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anncanta · 3 years

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Hierogamy: Dracula BBC and the myth about Kora-Persephone

Today I would like to talk about the mythological drama in the series Dracula and some of its aspects, without which, it seems to me, the perception of this text will remain incomplete, and the understanding will not be as deep as it deserves.

But first, perhaps, it is worth saying a few words about why it seems to me that it is so significant to consider the mythological drama in a work of fiction in general and in Dracula in particular. Isn't it enough just to look or read, perceiving the text as it is, and not going into the study of some complex deep layers? Sometimes it's enough. But more often – no, it isn't. The answer to the question of why so lies in the very nature of a story and the art of storytelling.

The mythological drama is never fully developed in the text at the formal level, although there is where it precisely can be seen. This seems to be a contradiction just at first glance: the drama (in its original ancient Greek meaning) is a kind of ‘deep development’ underlying all events and scenes. It is like a labyrinth, a skeleton, a matrix on which the rest is built and grows.

That is, why is it important to look ‘from here’? For the same reason that it was important for Jonathan Harker in the film to find a map: in order, firstly, to understand how the castle is arranged (and therefore Dracula himself), to relate himself to it in a certain way – and to get out of its boundaries, that is, to include the castle in a wider context, which will allow the character to find freedom.

Finding freedom, in this case, should be understood quite literally – as going beyond the limits of restrictions and, as Dracula and Jonathan each correctly note in their own way, – a look from above.

This view has many advantages, but the main thing is the ability to perceive what was seen in its integrity.

Because in a good story, ‘how’ is always ‘about what’, so if you don't understand ‘how’ or ‘for what’, or even ‘what it was’ in general, most likely you haven't read the text, and it remained for you something like a set of colored spots on the wall, beautiful or annoying, but – as researchers of the brain and psyche never tire of reminding, – in the absence of a ‘key’ such thing does not exist as the story itself.

It is not at all necessary, by the way, should be a mythological or psychological, archetypal, or fairy-tale ‘key’. Or all at once. At one stage or another in life, each viewer and reader needs their own set of the ‘keys’ or a specific one. First of all, it is the literal sense of the story at the plot level. But without a ‘key’ at all – there is no text. At least because the text itself, as a phenomenon consisting of – whether linguistic, pictorial, or auditory – signs, is a key – to our ability to imagine things that do not exist ‘in reality’, and to ideas, images, and meanings.

But back to the text.

In Dracula, the mythological drama is present at all levels, and there are no parts, ideas, or interactions between characters in any moment of the film where it would not be important in one way or another.

We will not consider all aspects in which the mythological context directly manifested itself, as it will take too much time. Let's see just one – the one that is the main motive of the film and somehow creates the main plot collision, and with it – the metaphor and essence of the story itself.

And this is the motive of hierogamy.

Hierogamy as a concept can be considered in two aspects. The first is mythological, in which it represents the name, description, and modeling in the ritual a sacred marriage (from the Greek ιερός γάμος, Latin hieros gamos) of the god and goddess, and the second is alchemical (archetypal), denoting the combination of male and female principles in the process of creating a philosopher's stone.

Hierogamy in one way or another includes a sexual context, in the sense that it puts at the center of the event and experiences ‘connection’ and ‘dissolution of boundaries’ to create a single one that will be greater than the sum of its parts.

In Dracula, both of these aspects are present and can be recognized from the very first minutes.

We will not go into details, just list a few examples.

The most obvious and conspicuous is Dracula's castle as the fruit of love between Petruvio and his wife (whose portraits hang side by side on one of the floors and, as we learn later, are the ‘entrance’ to the mystery of the castle and its structure, and at the same time – the ‘exit’ to the outside world), Jonathan as the bride of Dracula, thanks to the interaction with which the Count is able to leave his ‘prison without locks’, the connection of Mina and the remnants of Jonathan on the verge of space separated by the sacred bread, allowing Dracula to penetrate inside and give rise to a new interaction of the male and female, and so on.

But the fun begins to happen in the second episode.

Given as a prototype, a form and a plot configuration, the mythological drama of hierogamy has so far been satisfied with literal images of heroes and disclosure at the level of the plot. It was difficult to suspect something more in it than a direct (allegorical) depiction of mental and emotional processes. But in the second episode, a new layer appears in this story. Or rather, it stops hiding.

It's so simple, so obvious and so cheeky frank that when you watch it for the first time, you miss it in an attempt to follow the plot. And only by the end of the episode you do guess that you should follow something else.

Yes, we do not yet know – and we have nowhere to find out – that the action of the prologue of the second episode takes place on the same ship, which will become the stage for the internal and external drama, but the style and images, the very structure of the situation, gradually suggest what will be discussed here.

And it will be the drama of Kora-Persephone.

Let me briefly recall the content of the underlying ancient Greek myth about Kora, Hades, and Demeter.

The daughter of the goddess of fertility Demeter, Kora, attracted the attention of the ruler of the underworld, the god Hades, and he kidnapped her, taking her to him, to the lands of the dead. There Kora spent some time, communicating quite closely with Hades, after which she begged him to let her go to the ‘upper world’ for a while so that she could see her mother, whom she was terribly longing for. Hades fulfilled Kora's request, but on the condition that she would return, and gave the girl several pomegranate seeds for the journey. During her stay in the kingdom of Hades, Kora refused to eat anything, so by the time she received the gift she was very hungry, and therefore, soon after she found herself on earth, she ate the seeds. And since the pomegranate is the fruit of Hades and the symbol of marriage, this made her return to Hades a must. Meanwhile, in the ‘upper world’ fields and plants ceased to bear fruit, and eternal winter came, as Kora's mother, Demeter, mad with grief and longing for her daughter, turned away from people and nature. Zeus found a solution to the problem. He decreed that Persephone (that was the name of the goddess who had ceased to be a girl) should spend six months on Olympus, that is, with her mother, and six months – in the kingdom of Hades, now her husband.

Thus, the myth, on the one hand, describes in the language of an archaic worldview the logic of the changing seasons (Persephone on Olympus – Demeter rejoices, spring and summer come on earth, Persephone in the kingdom of Hades – Demeter suffers, autumn and winter come on earth), and from the other, represents the mystery cycle of successive transformations of a girl into a woman and the unification of male and female in sacred marriage.

Let's see how this mystery cycle unfolds in the film – on a formal and substantive level.

The ship on which Dracula sails to England is called Demeter. In the center of the plot of the episode are the abduction of a virgin (a nun is by definition a virgin, if not physically, then symbolically) and the interaction of the hero with her on a ‘lower’, deep level. Lower, in the sense – detached from the everyday, visible to everyone, taking place in the light of universal attention and perception.

The hero who kidnapped the virgin (by the way, we have no doubt that he kidnapped her, from the very beginning – just do not know how exactly it happened; and therefore our desire to follow them closely is so intense) does not completely belong to the world of the living, although he does not belong to the world of the dead either. He seems to live on the border, not being part of either of these two realities. So that no one has any doubts about who he represents, let us recall that Hades was not always associated with death among the Greeks, and was never considered the master of hell and a synonym for death and destruction. He created a kingdom for himself, which he called by his name, in order to live away from everyone. And only later did he become the ruler of the world of the dead.

Obviously, the description of Dracula's life in the castle refers to the reality of Hades in the underworld, largely parodying it. Because, although Hades is the king of shadows, he is still a king, and his kingdom is real. Whereas Dracula lives, in fact, in a dump filled with bad memories and rotting broken dolls, locked in the boxes.

But Hades also kidnapped Persephone, not on great terms.

Both stories, the mythological one, and the story told in the film, lead us to the fact that the hero (the masculinity, the organizing principle) for completeness and development lacks a partner, another view of the same world, a beloved-opposite.

Dracula finds her at the gates of the convent and, according to the logic of the mythological drama, drags her to him. There is an interesting moment: hardly, having captured Agatha, Dracula went with her immediately to the ship. Most likely, he first brought her to his home, that is, to the castle, and only after that, when the time came, he sent her to Demeter. So, their interaction began in the castle, in the literal realm of the dead, and continued on a ship in the middle of the sea, in a transitional space, in a space of changes. This fully corresponds to the myth of the transformation of Hades, who has gone from voluntary loneliness to becoming a king in the world of the dead, where everything is indefinite, mobile, unsteady and although it does not change in the sense in which it happens on earth, it represents the idea of change as it is.

Everything is possible in the space of changes, therefore, here the most important thing for the whole film takes place, and that will give the story an impulse to move forward and being resolved in the form, which we see in the third episode.

Let's turn now to Agatha's story.

On the ship, she travels in the role of Kora – at first, abducted and held in the ‘underworld’ and not realizing her position (Hades, let me remind you, having kidnapped Kora, did not immediately make her his wife, and she was sort of his guest – until the moment when she persuaded him to let her go to earth to see her mother), and then – in fact, the mistress of this very kingdom.

Why mistress? It is rather difficult to answer this question. But there are details in the text that give hints and, on close examination, leave no room for double interpretation.

The simplest and most obvious is the physical location of the characters in the frame. They are on an equal footing, both in the center, and although Agatha is shorter than Dracula, she is as ‘in her place’ as he is and feels just as confident.

The second is how they communicate. In addition to the fact that the dialogue, the beginning of which we see in the prologue of the episode, is quite friendly and mutual (no one hangs over anyone, does not threaten anyone, and does not try to pressure – for those who have forgotten what it looks like, there is the final conversation in the convent), Agatha's position is read from the phrases thrown by Dracula in passing, but very eloquent. Such as ‘You choose’ – in response to the question of who will play black and who will play white. And this is only the upper layer of interaction, there are more of them, and on each one, it is acutely felt that here Agatha is not a prisoner, but a partner.

You might say, – of course, this is all part of an insidious plan to keep Agatha in the dark, and no real courtesy (not to mention real respect and closeness) is out of the question. Dracula is just playing with his victim. But this is the essence of the story and what happens on Demeter, as well as in the space of the original drama. Hades kidnaps Persephone as something alien, beautiful, and unfamiliar, something that attracted his attention in the distant upper world and that, like a fruitful grain, fell into his dark hermetic kingdom and ignited the spark of life in it.

Hierogamy and everything that precedes it is a mutual process, otherwise it makes no sense.

But then a moment comes in the story, which in the mythological drama corresponds to the stage of the earth, empty due to the grief of Demeter and the despair of Kora, yearning for the upper world.

On the ship, which has lost most of the passengers and half of the crew, because of Dracula's appetite, tension grows, and in the same way, it grows inside Agatha, who despite her quite comfortable position, begins to realize that something is wrong here.

Internal and external tensions converge at one point – on both sides of the doors of cabin number nine. And when the doors open, the mythological drama comes to the surface.

Interestingly, the story here does not even try to hide what it really is – from a detective in Agatha Christie's style, turning into a mystery action. Moreover, it directly admits it – when Dracula invites passengers and crew members of the ship to cabin number nine and brings them to Agatha's bed, he opens the curtain.

But what is going to happen here?

Let's see what the situation is in terms of structure.

The hero, who for a long period of time keeps a woman abducted by him from the ‘upper’ world, alien to him, experiences the invasion of this very world and is forced to present this woman to those around him and somehow explain her presence in this place and their relationship. Let us recall that the relationship between Kora and Hades also remained ‘unnoticed’ for the time being, or rather, until the moment when its uncertainty began to create problems.

Let's forget for a while about the individual needs and questions of passengers and crew – the important thing here is that all the ‘inhabitants’ of the ship demand to explain what is happening and to open cabin number nine.

Demeter demands Kora to her. She does not agree to put up with the current situation and calls Hades to account.

What remains for the hero? He, as in the Greek myth, acts with cunning: in this case, in the film, he tells the story that the woman lying in (his) bed is a murderer, the terrible eater of people whom passengers and crew have been unsuccessfully looking for throughout travels.

Dracula is trying to explain Agatha's presence here and now, on this ship and in these circumstances – not only to deflect suspicions from himself, but also to structure the situation in which they find themselves – not so much because he wants it, but because that he has no other choice.

What happens on deck is a logical consequence of his decision. Brought to light Kora is no longer the same as before – having visited the kingdom of Hades and entered into a close relationship with him, she can no longer remain a girl and just a daughter of her mother. Her innocence is left in the arms of the lord of the underworld. And since he really does not intend to let her go, all that remains for him is to make their relationship ‘legal’.

The hanging scene, entirely built on the interaction of Agatha, Dracula, and the ‘choir’ consisting of the crew of the ship and passengers, looks like another erotic at the same time (after the first scene in the convent), in which Agatha again from above and again largely dictates conditions, – and as a kind of coronation scene.

