remembering how Sister Blue had looked at the two of them. She must’ve seen it, his feelings for Emma. Must’ve known what he himself hadn’t yet been able to put into words.

He looked over at Emma taking in the furrow of her brow, the way her eyes darted between the clock on the wall and her own twisting fingers in her lap. This was hardly the time for him to be thinking about his own feelings. Today was about her and her boy.

He stood abruptly, seeming to startle her to attention. “Swan, would you like me to-”

“Mom?”

The door swung open to reveal Sister Nova standing behind a young lad with dark brown eyes, a tousled mop of mousy hair and his mother’s chin. He didn’t move from the doorway at first, and Killian could see in his eyes that same wariness that Emma possessed, yet there was shade of difference. Where Emma often refused to believe that anything good could happen to her, as if that belief would make it easier for her happiness to be taken away, this boy wanted to believe. He practically vibrated with hope, and perhaps it was that bright energy radiating from him that finally prompted Emma to move.

She hesitantly rose from her seat, her eyes devouring every detail of the boy in front of her. “Hi,” she breathed out in a watery voice, raising one hand in an awkward attempt at a wave. “I’m - I’m Emma. I’m your-”

“Mom!” In a few surprisingly quick strides, Henry’s little legs carried him across the room, practically tackling Emma into a hug, one side of his face pressed against her stomach. “You found me! I knew you’d find me.”

After the first few seconds of shock, Emma leaned down and slowly wound her arms around the boy’s back. Killian felt the prick of moisture in the corners of his eyes as Emma looked at him over her son’s head, her expression equal parts awe and terror. She swallowed hard, and Killian felt a lump rise in his own throat as she mouthed her thanks to him before closing her eyes and resting her chin atop Henry’s hair.

“Yeah, kid,” she murmured. “I finally did.”

-/-

After the first couple of successful visits at the orphanage, the Sisters had finally permitted Emma to take Henry off campus for dinner. Emma had insisted that Killian come along, and Killian had insisted in return that she permit him to treat her and her son to Granny’s finest. It seemed only fitting that their first meal together should be at Emma’s favorite diner.

“I have to ask, kid - how did you know I would find you eventually?” Emma tried to cover her unease at her own question by taking a large bite of her grilled cheese.

Henry screwed up his face in thought. “It was hard sometimes, especially when other kids got adopted…”

Emma’s face crumpled and it was all Killian could do not to reach for her, but Henry continued, building momentum as he told his tale. “Then my teacher, Ms. Blanchard, she gave me this book. It was all fairytales, but not the usual ones. Anyway, there was this story in it about a princess who gets lost and doesn’t find her family again until she’s a grown-up, but she does find them, and I figured maybe that could happen to me someday. Like maybe it’s never too late to find your family. I just had to hold onto my esperance.”

“Esperance?” Emma asked bemusedly.

Henry ducked his head to the side, seeming to study his french fries intently as his cheeks pinkened. “It means ‘hope’. Ms. Blanchard - she has this Word of the Day calendar…”

Killian smiled, thinking to himself that he’d very much like to shake this Ms. Blanchard’s hand. “Ah! So you fancy elaborate words, do you lad?”

Henry perked up immediately at the acknowledgment, all traces of shyness gone. “Indubitably!” Henry glowed with pride at Emma and Killian’s matching grins. “That was one of my words from last week. I’m gonna be a writer!”

“And a fine one you’ll make I’m sure, if you’re anything as clever as your mum.” Killian spared a glance over at Emma who was making a token attempt at rolling her eyes at him, but her countenance held a softness that belied any real annoyance.

“But,” Killian continued with a solemn tone, “have you considered a career in the law? Noble calling, that. There’s a fair bit of writing involved, but you get to use many other skills as well. Oration, debate, strategy, showmanship…” He waggled his eyebrows dramatically at Emma who was again doing her level best to look unamused.

“Braggadocio.”

Killian’s mouth fell open, even as Emma very nearly choked on her hot chocolate. He turned to find Henry looking up at him with an eerily familiar expression of feigned innocence. The boy shrugged. “That was yesterday’s word. I just remembered it.”

Killian narrowed his eyes, taking the boy’s measure and smiled approvingly. “You’re cheeky as your mum, that’s for sure.”

-/-

All of Killian’s powers of persuasion could not convince Emma to let him pay for dinner, but she did finally relent enough to allow him to split the check with her. Letting the adults take care of such boring financial matters, Henry excused himself to go to the restroom, and Emma and Killian walked over to the front counter to wait for him. As soon as the lad was out of earshot, Emma crossed her arms and turned to Killian with a wry tilt to her lips.

“So what was all that about? Oration, strategy, showmanship-”

“Don't forget debate, love.”

“Oh right. I'm sure you're a master at debating, aren't you?”

Did she just? Killian raised an eyebrow. “It's going to be like that, is it? Very well, then.” He stepped closer to her, crowding her space and reached out to tug on the end of a golden tress. “I’d also like to point out since many legal terms are in either Latin or French, I'm quite cunning at linguistics as well.”

Emma raised an eyebrow of her own in disbelief, but didn’t move away. If anything it felt to Killian as though she swayed closer, and his pulse responded despite his better judgment. What were they playing at? Was she flirting with him? They’d never talked about the kiss. He’d written it off as a one-time thing, a side-effect of her excitement that day, but there was something about the way her lush, pink lips curved into a teasing smirk...

“You speak Latin? Seriously?”

“You’d be surprised what they teach you in law school.”

Emma shook her head, but her smile was warm - a fact of which he was keenly aware as he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from her lips. She uncrossed her arms and rested her hands on her hips, lowering her chin and her voice as she looked up at him through long eyelashes.

“Just who exactly do you think you’re trying to impress, Jones.”

“That all depends,” he replied, his voice a little throaty and rough, and he reached out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, keen to feel those silken strands again. “On whom is it working?”

Oh god, she was so close now and she was looking up at him like she might - just might - feel as he did. When had the air between them grown so thick? He could could scarcely breathe.

“You guys ready?”

Killian and Emma startled backward away from each other and into awareness of their very public surroundings at the sound of Henry’s chirping voice and clomping steps moving in their direction. Emma recrossed her arms protectively over her chest as Killian reached up to scratch a phantom itch behind his ear, yet Henry prattled on, thoroughly oblivious to Killian’s internal tumult and whatever tension may or may not have existed between the adults.

“Cause I don’t have to be back for a little while longer and there’s this ice cream shop that we passed on the way here-”

“It’s literally freezing outside and you want ice cream?”

Henry fixed Emma with wide, pleading eyes, and Killian knew the lad had won the battle despite Emma’s protestations. “But mom,” he wheedled, “it’s never a bad time for rocky road. It has almonds and almonds have protein and protein is good for a growing kid.”

Henry looked over at Killian with raised eyebrows that asked ‘How’d I do?’ to which Killian responded with a surreptitious thumbs up behind Emma’s back. “He makes a compelling argument, Swan.”

Emma glared at Killian out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t you start.” She leaned down with a resigned sigh and tugged Henry’s woolen hat down over his ears. “Okay, kid. Rocky road it is.” She straightened and began to walk toward the door, bumping Killian’s shoulder with hers as she passed. “You’re buying, Jones.”

-/-

Once Henry was safely back in the care of the Sisters, Emma returned to her lovingly dilapidated yellow Beetle where Killian waited in the passenger seat. Her door closed with a heavy thud, the engine spluttered to life, and soon they were rumbling along the two-lane road through the wooded acreage surrounding the convent and children’s home. Night had fallen hours ago, the only light that which shone from the Beetle’s headlamps and the stars above them, but it was a peaceful darkness, and a companionable silence stretched between the two of them as they drove.

Still, a thought niggled at the back of Killian’s mind, and as they merged onto the brightly lit highway that would take them back to his office, he could hold his question in no longer.

“Swan, please don’t think I’m complaining, quite the opposite in fact, but I must ask - why do you keep including me in all of your meetings with Henry?” In the sharp halogen glare of the street lights, Killian could see the way Emma blanched, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. He knew he was entering dangerous waters, but he pressed on. “Are you afraid to be alone together?”

If Emma had appeared tense before, she now seemed utterly alarmed despite her effort to sound casual. “What? No. Wha - why would you think that?”

Killian placed his hand over hers on the gearshift, caressing the fine bones of her wrist with the pad of his thumb in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “It would be completely understandable, love. I can only imagine how overwhelming it must be adjusting to new motherhood, and it’s all happening rather quickly. Most women get nine months to come to terms with it, aye? You’ve scarcely had more than two. I’m happy to keep acting as a buffer, but you must see how well Henry’s taken to you. I’m certain the two of you will get on swimmingly on your own.”

“Oh you meant- Oh.” Emma’s shoulders relaxed somewhat, and she quickly cast a glance down to their joined hands as she seemed to process his words. “Yes. Well? I mean sort of, but not-” She huffed out breath. “Lemme start over. Yes, it is overwhelming and scary and really, really wonderful. And yes, at first I seriously needed you there for moral support, but now…” She paused, chewing on her lip as if deciding how much she wanted to say. “Henry - he seems to really like you and it’s just kind of nice, I guess. Having a friend to share this whole life changing experience with.”

Killian let his hand drop back to his side, but managed to maintain his smile even as a single word reverberated deafeningly in the quiet between them. Friend, friend, friend… “In that case, I’m honored.”

“There’s another thing, though. I know I haven’t been around the office much this week, and with Henry moving in this weekend-”

“He’s moving in this weekend? That’s wonderful, Swan. Will you be needing any assistance in retrieving his things?”

“Yeah, the Sisters just told me tonight when I dropped him off. But no, he doesn’t have much stuff. You know how it is…”

Killian heard again the echo of the lost little girl in her voice, and it stirred to wakefulness the lost boy in his heart. Aye, he knew. It was only his distraction at her good news that made him forget for a moment. Of course Henry wouldn’t have much in the way of worldly possessions. The lost tend to travel light.

“But what I was getting at is that I didn’t want you to think that…” Emma cleared her throat. “I, um I - I haven’t forgotten you know. About your brother. I’m still working on your case, it’s just been kind of busy with Henry this past week. I can be at your office first thing tomorrow-”

Killian had known this was coming, had been preparing himself for it, but he hadn’t found the right time to talk to her about it. Since the day they’d found the death certificate for Liam’s mother, he’d decided that they should call off the search for his brother. He didn’t doubt Emma’s tenacity - if anyone could succeed in finding him it was her - but why should she continue at this sisyphean task when she had her child to care for and her own business to run.