But not only the one.

There are so many meanings in this scene, and they are so closely intertwined and interconnected, that in order to see them all, you should carefully examine it – slowly, gradually.

First, Agatha is placed on a barrel and a noose is thrown around her neck, intending to execute her.

It would seem, what does Hades' marriage to Persephone have to do with it?

According to ancient pagan beliefs, the remnants of which are also preserved in Christianity, the bride, who left her home and married the fiancé, was considered dying for her previous life and being born for a new one.

Not everyone on the ship agrees that an unfamiliar and barely breathing woman is indeed guilty of the murders on the Demeter, and a dispute erupts between the judges hungry for justice. Among others, the captain speaks out and says that the woman standing on the barrel is the wife of the mysterious Mr. Balaur, who paid generously for her transportation in cabin number nine, without attracting unnecessary attention.

The word ‘wife’ is important. Firstly, because Dracula (Hades) still knows more than Agatha (Kora), even if he did not fully formulate it for himself. And secondly, because in the mythological reality in which the characters undoubtedly are, words matter. Let us recall that events still take place in a transitional space in the midst of changing and constantly moving waters. In this reality, what is not uttered is not defined. What is not shown does not exist. (I don't think I need to explain to anyone that cabin number nine is Schrödinger's box.) Thus, the one who utters the word determines this reality.

In the noise that arose after the recognition of the captain, most of the spoken words are lost, but two of them are heard clearly and turn out to be the main ones. This is the word ‘bride’, declared as a negation, and ‘wife’ disputed by no one.

At the plot level, this is just a confusion, a skirmish of frightened and distrustful people, but at the symbolic level, everything is clear and logical.

First, the bride announced that she is not the one (‘I'm not Balaur's bride!’).

Second, another person declared publicly that she was the wife of Mr. Balaur. Who, in turn, is nothing more than a mask, a pseudonym for Dracula. This is not enough for marriage, you say. Yes, sure. At the plot level, no doubt. But the characters are in symbolic space. And here, in this space, it is important who utters these words.

The captain pronounces them – a person who, by his position, is the master on the ship, who has the right to judge and resolve disputes, the right to execute and pardon, and – to seal marriages.

But this is not enough either. There are almost no coincidences in such texts. It was not in vain that I mentioned that the word ‘wife’ was not disputed. A mythological drama is being played out before us, but it is being played out in a nineteenth-century setting. Therefore, for a legal marriage, another formula becomes significant.

‘And if there is anyone among us who knows the reason why this marriage should not be contracted, let's tell now or be silent forever.’

Then one final touch is missing to complete the ceremony.

The moment when Agatha asks who has the courage to knock over the barrel and hears Dracula's answer: ‘Me,’ on a metaphorical level, ‘closes’ the frame of the ritual action.

The fiancé approaches the bride and makes a movement to ‘end the game’ – literally to kill Agatha, and symbolically, to complete her transition from bride status to wife status. Here even blood is present as an attribute of the loss of virginity, even though, in this case, the bride has long since said goodbye to it. But we are talking about the symbolic aspect of what is happening.

Let's not forget, however, that the lord of the underworld kidnapped Kora-Persephone and involved her in marriage without her direct and informed consent (more on this later). Therefore, Agatha's actions, when she spits blood in Dracula's face, literally designed to reveal his vampire nature for everyone, symbolically signify the resistance of Kora-Persephone and the desire to escape from her husband. But some things, having started, are quite difficult to stop, so Dracula still knocks over the barrel. Having successfully landed surrounded by ‘guests’ at the wedding, Agatha survives. But on a symbolic level, her death was not the goal. The goal was to physically separate one part of her life from another. This is exactly what happened.

Thus, we can conclude that after the end of the second episode, we are no longer facing Kora, but Persephone – the queen of the underworld.

But, as in the myth, Persephone at this stage is still the point of intersection of the conflicts of several characters. This is Hades, who wants her to return to him from the upper world, Demeter, who does not think to retreat, and... Persephone, who needs to deal with herself and who she is now, and how she will continue to be.

At the mythological level, it is the conflict that will become central in the third episode.

In the myth, at the request of Persephone and Demeter, Hades released Persephone to the upper world, giving her (some sources say – forcing to eat, but this is unlikely since it does not correspond to the function of that types of objects in myths and fairy tales) several pomegranate seeds... It was because of this that Persephone, having eaten them already on earth, was forced to return back to the underworld.

Do you remember what happens in the third episode?

Zoe van Helsing (a doctor, who, by profession, every day deals with the reality of both the ‘upper’ and ‘lower’ worlds, and exists and works on their border) – who can be considered a kind of ‘earthly’ incarnation of Agatha, Persephone from ‘upper world’, meets Dracula, whom she did not think to meet. By her own admission, she never really believed that Dracula would be found. And Dracula, seeing that his ‘wife’ does not remember him and does not want to return, gives her his blood and offers to ‘read’ it – if Zoe guesses how to do it.

That is, you understand – he does not directly offer her to drink his blood. He only gives her what she wants. Just like in the myth.

Zoe is a researcher, and besides the fact that she may have hoped that Dracula's blood would somehow help her recover from a fatal disease, she probably really wanted to know the secret of vampire blood, as any real scientist, inquisitive and hungry for knowledge.

Now let's turn to myth again. Persephone ate the pomegranate seeds that Hades gave her because she was hungry because she refused food all the time she was with him.

By the way, these seeds originated from drops of Dionysus blood.

The connection of Dionysian ecstasy, wine, blood, intoxication, and the processes occurring at the level of the ‘lower world’ – the world of the corporeal and the unconscious, is spoken directly in the text several times, but I think there is no need to dwell on this here.

After that, it is not surprising that the symbolism of the field appears here, – in the middle of which Zoe finds herself after drinking Dracula's blood. If in the second episode Demeter was present as a ship, a womb, a mother, carrying the potential of the future and protecting her child, then in the third she appears before us as a fertile layer, a bed, giving Agatha-Zoe-Persephone her blessing and, thus, the opportunity to complete the transformation and become a full-fledged spouse of her husband, at the same time, keeping the connection with the mother on a new level.

All this allows the story to unfold in the finale in a mysterious – alchemical context.

The fact is that the cult of fertility, the cult of Kora-Persephone, presumably formed the basis of the Eleusinian mysteries, mythology, and philosophy of which greatly influenced the views of medieval Western European alchemists. From here comes the similarity and continuity of images, ideas, and descriptions of processes, a close, often inherited metaphor, and, in a certain sense, an underlying common myth.

As the screenwriters themselves remind in one of the interviews, Dracula is a story of resurrection. So there is nothing surprising in the fact that in the finale of the third episode and the entire film, the mythological motive of Kora-Persephone and the alchemical one – coniunctio oppositorum* – are combined in one hierogamy.

This is openly stated in the text as well. In one of the last scenes of the series, Dracula says, addressing everyone present at once, and indirectly to the viewer: ‘Journey's end. Lovers meeting.’ This is a literal description of the alchemical stage of the union of the masculine and feminine principles.

Therefore, in the final scene, he and Agatha are making love – at the level of the plot, this is due to the development of their relationship as individuals, as a man and a woman, but at the symbolic level this is because the opposites they represent have reached a state where they can merge to give the beginning of a new one.

It is important to remember here what the story is constantly showing visually: there is what is happening on the ‘outer’ plane and what is on the ‘inner’ plane. The space of the film is constantly divided into two levels-states: Dracula's castle and the monastery, the monastery and the area in front of the monastery gates; what is happening in Agatha's workshop and the same thing – recorded in Dracula's blood and played in Zoe's head, Dracula and Agatha, lying on the table in Dracula's apartment, and Dracula and Agatha together in a golden light.

Let me remind you again: a real myth, an archetypal drama, very rarely unfolds in front of the viewer or reader directly, told in literal, poster language. Most often they turn out to be ‘wrapped’, embedded in the shell of a legend, parable, or fairy tale. In this sense, nothing has changed since the time of the ancient Greeks. The basic narrative structures are the same. How, perhaps, we all remained the same. Therefore, stories like this work. Therefore, they are important.

And also – because they are all-conquering beautiful.

* Сoniunctio oppositorum (Latin) – the combination of opposites. One of the key stages of alchemical Work.

P. S. In conclusion, I would like to show a few symbolic images from alchemical treatises. I will not show the corresponding scenes from the film – I think you yourself will recognize them. The first two illustrations are prints from the Splendor Solis, the third – from the Rosarium philosophorum.

#dracula 2020 #bbc dracula #count dracula #agatha van helsing #meta

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teacup-crow · 3 years

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Things That Make it Warm

Zombies Run Secret Santa fic for @whirly-wind! Thanks for organising @runnerzero, @goblinsharkz and @notforconsumption. Spoilers up to S5M24 below the cut :)

Hi Mystery! I was so so so excited to get you because you’re always lovely about my writing, especially my Tom/Jody stuff 😍 this is the story of them getting to know each other (with a Christmas involved, because Christmas is romantic right?)

Apologies that it starts off just a LITTLE bit angsty but it’s these two and angst just happens to them. A writer can only do so much. I promise there’s festive fluff in there!

I hope you enjoy this! Merry Christmas!

((Stole the title from a Cavetown song because I hate naming things!))

*****

“Jody’s running slowly, so she’ll give ‘em a good chase.”

She almost has to swallow a laugh at Sam’s sweet admiration. Jody’s running slowly because everything hurts, because this idea is crazy, because it might be the last run ever gazing at an Abel sunrise, orange and pink flecking the horizon, and she wants to see it before-

Boom. The explosion rattles her teeth, her bones, smoke rising behind her. She doesn’t look back. She knows better.

“Miss Marsh! To me!”

Tom grabs her hand and before she can process anything at all they’re sprinting. Her heart and lungs are burning; it’s been months since she ran like this, weeks since her muscles atrophied, and the pain shoots through her legs at every step until she feels nauseous. But they’re running. At some point, she lets the bundle fall from stiff arms, a pile of empty blankets. Tom whispers something, and vanishes into the dust he created.

***

“We are not leaving you here.”

“Ian won’t kill me. He knows I still have some useful things inside my broken noggin.” His smile is lopsided, his eyes slightly glittery. Jody doesn’t know him that well, really, but that look has never been a good one on him. She pats his arm, and it dulls a little. She leaves her hand there.

“Isn’t that a reason to get you out?”

He swallows. “I can’t… I can’t promise that I’ll…”

“You saved my life. You’re coming with us.”

She knows, even though his sister might protest out loud, that Janine is grateful to her for making the call. She knows her so well she can hear that the woman’s shoulders have dropped just a bit in relief.

***

Tom likes Noah Base.

It’s warm, and enclosed, and safe. He can feel the presence of walls around him at all times. When he whistles, it echoes. It’s familiar.

When he was younger, being inside used to bore him silly. Paperwork was the worst part of the job; as a boy, Jane did his homework more often than not. Back in Karachi, the memories warm and soft as parchment, he’d play football with the neighbourhood kids late into the night, everyone teasing but good-natured, curious about the white boy who spoke Urdu like a local. The calls of other boys’ mothers rang out as the day grew long until at last they’d scatter at the figure of his father, the ambassador cutting a long shadow across the evening, rumbling “Thomas? Thomas? Time to come home.”

A couple of years later, he lay out on the family’s broad flat roof, breathless - hiding from his sister so she wouldn’t see him crying about their parents, about being ripped away from everything and everyone they knew. Hiding from the men from the embassy, so he couldn’t hear the bad news. So they couldn’t take him to England. Outside there were birds soaring above him, the sun shining like any other day. He didn’t have to confront reality.

And after that, inside meant dull lessons at boarding school far away from Jane, where he actually had to concentrate to keep at the top of the class, and inside meant stuffy offices with stuffy bureaucrats who would never understand the realities of field work no matter how often they were explained, and then inside was three bare walls of concrete and agony and time.

When the open air was no longer a choice, when life became nothing but a cube, six by six, lights off more often than on, inside became more comforting. There, nobody could sneak up behind him. It was easy to keep one eye open. If you stay in the corner, you’re never surrounded. It’s outside where things go horribly wrong. Outside is where the crawling men eat human flesh. Outside is where Jane and the others left him behind.

And so, years later, England again, he’d slip off his cuffs in his new cell and finally manage to relax enough to rebuild some of his sanity. He knew now that inside isn’t the problem. Being trapped there is.

Noah Base is safe. He can map out the whole place in his head, learn fourteen different escape routes, ranked from worst to best.

Noah Base is better than safe.

Noah Base has Jody in it.

***

Jody, for one, feels cooped up.

It’s okay, at first. Things were worse than this right after the outbreak. She’d stayed in a Tube station for a couple of nights, only peeking her head above ground to try and get decent reception to call her mum. When her phone gave up the ghost, she trekked it out of London. But sometimes, especially now, she still thinks of the noise, the irrepressible heat, sickness already spreading like wildfire.

It’s okay, at first. She knits. She stretches. Builds up her core strength again. Takes lectures on strategy. Starts to actually read Janine’s notes, to Sam’s disgust. She keeps positive as morale begins to drop, until one morning she doesn’t get out of bed at all.

Tom arrives at her door with a plate of cold toast and strawberry jam.

“You weren’t at breakfast.”

Of course. He notices everything.

“I wasn’t hungry,” she replies, then bites her lip. If anything, the latest messages from Abel make her far too sick to eat. Steve, inexhaustibly flirtatious, convivial, suave Steve, had sounded shattered. Half-rations. Quarter-rations. Ian’s getting… more unbalanced. Kefi reckons half the town is anaemic.

“Come in if you like, I’m decent.”

“You need to eat something,” he insists, pushing the door ajar and handing the plate up to her. She sits up, back against the wall, and tries to give him a wobbly smile.

“What’s the matter, Miss Marsh?”

“I just… can’t believe we left them.”

And she bursts into tears. He pats her arm.

He doesn’t rationalise anything to her.

He thinks that, just maybe, it’s worse to be the leaver than the left.

***

She’s so strong.

He watches her with a bow and arrow hit one- two- three targets in the centre, more accurate and deadly than his own hand with a pistol. She swings up the climbing frame like a monkey, upside down and ten feet in the air. The gym in Noah Base is cramped - what isn’t? - but training is manageable with the lack of equipment to fill the space. Peter - the man who found them this place, the man with the silver tongue, the man who hurt his sister - is at the weights. He’s always in Tom’s peripheral vision; Jane only puts him there to keep an eye, he knows that.

“Whoop!” Jody swings down from the ropes triumphantly and rolls to a halt. He clicks the stopwatch.

“One-forty-seven. Your fastest time yet, Miss Marsh. That was excellent.”

“You can stop calling me that any time you like, you know.”

“Nonsense. What would I call you then?”

She looks up at him, quite serious. He’s maybe a foot taller than she is. He’s a madman. A murderer. But there’s not an ounce of fear in her gaze, not anymore. When her hair is tied back like that, he can see her face properly, the fading freckles, soft straight hair, her laughing eyes, the cleft in her chin, the birthmark on her cheek.

“...Jody’s fine, Tom.”

“I… yes.” He blinks away in embarrassment. “If you would prefer that name. Yes.”

“Not if it makes you uncomfortable. Anyway, I’m going to try that again. I just know I can beat you.”

“And then you’ll take a break?”

“We’ll see,” she grins, and jogs back to the start.

She’s not only physically strong; she’s been through so much and she hasn’t let it harden her. She looks at every new day like an opportunity, a sunrise, swallowing back the bitter pill of life with orange juice. Not like him. He’s so far past broken he doesn’t even remember what wholeness tastes like; some important part of his soul still lies in that cage, rotting. So how can he be falling in love?

***

It just doesn’t feel like Christmastime.

The last few Christmases have fallen into some kind of routine, at least. They were bare and hard but everyone was together, kids faces lighting up as they decorated the township, people working together to make it as okay as possible. A bit more frivolity, a bit more food.

It’s December already, and nobody has even mentioned it.

Steve hasn’t sent a message in a good while, and the radio silence is making all of them itchy. Five’s been gone for weeks; Cameo’s probably dead. Everyone she cares about is probably-

“Jodes? Can you help me with this?”

It’s Tom, sprawled on his stomach on her bedroom floor, attempting to darn a sock and failing miserably. She laughs.

“They didn’t have darning as a class at Harrow?”

“Not that I remember, but I can recite some Latin at you if you’d like.”

“That sounds extremely helpful.” She swings down from the bunk and looks closer. “Have you just been tying knots in this?”

“I was trying to…” he stares at the sock in his hands with a rueful expression. “It appears that yes, I have just been tying knots in it.”

“Okay,” she sits down cross-legged and takes it from him to start unpicking. “At least you’re honest.”

“Where did you learn to sew and knit?”

“Our church hall ran a youth club. They’d do snacks and activities after school most days, and Mum always liked us out doing something; there were four of us and she didn’t want us under her feet all afternoon. I was a big fan of the needlework table. Who knew it would come in so handy, hey?”

“I have underestimated it.”

He rests his chin on his hands, intently watching her work. Her fingers are so small and quick compared to his. Her gaze flits between the sock and his face. It’s weathered and worn but she still sees warmth and handsomeness there, between the cracks in his scarred armour. The way he’s kept an eye on her every day since that breakfast, just to make sure she’s holding up. She shakes her head, and passes it back to him.

She can’t fall in love with Janine’s brother.

***

It’s the day before Christmas Eve, and Sam hasn’t let Five out of his sight for more than two consecutive hours since they got back to Noah Base, his hand stuck to theirs with glue. They’d normally protest this, but yet another dusting of horror and shadow under their eyes has cut their counterargument short. They nod to Jody when they see her request, and make some excuse about going to ask Janine about work assignments, hobbling a little on a twisted ankle. She appreciates it.

“Sam! Finally got you alone for a minute!”

“Jody! What can I do for you?”

He’s almost himself again, grinning at her from the chaotic comms desk that he’s tacked a bit of tinsel to. She can nearly forget the sound of his screaming last week when Five practically died in that godforsaken maze. It turns out nobody is better at picking up and piecing back together than Sam Yao.

“How did you know that… how did you…”

She pushes the door closed, and clears her throat. “How did you know that you liked Five?”

His grin broadens. “Jody, you like someone?”

“Shut up.”

“I thought you didn’t have crushes!”

“I didn’t. I don’t. Well, maybe I do. I don’t know!”

“Well, describe it to me.”

“It’s like…” God, his smile is dopey. “Stop looking at me like that, Sam, you’re putting me off! It’s like… every time I look at him I feel warm, and the world feels a little bit softer, more yellow, and I just want to protect him. Like, I’d die happy if I knew he’d be safe. And his face. His jawline. I… you’re giggling!”

“Tell me more, tell me more!”

She lobs a stack of rotas at him half-heartedly. He ducks.

“He’s just… so clever and so kind. And he’s still hurting, and I wish he would stop.” She sighs, warming to her theme. “Janine will go mad with me if she hears about it.”

Sam’s face goes slack with shock. “Oh my God. You like Peter?”

“Jesus Christ, Sam, no! I like Tom!”

“Oh, that makes so much more sense!” He chuckles, and then adds: “You do know he’s still a bit...”

“And Five isn’t?”

It comes out defensive, and she immediately wishes she’d bit her tongue, but he doesn’t get annoyed. He shrugs.

“You’re right, Five isn’t well either. Both of them have been through… stuff we can’t even imagine. Done things that people maybe shouldn’t forgive.”

“Who hasn’t.” Jody says darkly.

“Exactly. Their hearts are in the right place, but… just be careful, Jodes.”

Lines like but he would never hurt me and things are different now are not lines she likes to have run through her head. She heard those lines often enough as a little girl, when her brother Cameron was still in nappies and she herself barely out of them but already knowing they were lies. Her mum’s taste in men had got better by the time she’d had the twins, but Jody didn’t forget. She’d vowed to never, ever need anyone that volatile that much.

And yet - here she is.

“So. How’d you know you liked Five?”

“I just,” he flushes. “One day I woke up and just knew. My heart belonged to them. I couldn’t get it back. When they’re not around… it hurts.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Oh Sam, what am I going to do?”

“You could just tell him?”

“Yeah. No.” She swings around in the office chair as she talks. “What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if I make him uncomfortable? He’s going through a lot still, deep down, and I don’t want to add to it, or put him under any pressure.”

“He’s a six foot three MI6 Commander, Jodes, I somehow don’t think you’ll be pressuring him into anything.”

“I suppose... but you keep your mouth closed, no matter what, okay? I don’t want to hear this anywhere outside of this room.”

“Just tell him you like him!” Sam calls after her as she heads back down the corridor.

***

“You’re coming to me for advice about women?”

Tom’s already realised that this was probably a bad idea, but he can’t exactly back out now. “I mean? Jane likes you.”

“Janine’s Janine. She’s… well, I know she’s your sister but she’s not like other women.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, she’s…” he’s flustered. “She’s amazing.”

“And other women aren’t amazing?”

“Fair point, fair point,” he raises his hands.

Tom runs a hand through his hair. It’s thinning. When did he get old? So much of his youth was wasted.

“Jody is beautiful and talented and so good. She’s got this… hope about her. This luck. I feel like nothing could truly go wrong when I’m beside her.”

Peter nods. “And what does she think?”

“I have no idea, but she can do a lot better than me. She’s seen me ranting and raving out of my wits, and I’m ten years older, and… just look at me, Pete. I’m mostly scar tissue.”

Peter does, up and down.

“You’re very good looking to me, Colonel,” he winks at last. Tom snorts. Maybe the bloke isn’t so bad.

“You must have had relationships before, though? Surely? The way Janine always put it you’d think you were James Bond. A different person on your arm every day of the week.”

“I mean, I did. Of course. Lots of people. Nothing serious, but… that was so long ago. Before… before my head became a mess. When I could tell truth from lie as easy as up from down. These days, I’m not even sure if you’re in front of me. If I squint, I might lose you completely.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that. Tom’s introspective seriousness has always made him uncomfortable.

“Anyway, enough of all that rambling. I’m going to give her this.” He proffers a wicked-looking weapon. “For Christmas, I mean. Do you think she’ll like it?”

“An automatic crossbow?” Peter whistles. “Romantic. Right up her alley. She’ll love it.”

He nods in gratitude. “I appreciate you listening. Before you ask, Janey will love the ringbinder full of poetry you put together.”

“How did you know about that!” Peter is ashen, mortified.

“The name’s Bond, James Bond.” Tom throws the line over his shoulder as he wanders away.

***

Their Christmas is a quiet one, but perhaps more festive than anyone expected. Someone dims the base’s lights with crepe paper, and Amelia emerges from her quarters with a bottle of champagne. “Not as a gift, you understand,” she impresses firmly, “but as a service to myself. Being around you lot is making me bloody miserable. Put some smiles on, for once!”

Someone else has found a flock of wild geese and thanks to Jody’s crossbow the residents of Noah Base feast like Victorian paupers made kings. Janine taps her glass, makes a speech about times being tough and the importance of finding the things to celebrate. “I salute you all for your fortitude and bravery. This time next year, we will be with our friends and families again. It’s only a matter of time before we take our home back.” She’s got good at these at this point. They all raise a cheer, at least.

Tom and Jody talk long into the evening about everything they can think of that isn’t the last decade. Childhood stories, mostly: Tom and his football friends accidentally crashing a wedding and causing a minor diplomatic incident; the prank war with next door that Jody and her brothers got into one summer; Tom, Janine and General Bakari’s three-way chess matches; Jody nearly burning the house down attempting to make her mum breakfast in bed. Debates over Doctor Who episodes lead into arguments over the best Quality Street chocolate until they’re the last people still awake.

“D’you believe in God?” She asks, at some point, hazy under piles of blankets in front of the heater they’ve powered for the occasion. He’s wearing the new jumper she made him (“I’m sorry it’s bottle green, it was the only wool we had enough of but it’ll bring out your eyes, I reckon”) and leafing through the pamphlet of beginners knitting patterns she’d painstakingly copied out and tucked inside it.

He chews his lip, lost in thought, his mind straying back to Algeria even as he takes her hand in the present. “No. I used to. I was a chorister when I was a boy.”

“Seriously? One of those ones in Westminster Abbey? My mum always used to listen to them!”

“Yes! I loved it!” He laughs. “Only did the Christmas service once, though. I got bronchitis the next year, and after that my voice broke. But it was the first time I started enjoying life in England. When we stepped outside after the service, that was also the first time I saw snow. I thought it was a miracle. Janey told me not to be so ridiculous, so I put a snowball down the back of her coat.”

“I can’t get over how posh you are. Did you have to wear robes?” It’s the biggest he’s seen her smile in ages. He laughs again at the look on her face.

“Yes, I had to wear robes.”