He waved her off. “Swan, it’s fine. I know you’ve more important things to attend to right now than running down a dead end street on my behalf.”

“No!” She seemed a bit startled at her own vehemence. “No, this was supposed to be a reciprocal arrangement and-”

“Right. Our business arrangement.” Killian felt as though he’d been doused in ice water, and he couldn’t help it if some of that chill creeped into his tone. “Don’t worry, love. You’ve gone above and beyond the work I asked you to do. We’re square.”

“No, that’s…” She tentatively sought out his hand again and - meeting no resistance from him - laced their fingers together. “Killian, that’s not what I meant. I want to do this for you. You’ve stood by me, you’ve supported me, you’ve given me my family - everything I never thought I could have. And I am going to find your brother because you deserve to have that, too.”

Killian swallowed back the words that were threatening to pour out of him, words he was certain she wouldn’t want to hear. That what he’d done was nothing compared to the light that she, and now Henry as well, had brought back into his life. That it didn’t matter to him anymore whether they found this person with whom he only might have a blood tie, because for the first time since his older brother’s passing, he no longer felt alone in the world. That she was enough and her friendship was more than he deserved. That he loved her.

No. Tonight was not a night for hopeless confessions. Instead, he squeezed her hand and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Swan, I’m a rake and a scoundrel and a bloody divorce lawyer. May the gods help me if I ever get what I deserve.”

Emma snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes, just as he’d hoped she would. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned cheekily at her. “Aye, but I’m devilishly handsome as well, so I expect it balances out.”

-/-

True to her word, Emma resumed her commandeering of Killian’s office, though with less frequency than had been her habit heretofore. When she came by in the evenings, Henry came with her. Soon enough, the lad had claimed his own piece of real estate on Killian’s desk where he could do his homework, and an order of chicken fried rice with an extra egg roll had been added to their “usual” at The Dragon’s Temple. The three of them made an oddly domestic picture despite the professional setting. Perhaps a bit too domestic, in fact, if Tink’s teasing comments about ‘the wife and kid’ were anything to go by.

Emma was determined to give Henry every cheesy holiday cliche for their first Christmas together, and more often than not, Killian got pulled right into the thick of it with them. There was the photo with Santa (“She knows I don’t still believe in Santa Claus, right?” “Best humor your mother, lad.”), shopping for a Christmas tree (“Jones, you know an eight foot tree won’t fit in my apartment and I swear if the two of you don’t stop with the puppy eyes, I’m gonna tie YOU to the top of the car.”), decorating said tree (“See mom? Mr. Jones was right. This was DEFINITELY the perfect tree.” “Yeah, you’re right, kid. But he can be the one to risk his neck putting the star on top.”), and, of course, the sacred ritual of watching sappy Christmas movies (“So you DO have an apartment. Nice couch, Jones.” “Swan, you don’t get to call dibs on the furniture in my home.” “You move your feet, you lose your seat.”).

Though he cherished the time spent with Emma and Henry, it filled Killian with a certain longing. Watching Emma and her son bond together into a little family of two rekindled his desire for a family to call his own. Maybe it was Henry’s eternal ‘esperance’ or Emma’s determination, but for all that he had tried, Killian couldn’t quite snuff the tiny remaining spark of hope that his half-brother would be found. While he was grateful to have the Swans in his life - truly they were a blessing he had never expected - he was an outsider. A friend of the family.

A friend they currently seemed determined to murder.

“No. Absolutely not. Water is meant to be a liquid. To be sailed across in a mighty vessel. It is not for man to unnaturally freeze a bloody pool of it and then strap slivers of metal to his feet to attempt to walk upon the surface. I believe the very man whose birth this season celebrates would resent the presumptuous attempt by mere mortals to imitate-”

“Oh, calm down with the closing arguments, counselor. It’s just ice skating.”

“Come on, Mr. Jones. Please?”

“Henry, I thought we had a gentlemen’s agreement that the puppy eyes were only to be used on your mother.”

Killian regretted the comment immediately because no sooner were the words out of his mouth than he found himself caught by not one but two pairs of plaintive eyes. He felt his resolve crumble to dust right along side his sense of self-preservation.

“Fine, but if I lose a limb…”

Emma smirked in victory. “Then your blood will be on our hands for all eternity. I can live with that. Let’s go!”

-/-

Skating with the Swans proved to be better than Killian expected. They’d been at it for nearly an hour with no death or dismemberment as of yet, though not completely without mishap. It had taken him a bit to get his sea legs, so to speak, and in the interim he��d discovered exactly how unforgiving a landing spot ice could be. It had all been worth the literal pain in his arse and injured dignity to witness Emma and Henry’s laughter and easy smiles, all set to the tune of cheerful holiday music drifting down from the rink’s tinny outdoor speakers.

“Just one more lap. Please?”

“Lad, I don’t think I have it in me. My legs are starting to burn.”

Emma scoffed. “What are you - like, three hundred?”

“And yet I’ve retained my youthful glow. Swan, how are you not exhausted?”

Emma placed a hand on one hip, gesturing downward with the other as a smug grin tilted her lips. “Chasing down bad guys keeps the legs in shape.”

Killian cocked his head, admiring the legs in question. “I can hardly argue with that, love.”

She snickered at the attempted charm, but Henry was undeterred.

“Come on, Mr. Jones. We’ll pull you!”

“Excuse me?”

“Here. Like this.” At that, Henry placed his mittened hand in Killian’s. “Mom, you get the other side.”

Emma hesitated for only a moment, a strangely guarded expression on her face. She blinked and it was gone, replaced by a small smile and a nod at Henry as she linked hands with Killian. Though her fingers felt like icicles against his palm, an undeniable warmth spread through him at the contact. He felt a grin turn up the corners of his mouth and readjusted his grip on Emma and Henry, giving each of their hands a squeeze.

Emma looked up at him. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I’d wager.”

“Try something new, Jones. It’s called trust.” She grinned mischievously at Killian, then leaned around him to get Henry’s attention. “Alright, kid. 1-2-3 go!”

As they pushed off, dragging Killian slightly behind them, Emma turned her head and caught Killian’s eye.

“Hold on tight!”

He found at that moment there was nothing in the world he wanted more.

That is... until a few minutes later when they crashed breathlessly into the guardrail near the gate.

“That was bloody terrifying. The pair of you are menaces and should be arrested for reckless endangerment.”

Emma laughed wholeheartedly, a wonderfully undignified sound accompanied by a scrunched nose and awkward doubling over that Killian thought was perhaps the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Would a little hot chocolate make it better?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Killian scowled but allowed himself to be led in the direction of the snack bar. “I’d prefer a large glass of rum, but I suppose given the present underage company hot chocolate will suffice.”

He paused at the benches and gestured to their skates. “Let’s get these bloody death traps off our feet though first, yeah?”

The three of them sat down and Killian assisted Henry in removing his skates before attending to his own. The lad scampered off presumably to return the skates to the rental counter, so it came as a surprise to hear his voice coming from a different direction.

“Hey guys, over here.” Emma and Killian raised their eyes to find Henry standing next to a weatherbeaten photo booth. “Can we take some pictures, mom?”

Emma agreed, and once their skates had been returned, their original mission for hot chocolate was forgotten in favor of a spirited argument over who could make the silliest face for the camera. Even before the first flash had gone off, they were jostling and prodding each other, all vying for a better spot in front of the lens and trying to make the others laugh. One flash followed by some shuffling around, then another, then another, and by the fourth flash, Emma was sitting on Killian’s lap with his hand gripping her waist. He wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten that way, but in the seconds before the final flash their eyes met and time seemed to stop.

Their contorted expressions fell away, leaving behind only soft smiles and for the space of a heartbeat, Killian was lost in the deep green of her eyes which seemed to shine with something he was too afraid to hope for. Another blinding flash and whatever he had seen was gone, leaving the two of them to the inelegant process of disentangling themselves after Henry hopped down from his place in front of them.

Henry fidgeted while the printer whirred, and Emma apparently became deeply interested in straightening the hem of her sweater. Just as Killian was about to step outside the cramped booth, the machine spit out their photo strips and Henry snatched them up, handing one each to Emma and Killian, looking between the two adults and then, strangely, above their heads.

“Osculation.” Henry pronounced.

“Beg your pardon, lad?”

“It means kissing,” Henry said as if it should be perfectly obvious. “Are you guys gonna kiss now?”

“Why-” Emma cleared her throat and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the stiffness of the motion belying her casual tone. “Why would we do that?”

Henry pointed toward the ceiling of the booth, where yes, in fact, of all bloody things, hung a single sprig of mistletoe. Killian’s mouth went dry and though Emma’s entire face turned red (a fact he’d have to analyze later), she seemed to recover her wits first.

“Looks like you’re the one under the mistletoe, kid,” she replied and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Henry’s forehead, tousling his hair for good measure before quickly squeezing her way out of the booth.

Henry trailed behind her with an indignantly drawn out ‘moooooom’, and Killian finally followed, thankful that neither of the Swans could see his face. More specifically, the way he couldn’t tear his eyes away from that final photo.

Henry appeared in the foreground, a finger hooked in each cheek and his tongue sticking out, but in the background, well… There’s a word for the way Killian was gazing at Emma in that picture and the word was besotted. Funny thing was, the camera had captured Emma looking at Killian exactly the same way.

-/-

“All rise.”

At the sound of the bailiff’s voice, Killian felt a surge of adrenaline flood his system. This was it, the moment they’d been working toward for months. He stood slowly and with as much dignity as he could muster considering he felt as though he was about to burst out of his skin.

“December 23, 2016. The Court will begin its docket.” Judge Merlin straightened the stack of papers in front of him and opened the top case file. “Calling cause number 2016-362-0815, ‘In the Interest of Henry Swan’. Are all parties present and ready to proceed?”

“Petitioner is here and ready, Your Honor.” He allowed himself a moment of pride at the steadiness of his own voice, his years in practice having taught him to project composure no matter the state of nerves.

Another voice sounded from across the aisle. “Sister Blue of the Second Star Children’s Home here and ready, Your Honor.”

“You may be seated.” The judge paused a few seconds until the sounds of shuffling feet and creaking chairs had subsided. “Let the record reflect that I, the presiding Judge of this Court, have read and familiarized myself with the contents of Sister Blue’s reports, both prior to and post-placement, as well as the Petitioner’s affidavit, criminal background results and letters of recommendation. Such documents are hereby admitted as evidence in this cause. Sister Blue, is there any relevant information that you wish to add to your formal report at this time?”