“If there are no photos left of this, I’ll never forgive your sister.”

“What about you? Why did you ask about God?”

“I don’t know: I was just wondering. True meaning of Christmas, and all that. I used to think at the start of all this that if He did exist, he must have a pretty sick sense of humour. But I’m not sure, I don’t think it’s all that black and white anymore. Maybe He’s just tired of us.”

“Perhaps He’s on a long holiday. He’ll check in next millenia. Until then, we’ll have to figure it out for ourselves.”

She falls asleep not long after that, her head on his chest. He loves her so much his ribs ache.

Maybe there is a God, if a feeling like this can exist. If the two of them can find each other, despite everything. If he can leave so much behind, and lose so much, and still be so happy.

#zombies run #zr #tom de luca #Jody Marsh #zrs5 #zrs5 spoilers #zr secret santa #Noah base Christmas and Christmas 2020 have the same energy #zr secret santa 2020

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

all the perfect things (that i doubt)

SUMMARY: Zelena is defeated and Emma returns to her quiet life in New York with Henry, leaving Killian brokenhearted and her feelings for him unresolved. Three years later they meet again and quite a lot has changed—but will these changes push them further apart or help them find their way back to each other?

Canon divergence with no time-travel adventure.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ohmightydevviepuu! You are brilliant and amazing and a fantastic writer and a kind friend, and so to honour the anniversary of your birth I have attempted to fill this VERY LONG one-shot with all the things you like best. There’s angst and second-chance romance and people needing to sort their shit out before finding their way back to each other and angst and emotions and erotica and did I mention angst? There’s also Tinkerhook and Captain Cobra (implied, but very much there) and oh yeah it’s a 3B divergence. AND the title comes from a song! I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young, which is just about the most Killian thing to ever Jones. I hope that it leaves your boxes thoroughly ticked.

Much gratefulness to @thisonesatellite and @katie-dub for invaluable suggestions and encouragement ❤️❤️❤️

Rated: M Words: 20k Tags: canon divergence, angst, smut, angst with a happy ending, minor mentions of suicidal thoughts

On AO3

all the perfect things (that i doubt)

Emma parked her bug in front of the red brick row house and got out, hiking her tight skirt inelegantly as she did and teetering a bit on her towering heels as she climbed the steps to the small porch. She went inside and shut the door behind her, then leaned back against it with a small sigh. It was weird being back in Boston after three years in New York—four, really, if you counted the year she and Henry had spent there without their memories—and she hadn’t quite adjusted yet. New York was pretty much home now, or at least that’s what she regularly told herself, and Boston was… well…

Boston didn’t feel like home but it did feel familiar, the uncomfortable familiarity of something—or someone—that knew her far better than she wanted them to. Emma didn’t like places that knew her too well any more than she liked people who did. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to sublet a place in Brookline—that and the generous relocation allowance her bail-bonds firm was paying—and even though she had to drive into the city every day to help set up the firm’s new Boston branch, coming home every night to a place that wasn’t technically Boston offered at least a small respite.

She hung her keys on a hook by the door and kicked off her heels, flexing her toes in relief. It was only a six month placement, she reminded herself. Six months to get the new office up and running, then she could go back to New York and be comfortably anonymous again.

“Mom, is that you?” Henry’s voice called and Emma grinned, following the sound into the living room.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she teased, collapsing onto the sofa next to her son and putting her feet up on the coffee table. “How was the first day at the new school?”

Henry closed the book he’d been reading and turned to her, his face lit up with excitement. “Fine, fine, the school’s good and kids seem cool, but Mom! You’ll never guess.” He bounced in his seat, almost vibrating with eagerness. Even at fifteen Henry hadn’t lost the enthusiastic nature she’d found so hard to resist in the ten-year-old who’d first come to find her in this city. Despite his occasional bouts of teenage sullenness.

“Guess what?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Guess who my astronomy teacher is.”

“You’re taking astronomy?”

“I need a science and it’s better than chemistry.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“It’s also not important,” said Henry, impatiently refocusing the conversation back to his question. “Guess who my teacher is! You never will!”

“Um, Carl Sagan?”

“Mom, he’s dead!”

“Oh.” Dammit, thought Emma. She’d been pleased with herself for managing to come up with the name. “Um, who’s the other guy? Neil something Tyson?”

“Neil deGrasse Tyson, and no, come on, you’re not even trying.”

Emma sighed. “Henry, I genuinely have no idea. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“It’s Hook!”

“Hoo—what?” Emma stared at him as her heart stumbled then began to pound. He couldn’t possibly mean Hook Hook, could he?

“Captain Hook!” Henry confirmed, and Emma’s heart took off at a gallop. “He calls himself Killian Jones of course and he doesn’t wear the hook anymore but it’s still definitely him! I couldn’t believe it!”

“But I thought…” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Isn’t he living in Storybrooke?”

“That’s what I said! I mean, I’ve never seen him there but I just kind of assumed. But he said no, he’s lived in Boston almost three years!”

“You—you talked to him?” Breathe, Emma.

“Well, yeah.” Henry shrugged. “It would have been rude not to. He didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me, but he was nice. He said not to expect any special treatment in class though if I remembered what he taught me about using the sextant that one time it would be helpful. I mostly remember, so…”

Henry chattered on and Emma tried her best to listen but her mind couldn’t focus. She felt breathless and chaotic, buzzing with confusion and with a strange eager excitement. Hook is here, was all she could think. Here. Here in Boston. Where she was. Here. Close by. Possibly very close. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest, and she pressed the heel of her hand against it.

He was Henry’s teacher. Hook was a teacher. She tried to imagine that and found to her surprise that it wasn’t actually all that difficult. Obviously he wouldn’t wear his pirate coat in the classroom like in the image her frazzled brain insisted on conjuring, but he’d always been so good with Henry, she could easily imagine him teaching other kids.

And he’s here, her brain kept reminding her. Here. Where you are. You can see him. You can see him. You can see him…

“…and he’s actually a really good teacher, he explains things so well.” Henry was still talking. “He says he teaches math too, I’m actually thinking I might try doing pre-calc with him, you know I wasn’t going to take that until we got back to New York, but I think he might be able to help me, and…”

“That’s great, kid.” Emma felt bad interrupting him when he was so excited but she couldn’t handle any more talking about Hook or thinking about Hook teaching Henry or about him talking to Henry or really just any thinking about Hook at all. “What do you want for dinner?”

Henry’s eyes lit with a different sort of enthusiasm and Emma hid a grin. How to distract a teenage boy 101: Offer him food, she thought.

“Pizza from Dino’s,” said Henry decisively. “But since that’s not possible, how about something Boston-y that we can’t get in New York?”

“Like what?”

“How should I know, I’ve only been here once. You’re the one who used to live here.”

“Um, baked beans? Clam chowder? Lobster roll?”

“Pah,” he scoffed. “I can get lobster rolls in Maine.”

“Well, how about clam chowder then?”

Henry looked dubious. “Okay,” he said. “I’m willing to try new stuff while we’re here. But if it’s gross, it goes on the list forever. Deal?”

Emma laughed. “Deal.”

…

Later that night when Emma finally gave up after hours of tossing and turning in her bed, kicked off the covers and went to her laptop, she knew what she was going to do. She didn’t exactly like it, but she knew it, and as she opened the website for Henry’s school she didn’t hesitate. She clicked on ‘Staff Directory’ and scrolled through the list of teachers’ names and then she caught her breath.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Henry, just that in the first flush of shock at hearing his name again she hadn’t really been able to process the reality of Hook being here, in Boston, in a normal place with a normal job and presumably a normal life. Not until she actually saw his name, right there on the screen, with her own eyes.

Killian Jones. Mathematics and Astronomy. Latin Club. Debate Team.

With slightly trembling fingers she clicked on it, releasing the breath she’d been holding and gasping in another immediately after as her heart stumbled once more and began to pound against her ribs. The picture was in black and white and tiny, just a thumbnail, but it was unmistakably him. Still with the scruff though his hair looked neater, no eyeliner of course but he’d kept the earring—a small stud barely visible in the tiny photo. And somehow, somehow he still had that look in his eye… the one that promised excitement and adventure and fun… Emma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to clear it. When she opened them again the look was still there. His students must love him, she thought. What kid wouldn’t want a pirate as their teacher?

She closed the school’s website and opened the professional one she used to dig up information on her skips. Using it to investigate anyone else was unethical enough that she could be fired for doing it but she was prepared to take the risk. He was teaching her son, she told herself. She had information about him that the school district did not. She had to make sure he wasn’t still doing… pirate-y stuff. Yeah, that was it. That was the reason.

Ten minutes later she had his home address and cell number, his personal email and links to his social media accounts. Or rather, his account. Singular. He didn’t have Facebook or Twitter, which wasn’t particularly surprising she supposed, but he did have Instagram. She clicked on the link and a small smile curved her lips as her screen filled with images of the Massachusetts coastline.

He liked to take pictures of the sea. This was also unsurprising. But although various boats and ships featured prominently in many of his photos none of them were the Jolly Roger, and that did surprise her. What had he done with his ship, she wondered. Probably left it in Storybrooke; it wasn’t like he could sail a pirate ship around Boston harbour. Though he had sailed it to New York… She frowned. Hook loved that ship, it had been his home for literal centuries. Emma couldn’t imagine him just leaving the Jolly and moving someplace else.

It was just… weird, the whole freaking thing. Hook’s presence here, his job, the quiet life he seemed to be living, his absent ship. It was a mystery, and mysteries had never sat well with Emma. Before she could talk herself out of it she copied his home address and pasted it into Google Maps, and when the results appeared on the screen she gave a wry snort. He lived a few blocks away from her sublet. Because of course he did.

Good, she thought. It was good that he lived so close. That way, when she went to his house to confront him tomorrow she’d be able to walk there and pick up some dinner on the way home.

…

Hook, as it turned out, lived in a very nice house on a very nice street in a very nice neighbourhood. A very nice neighbourhood, Emma thought, looking around as she strolled down the sidewalk trying to look casual and not as out of place as she definitely felt. Quiet and well-kept, with tall trees and flowers and carefully tended lawns. Not at all the kind of place you’d expect would appeal to a fairy tale pirate.

His house was made of red brick in a sharp and tidy style, with white-framed windows and black shutters and a white portico with actual freaking columns at the top of the red brick steps. It was completely bizarre to think of him living there but also made an odd kind of sense. The house’s unfussy symmetry and clean colours gave it a nautical sort of air, and aside from a few shrubs on either side of the porch the lawn was neatly kept but bare. He’d always kept things neat, she remembered.

Emma’s heart was galloping again, her hand trembling as she rang the bell. She could hear it echo through the house and panic gripped her chest, and she wondered wildly if it was too late to turn around and run away. Then the door swung open and her mind went blank.

His eyes were exactly as she remembered them, as blue as the ocean he so loved and just as deep, their expression shuttered now but still compelling. Still beautiful. They stared at each other for a breathless moment as she scrambled to think of something, anything to say to him, then he stepped back and held the door open.

“Come in, Swan,” he said, and her heart beat even faster at the sound of her name in his voice, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You—you have?”

“Aye.” He smiled wryly. “Ever since Henry appeared in my class yesterday. I knew your curiosity wouldn’t allow you to stay away for long.”

He ushered her into a living room that was as tidy as his cabin on the Jolly Roger had been, with broad-planked hardwood floors and one wall lined with bookshelves. A large, comfortable-looking sofa sat at the centre of the room and Killian gestured to it. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, beer?”

“Beer.” Emma latched on to the idea of alcohol like a lifeline. “I think I could use one.”

“Aye,” he replied. “As could I.”

He disappeared through a door in the corner of the room as Emma sank weakly onto the sofa and tried to calm her frantic heartbeat. A minute or two later Hook returned with two brown bottles, handed one to her then sat on the opposite side of the sofa and took a long drink from the other. Emma drank as well, surreptitiously studying him from the corner of her eye as she did.

He was wearing jeans. Well-worn, soft looking ones. And a t-shirt in a similar condition with ‘Boston College’ across the front in faded letters.

“Boston College,” she blurted, desperate to fill the stretching silence.

“Pardon?”

“Your shirt. Boston College.”

“Oh, aye.” He looked down and shrugged. “Where I studied.”

“But—you didn’t,” said Emma, feeling thoroughly off-kilter. “You couldn’t have. Did you?”

“Obviously I didn’t,” he replied. “But I have both memories and official documentation that says otherwise. Courtesy of Tink.”

“Tink?” Emma frowned, both at his words and the nasty tendril of jealousy that curled in her gut.

“Indeed. She gave me what I needed to start a new life in this realm. Much as Regina once did for you.”

“But—Regina did that for me as part of a curse. How did Tink… for you..?”

He shrugged again. “Damned if I know. I try not to ask too many questions where magic is concerned. We… rekindled our old companionship after you left. She knew I wanted to leave Storybrooke and once her magic was fully restored she offered to help me do that. The results are as you see. She gave me what she said was the same realm-specific knowledge Regina gave the Storybrooke residents she cursed, along with an identity and accompanying memories so I could get a job outside of Storybrooke.”

“But—” Emma’s head was spinning, the jealous tendril writhing like a snake. “Why did you want a job outside of Storybrooke?”

“There’s nothing for me in that town,” he replied, in echo of the last time they’d sat like this, drinking together. “Why would I stay?”

“Well… I mean…”

He drank again, deeply, and she tried not to watch his throat work as he did. “I saw an opportunity for a fresh start in a new place,” he said. “One that thinks Captain Hook is an object of ridicule with a perm and a waxed moustache.” He smirked wryly though anger flared in his eyes.

“You saw that, did you?”

“And read the book.” He drank again. “And as much as I may like to wring the neck of this J.M. Barrie, he did in a roundabout way afford me the chance to slip unnoticed into this realm and become someone new. And so I did.”

“I’ll say you did. A high school teacher?”

“And why not?” he challenged. “You’ve said yourself I’m good with children. And I enjoy it. It’s honest work, and rewarding.”

Emma shook her head, struggling to get to grips with everything he was saying and everything she was seeing in him. He looked so familiar; even with the drastic wardrobe change his face and his hair and his voice were all just as she remembered. But he was different. A kind of different that couldn’t be explained away by the knowledge Tink had given him or his new life. His face and eyes were so expressionless, his body language cool and distant. She couldn’t detect event the smallest hint of the flirtatious pirate who used to invade her space whenever he could, always challenging her, always understanding her, always watching her with that unnervingly intense focus—like he wanted to uncover every inch of her. That man seemed so thoroughly absent from the one now sitting opposite her that for a moment Emma wondered if she had imagined him.

“Well, you seem to be good at it,” she said brightly. “Henry can’t say enough good things about your class. He’s thinking of taking another one with you, actually. Pre-calculus.”

“Aye. I’ve already approved his request. He’ll start tomorrow.”

“So are you as good a math teacher as you are an astronomy one?” She made her voice light, teasing, edging into flirtatious, hoping to draw out the pirate—even just a brief glimpse of him, just for a moment. Hook’s face remained impassive.

“I do my job to the best of my ability in every class I teach,” he replied, then drained the last of his beer and set the empty bottle on the sea chest in front of the sofa. Emma sipped hers, feeling cold and confused and with a sharp ache of loss in her chest.

Hook leaned back against the arm of the sofa and gave her a hard look. “So is your curiosity appeased, then, Swan?” he asked. “Do I pass muster? May I be allowed to continue with my job and my life?”

She frowned, hurt by the harsh sarcasm in his tone. “I didn’t come here to—to investigate you,” she said, forgetting that this was the exact excuse she’d given herself for her visit. “I just wanted to see you.” I’ve missed you, she did not say. I thought maybe you’d missed me too.

“And now you have,” he replied. “Is that all?”

“I—I guess so.” Emma put her own beer on the table though the bottle was still mostly full. “I guess I’ll be going.”

“I’ll see you out.”

He could sound less eager about it, she thought, following him to the door. He opened it for her and she looked at him again, at this man so familiar and yet so strange, and realised that even though he was standing right in front of her she still missed him. She missed him.

On impulse she leaned in close and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. His scruff was surprisingly soft beneath her lips and she heard him catch his breath, felt him flinch as if to hug her in return then stop himself. She lingered as long as she dared before stepping back, and when she looked into his eyes again she caught her own breath.

There was the heat she’d started to think she had imagined. Heat and longing and that edge of danger that even a black and white thumbnail photo couldn’t disguise. In that split second he looked like he wanted to devour her, his breath hot on her cheek as he leaned closer, his eyes blazing with everything she had missed about her pirate.

Then he blinked and his eyes were shuttered again. He grabbed her arms roughly, pulling them from around his waist and shoving her away, towards the open door. “Well, thanks for stopping by, Swan,” he said, not looking at her. “So nice to see you again. Tell Henry I said hello and not to forget his astronomy homework. Goodbye.” He shut the door behind her and she heard the click of the lock turning.

She fought the urge to cry all the way home.

…

Killian leaned back against his front door and slowly slid down it, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head drop into his shaking hand. Tremors racked his body and his chest was so tight he struggled to draw in gasping breaths.

Three years. Three years since she’d left Storybrooke, left him, returned to the life she’d had when she couldn’t remember him and never looked back. Three years since she’d shattered his heart.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he thought bitterly, she walks into mine. He should have taken that job in Montana instead. Emma would surely never show up there.

Of course, he hadn’t thought she’d show up here either, not in this city she’d already lived in and left. Emma wasn’t the sort of person to go back to places—or people—she’d put behind her. He’d thought he was safe here.

It seemed he’d thought a lot of things that weren’t actually true. That he could withstand seeing her again, for one. That he was prepared. He’d coached himself, steeled himself, buried his feelings deep and locked them away. And all it took was one brief press of her body against his, one gentle brush of her lips across his cheek to break right through his carefully constructed defences and reduce them to dust.

Tears prickled behind his eyes and he blinked them angrily away. He would not weep over Emma Swan, he told himself firmly, not again. Not today. Instead he would pull himself together again just as he had in Storybrooke, as he did every time thoughts of her overwhelmed him, and he would get on with his life. Now that she’d seen him surely her curiosity would be assuaged and she wouldn’t return. He could find his peace again.

…

The next morning Killian walked to work, a thing he did as often as possible. It wasn’t that he disliked driving, quite the contrary in fact. Cars, in keeping with many of the mechanical innovations of this realm, fascinated him, and aside from his house his car was the one possession in which he had truly indulged.

In the staid upper-middle-class neighbourhood where he lived his sleek gunmetal-grey Aston Martin was almost acceptable, not outrageous enough to give his neighbours anything to actually complain about but more than sufficient to irk them in a way they couldn’t quite articulate when he zipped along their tree-lined streets with the top down. Had they known that the money he’d used to buy it was ill-gotten pirate treasure magically converted into the currency of their realm, they would have been even more displeased. The thought of that delighted Killian nearly as much as the car herself.

And his car did delight him; the powerful hum of her engine and the way she responded to the smallest twitch of her wheel was the closest thing he’d yet found in this world to standing at the helm of the Jolly Roger in full sail. He’d purposely chosen a convertible for the feel of the wind through his hair, and as often as possible he took her out of the city, driving far too fast along quiet country roads and almost hoping the local police would catch him doing it.

Once a pirate always a pirate, at least in some small ways.

But still he preferred to walk to work. Idling in traffic was an insult to his car and a waste of her skills and anyway the walk was not a long one—hardly more than a good stretch of the legs, as Liam would have said. It took him barely twenty minutes along the shortest route and less than half an hour even if he stopped for coffee first.

That morning, he stopped for coffee. He’d not slept well, too plagued by thoughts of Emma and then by dreams of her to manage any real rest. His eyes felt gritty and his head ached, and though the walk in the brisk morning air cleared some of the cobwebs from his brain it hadn’t made much of a dent in anything else.

He ordered his usual black coffee and a not-so-usual blueberry muffin. The intense sweetness of breakfast foods in this realm he didn’t generally care for but this morning he needed a boost of something and sugar seemed as good a thing as any, despite the inevitable mid-morning crash it would bring. There were always donuts in the staff room, perhaps later he’d finally give one of those a try. Anything to get him through this day.

He took his coffee and the bag with the muffin from the barista with the best approximation of a smile that he could manage and wished her a good day. She blushed.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and Killian shook his head as he turned to go. When had it come to pass that he, the erstwhile Captain Hook, was referred to as ‘sir’ by sweet and blushing young women? Probably right about the time he’d stopped calling himself Captain Hook.

Still, the blush and her shy smile brightened his mood and he was just thinking that perhaps this day might not end as dreadfully as it had begun when he walked through the cafe’s outer door and straight into Emma.

Coffee sloshed from his cup and onto his hand and he barely managed not to drop it or his muffin as he caught her around the waist with his prosthetic before she could fall, hissing in a breath at the feel of her pressed against him for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. She gave a small cry and grabbed his shoulders for balance, her eyes wide and startled.

“Hook!” she gasped.

“Killian,” he snarled, using the arm around her waist to steer her out of the path of the other people trying to get into the cafe. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t use that name anymore, particularly not in public,” he hissed, low for her ears only.

“What, you think someone’s going to recognise you?” She smirked. “You don’t have enough hair for that.”

“This isn’t a joke, Swan,” he said harshly. “I’ve left that man and his name behind me, and I don’t particularly care to be reminded of them.” Her fingers flexed on his shoulders and with a start he realised that they were still standing close together, his arm tight around her waist. He released her and stepped back so abruptly she stumbled, and cleared his throat before he spoke again. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, though he had a terrible suspicion he already knew the answer.

“Getting coffee,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This place was recommended in all the neighbourhood guides.”

Neighbourhood bloody guides. “So you live nearby, then,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yep. About three blocks that way.” She gestured vaguely behind her. “I’m working in Boston, though. Setting up a new office of my bail bonds firm. What about you?”

“You know where I live.”

“Yeah, but I mean are you headed to work already? Isn’t it a bit early?”

“The school day begins at 7.30, Swan, as I would expect you to know, being the parent of one of my students,” he said shortly. “And I am now officially running late. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go.

“Killian.” Emma caught his arm and he flinched, both from the feel of her hand on him and the way she said his name.

“What?” he snapped.

“Can we—look, can’t we just—”

“Spit it out, love.” He risked a glance at her, his fingers tightening on the muffin bag as their eyes met.

“Can’t we be friends?” she burst out. “Please?”

He stared at her for an incredulous moment and then the fury he’d been so carefully holding back exploded in his chest. He rounded on her, backing her up against the fence of the cafe’s outdoor seating area, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention, spitting the words in her ear.

“No, Swan, we cannot be friends,” he hissed. “We have never been friends.”

It was far too tame a word, he thought, too tame a concept to ever encompass the complex tangle of emotions that Emma inspired in him. They had always been both more than friends and a good deal less, and as far as Killian was concerned she’d thrown away the more when she turned her back on him three years ago. The less was all that remained.

They were standing much too close again, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes and hear the rasp in her breath and he was so tempted, so bloody tempted to give in. To agree to be her friend and anything else she wanted, to accept whatever scraps of affection and attention she was willing to spare him and be grateful for them. But he’d accepted those terms before and they had all but broken him.

With a massive effort he reined in his anger and stepped back, drawing a deep breath to calm himself. “As it appears that we are neighbours of a sort, I don’t doubt we’ll see each other around,” he said. “When that happens I will nod politely to you and exchange pleasantries about the weather and Henry’s progress in school and perhaps the latest performances of Boston’s various sports teams. Beyond that I can’t imagine that we would have anything to discuss.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving her leaning against the fence, trembling and once more on the verge of tears. She stared at the door of the cafe for a long moment before turning away, no longer hungry but with an aching emptiness inside her that she had no idea how to fill.

…

As he had predicted, Emma ran into Killian everywhere she went, or at least that’s how it felt. After their third encounter at the cafe—each at a different time—she’d started arriving early and lurking in her car until she saw him leave before venturing in herself. Even with that precaution she still spotted him at the grocery store and at the bank, and at the only pizza place in town Henry deemed acceptable as a temporary stand-in for Dino’s. He was everywhere she turned, nodding civilly at her each time they met and making a bland remark, his face and eyes so expressionless it made her want to claw at something. Preferably at him.

Finally after two awkward weeks Emma found a welcome distraction, a temporary one but at least it was something to take her mind off Killian for one night: a skip that was a perfect target for a honey trap of the kind she hadn’t pulled in far too long. Anticipation buzzed in her veins as she approached the restaurant where they were set to meet, a swankier one than she usually preferred for these sorts of things but the skip was a banker who was clearly out to impress.

Emma was out to impress too, in a dark red strapless dress that hugged every curve and heels that made her legs look endless. Her hair was perfectly curled and her makeup on point, and she flashed a smile at the doorman as she strode in, feeling slightly reckless and more confident than she had in some time, and completely failing to notice the woman standing just inside the doors until she’d bumped into her.