Killian felt Emma tense beside him as the Sister stood to address the judge again.

“No, Your Honor. I stand by my conclusions.”

That was good. Killian had read the reports and they’d all been very much in Emma’s favor. Still, she grasped his wrist underneath the counsel table, a slight tremor in her hand.

“Very well. Mr. Jones, you and your client please approach the bench. Bring Henry up here with you, too.”

Emma’s grip on his wrist tightened to bone-crushing. He turned to her and ducked his head until she met his eyes, giving her his most encouraging smile. After a breath, she finally nodded, released her death-grip on him and stood. Together, Killian, Emma and Henry moved to stand before the judge’s bench.

Judge Merlin closed the file folder and fixed his steady gaze on Emma. “Ms. Swan?”

“Yes, Your Honor?”

“This isn’t like a wedding. There are no official vows or ceremony for an adoption, but since this is probably the happiest kind of case that I ever get to handle in family court, I’m going take a moment to make a little speech. Now I understand that this case is special in that you are not only Henry’s prospective adoptive mother, you are also his biological mother as well. Is that right?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Parenthood is a magical thing, Ms. Swan. It supersedes definitions of blood or law, and in its best form drives you to do whatever it takes to give your child his or her best chance. That is, to act in the child’s best interest. Biology can make you a mother, this gavel here in my hand can make you the legal custodian of a child, but only love can make you a mom. Do you love Henry, Ms. Swan? Do you want to be his mom?”

Emma gave a shaky exhale and swiped discreetly under her eye, then squared her shoulders and answered resolutely. “I do, Your Honor. More than I ever thought possible.”

Judge Merlin smiled and turned his attention to Henry. “How about you, young man. Do you love Ms. Swan? Do you want her to be your mom?”

Henry beamed. “Yes! I mean - yes, Your Honor, sir.”

The judge nodded in approval and focused back on Emma once more. “Then the Court finds that the petition of Emma Swan for the legal adoption of the child Henry Swan is in the best interest of said child, and such petition is hereby granted. Mr. Jones, please take the Court’s file downstairs to the clerk’s office to get your official copies of the Order. You are all dismissed, and if I may, I’d like to wish a very merry Christmas to the Swan family.”

With a wink of the judge’s eye and a rap of his gavel, it was finished. Henry practically lept into Emma’s arms, squeezing tight as she rested her tear-streaked cheek on top of his head. Killian strode across the aisle to shake Sister Blue’s hand in thanks, giving the new little family a moment of relative privacy. Soon, the bailiff was calling the next case and Killian had to usher them out to the hallway with Emma’s arm wrapped across Henry’s shoulders trapping him to her side.

Outside the decorum of the courtroom, there was more hugging, of course. Henry and Emma both hugged Sister Blue as she took her leave. Henry hugged Killian who couldn’t resist hoisting the laughing boy and swinging him around in a circle. As he set the lad’s feet back to earth, a soft voice caught his attention.

“My turn?”

There was a teasing curl to Emma’s lips, but as Killian took her in his arms (because of bloody course it was her turn - it would always be her turn), she seemed to melt into him as though she’d been holding her breath for the last three months and was finally able to let it out, to let go of everything. Her arms fit perfectly around his ribs, her head at the exact right level to tuck beneath his jaw, and he wanted nothing more than to stay there, to close his eyes and breath her in and linger in this moment. Yet, it wasn’t his moment, it was theirs, so he swallowed hard and unwrapped one arm from Emma’s shoulders using it to gesture to Henry.

“Come on, lad. Group hug, aye?”

Somehow, though, as he pulled Henry to his side, the three of them forming a small circle of arms and smiles, the moment managed to congeal into something better. Something complete.

A heartbeat passed, then two, then three before the spell was finally broken by a loud gurgling rumble from Henry’s stomach.

“Whoa!” Emma pulled back and ruffled Henry’s hair. “I guess I better feed this guy. We were both too nervous to eat this morning. Breakfast seems like a good first official act of motherhood, right? Then we need to go pick up some groceries and finishing wrapping presents so we can spend all day tomorrow cooking.”

That got Killian’s attention. “You’re cooking? All day?”

“Don’t act so shocked. Just because I don’t cook doesn’t mean that I can’t.”

Henry tugged on Killian’s coat sleeve. “You’re coming over for Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow, right Mr. Jones?”

“I’m not your mum’s attorney any more, so ‘Killian’ will do. But, as loathe as I am to miss a chance to sample your mother’s culinary prowess, I haven’t actually been invited.”

In a flash, Henry rounded on Emma, lower lip protruding and eyes wide. “Mom, can Killian come over for Christmas Eve dinner?”

Killian chuckled to himself and as subtly as possible extended his fist to bump the boy’s knuckles, muttering ‘well played, lad’ under his breath.

Emma crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “Well, I was going to invite him, but now I’m not so sure. I think you two are bad influences on each other.”

As man and boy only grinned unabashedly at her, she looked heavenward and shook her head, a small smile of her own tickling at the corners of her mouth. “My place at 7:00.”

-/-

Turkey and all the trimmings followed by a highly competitive round of Mario Kart (“Bloody hell, Swan, you can’t just throw an elbow like that. Bad form!) combined with the excitement of the past couple of days and promise of Christmas on the morrow, soon had Henry dozing off in Emma’s arm chair, his soft snores barely audible as strains of a musical number from White Christmas played in the background. Emma smiled at her son over the top of her mug of hot chocolate, sighing wistfully as she set the mug down and moved to rouse him.

She managed bring him to just enough of a state of consciousness for her to walk the bleary-eyed boy to his room mumbling something that may have been ‘Merry Christmas.’ A few minutes later Emma reemerged to resume her cocoa and her place on the sofa next to Killian.

“He basically face-planted onto the bed. I did manage to wrestle his shoes off and throw a blanket over him at least. I’ll get better at this mom stuff eventually.” She huffed a self-deprecating laugh.

Killian tried to reassure her that she was doing a fine job, but Emma only hummed in response, her pensive expression half-hidden by her mug as she took a long sip.

They settled into silence and watched the movie for a bit, though Killian found himself distracted by the way Emma seemed to be incrementally scooting closer to him. By the time the couple on-screen had been maneuvered by their friends into a late night tete-a-tete, Emma’s thigh was pressed flush against his, her shoulder leaning into his arm. One old-fashioned fake yawn from him and they’d be properly snuggling. As much as he wanted to make the move, he sensed an uneasiness about Emma that made him worry.

“Everything alright, Swan?”

“It’s…” she sighed, setting her mug on the coffee table. “It’s been a day. This has all been such an emotional ride and now that it’s over, I’m kind of having a hard time winding down from it. It's like I've been dreaming about this future and it's finally here and it's real and it's starting right now. It's a lot to process. Does that make sense?”

Killian turned fully toward her, his expression soft. “Well, I suppose you could do as the song Mr. Crosby just sang suggests and count your blessings to help you sleep.”

Emma laughed lightly. “Well, I’ve got one big 10 year-old ball of blessing passed out down the hall.”

Killian smiled in return. “Aye, he’s a remarkable lad. What was it he said at Granny’s that first trip?

“That it’s never the wrong time for rocky road?”

“That it’s never too late to find your family. I count it as a blessing that I was able to have a small part in helping the two of you find each other.”

“It's not too late for you either, you know. We’ll put our two ‘bloody brilliant’ minds together and come up with something.”

She chucked him on the shoulder good-naturedly and while her failed imitation of his accent was amusing, Killian wasn’t quite ready to lighten the mood. He’d held his tongue, kept his feelings to himself for as long as he could, but tonight… Now that her case was over and Emma was about to embark on her happily ever after with her son, it somehow felt like his last chance.

“Emma, I…”

“What? I thought we agreed there was no giving up?” She shifted away from him and her back went stiff - sure signs she was readying herself to raise her guard again, and he cursed himself for putting that edge of worry in her eyes.

“It isn't that. It's…” He took a deep breath and steeled himself to lay his heart at her feet, not knowing whether his confession would make things worse or infinitely better. “I lost my mother when I was too young to remember much, and then my father was barely around and finally he left as well. But it was alright because I had Liam - my Liam - and he was everything to me. Brother, Father, bossy mother hen.” Killian smiled sadly at the memory.

“When he passed, I resigned myself to the idea that I would always be alone. That’s how I was meant to be, and that was alright, too. Look out for yourself and you never get hurt, aye? And for a long time it worked quite well for me. Until one day it didn't.”

Emma had gone completely still, her gaze focused downward at her hands in her lap, but she wasn’t running away. Not yet, at least. He took both her hands in his, gently caressing her palms with his thumbs, and she finally looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and almost disbelieving, but they held the tiniest hint of a spark and it was enough to give him the courage to continue.

“One day this blond tornado blew into my office and turned my world upside down. And then I got to know her and her lovely son, and suddenly I… I don't feel alone anymore. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that while it would still mean the world to me to find my half-brother, I no longer feel the same sense of urgency about it. You and Henry have given me the chance to be a part of something good, and I didn't think I'd ever be capable of that again. That is, until I met you.”

Never taking his eyes off hers, Killian lifted Emma’s hand and brushed a chaste kiss to the inside of her wrist. She blinked rapidly, the delicate lines of her throat shifting as she swallowed and he feared he’d gone too far. He hadn’t meant to push her, only to thank her. He released her hands, letting them settle back into her lap.

“Emma, I want you to know that I’m not saying any of this because I expect something from you. Your friendship is priceless to me and I would be honored to continue as your friend, just as it has been an honor to have you as my client-”

“I'm not your client anymore.” The words tumbled from Emma’s lips as though she didn’t quite realize she’d said them, and she immediately clapped a hand to her mouth.

Killian felt as though his heart were being crushed by an invisible hand. He let his head drop forward, scratching roughly at the back of his neck, and moved to stand, but the sudden grasp of Emma’s hand on his arm stilled him.

“Wait! Sorry that was the wrong place to start.” She let go of his arm to scrub her hand down her face. “I really suck at this.”

“Emma, it's alright. You don't have to-”

“I meant to say that…” She exhaled heavily and Killian forced himself to meet her eyes. “I'm not your client anymore, so it'd be okay if we were maybe more than that. If you want to.” Her smile was nervous but hopeful, a tenuous little thing that blossomed into its full beauty as Killian felt his own features mirror hers. “Because if I'm really counting my blessings here, I'd definitely count you.”