“Oh, sorry!” she said, catching the woman’s arm as she stumbled. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No problem,” replied the woman with an apologetic laugh. “I probably shouldn’t be standing in the doorway, but my boyfriend’s running late which is really not like him, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself while I wait.”

She was a very pretty woman in a wholesome sort of way, with golden brown hair and dark blue eyes, and a warm smile that Emma couldn’t help responding to.

“Well I hope he turns up soon,” she said, smiling back.

“I’m sure he will,” replied the woman. “Have a great night!”

“You too.”

The skip was waiting for her at the bar, with a martini for himself and a glass of white wine for her. Emma ground her teeth behind a brilliant smile. Men who ordered for women without consulting them were the worst kind of assholes. She was going to enjoy nailing this fucker’s balls to the wall.

“White wine!” she exclaimed, settling gracefully onto the barstool next to him and crossing her legs, making sure a generous portion of thigh was on display. “How’d you know?”

“I know what the ladies like,” he replied with a smirk he probably thought was charming.

“You sure do.” Emma picked up the wine glass and took a sip, not missing the way his eyes lingered on her mouth as she did. She set the glass down and ran her fingertip along its rim, looking up at the skip through lowered eyelashes. “So tell me about yourself,” she cooed.

“Well, I work for the biggest bank in the city…” he began, and Emma widened her eyes in feigned interest. From the corner of one of them she caught sight of the woman from earlier approaching a small table not far from the bar, accompanied by a dark-haired man who had his hand at the small of her back and was leaning down to whisper in her ear. Emma smiled to herself, glad that the woman’s boyfriend had finally showed, and then she got a good look at him.

Killian.

Emma’s heart stumbled and she froze, her eyes fixed on the couple as they arrived at their table. The woman was holding a pink rose, sniffing it with a soft smile as Killian pulled out her chair for her and kissed her cheek as she settled into it. He spoke a few words to the hovering waiter who nodded eagerly and scurried away, then sat down next to the woman and took her hand, lacing their fingers together and murmuring something that had her blushing and sniffing the rose again.

My boyfriend’s running late… my boyfriend… boyfriend… the woman’s words rang in Emma’s ears as she watched them. They looked comfortable together but still with an undercurrent of excitement, like the relationship was new but not too new. Killian must have been dating this woman for at least a few months. Long enough for her to know that it wasn’t like him to be late, and not to feel insecure when he was. Long enough for her to casually call him her boyfriend.

The waiter reappeared with a bottle of wine and a small vase for the rose. The woman laughed when he set it down in front of her and the look she gave Killian made Emma’s heart ache. The waiter poured their wine and they clinked their glasses together, then settled into what appeared to be easy and pleasant conversation.

Killian looked… not precisely happy, Emma thought. But he looked content. Relaxed and at ease in a way she’d never seen him be before. He smiled often as the woman spoke and there was no flirtation in it, no smirk or leer or defensiveness. Just simple smiles from a man enjoying the company of his date.

“Hey,” said the skip, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “You’re not even listening to me.”

“Sorry.” Emma dragged her eyes away from Killian and tried to focus on her mark. She needed to stay sharp to spot the moment when she could jump in and cuff him with the least amount of fuss. It would be better if she could get him outside first; he looked like a runner and although she’d taken the precaution of clamping his car she didn’t really want to cause a commotion in a restaurant this nice. He started in again boasting about his job and she did her best to appear attentive but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting back to Killian. That woman had seemed so nice, sweet and friendly and she didn’t even know who he was, thought Emma with a burst of anger. She didn’t know anything about him, not about his past and the terrible things he’d done… or about the losses he’d suffered… the way he could read her like an open book… how he used to look at her… the way he kissed…

Oh she knows exactly how he kisses, whispered a nasty little voice in the back of her head. And a lot more.

Emma snarled at that thought, clenching her fist on her wine glass so hard that the stem snapped and its jagged point sank deep into her palm.

“Ow!” she cried, loudly enough that several people at the neighbouring tables turned to stare. She didn’t look at Killian—she couldn’t—but she could sense his eyes on her and for a crazy moment she wished she still had magic and could disappear in a puff of smoke.

“What the hell,” said the skip, glaring at her. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! I just—it just broke.”

“You’re bleeding everywhere.” His lip curled in disgust but he made no move to help her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Fuck this,” said the skip, tossing back the rest of his drink and standing up. “You’re really hot but no lay is worth this much effort.” He tossed some money on the bar and walked away.

“No—wait!” Emma tried to follow but as soon as she stood up a jolt of pain shot through her hand and made her woozy. Her wound was bleeding profusely now, dripping into the spill of white wine on the bar and turning it pink. The bartender was frantically trying to mop up the mess with one hand and waving a handful of cocktail napkins at Emma with the other.

“Ma’am…” he said faintly, “please don’t bleed on the upholstery…” Emma took the napkins and tried again to pursue the skip. She squeezed the paper against her palm in an attempt to stop the bleeding but her wound twinged agonisingly under the pressure and she stumbled, crying out again, and then a warm hand gripped her elbow.

“Swan,” said Killian’s voice in her ear. “Let him go.”

“No—he’s a skip—he’ll get away—”

“You can’t chase him down with a bleeding puncture wound on your hand,” said Killian impatiently. “Let him go. You’ll get him another day.”

Emma looked up at him, her head spinning from the combined effects of pain and blood loss, and his touch on her skin. He eased her back onto the barstool and she didn’t protest, sitting quietly as he took the napkins and dipped them into a glass of water he must have brought from his own table. Cradling her hand in his prosthetic one he gently dabbed the blood from her wound, easing out a tiny shard of glass that had been lodged within it.

“You should get this seen to properly,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “But I suppose you won’t.”

“I hate doctors.”

“Very understandable, but it might get infected. At least wash it well when you get home.”

“In rum?” she challenged, hoping to rile him. He didn’t look up.

“No need,” he said. “A good antibacterial soap should do the trick.”

He finished rinsing the wound and set the used cocktail napkins aside, pulling a large cloth one from his pocket. She caught her breath as he wrapped it several times around her hand and secured the ends in a tight knot. His new prosthetic moved, she noted vaguely. Much more useful than a hook. No need to use his teeth.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “That should do it.”

Emma’s chest was aching, her mind whirling with how familiar and yet how strange this felt. Never, in all the times she’d thought of him over the past three years, not once had she imagined a situation in which Killian Jones didn’t flirt with her. Didn’t challenge her. Didn’t even fucking look at her. Flirty Hook she could handle, and cocky Hook. Even hot as fuck Hook breathless and wrecked after their kiss in Neverland she could handle. But this calm and controlled man who bandaged her hand without once looking at her face, this man she absolutely could not. She had no idea even what to say to him.

“I guess you think I should thank you,” she snapped. Her pain and confusion were too raw, too much for her to process right now. Anger was easier. It was hot and clean and she had more than enough to spare.

Anger flashed across Killian’s face as well and she felt a perverse thrill at the sight of it. Good, she thought, he should be angry. She wanted to make him furious.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he snarled. “I have no need of any gratitude from you.”

She hissed in a breath sharp with hurt and they glared at each other, the air thickening with the tension between them, brittle and volatile and unbearable.

“Killian,” said a small, quiet voice, and they both turned to see the woman standing awkwardly a few feet away, twisting her hands together. “I’ve paid the bill,” she said. “I—I’m going to go.”

The anger drained from Killian’s face, replaced by regret and guilt and a deep sorrow that made Emma feel ashamed. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll accompany you.”

For a moment Emma thought the woman would refuse, but then she gave a small nod. Killian offered her his arm and she slid hers through it, and they left the restaurant together, not looking back.

Emma shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if a million eyes were watching her. She swept the room with a defiant glare and as soon as Killian and the woman disappeared through the doors she headed towards them herself. With any luck she’d still be able to catch the skip before he could get the clamp off his car. She hoped so. She hoped he ran when she confronted him. She hoped he fought back and gave her an excuse to punch him in his stupid smug fucking face.

…

Killian dropped Anabel at her door with a kiss on the cheek and an apologetic smile, hating himself for the hurt confusion in her eyes.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, squeezing her hand. She gripped his fingers hard.

“Who is she?” she whispered.

Guilt stabbed at him, followed by suffocating regret. He genuinely and deeply cared for Anabel, and he’d tried so bloody hard to be happy with her. He was almost happy, as close as he could remember being for the best part of three centuries, and so naturally he’d gone and buggered it the first chance he got. One glimpse of Emma pale and bleeding had wiped Anabel and his hard-won contentment and every other bloody thing clean out of his mind, and he had acted without a thought for anyone but her.

“Someone from my past,” he replied. “I haven’t seen her in years. I thought I’d put her behind me but—”

“You still love her,” said Anabel flatly. It wasn’t a question.

Killian sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this here, or now, or ever, but he owed Anabel the truth.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

She nodded, blinking hard as tears filled her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder, soothing her as they fell. “I’m so sorry, Bela,” he said softly. “I care so much for you and I truly thought that we could—”

She pulled out of his embrace and shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t make any decisions now. Sleep on it. Talk to her, figure out whatever needs figuring. I’ll wait.”

“I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I’ll wait, Killian.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. “You’re worth it.”

…

You’re worth it. Those words followed Killian home, chased him through his door and straight to his stash of rum. He’d mostly given up drinking it, needing to be sharp for his classes and limiting himself to a beer or two when he wanted to relax, but there were times that simply called for the hard stuff.

He poured himself a generous glassful and tried not to let the words ring in his ears. You’re worth it. It was worrying, how hard such things still were for him to hear. No one had thought him worth much of anything for so long that he’d come to believe it himself. To internalise it, in the terminology of this realm.

He knew of course that he had some good qualities. He was intelligent and quick to learn, resourceful and decisive and courageous. A man couldn’t survive centuries in command of a pirate crew without at least a few of those attributes. But they counted for little when his shortcomings were constantly cast up at him by the one person he most wished to impress. Well you are a pirate… I’ve got magic, he’s got one hand… let me guess, with you?

Emma had certainly never thought he was worth much. Not worth staying in Storybrooke for. Not worth taking a chance on. Not worth loving.

While he, fool that he was, could never stop loving her.

He was deep into his fourth glass when his doorbell rang, and he knew without even looking who it was. Ignore it, whispered his sensible voice in his ear, but Killian was too drunk and too angry for the sensible option.

The moment the door swung open Emma charged in, shoving him back and slamming it behind her. She rounded on him, fisting her uninjured hand in his shirt collar and pulling him against her.

“I lost my skip because of you,” she hissed.

In her heels and his stocking feet they stood eye-to-eye, pressed together from chest to knee, and every nerve in Killian’s body screamed in pleasure at the contact. He grabbed her hand and yanked it off him, pushing her away so forcefully she nearly fell. “You lost your skip because you broke your glass,” he snapped. “It was nothing to do with me.”

“You distracted me. While I was working.”

He glared at her. “What are you on about? I was having dinner, or about to—”

“You were flaunting that woman—”

“Flaunting?”

“With the rose and the pulling out her chair and—”

“That is simply how I treat the women I date, Swan,” he said, stepping closer to her again, backing her against the wall.

Emma’s cheeks flared bright pink but she didn’t back down. “What, even when I’m not watching?” she sneered.

“I wasn’t aware you were watching tonight!”

“Oh, like you didn’t notice me as soon as you walked in.”

Her breath was coming in short pants, the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest with each inhale, and his lust clawed inside him like a living thing desperate to get out. Killian leaned in until their lips were almost touching, torturing himself with her little gasp and the way her eyes darkened. “No, actually,” he growled. “I didn’t.”

He pushed away from the wall and smirked at her. “I know this is difficult for you to grasp, love, but not everything in my life revolves around you,” he said harshly. “Until two weeks ago I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Oh, so you just happened to be out on a date at the same place I was?”

“That place being my girlfriend’s favourite restaurant, where we’ve dined many times before, you mean?”

Emma’s lip curled. “Your girlfriend—”

“Aye. Of nearly a year.”

“—you expect me to believe that Captain Hook has a girlfriend?”

“No, Killian Jones has a girlfriend,” he hissed, stepping closer again. “What, Swan, did you imagine I would pine away in celibacy forever because you wouldn’t have me?”

“Of course not! That was never—we were never—”

Abruptly all his anger, his frustration, his lust, the electric thrill of sparring with her again drained away, leaving him numb but for the gnawing ache in his heart. “Indeed,” he said, and turned away. “We were never.”