“And I, you.”

Killian sighed happily, finally wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side as he’d wanted to do - had that only been minutes ago?

Emma chuckled as she nestled her head against his chest. “Took you long enough. I’ve been hinting since we started the movie.” Killian could feel the smile in her voice when she spoke next. “So this is okay?” She walked her fingers across his stomach to wrap her arm around his waist.

“Aye, but be gentle with me, Swan. I must admit I’m a bit ticklish.”

“You realize I’m gonna hold that against you later.”

“Darling, you can hold anything you want against me right now.”

He felt her shift against him and she raised her chin to look at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes that had his blood pounding in his ears. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” Well that was articulate, but at least he managed what he hoped was a seductive smirk.

She twisted her body toward him, draping a leg over his knee and slowly glided her hands up his chest to toy with the collar of his shirt. “How about this, then?”

The warmth of her breath tickled his lips, as Killian’s own became shallow and quick, and the only coherent thought his addled brain would form was that she was clearly trying to kill him and he couldn’t think of a better way to go. All he could see was the soft curve of her lips, the way her tongue darted out to trace the lower one. Only aware of the flickering heat that radiated from each point of contact between their bodies. His blood had all fled southward, robbing him of his usually quite proficient powers of speech. He must have made some sort of grunting noise of approval because Emma tugged on his collar pulling him ever closer until the tip of her nose traced along the edge of his.

“And this?” Her words were nothing more than a flutter of butterfly wings against his lips, before she threaded her fingers into his hair and kissed him.

Heaven. He’d never considered himself a religious person before, but surely this must be what heaven felt like. Gentle and warm, light-headed and nearly giddy with happiness. Like he was a new man, and yet more himself than he’d ever been. Even his own arms felt stronger, more sure with Emma wrapped inside them. For several heartbeats he remained still, content with the simple pleasure of their lips finally meeting. Sweet, far sweeter than even his imaginings, and when he did move his lips against hers, it was careful, reverent almost.

Ah, but his Swan was as much a siren as an angel. He broke the kiss, opening his eyes and pulling back only enough to see her face to make sure she felt as he did. It only took a second for him to note her lust darkened eyes and the way her teeth sank into her lip before he pounced.

God he loved her. He loved the warm press of her body as he scooped her up and settled her in his lap. The way they fit together perfectly. He loved the way she smiled against his lips before hungrily devouring him, her tongue seeking his then coyly slipping away to make him chase her. But chase her he would, the bloody minx, because he couldn’t get enough.

She leaned back, pulling him down on top of her, but with the way they’d been sitting the angle was all wrong. He landed with his face between her breasts, not that he minded in the slightest, but he wasn’t quite done plundering her mouth yet, and so he stood to get into a better position as Emma scooted backward to rest her head on a throw pillow against the arm of the couch. She dropped one foot to the floor, hitching her other knee up, and he found himself completely arrested by the sight spread before him. She was an absolute vision, her tangled blonde hair spilling over the arm of the couch, eyes sparkling and crinkling at the corners as she smiled at him with kiss-reddened lips. Those three important words that he hadn’t yet said to her tingled at the tip of his tongue, but he still didn’t know if she was ready to hear them. He already couldn’t believe the way the fates or the heavens had smiled on him this evening and he didn’t want to strain his luck.

He must’ve paused for too long because her smile faded slightly and she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. “Killian?”

“You are simply too tempting for your own good, love. I was taking a moment to count my blessings I suppose.

“Well are you done yet? Because I’d really like you to be kissing me right now.”

And kiss her he did. He lay down atop her, his hips in the cradle of her thighs, and kissed her for all he was worth. No, scratch that. For all she was worth. For nothing in all his worthless existence could possibly compare to her. To the softness of her lips, the taste of her skin as he traced her collarbone with his tongue, the scratch of her nails against his scalp, the welcoming heat of her body that he could feel even through her clothes and his as they rocked together. Reveling in each other. Whispering nonsense into each other’s skin.

“We should-” She hummed in pleasure as he nipped at the pulse of her neck. “Mmmm...probably stop. Oh. Before we can’t.”

“Aye, love.” She rolled her hips against him and he groaned low in the back of his throat. “Though you’re making it quite difficult.”

She chuckled underneath him, the movement pressing her breasts tantalizingly against his chest. She surprised him reaching down to grab his arse and pull his hips down tightly into hers, grinding him against her.

“Don’t you mean, I’m making it hard?”

“That was a terrible pun, Swan. Do it again.” He inclined his head to nuzzle beneath her jaw, dusting a light kiss here and there.

“You mean make a bad joke? Or this.” She swirled her hips in a dirty grind, groping his arse with both hands this time.

Bloody buggering hell. “You are a wicked, wicked woman.” Killian kissed her, long and deep, then pulled away with a frustrated groan. “But we really do need to stop.”

He sighed and raised himself up off of her, giving her space enough to shift her legs so that when he sat back down she could drape them across his lap. He offered her a hand and she took it, pulling herself up to sitting. She grabbed a cushion to wedge behind her back, while Killian stroked his hand up and down her thigh, unable to stop touching her completely.

Emma leaned up and he pressed an innocent (by comparison at least) kiss to his mouth.

“It’s for the best. I wouldn’t want our first time together to be some frantic, whispered tryst on the couch.”

Emma laughed and raised an eyebrow. “First time?”

Killian offered her a devilish grin, and raised a brow of his own. Perhaps he couldn’t indulge the baser urges of his body tonight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little bit of fun. Try to rile her up just a bit more. He glanced down the hall in the direction of Henry’s room, listening for any sign that the lad might be awake before responding, but all was silent.

“Yes, first time. I’m in this for the long haul, love. Don’t think for a moment I’ll ever tire of you. But the first time I make love to you, Swan, I want to savor it. I want to worship every inch of you with my hands and tongue, draw every possible sound of pleasure from that gorgeous mouth of yours until you cry my name as you come apart with me buried deep inside you.”

He concluded with his most lecherous smirk taking moment to enjoy the darkening of her eyes, the quickening of her breath.

“You make a solid case there, counselor. But may I submit a counter-offer?”

Decidedly intrigued, he raised an eyebrow. “Do go on.”

She grabbed his hand where it caressed her thigh and moved it higher, closer to where he so desperately wanted to touch her.

She scrunched her nose fetchingly and shrugged. “How about just a little bit of super-quiet hand stuff now-” She traced a hand down his chest and palmed him over his jeans. “-and we save the ‘savoring’ for later?”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” he growled, and with a lightning fast move that left her giggling against his mouth, he was pressing her into the couch again.

-/-

Killian awoke Christmas morning with a crick in his neck and a smile on his face. He pulled the blanket up over his head to block out the light coming from the kitchen. He’d been having the most beautiful dream, specifically the exquisite contortion of Emma’s features last night as he’d worked her higher and higher, the way her lips parted in a silent cry as she fell to pieces under his touch. So distracted was he reliving the previous night’s amorous activities, that it didn’t at first occur to him that something was wrong.

Emma was not with him, but that made sense. They’d agreed she should sleep in her own bed last night, lest Henry awake early and find them together. But the light was on in the kitchen, which meant someone was awake. If someone was awake, then why couldn’t he hear anyone? If it were Emma, she’d be rattling around making coffee. Were it Henry, there would surely be a flurry of activity and the tearing open of wrapping paper.

He strained his ears and finally made out the sound of whispering coming from down the hall. A minute more and Emma and Henry appeared, fully dressed and with strangely serious expressions on their faces. Killian sat up and Emma smiled at him awkwardly.

“Hey, um, we were just about to wake you up.”

Killian yawned, scratching lazily at his chest. “What’s going on, Swan?” His sleep muddled brain couldn’t make sense of any of it, but a sensation of dread was slowly creeping up his spine.

“Nothing, nothing. We just-” she glanced at Henry before turning back to Killian. “We’re just going out for a little mother-son bonding. You can crash here for a while longer if you want to. I’ll leave you the spare key. Or if you want to go home and shower or something…”

She seemed to be floundering and Henry was looking anywhere but at him. Killian’s blood ran cold as the pieces finally began to click into place. Swan may have been interested in something more with him, but he was still an outsider. An interloper on their first Christmas as a family, and they wanted him to leave.

“Right,” he answered finally, barely recognizing his own voice. “Right, yeah, I’ll just be off then.”

He stood and neatly folded the throw blanket he’d slept under. Grabbing his car keys from the end table, he moved to walk past Emma to the front door, but she stepped in front of him.

“Will you-”

Killian tried to step around her, anxious to get away from the apartment and the crushing disappointment he felt, but Emma grabbed his hand and spun him around to face her. The way she was looking at him was so foreign - neither happy nor sad nor angry, but intense - and it gave him pause.

“Would you please meet us for brunch at Granny’s in a few hours?” Her eyes still held the same intensity, but her voice held that note of hopeful vulnerability that he was powerless against.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, but quickly shook it off and nodded.

“Very well, Swan. I’ll be there.”

-/-

He almost backed out three times. As he took his shower in his own apartment, he convinced himself they had only invited him out of pity and he wouldn’t burden them with his presence. As he dressed himself, styling his hair into the calculated mess that Emma seemed to fancy, he told himself he was angry. If Emma had wanted to spend Christmas alone with Henry, she could’ve bloody well told him the night before, rather than engaging in their secretive skulking that morning. It was the guilty behavior that hurt him, not her desire to spend time with her son. Finally, as he drove to the diner, he called himself an idiot, a bloody fool for ever thinking that he and Emma and Henry could possibly ever be a… no, he wouldn’t even let himself think the word.

As he walked through the doors of the diner, however and saw their glowing faces he knew for a fact he’d been a fool. For not trusting her, for letting his old insecurities get the better of him. There on the table sat a small package no bigger than a deck of cards and wrapped in shiny green paper, tied with a golden bow. Green and gold, just like Emma. The woman in question was beaming at him, lighting up the room as if she were the sunrise itself, and Henry beside her practically bouncing in his seat.

“Merry Christmas!” they chimed in unison as he sat down across from them.

“What’s this?” Killian asked, fully aware of the awe in his voice and not caring in the slightest.

“Open it!” Henry urged, nudging the box to Killian’s side of the table.

Killian picked it up gingerly, looking to Emma for confirmation and she nodded vigorously, her smile turning slightly nervous.

Killian slid the bow off the end and tore into the paper, not having the faintest clue what to expect, but his heart raced in anticipation nonetheless. But as he opened the lid, his face fell, a divot forming between his brows as his face twisted in confusion. In the bottom of the box lay a small piece of paper where in Emma’s erratic scrawl was written an address, a phone number and the name “L. P. Dakkar”.

“I don’t understand…” He raised his eyes to meet Emma’s again and she reached a hand across the table to take his.

“It’s him. It’s Liam. Killian, I found him.”

Killian’s eyes widened, his expression changing from confusion to utter disbelief. “This is him? This-” he glanced down at the paper again, seeing it with new eyes. “This is my brother?”

She nodded vigorously, giving his hand a squeeze. “Uh-huh.”

He didn’t respond for a moment unable to do anything but stare between her and Henry in amazement, a grin splitting his face. “Emma, you’re a bloody miracle worker. When did - How?”

“It was Henry,” she answered, smiling down at the boy. “Well, it was you when you reminded me last night of what Henry said. About it never being too late. I got to thinking. We never did check the adoption records for Liam, because I knew from experience how rare it is for a teenager to get adopted. It was a long shot, but like Henry said, it’s never too late, right?”

She shrugged as if she hadn’t just done the impossible and continued her tale. “So, I did a court records search on my laptop last night after you fell asleep, and I found him. Liam Patrick Jones was adopted at the age of 17 by a man named Nemo Dakkar. There was a name change filed with the adoption. That’s why we couldn’t find him, Killian. We were looking for Liam Patrick Jones when the person we needed to find was Liam Patrick Dakkar.”

“So then this morning when you and Henry snuck off?”

“Operation Finding Nemo!” Henry piped up. “You know, because of his adopted dad’s name?”

“What Henry means is we went to my office so I could do a little bit of legally questionable research that you really shouldn’t ask too many questions about. I got an address and Henry wrapped the box. Merry Christmas?”

Unable to contain himself any longer, Killian slid out of the booth and moved to Emma’s side, taking her hand and pulling her up into a fierce embrace.

“Swan, I can’t begin to thank you for this.” Her hair muffled his voice as he held her to him. “Just knowing that he’s out there and that he has a home. That he wasn’t left alone in the world…” Killian’s voice cracked as hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and Emma pulled back still clutching at his forearms as she studied his face.

“You have to promise to tell me how it goes. Promise you’ll call later?”

He shook his head bemusedly. “Whatever do you mean, love?”

“Aren’t you about to go plug that address into your GPS and find your family?”

As he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the curve of her jaw, it occurred to him that she had no idea. After everything, she still had no idea. Very well, he’d simply have to spell it out for her. “Emma, this is an amazing gift you’ve given me, and I absolutely intend to use it, but I expect my half-brother would rather spend his Christmas with his family, now that I know he has one. And for the record, I’d prefer to spend my Christmas with mine.”

She tilted her head, her features forming an adorable scowl. “But you just said -”

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you. You and Henry are all the family I need.”

She didn’t answer. Only leaned toward him, her eyes falling to his lips as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

“Are you guys gonna kiss for real this time?”

Killian froze, his eyes closing as he laughed under his breath. “Yes, Henry. I’m about to kiss your mum. If she’ll have me?”

He looked up at her and her all-too-familiar eye roll and soft smile were all the confirmation he needed.

“Good,” Henry affirmed. “Can I go play Ms. Pacman? I don’t really want to watch this.”

Emma laughed and looked over at her boy. “There’s a few quarters in my purse, kid. Knock yourself out.”

After a quick bit of rummaging in Emma’s handbag, the lad scampered off, the sound of the adults’ laughter fading in his wake.

“Now where were we, Swan?” Killian asked with a leer, already leaning in to claim her lips, but Emma squeezed her eyes closed as if in pain and stopped him with a finger to his mouth.

She cautiously opened one eye, then the other. “There’s, um, there’s one more thing.”

“And what’s that, love?” Killian’s placed his hands at her waist and pulled her into him, sure that nothing she could say would dampen his mood.

“I, um -” she licked her lips nervously and took a deep breath. “I may possibly, maybe befeelinglikeI’minlovewithyou,” she muttered, the words spilling out in a jumble.

“What?” Killian’s heart stopped, god only knows what his face was doing, but he was afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

Emma reached up and cupped his chin. “I love you.”

In an instant his lips met hers, sweetly, passionately drinking her in as her hand drifted up his jaw to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. She rose up on her tiptoes as she pressed closer to him and he lifted her off her feet, nearly crushing her in his embrace as their lips moved in perfect counterpoint.

Slowly he brought her back to earth, but even before their kiss fully broke, he whispered the words against her mouth. “I love you, too.”

Then she giggled. Emma bloody Swan giggled and smiled up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They separated (at least as much as they could make themselves), paying some heed to the idea of propriety as they were very much still in public. Killian’s arm still draped around Emma’s waist and her head rested on his shoulder as they turned together to watch Henry, blissfully unaware and shouting enthusiastically at the colorful 8-bit ghosts that chased his character around the gaming screen.

“Looks like we all got a family for Christmas after all, doesn’t it, Swan?”

Emma

sighed contentedly. “Yeah, Jones. I guess we did.”

A/N: **The last name ‘Dakkar’ is from the Jules Verne books. At some point Captain Nemo introduces himself as ‘Prince Dakkar’.

Thank you to @captainswannl29 for reading through parts of this and helping me fix it.

Bonus thanks to @tnlph and @ilovemesomekillianjones for strongly encouraging me to finish this. I need a good ass kicking every now and then, lol!

Soooooo.... What’d ya think of part 2?

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au ff #cs christmas fic #cs modern au #lawyer!Killian #bailbonds!Emma #A Family For Christmas

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

Text

Eidolon 11 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr

11: Alternative Paths

The police officers told him they needed to ask him a few questions. What they forgot to mention was he would be locked in a small, remarkably bare room for five hours with a police officer who was dead set in viewing him as a suspect. Danny had never been more relieved to get out of a room before in his life. Yeah, he understood family members needed to be questioned due to the statistics surrounding such crimes, but seriously! Did someone as scrawny as him really look like he could have hurt Winston that badly without getting any sort of injury in the process?

However, he couldn't really blame them for being suspicious, especially when it came to his whereabouts the previous night. How do you rationally explain you were chased by a murderous robot-ghost-thing? The obvious answer was to avoid the topic all together. He hoped he was convincing enough when he said he and his friends had taken a walk in the evening and returned to Sam's house to watch some movies. He specifically avoided mentioning the park. There was no telling what the officers would think if they learned he might have been around when it got torn up. He was actually kind of surprised no one in the precinct had mentioned it.

A few times during his interview, he had nervously flattened his bangs a few times, hoping to hide the cut he had suddenly remembered getting at the beginning of his terrifying adventure. The officer interviewing him had noticed the motion, which caused him to leave it alone the rest of the time he was in the room. Surprisingly, Danny wasn't asked about it. A little wary after he was finished and allowed to exit the room, he touched the spot only to find smooth skin. It took a lot of self-control to not dash to a reflective surface and examine his forehead. There was no use in making the officers more suspicious. As weird as a missing cut was he could wait until he got home to check.

Scratch that… he could check after he found a place to stay for a while. As he was about to exit the station, an older officer kindly reminded him of the fact his house was currently considered a crime scene. After apologizing for a lack of effort from the staff for trying to contact his family and promising to personally look into it in the morning, he directed Danny to a nearby phone situated at the front desk.

Danny was a little surprised at the kind attitude of the officer as he had been dealing with a special type of dick for the past several hours, but it was a nice change. Shaking his head a little, he moved to the phone to call Sam, praying she was still awake as it was approaching midnight. Both of his friends told him they wanted an update, but with it being late and he being emotionally, physically, and mentally drained, the only topic he wanted to discuss involved where he would be staying for the night.

As he was dialing her number, the door to the station opened and a tall man strolled in. The newcomer was tall and rather thin. He wore a clean black business suit which appeared to be expertly cared for and rather expensive. Gray hair had been slicked back into a neat ponytail, and calculating cold blue eyes surveyed his surroundings. Danny dropped the phone in surprise as he realized the man in front of him was the one and only Vlad Masters.

The sound from the phone brought him to Masters' attention, causing the man to adopt an unsettling grin. "Why here you are! I've been looking all over for you!" The tone of his voice and his expression adopted a semblance of concern, but it did not reach his eyes. "I was so worried after I found out what happened to Winston. My condolences, but I'm glad you're safe and sound."

"Don't talk about Winston like he's dead!" Danny snapped. "Look, can you just go away? If you haven't realized, it's been a pretty bad day for me, and I don't feel like talking to you right now."

"Of course. How inconsiderate of me. After everything you've been through today, you must be exhausted. Come, I'll make sure you're well taken care of."

It took Danny a moment to grasp the implications of Vlad's statement. "Wait… what? There's no way I'm going with you!"

"Poor boy, you must be more tired than you realize." The businessman pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a dramatic sigh. "Don't you remember? It was determined that you would be placed into my care if anything were to happen to Winston."

"That's news to me!"

"Excuse me, but what exactly is going on here?" The sound of the officer's voice made him jump. He had forgotten there was another soul in the room. However, he couldn't be more relieved. Being in the room alone with the businessman was an unnerving thought. It was even more relieving when he realized the officer seemed to be equally suspicious.

In a truly professional manner, Vlad introduced himself and explained his relationship to Danny as well as his involvement in the custody battle. Again, he mentioned how he was now to act as a guardian in Winston's stead.

"I already told you, I'm not going anywhere with you!" Danny growled as he glared at the man. Something was very wrong with the picture. Winston didn't trust Vlad, and there was no way he would let him fall into the billionaire's hands.

"You have to forgive the boy. We had a little spat the last time we saw each other, and I'm afraid he hasn't forgiven me," Vlad apologetically explained to the officer.

"Spat? You broke into my house?"

Before Vlad could respond, the officer held up his hand to halt the brewing argument. "Mr. Masters, do you have some sort of proof you can take the boy?" Vlad's expression quickly changed from shocked to insulted as the officer spoke. "Surely a man of your standing can understand our position. With the way Mr. Wolfe was attacked, we cannot rule anyone out as a potential suspect. With you being involved in a custody battle and Danny's status as a minor, we are rather uncomfortable sending him on his way like this. I'm also fairly certain you weren't notified of the situation…" The officer's eyes narrowed as he appraised the man. "Which leads me to wonder how you found out."