“That’s not what I meant, Killian.”

“Isn’t it?”

He stalked into the kitchen and retrieved his glass of rum, tossing it back and refilling it with a hand that was not quite steady. Before he could pick it up again Emma appeared at his elbow, whisking the glass away and taking a long drink.

“Help yourself, love,” he snarked. She handed the glass back to him and he drained it, setting it down on the table. She refilled it without a word and took another drink. He sighed.

“Why are you here, Swan?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.”

Fury licked at him again. “You don’t know,” he hissed. “Is that so? Well perhaps I can enlighten you.” He took the glass from her and emptied it, then slammed it down. “You wanted to make sure that I was still your faithful pet,” he spat. “That I would still come running the moment you crooked a finger, desperate for any scrap of your attention—”

“That’s not true—”

“—despite your utter rejection back in Storybrooke and your complete lack of interest in me or my life in all the time we’ve been apart.”

“I asked about you, or I tried—”

“You tried.”

“Yes! Every time I talk to my parents I ask—well, not ask but I try to—I thought you were still in Storybrooke!”

“And so you thought you’d just use your parents to check up on me? And it never struck you as odd that they didn’t know anything?”

“I just—I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t ask them directly because then they would know you were curious,” he concluded. “And we couldn’t have that, could we darling?”

She grabbed the rum glass and refilled it. He watched as she tossed it back, wishing he could ignore his body’s reaction to her—that constant itch to touch, to trace the curves outlined by her clinging dress and sink into the softness of her hair. He still remembered how it felt beneath his fingers in Neverland, the taste of his rum on her tongue… he wanted to taste it on her again, to lick the traces of it from her lips and then deep into her mouth, wanted to rip that dress from her body and plunder her. The dark heat that flared in her eyes as she caught him staring, as she let the rim of the glass trail across her lower lip, said she knew exactly what he was thinking and she wouldn’t stop him. That she wanted everything he did.

Slowly she set the glass down and stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her hair and feel her breath against his cheek. His cock was rock hard and he cursed it, cursed his helplessness to resist the pull she exerted on him. His hand curled around her waist without his permission, and when a small, satisfied smile curved her lips it slid down to grip her arse and pull her tight against him.

She stiffened and for the briefest moment he thought she might pull away, and then she moaned and rolled her hips and he was lost. His arm wrapped around her waist as hers curled around his neck, he plunged his hand into her hair and she tugged at his, bringing their lips together in a clash of heat and lust and fury. She tasted just as he remembered and this time he chased it, battling her for control of the kiss. If they were going to fuck like this, he thought, in anger and animosity and not lovingly, reverently as he had so often dreamed… if they were going to fuck, they were going to do it his way.

He slid his hands beneath her dress and hooked the index finger of his prosthetic beneath the thin strap of her thong, snapping it easily. She gasped against his mouth and he chuckled darkly, trailing into a groan as his fingers found the slick heat between her legs. She was so soft and so bloody wet—wet for him—that his head spun and his knees went weak, and he forgot his anger and their fight and sought only to pleasure her, pushing two fingers inside her and stroking her clit with his thumb, thrilling to the sound of her low moan and the sharp pain of her fingernails digging into his arms.

He tugged her head back and trailed his mouth down her neck as his fingers worked inside her, dragging the neckline of her dress down with his teeth until her breast was freed then swirling his tongue around her nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped. “Hook.”

He jerked away like she’d doused him in ice water, his anger flooding back.

“No,” he hissed. “Killian.”

Emma’s eyes flashed defiance, “Hook,” she insisted, scraping her fingernails down his chest, popping buttons as she went. He knocked her hands away with his prosthetic and backed her up against the kitchen counter, his fingers still inside her, squeezing his hand to grind the heel of it hard against her clit, wrenching a helpless moan from her.

“You want Hook?” he snarled. “Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Well, you can’t have him. It’s me or nobody and I swear by all the gods in the heavens, Swan, if you call me by that name again I will kick you out of my house as you bloody are.”

She glared at him, chest heaving, and he could see how badly she wanted to defy him. He prayed he’d have the strength to carry out his threat if she did. Their harsh breaths sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the kitchen until Emma bucked her hips against his hand and conceded.

“Killian, then,” she said, grudging but breathless, like the name was an intimacy that she resented but also craved. He pressed her clit harder and she moaned again. “Killian,” she breathed, and it sent a spear of pure lust through him.

He pulled his hand from between her legs and stepped back, holding her gaze as he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. “My bedroom is upstairs,” he said. “First door on the left.”

Her eyes flashed again and then she straightened up, reached behind her back and in one quick movement unzipped her dress and shimmied free of it, smirking when he hissed in a breath at the sight of her naked body. She stepped out of the pile of fabric, still in her heels, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, and sauntered from the room.

Killian ground his fist into the countertop and forced himself to count to sixty before following her.

When he arrived she was sitting on his bed, leaning back on both hands with her legs crossed, one shoe dangling from the tip of her toe. He stopped in the doorway and feasted his eyes on the sight of her toned limbs and smooth skin as he slowly undressed, not missing the catch in her breath when he undid his trousers.

“Curious, love?” he taunted.

“Very.”

He pushed the garments down, trousers and underpants together, smirking as her eyes widened and she drew a deep breath.

“Well,” she purred, “you did promise I’d feel it.”

He ignored the stab of anger, bit back the retort that it was Hook who’d told her that, and put a swagger in his hips as he closed the short distance between them. She sat up eagerly and reached for him but he caught her hand and held it back.

“I want your mouth,” he said. “No hands.”

She shot him a venomous glare but complied, laying her hands flat on the bed as she took his cock in her mouth, swirled her tongue around the tip then sucked hard. He clenched his teeth against an aching moan, wove his fingers through her hair and tried not to perish from the sheer pleasure of living out one of his favourite fantasies.

She took him deep in her mouth, alternating hard suction with lazy strokes of her tongue and quick scrapes of her teeth until he couldn’t take any more and pushed her away, shoving her back onto the bed where she lay panting and looking very pleased with herself.

“Too much?” she taunted.

“For now.” He leaned over her, running his hands up the insides of her thighs and spreading them wide, then slipped his arms beneath them and buried his face in her cunt. She gave a strangled cry as he licked through her folds then sucked on her clit, pressing the tip of his tongue hard against it. Her hips bucked as she tried to push them up against his face but he held her down, licking her far more gently than he knew she wanted and forcing her to accept it.

“Damn you, Killian,” she snarled, clutching at his head. He laughed and she gasped at the feel of the vibrations on her swollen flesh, then moaned when he resumed his onslaught, as hard as she liked this time, licking and sucking her roughly until she lay teetering just on the edge.

“No…” she whimpered when he pulled away, blindly reaching for him as he leaned across her to yank open a drawer on his bedside table and withdraw a condom. He handled it with practiced ease, holding it securely in his prosthetic and tearing the packet open with his hand.

Emotions flitted across her face as she watched him, anger laced this time with a touch of hurt. The hurt cut deep into his heart and made him furious. She really did think she’d had him on such a leash that he wouldn’t sleep with anyone else after she rejected him, he thought, giving her a nasty leer as he rolled the condom down his length. Her nostrils flared but she didn’t look away, and when he finished she grabbed his shoulders and shoved him onto his back, straddling him, kissing him roughly and digging her fingernails into his skin as she positioned his cock at her entrance and took him inside her.

They groaned together at the sensation, the tight, slick squeeze of it. He thrust up as she ground down, groaning as she tilted her hips and arched her back to take him deeper, dragging her sharp nails down his chest.

“Ugh that’s so good,” she moaned, and as they found their rhythm and began to move in perfect tandem Killian could only agree. Emma's head was thrown back, her hair curling wildly over her breasts and down her back, her muscles squeezing him as they rocked together in the most glorious dance of his life, and had he not already been as deeply in love as a man could be Killian knew that he would have fallen then. His hurt and anger ebbed away and he lost himself in sensation, in the indescribable bliss of sinking into the woman he loved and feeling her clenched tight around him, the sound of her sighs and moans in his ear. It was a feeling he never thought he’d know again after Milah, and certainly never dreamed he might know it with Emma.

You don’t, he tried to remind himself. This is only sex. She doesn’t love you. She never will.

He didn’t care about that though; in this moment with this woman he couldn’t care. He could only feel, and make the most of this one chance to feel these things with her.

Emma’s breaths grew faster, harsh and short and catching in her throat, and as her rhythm began to falter he could tell that she was close. Gripping her arse tightly he flipped them over until she was spread out beneath him. She hummed in approval and hiked her leg up over his hip as he thrust in deep, driving her hard into the mattress over and again until she gasped and cried out, her eyes squeezed shut and back arching as a pink flush spread across her skin. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen and it sent him flying over the edge, choking out his own cry as ecstasy gripped him harder than ever before. He collapsed onto his side and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, conscious of little more than the smell of her skin and the gentle caress of her fingers through his hair.

They lay like that until their breathing calmed and their skin cooled, and gradually reality began to encroach. Killian forced himself against every will he had to move, untangling himself from her and rolling over to remove the condom and dispose of it in the bin next to his bed then grabbing a handful of tissues to clean them both up.

He dreaded what he would see when he turned back again but Emma still lay where he’d left her, her face calm and showing no signs of panic or regret. She took the tissues he offered without comment and cleaned herself, grimacing a little when she handed them back. He dropped them in the bin along with his own and took a deep breath, waiting for the excuses he knew had to be coming, for the sound of her getting up and running away, leaving him yet again. When the bed shifted but none of those things came he risked another look at her.

She was snuggling back against the pillows, and as he watched she pulled back the blankets and slid beneath them. He held his breath and did the same, swallowing hard when she slid over to him and curled herself against his chest.

“Emma—” he began.

“No,” she said firmly. “No.”

She cuddled closer, slipping a leg between his and an arm around his waist. He tangled his fingers in her hair, stroking a silky strand between his thumb and forefinger as she hummed in contentment and closed her eyes. A moment later so did he.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, his eyes half-closed and his nose in her hair. He was adrift in the moment, this extraordinary, unbelievable moment of softness between them when Emma not only allowed him to hold her but actually snuggled into him, fitting her body to his like it belonged there, like there was nowhere else she wished to be. Killian suspected she would regret it in the morning and when she woke she would push him farther away than ever. But now, here, in this moment, she was his.

Her skin was so soft, he marvelled, so silky beneath his fingertips that he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, gently stroking down her body, the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip, down her thigh and up again, over her arse and along the ridge of her spine to sink once more into her hair.

Slowly he became aware that she was touching him as well, her hand trailing over his thigh and hip, up his back and down his shoulder, pausing briefly to explore the tattoo there then slipping further on to sift her fingers through the hair on his chest. He caught his breath as she discovered the scatter of tiny stars tattooed across his heart, almost lost among the dark strands, and traced the pattern they described with unnerving accuracy.

She looked up at him with eyes hazy with desire, blinking slowly as he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing the dimple in her chin. He kissed the dimple, thrilling to the little hum of enjoyment she gave. He kissed her nose and her forehead and both her cheeks, and then, finally, her lips.

The kiss was slow and soft and and achingly tender. Killian poured his whole self into it and everything he felt for her, fully aware of what he was confessing but unable to care. Emma knew his feelings whether she wished to accept them or not, and he had nothing to lose.

She opened her mouth with a soft moan and took the kiss deeper, pulled him closer, her tongue on his sending heat licking up his spine, her hands stroking it across his skin. He wanted to touch her everywhere, worship her as he had in his dreams, distil a lifetime of devotion through the prism of this one act. But there wasn’t time for all he wished to do and so he made do with what he craved the most. The soft weight of her breast in his palm and the hard peak of its nipple, how she moaned into his mouth as he stroked it with his thumb. His fingers caressing her, slowly down her belly then between her legs, sinking deep into her velvety heat. Her tongue soft and wet as she licked down his neck, nipping at him, leaving marks that would linger on his skin for days and break his heart anew each time he saw them.

Emma shifted beneath him, aligning their bodies and lifting her knees to cradle him, holding him close and kissing him hard as he slid inside her. The wet warmth of her mouth and her cunt made him dizzy; the squeeze of her legs around his waist and the clutch of her hands on his shoulders and back urged him on. He tried to go slowly, to make this last as long as possible, but the sounds of her pleasure, the way she clung to him, the sheer elation of sharing this with her—however illusory it may be—was too great to withstand, and far too soon they fell.