"One of my staff members was going to drop off some papers at the house when she saw the police cars and asked what happened" Vlad explained with an impatient air. "But that's not important right now…"

As he watched Vlad begin to argue with the officer, Danny couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude. For whatever reason, the officer did not seem to believe Vlad's story and generally seemed concerned for his wellbeing.

Everything seemed to be going in his favor when Danny was nearly bowled over by a sudden blast of cold air rushed by him. Startled, he started looking around to find some possible source… and open window, a vent, something to explain it. While he tried to wrack his brains for some other answer when the normal explanations were ruled out, he noticed the officer stumble slightly. He didn't think anything of it until the man rubbed his forehead and excused himself for a moment.

Rather unsettled by the officer's display and being left alone with Vlad, Danny moved back to the phone to attempt to resume his call. Though he was able to reach Sam's house this time, a presumed butler answered and informed him that "Miss Samantha is asleep and no longer taking calls for the night." While Danny was pretty sure it was a lie, he went with it and asked the man to give a message to her when he could.

Displeased by the turn of events, he was about to try calling Tucker when the officer returned to the room. Something did not seem right as he looked at him. The man's posture seemed stiff, and his eyes were unfocused and reddish. Wait… Danny blinked and rubbed his eyes before checking again. The man's eyes were actually red! Weren't they brown before?

"Sorry for the inconvenience." The officer's voice had an unusual mechanical quality to it… almost as if the words he was saying weren't actually his. He held up a document of some sorts as he spoke again. "It seems like someone did verify this earlier, but just forgot to place it somewhere it could be found."

"Does this mean everything's in order?" Vlad asked with a voice filled with hardly concealed delight.

"Yes. You can take the boy. We'll be in touch within the next few days to let you know how Wolfe is doing."

"Splendid! Come on my boy, it's time to go!"

Danny backed away as Vlad beckoned to him, nearly tripping over the desk in the process. His mind was screaming all sorts of warnings at him. The entire situation felt wrong, but he had no idea how to escape it. Vlad was blocking his way to the front door, and he doubted the few officers left in the building would appreciate a desperate search for the rear exit.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded as his eyes darted between both men before he pointed at Vlad. He knew he probably wasn't going to get an answer, but he hoped he could stall the man long enough to come up with some sort of plan.

"Pardon me? Whatever do you mean?"

"Y-you know what I mean!" While he tried to keep the anger in his voice, it was quickly giving way to panic. Vlad kept moving towards him wearing an increasingly predatory expression which was really creeping him out. Strangely, the thought of accidently falling through the wall crossed his mind. Unsettling as it was, it was a far better situation than the one he was currently in. "The officer's not acting right!"

Vlad replied, but his words were drowned out as a strange coldness started to seep into his body, quickly filling every aspect. He tried to escape, thinking it was somehow tied to where he was standing, but his legs wouldn't respond. They felt heavy and strangely detached; his arms were beginning to feel the same way. He tried to yell out without any success. He soon realized his mind was being pushed further away from the sensations of his body and into something like a dark crevasse to be stored and forgotten.

But the coldness was not finished. It briefly brushed against his mind and seemed to whisper in an almost familiar voice, "Relax… It'll be safer for you and me if you do…"

Danny's last conscious thought before the darkness completely took him was to wonder if he was ever going to wake up.

….

When he came to, Danny found himself lying on his back and staring at an unfamiliar white ceiling. His mind felt groggy and his body heavy. Though he wasn't sure, he felt as if he had been asleep for quite some time. Sitting up, he tried to remember how he got where he was… only, he didn't know where that might be.

Looking around, he realized something wasn't right. The room he was in was rather large. It was a bedroom, not much different from Sam's, only it didn't have any posters or the same dark decorations. In fact, the room was mostly white save for some wooden furniture. Even the four-poster bed he was sitting on had a white comforter and curtains. The only real decoration in the room was a painting on the wall directly across from him which seemed to show military conquest with… a paranormal influence. It was rather grotesques.

The blank room gave him an uneasy feeling. Although it definitely wasn't, it gave him the feeling he was in a jail of sorts. Unnerved, he slowly got up and moved to the room's single window. After moving the curtains aside, he cursed as he realized the glass was heavily frosted, preventing him from seeing any scenery. His next move was to try the door, but it was locked.

After a panicked few minutes trying everything he could think of to attempt to open the door, he placed his back against the door and slid down it. What was he going to do? The better question was what was going to happen to him? With the room being blank, it gave him no indication of what he should expect. He should, he supposed, be thankful for it, but the wait might be too much for him to handle. What was the old adage? The suspense is worse than the actual event? He really hoped that wouldn't be the case.

xxxxxx

The sound of one of her parents calling for her to come into the downstairs wafted through the room, however, Sam was dead set on ignoring the summons. There were far more important things on her mind than dealing with whatever new 'daughter improvement project' they had come up with.

She was incredibly worried about her friend who neither she nor Tucker had heard from in a little over two days. At first she thought it might be due to being overwhelmed by suddenly finding out the man who raised him had been severely attacked and/or the police being jerks, but a call earlier in the day really concerned her.

She had been thinking about calling the police in the morning (while skipping class due to a feigned illness), however they beat her to the punch. Around eleven, she had received a call from one of the detectives asking her if she had heard from Danny. She told him no right before demanding to know what was wrong. Though it took a little bit of coaxing (and a reminder of her parents' influences), the officer admitted they had no idea where the boy was. He disappeared after his interview with another officer, and though they hated to admit it, after failing to contact him or anyone else who might have the boy, he was being labeled as a missing person. Her immediate response was to insult the competence of him and the rest of the force as the boy had gone missing from underneath their noses, but after she calmed down a bit, she promised to help in whatever way she could.

Sam sat down on her large purple clad bed and stared up at one of the posters on the ceiling as she tried to understand the situation. Her friend, who seemed to attract terrible and odd events, was now missing. Danny had tried to contact her the night he disappeared, but her family had forbidden her from further calls when she had returned home that night after they learned about the attack on Winston. Somehow, they had gotten the notion whatever had harmed Winston could attack her if she continued to talk to Danny. Though it was kind of nice to know they cared, they had taken it way overbroad.

But what was strange about the situation was there was no security image of Danny leaving the precinct. The officer had explained to her they had installed cameras a while back after someone had tried to break in to the office in an attempt to steal their guns. Due to safely concerns, they regularly had them checked, but the night Danny disappeared, they had a major malfunction. There was an image of him entering the entrance area, but after a few minutes, the image distorted so badly they could not make heads or tails of it. It also seemed to return to normal rather suddenly after a while, but Danny was long gone by then.

A look at the clock told her she was going to have to wait a while before she could contact Tucker. Unlike her, he had been forced to go to school. She had no idea if he already knew Danny was missing, but no matter what, he was going to help her try to find him. Tucker was the probably the only person in town who could possibly get an image off of the damaged security tape, and the only other person (besides her) who Danny had trusted with his issues. They had to try and do what they could to help him.

…

"So, any luck?" Sam asked the boy currently sitting on her rug surrounded by any number of other electronic equipment. He had been staring at the screen of his PDA with an intense look for quite some time.

She had managed to contact Tucker mere moments after he was finished with his classes for the day and explained the situation. After freaking out a bit, he told her he would be over soon after he made a quick stop. He arrived about forty minutes later looking more determined than he had ever seen him while carrying a bookbag filled to the brim with tech supplies she had never seen before. After asking if he needed anything, Tucker quickly went to work with his task.

"…Whoever did this to this footage is really good…" he eventually replied after a few more minutes of silence.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked hesitantly. It was rare to hear such a tone in Tucker's voice when it came to technology. He could usually work his way around a system in a few seconds, minutes if it was more complicated, but this was really causing him problems.

"It's hard to explain… Usually, people just modify existing images when they don't something seen, but this guy actually managed to replace some of the footage with an error screen…"

"So… it's gone… Like completely, gone? You can't trace it or anything?" There was no way for her to hide the hint of panic in her voice. If Tucker couldn't bring up anything, no one could… which meant they weren't going to have anything to use to find Danny.

A small laugh escaped Tucker, which caused her to stare at the boy. "Jeez, Sam, you shouldn't think so little of me. Who do you think I am? This guy, though good, made a small mistake. I guess he got interrupted or something because he started just covering up the image after a while instead of changing it. To most people, it's nearly impossible to catch, but it's there. Just give me a little bit of time…."

"A little bit of time?" Sam repeated as she watched him frantically work with his PDA. "How long are we talking about?"

He hit a few more buttons on the screen before he looked up and smiled. "Does 'now' work for you?"

"Tucker, you're amazing!"

"I know, I know. But it's nice to have my fans remind me."

Sam pulled down his hat in response as she sat next to him on the floor. "Anyways, do you have the entire footage?"

"I couldn't get part of it due to the replacement… but it looks like a little less than half was just modified…. So, let's see what no one wanted us to find…." He pressed a button on the screen and a fuzzy image began to appear. On the footage, they could see Danny backing away from someone standing near the door. It was difficult to make out, but judging from Danny's posture, he did not seem to be happy to see the person. After a little bit, Danny stopped retreating and followed the unknown man out the door.

Without any prodding, Tucker tried to see if he could clear the image a little or at least clear up the image of the suspect. After frantically trying several different techniques, he sighed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. According to him, even though the person had changed methods, they were still able to damage the rest of the footage.

"I'll continue to work with it when I get home," he promised. "This is going to require some big guns for me to get something useful out of this. But don't worry; I'm not going to give up. After he saved our lives, I think this is the least I can do for him."

…..

Tucker had been booted from the house as soon as Sam's parents caught him being there. Thinking back, she was a little surprised he had managed to sneak past them in the first place since they were particularly good at catching people going up to her room. They had punished her in response by having her stay in her room for the rest of the night, which didn't bother her in the least bit.

Around seven in the evening she received a call on her cell. Noticing the number, she picked it up as quickly as possible, hoping her parents didn't hear it ringing. "Did you find anything?" she asked the caller as a form of greeting. The caller's reply was spoken too quickly and frantically for her to understand. "Whoa, slow down Tucker! I can't understand you!"

"Sam… it's worse than we thought!" came his panicked reply. "I managed to identify who was in the police station with Danny."

"Yeah? Well, who was it?"

"It was… Vlad Masters…."

Sam barely registered the phone slipping from her fingers and landing on the floor. How could she be so stupid? She knew that man had an interest in getting hold of Danny and should be the first logical suspect, but she didn't realize he would have stooped so low.

Angry with herself, she reached down to grab her phone so she could calm a frantic Tucker but stopped midway as a thought crossed her mind. How were they going to be able to get Danny back from a man who had mastered in lies with an unimaginable fortune to back him up?

=============================================================

I just wanted to point out that the way these officers are depicted is due to experience. The ones in the borough where I grew up were usually nice, but if they had it in their minds you did something wrong, you could be treated like trash. But at the same time, they're the reason why my childhood bully wasn't excepted into the NFL - they slapped him with assault charges when he decided to get into a fight while he was in college. I have mixed feelings. The officers from the neighboring borough were wonderful.

#Eidolon #danny phantom #danny phantom au #dp au #dp #alternate universe #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #vlad plasmius #fantasy #paranormal #supernatural

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mcnaughton · 7 years

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Abandoning Hope -- Some Thoughts on Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

*NOTE: I wrote this the day after seeing Rogue One at the cinema. I don't do FB, so I posted it to my neglected G+ and linked to Twitter ( twitter.com/drewmcnaughton ). Every few years I remember I have a Tumblr, so I'm sharing it here 6 months later. Also, to correct the opening sentence, I did not see R1 again in theaters, making it the first live action Star Wars movie I've ever only seen once on the big screen. Enjoy....... Original Post 12/16/16 ( https://plus.google.com/108163877778963936170/posts/TUqccQPVkzf ) I will see Rogue One again while it is still at the cinema. That isn't really saying much since I saw Phantom Menace five times during the summer of 1999, back when I had way more time on my hands and George Lucas was only in his first phase of ruining my childhood. Today at work, I told people who knew I saw it last night that if they like Star Wars, then Rogue One is worth seeing, and if they had seen all of them, then they had already seen worse Star Wars movies as well as much better ones (among which I would include The Force Awakens). I did not really know what to expect walking into Rogue One as I had read no spoilers other than there would be no opening crawl (real spoilers will follow below). While I was looking forward to seeing it, it was the least excited I had ever been for a new Star Wars movie (I was 4 years old when Jedi premiered, and the Emperor's force lightning torture of Luke was too much for my little mind to handle). I identified at least two reasons for my lack of enthusiasm: it would not move the saga forward nor would it likely answer long pondered questions since in at least a general sense we already know what happens because it is literally spelled out for us in the opening title crawl of the original Star Wars. Also, we just got a new Star Wars a year ago. I probably will be much more excited for Episode VIII next year, but it is also possible that the House of Mouse Star Wars saturation is already taking its toll. ***Spoilers below, you've been warned*** I walked away from Rogue One with mixed feelings. I did not enjoy it as much as I did last year's The Force Awakens. This is largely due to Rogue One’s paper thin characters. I don’t dislike Jyn or the Captain guy. The blind Jedi inspired warrior and his brick shithouse companion are fun. I especially got a huge kick out of blind Chirrut (I had to Google his name because I honestly could not remember it) saying "May the Force of Others Be With You" and his reference to the Whills, both of which are ancient relics of the earliest drafts of The Star Wars by Lucas (I highly recommend The Star Wars comic book miniseries that brings the rough draft to life; it isn't exactly what I'd characterize as a good story, but it is a fascinating look at from what Star Wars evolved, as well as how certain elements emerged decades later in the prequels, for better or worse). But the only character I really cared about was the droid K-2S0. He dies. They all die. That was fairly predictable. But only K-2S0's sacrifice made me even somewhat emotional. The Captain is a one note character, and while I embrace the diversity on display in these new Star Wars films, I honestly had a difficult time understanding some of his dialogue due at least in part to the character’s (or actor’s) accent. Then there is Jyn, who goes from not really caring about the Rebellion (or anything for that matter) to preaching about "hope" to Mon Mothma almost immediately after her father is killed, seemingly turning on a dime in terms of her character’s motivation. This character’s shift is less convincing than Anakin's turn to the Dark Side. I cared less about Jyn after 2+ hours than I did about Rey in her first couple of minutes on screen in The Force Awakens while scavenging the crashed Star Destroyer, hocking her goods, and making her portion of space bread. Maybe it was a difference in the quality of the acting, the script writing, or both. The absense of characters in whom I am emotionally invested is a big problem I have in fully embracing Rogue One. Not caring about the characters is largely what sank the prequels, especially The Phantom Menace (though to be fair, I really liked Ewan McGregor’s performance in Attack of the Clones because he seemed to be having fun with the role, and even Hayden Christensen had a few shining moments about midway through Revenge of the Sith where I actually felt his inner turmoil). Speaking of which, Darth Vader is in Rogue One and it is pretty awesome. We see his lava planet castle, based on old conceptual art for Empire Strikes Back, I believe. Most of the planets in Rogue One are identified by title cards. This one is not, though I assumed it was Mustafar and I'm sure that will be confirmed or denied through some official Star Wars sanctioned means if it hasn't already. I absolutely love the planet Jedha, with the relics of the last remaining Jedi temple and fallen statues that are very much in the spirit of the Lord of the Rings films (think The Argonath from Fellowship of the Ring). Pretty much everything that happens on this planet are my favorite parts of the movie. I'm getting slightly ahead of myself here though. The film opens with a somewhat cliched scene of young Jyn seeing the murder of her mother and abduction of her father by the Imperial bad guy who needs help finishing the construction of the Death Star. It is notable that the mother is wearing clothing very similar to the Jedi robes in the prequels that were also worn by common Tatooine folks in A New Hope and Return of the Jedi. She also is the bearer of a Kyber Crystal, which have long been known to be the power element for both Jedi/Sith lightsabers as well as the Death Star's main weapon, though never acknowledged on film until now. We then flash forward to Jyn in an imperial jail. It is at this point that I really started to worry about Rogue One because in the next 10 minutes, we visit at least 4 different planets, and I started to wonder if the film was heading into a narrative nightmare not witnessed since David Lynch's Dune (which, in full disclosure, I absolutely love, though I'd never try to convince anyone that it is actually a good movie). Fortunately it does not (although perhaps Rogue One would be far more memorable if it was a complete disaster of a film rather than one that is just somewhat off its mark). As I write this, it has been about 24 hours since I saw Rogue One, and that brief, messy stretch of the film is mostly a blur in my mind, but at its outset, Jyn is going to help the Rebels find Saw Gerrera played by Ghost Dog himself Forest Whitaker because plot reasons.. That leads to the terrific sequences on Jedha. The film is worth seeing for these alone. In The Force Awakens, Han Solo stated that Luke Skywalker went in search of the last Jedi temple. Perhaps what we see on Jedha will come into play in next year's Episode VIII, or perhaps not. There was no teaser for Episode VIII before or after Rogue One. Then a bunch of stuff happens: Jyn's dad dies, we see Tarkin which is cool, and we see some other OT characters, some of whom's cameos are clever, while others are shameless fan service and pandering. And then we get to the film's third act, which has been what most people who have seen and enjoyed Rogue One have pointed to as its highlight. Frankly, I was underwhelmed. Again, I got a little emotional when the droid K-2S0 is killed protecting Jyn and Captain guy. Many of the more iconic images from the film's trailers didn't even make into the final cut of this sequence (which calls into question the apparent validity of the rumors of the production being troubled). I did not hate this extended sequence, but this is the first time in any Star Wars movie where I was not fully engaged in the epic battle. Yes, that includes the ones in the prequels. I did really like when Darth Vader's Star Destroyer popped up to thwart any sense of pure victory the Rebels may have felt after capturing the Death Star plans. Then we see Princess Leia, obviously a special effect, and she lightspeeds away on the Tantave IV into the opening shot of Episode IV. This all calls into question why The House of Mouse felt compelled to make this movie. Well, the answer is simple, to continue to make "a shitload of money" (to quote Lone Star from Spaceballs) off of their $4 billion investment. But why this story? My guess is that the powers that be recognized that Revenge of the Sith’s attempt to tie directly into the beginning of A New Hope failed miserably, largely because of the 20 year gap in the saga timeline between the two films. This is probably why they went with Princess Leia at the end of Rogue One and not Artoo and Threepio, since we already saw them on the Tantave IV in one of the last shots in Episode III. There's a lot of unaccounted for events on the Star Wars timeline, especially in light of the abandonment of the Extended Universe (which was fine by me because most of those novels and comic books were really dumb) and the introduction of new characters, concepts and entities in The Force Awakens. Maybe years from now (or much sooner) we'll get to see the Battle of Jaku on the big screen in another standalone film. I would have preferred that to what we get in Rogue One. Some of my specific nitpicks, such as how can the X- and U-Wings destroy the AT-ATs when in Empire Strikes Back their "armor is too strong for blasters", I've already found answers to -- according to Den Of Geek, these are actually AT-ACTs, designed for cargo, not combat ( http://www.denofgeek.com/us/movies/star-wars/260771/star-wars-rogue-one-easter-eggs-and-reference-guide ). My brother picked up on some other nitpicks, particularly how the end of Rogue One and the beginning of A New Hope don't exactly match up ( https://t.co/q881t4Jr5e ). I'm sure more of those will occur to the collective Star Wars community as time goes by and second, third and perhaps fourth theatrical viewings occur. *****END SPOILERS**** Look, when new Star Wars (and also Star Trek) movies are released, I am tense when I see them the first time because I am anxiously waiting for them to start sucking. There is an unfortunate precedent for that for these two franchises. In the last year, I enjoyed both The Force Awakens and Star Trek Beyond way more on subsequent viewings than I did the first times. In the case of Rogue One, it stumbles out of the gate, then thrives during the Jedha sequences, and finally settles in as a B-/C+ grade Star Wars film. There is a chance I might like it even less when I see it again, but I might also find more to appreciate. I've seen the worst Star Wars and Star Trek films at least several dozen times each, and the best ones hundreds if not thousands of times (no exaggeration…. I wore out my VHS copies of Star Wars, Empire, Wrath of Khan, Search for Spock and The Voyage Home as a kid). I'll see Rogue One again. I even look forward to it. I just HOPE I find something more to like about it.

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

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Verboten 11 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Chapter warning: child kidnappings mentioned

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 11

The return home was nothing but a blur. Sam’s mind couldn’t make much sense of anything until she focused on flashing lights in the darkness. Panic gripped her as the possibility those skeleton creatures followed them, but voices soon filtered through the dark trees. She called out to them in a raspy voice. At first, she thought her voice was too faint to reach them, but someone heard her.

One of the rangers came into focus as he approached her. After flashing his light over the area, he tried asking her something. His question didn’t make much sense to her, so she attempted to tell him she was okay, but the others might be hurt. Her vision swam as the ranger contacted someone on his walkie-talkie. The last thing she heard before blackness took her was the ranger trying to keep her conscious.

…

She woke up to find herself staring at a pale gray ceiling. Confused, she turned her head to get a better idea of where she was. The white walls, a single chair where Tucker was sleeping, and an IV which was attached to her clued her in that she was in a hospital. Why was she in a hospital? After glancing at Tucker again, she determined the better question was why was Tucker in the hospital? He hated them.

He roused himself after a few moments. “Hey, you’re awake!” After allowing himself a moment to stretch, he moved to her side. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” Her throat felt like sandpaper. “How’d I get here? Where is everyone else? Where’s Danny?”

“I was told the Rangers called in ambulances after we were found. We and the A-listers were taken here. We were actually the least injured – just some scrapes and bruises. The doctors said you also had a bad bump on the head. Some of the A-listers are in critical condition, but they should make it.” He glanced around before leaning closer so he could whisper, “When I was released earlier, my parents told me Danny had been found and taken here, but they’re not allowing visitors. He’s being questioned by the police because he was found in a different location hours after us and relatively unharmed. Mom said the doctors seem worried about his vitals.”

“But he didn’t do anything!” She tried to sit up only to have Tucker gently stop her.

“Hey, the only way your parents let me in here was if I promised to make sure you didn’t get up if they weren’t in the room. I’m not pushing my luck after everything else that happened.” Once he was certain she was done trying to move, he went back to the chair and wrung his hands. “Trust me. I know he didn’t have anything to do with what happened, but it looks weird to the cops that he wasn’t found with us.”

Sam wanted to argue with him just so she could vent. Danny didn’t deserve that suspicion. He was probably most affected by what happened. Remembering him in that ghostly form, she hoped he would be okay being in the world of the living. He was back there with them, so she guessed he would be okay.

She tried to question Tucker for more information, but her parents interrupted them. After a boisterous show of relief from her mother, her dad had enough tact to politely ask Tucker to give them time with their daughter. She glared at Tucker’s betrayal as he gave a half-hearted salute before he exited leaving her to try to block out her mother’s piercing voice.

….

After a barrage of tests the next morning, the doctors were confident she could be released. However, her parents wanted them to keep her for another night as a precaution. Since the doctors gave her a clean bill of health, the police came in to take a statement from her. She told them what she felt she could – that someone who called himself Youngblood killed Lester and took Mikey, and after she and her friends got separated from the others, were hunted down by someone called Plasmius. While the police seemed skeptical, they did admit her story matched up with her friends and what they could get out of Dash and Lucas.

Her annoyance at the police lessened when Tucker brought her news they were allowed to go see Danny. Her nurse was fine with it as long as she returned to her room after a couple hours.

Danny’s room was on a different floor so it took them a few minutes to get there. After knocking and entering, they found Danny sitting up on his bed and chatting with his sister. After greeting them, Jazz excused herself after giving him a searching look.

“What was that about?” Tucker questioned as he glanced back towards where Jazz disappeared.

“You know her and her psychobabble. She’s convinced I’m traumatized need to talk to someone.” Danny’s tone seemed light, but there was a notable frown on his face. “I can tell she knows I’m withholding information.”

“I think the police also think that. The cop I talked to earlier seemed upset I didn’t give him more information,” Sam admitted before she moved forward to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing considering…?” She gestured vaguely to his body. “You still owe me a date, you know.”

A chuckle escaped him. “I know I do, but they need to let me out of here first. Then we can play it by ear.” He brought his hand to his chest. “Some of my vitals are wonky because of… what happened, so the doctors want to observe me for a while still.” His eyes grew distant as he continued, “Overall, I think I’m okay, but this place makes me so uncomfortable. There is so much emotion, and… I think they’re remnants of people who died. They might be ghosts, but they seem so wispy compared to what we saw. Clockwork told me that place corrupted ghosts over time, so maybe that’s what it is. The ghosts here aren’t corrupted.”

“Dude, I feel you about hospitals being creepy. The only reason I’m here is to visit you two,” Tucker admitted as he removed his hat and wrung it. “But what do you mean by emotion?”

There was a green tinge to Danny’s eyes as he glanced at them. “I can feel… maybe taste… the fear and grief in this place. I don’t like it.”

After sharing a concerned look with Tucker, Sam gently patted Danny’s shoulder. “There are old stories that say ghosts seem to respond to strong emotions. Maybe that’s what it is.”

“Maybe.” His reply was half-hearted.

“So, how exactly did you get back? And how did the visit with Clockwork go?” Tucker questioned as he sat on the only chair in the room, leaving Sam to rest on the end of his bed.

“Frostbite brought me back after we got the report that you were attacked, he led me to a different portal as the one you went through already closed.” His head tilted as he thought about it. “Clockwork was very unsettled by the events. He’s the ghost of time, by the way, and I don’t think I ever want his job.” After catching their confused stares, Danny launched into a hushed explanation of what Clockwork told him.

“You’re telling me the ghost of time missed seeing that weird thing?” It was Tucker who finally broke the stunned silence after Danny finished. “He’s not very good at his job, is he?”

Danny shook his head. “I don’t think it’s Clockwork’s fault. From what I caught, it seems what or whoever is employing those things, they are able to move in his blind spots.”

“You said something about how those things are looking to steal kids. Do you think we have to worry about them?” Although Sam wasn’t too worried about herself, she did have small cousins that while they were brats, she had no desire to see them harmed.

“I’m not sure. I wasn’t given too much information about them, and I don’t exactly have a way to try to find a way to find out either.”

“Hmm… When my parents finally allow me out of here, I’ll go through my collection of folklore and mythology. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe there’s a mention of something like what you described.”

“Oooh! That’s a good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” Tucker smacked himself on the head as he brought out his PDA. After a few quick button pushes, he held it up. “I now have a program running to see if there are any recent reports of those things? It might take a bit of filtering to get around CreepyPastas, but I think it’ll work.”

Danny gave them a trembling smile. “Thanks guys.”

Their conversation soon drifted to more mundane things like school and imagining Sam’s parents going on a rampage against the school district. Their conversation came to an end after Danny’s parents entered the room, a little more excited than normal. They clearly wanted to discuss something in private, so Sam and Tucker excused themselves. Tucker then walked Sam back to her room, where her nurse was waiting for them.

xxxxxx

The next day, Danny was release from the hospital under strict orders he needed to be carefully monitored. His temperature and blood pressure were still on the low side, but he seemed to be healthy. Uncertain whether or not that was his new baseline, they figured his parents would return him to the hospital if he took a turn for the worst. So, he would be allowed to stay home from school for about a week.

If he was honest, he didn’t think he parents would be too motivated to keep an eye on him as they had a new toy to keep their attention. While he, his friends, and classmates were lost in the world of the dead, his parents managed to punch open a hole into that very place with an invention they had been working on for decades. Most of their waking moments were spent hovering around it and taking measurements.

He didn’t understand why they would make such a thing. Its energy infected everything in the house. He doubted his parents or sister were able to feel it unless they stood in front of it, but that energy thrummed in his very core. It wasn’t exactly a comforting feeling, but it seemed to calm the constant fighting between his human and ghostly forms. He supposed he should be at least thankful for that as it helped prevent slip ups around his family.

That had been the most nerve wracking aspect of his changes. His energy often surged without warning which triggered some sort of ghostly ability that both Frostbite and Clockwork neglected to mention to him. His body parts liked to inappropriately pass through solid objects or disappear for a few minutes at a time. It often went away after a few frantic moments of trying to fix the problem. He had yet to tell his friends about it.

For the most part, he kept to himself and in his room while he was under this surveillance period. However, he still had bodily needs. So, he would venture to the kitchen for snacks.

A couple hours after dinner, he went downstairs for one such snack. He found his sister in the living room watching breaking news regarding a disappearance of a teen. As he listened to the reporter, a strange chill ran through him. That chill worsened after they showed a photo of the girl – she was an underclassman at his school.

“How long have you been standing there?” Jazz demanded after she realized he was there. Had he really been that quiet?

“Long enough. What exactly happened to her?” He moved to sit down on the couch with her.

“After what just happened to you, I don’t think you should listen.”

He rolled his eyes. “Jazz, I’m fine. Besides, I already heard enough to know she went missing around the same time me and my classmates did.”

Jazz narrowed her eyes as she seemingly examined him for some unknown sign. When she didn’t find it, she sighed and caught him up. “She and her family went on a normal hike on a short trail outside the city. When she didn’t come back at the designated time, a search party went looking for her. She was found unharmed near a bend the creek that follows that trail.” She paused as she scratched her head. “It doesn’t seem too unusual, but something her parents said in an interview is bugging me. They said she seemed like an entirely different person after she was found. I’m trying to get more information to see if I have any information that might be able to help them.”

“You probably shouldn’t stick your nose in it.”

The expression she shot him went from offended to sheepish as she backtracked. “Well… I wasn’t going to directly get involved. I was just going to send a message to their doctors if I could find a psychological change that could help with their prognoses. I wonder if they’d let me do a case study on her for my class.” Jazz had received special permission to return home for a couple weeks to make sure Danny was fine. However, true to form, she had promised to work on any potential projects due the time period.

“Jazz… I’m serious. You shouldn’t get involved.” When Jazz looked like she was going to argue with him, he gave her the most intense glare he could muster. “You have no idea what might have happened to her. Getting involved when you shouldn’t, might make it worse, or you might get yourself involved in something you’ll end up regretting.”

She floundered as she tried to find her words. If he didn’t know any better, she almost seemed afraid. “I don’t understand you,” she eventually told him. “You’ve never taken such an interest in any of my previous projects.”

Danny just rubbed his temples. Jazz didn’t tend to back down from anything unless she had a sound argument. “Jazz, I’m telling you, there’s something wrong here. Don’t approach her.”

“Are you implying that her temporary disappearance has something to do with what happened to you and your classmates?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but call it a gut feeling.”

She gently patted his shoulder. “I know what this is about.”

“You do?”

She gave him a pitying look. “Because your situations are so similar, you’re projecting your fears and experience on to her.”

“What? That’s not it at all!”

“You just keep telling yourself that, little brother.” With that phrase, she effectively dismissed anything else he had to say.

Still unsettled, Danny excused himself and went back to his room to see if he could find any more information as to what happened to the underclassman and to alert Sam and Tucker to the information. While he was able to get little more than the information he heard on the news report, the feeling something else was wrong wouldn’t leave him.

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