She gasped and he groaned as ecstasy gripped them both, her fingers curling through his hair and pressing his forehead to hers, their eyes locked as she fluttered around him and that gorgeous flush suffused her skin once again. Caught in the delicate tenderness of the moment, wrapped in intimacy and awash in sensation, Killian struggled to contain the words he longed to say to her. He tried his best to hold on to what he knew was true—that this was just an interlude, a moment soon to end—but against all good sense, his better judgement, and even his will, he felt that tiny, stubborn bud of hope bloom yet again in his heart. Perhaps, it whispered to him as he rolled onto his side and Emma followed, curling herself tightly around him and sighing contentedly against his chest as they drifted off to sleep. Perhaps.

…

A prickly sensation in her arm woke Emma. She resisted it, groaning internally and trying to will herself back to sleep. It was far too early to be awake, she could tell that much even through her drowsy haze. It was early and she was so comfortable but for the prickly arm, warm and contented and relaxed, with Killian’s chest beneath her cheek and his arms tight around her.

Killian— With a jolt Emma came fully awake, staring up at his sleeping face with eyes gone wide in dismay. What the hell had she done?

Slept with Killian Jones was what she’d done—God, she couldn’t even call him Hook in her head anymore. She’d charged into his house and drunk his rum and had sex with him—twice!—and it had been just everything she had ever fantasised about and more. So much more. Far, far too much more.

She forced herself to pull away, away from the warmth of his arms and of him. The fact that she had to force herself had panic gripping her chest. She wanted to stay, she realised with a flash of the same terror that had sent her running from him in Storybrooke and the same regret she’d felt on realising, not even a week after her return to New York, that leaving him had been a terrible mistake. For three years she’d tried to bury her regret over that one rash decision, buried it and ignored it and denied it, without success, and now here, finally, she had the chance to make things right. All she had to do was slip back into his arms, curl up where she wanted so badly to be and go back to sleep.

But she couldn’t—it was too much, too fast, and she wasn’t ready. His feelings were too big for her to deal with and hers… hers she couldn’t even bear to think about. She scrambled away, trying not to jostle him, but his eyes blinked open anyway and she froze just on the edge of the bed, caught by the look in them. He had such expressive eyes, true windows to his soul as the saying went, laying bare his every thought and feeling, and it had always amazed Emma that he never seemed to mind how vulnerable they made him. He’d hidden nothing from her, not since Neverland and not until these past few weeks when the cold, shuttered blankness in those beautiful eyes had cut her more deeply than she’d realised. They weren’t blank now, though, but brimming with emotion—with hurt and anger and a weary, hopeless resignation that clawed at her heart.

“I...” she began, trailing off when she realised she had no idea what to say, how to explain. How to make him understand.

Killian sighed and leaned over the edge of the bed. She heard a drawer opening and then a soft t-shirt landed in her lap. “You can wear that downstairs,” he said. “Your dress is on the kitchen floor.”

“Killian—”

Emma groped for the words to tell him that she didn’t want this to be the end, that she wasn’t trying to run from him again. She just needed some time and a bit of space to process all the things that had happened and how she felt about them. But his face was blank again and his eyes so terrifyingly hard that the words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t fucking bother. Just go.”

She swallowed over the aching lump in her chest. “I never meant for this to happen,” she whispered.

He snorted. “Let’s not kid ourselves, love,” he said, and she flinched at the bitter edge in his voice. “You’ve wanted to know how I fuck since the beanstalk. Now that you’ve finally got it out of your system perhaps we can both move on.”

“Move on,” she choked. “You’ve done that already.”

“I’ve certainly tried,” he said. “Anabel makes me happy. She actually likes me for myself and while you may not think I deserve that I choose to believe I do. I’ve worked bloody hard to put my past behind me and build a respectable life in this realm.”

A life that doesn’t include you, his words implied, and she nodded, fighting the tears that prickled behind her eyes. She slipped the t-shirt over her head and scrambled from the bed, grabbing her shoes as she fled, desperate to get away from him before he could see her cry.

…

Killian managed to hold off his own tears until he heard his front door close behind her and then they came in a torrent. All the anguish he’d kept so tightly locked away these last three years—the heartbreak and the guilt, the regret over the life he’d led and the choices that had shaped him into someone a woman like Emma could never love—came rushing forth like the sea through the hull of a sinking ship. He turned his face into the pillow that still carried her scent and wept for all he had lost in the course of his long life, for every terrible deed he’d done and every beautiful thing his touch had destroyed. He wept until he had nothing left inside him, until he sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke again the sun was pouring in through his windows with offensive brightness and he groaned, rubbing his eyes and wishing that just once the habits born of centuries on the sea would leave him alone to wallow in his bed. Instead he dragged himself up and stumbled into the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and ignored his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, then went downstairs.

In the kitchen he found his t-shirt, folded almost neatly and draped across the back of a chair. With shaking hands he picked it up and pressed it against his cheek—just for a moment—then with a guttural cry flung it away against the wall.

…

Emma spent the next week driving herself as hard as she could, working the toughest cases, the longest hours, hounding the staff at the new office with her demands. Anything, anything, to avoid having to think. If she stopped moving even for a second she saw Killian’s face in her mind’s eye and heard his voice telling her to go, and the ache of loss would hit her again, as fresh and raw as the moment it happened.

Losing something she’d never really had shouldn’t hurt so much, she thought, and frankly she resented it. She felt swamped by a strange sort of untethered frustration, an uncomfortable feeling and uncomfortably familiar. She’d last felt it back in Storybrooke, that antsy itch under her skin whenever Killian was near, in the few quiet moments they’d shared in between battling flying monkeys and breaking curses. She’d managed to ignore it then, seizing on the witch and the curses and Neal as convenient distractions, excuses not to think about Killian or her feelings or what he wanted from her. What she wanted from him, what they could have. And as soon as those distractions were gone she had run. Just as she always did. As she would continue to do, damn it, until she found something that made her want to stay.

She refused to think about how badly she’d wanted to stay in Killian’s bed.

...

“Mom,” said Henry the following Saturday, coming into the living room to find her dusting the corners of the bookshelves, “can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm?” Emma dragged her attention away from her determined assault on the cracks in the wood. “Sure. What’s up?”

Henry shifted uncomfortably. “Um, have you—have you seen Hook at all since we moved here?”

“Killian,” said Emma automatically.

“What?”

She felt her face grow hot. “He prefers to be called Killian now.”

“So you did see him!” cried Henry.

Emma set her dusting rag down with a sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“Kind of, I guess. It’s hard to explain.” She cast a sideways glance at her son. “Grown-up stuff.”

“Mom,” sighed Henry, with his special ‘I’m a teenager now’ eyeroll. “I’m not a kid anymore and I’m not stupid. I know that you and Killian—that there was something going on with you guys in Storybrooke and I know that’s part of the reason you left.”

“Henry—”

“And I saw how you reacted when I told you he was here. It’s okay to talk to me about it.”

Emma made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I mean, no details,” he said with a grimace. “But like, in general.”

“Henry.” Emma rubbed her temples. “I appreciate it, really. But I can’t. I can’t even think about it.”

“You really should. It’s not a good idea to hold stuff like that inside.”

“Stuff like what?”

“You know. Feelings. You hold yours in too much.”

“I know. I know I do.” She frowned at him. “How did you know there was… something with us in Storybrooke?”

“It was pretty obvious, Mom. He came all the way from the Enchanted Forest to New York to get you, and then when we got back to Storybrooke you two were always talking together or at Granny’s, and when you weren’t with him you asked him to babysit me. Which you wouldn’t do unless you trusted him.”

“That’s true,” Emma whispered. She had trusted Killian. She did.

“And then after we moved back to New York you never asked about him,” Henry continued. “When you talked to Grandma and Grandpa you asked them about everybody in Storybrooke, even my mom. Even Leroy. But you never asked about him. If he’d only been a friend you would have.”

Emma shook her head. “Kid, when did you get so smart?”

“Duh, I always have been. Thanks for noticing.” They were silent for several minutes before Henry spoke again. “And you know,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind. If you wanted to, you know. Date him.”

“Really? Would you really want me to be with a pirate?”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to think of him that way anymore. But I always liked him, mostly. He took me sailing and told me about my dad. And he’s probably the best teacher I’ve ever had. And he’s been looking really sad all week.”

“He has?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s noticed. He’s all quiet in class, not like he usually is. And he hasn’t been having lunch with Miss Hartfield.”

Emma’s heart gave a painful thump. “Miss Hartfield?”

“The physics teacher,” Henry clarified. “They always used to have lunch together. All the girls in my class thought they were dating and now they’re all crying cuz they think they’ve broken up.”

“Is Miss Hartfield a very pretty brunette with dark blue eyes?”

“Yeah.” Henry looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“I—met her. Last weekend. She was having dinner with—with Killian. I guess they really are dating. The girls in your class should be happy.”

“Oh.” Henry’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Mom—”

“It’s okay.” Emma swallowed hard and forced a smile when he gave her a skeptical look. “Really! I’m okay.”

“You’re not—”

“I am.” Emma wrapped her arm around Henry’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “Or I will be. I just—need a little time. Is your homework done, by the way? Speaking of your teachers.”

“Oh, yeah, nice segue.” Henry rolled his eyes, playing along, though it was clear from his face that he didn’t believe her. “It’s nearly done.”

“Well, get it all done and then what do you say we order pizza and watch some bad movies. Unless you’ve got other plans?”

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

…

By the next Thursday, Emma had almost convinced herself that she was fine. Killian still crept into her thoughts far more than she’d like but the ache he brought she convinced herself was less severe. She didn’t have to fight so hard to stop the tears from welling up or keep herself constantly distracted.

It’s like he said, she told herself fiercely. It was just an itch that needed scratching, and now it’s scratched that’s it. No hard feelings. No feelings at all.

Thursday afternoon as Emma was leaving work, Henry texted her that his friend Becca was having some problems and wanted to talk and he was going to her house for a little bit. His homework was nearly done, he said, and he promised to finish it when he got home.

Said homework was spread out over the dining table when Emma returned and she went to gather it up and put it to one side so she could sit there herself and have some dinner. Her heart skipped when she saw it was astronomy he’d been working on, the book still open to a page illustrated with several constellations. One of them caught her eye. It looked like a slightly tilted cross with bent arms, and it tickled something in her memory.

She frowned and bent down to get a closer look. That pattern of stars looked so familiar. Emma racked her brains trying to remember where she could have seen it before. It couldn’t have been that long ago, she thought, and—oh. Oh. She flushed as the memory resolved with uncomfortable clarity, and her heart began to pound.

She recognised that pattern because she had traced it herself through the hair on Killian’s chest, connecting the sprinkle of stars tattooed over his heart. She remembered thinking how odd it was, him having a tattoo there where it was practically invisible. His other tattoos were elaborate and brightly coloured and on places where he had less hair, but those tiny stars she would never have noticed if she hadn’t had her face pressed right up against them.

It did make sense, she reasoned, for an astronomy teacher to have a constellation tattoo, though all his others featured names and clear associations with people from his past. But this one—Emma peered more closely at Henry’s book looking for the constellation’s name, and when she found it sank slowly into the chair, her knees gone too weak to support her.

It was the constellation Cygnus. The swan. Killian had a swan tattoo. Right above his heart.

He was in love with her.

Emma let her head fall into her hands as the full force of that realisation hit her, with the strength and fury of a hurricane. She was aware he had feelings, strong ones, and though she’d never let herself think too much about them she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t known. But this… this was serious. He wouldn’t put her permanently on his body with Milah and with Liam unless it was big-L love. Killian loved her, or at least he had. Did he still? Could he still, after what had happened between them?

She closed her eyes and thought about the last words he’d spoken to her, about his girlfriend—Anabel—and how happy he was. Her breathing sped up an her hands trembled as she recalled it, the memory she’d tried hardest to escape and with the least success. The closed expression on Killian’s face and the flat tone of his voice were etched into her mind as clearly as if she were back there in his bedroom living that terrible moment all over again, and she realised with a flash of shock that he’d been lying. She’d been too upset to see it at the time but now her superpower was screaming at her. He’d lied to her, and not even well.

A bubble of hope rose up in her heart. If Killian was lying about being happy, about having moved on, then maybe… maybe there was a chance that he still loved her. Maybe if she told him how much she missed him… if she reached out, if she tried… maybe they could actually talk. The way he’d acted the other times they’d met… his coolness, his distance, his anger… of course he was just trying to protect his heart from further hurt. She could certainly understand that. But if she told him, if they talked, then she could fix this. She could get the old Killian back again—the one who looked at her with warmth in his eyes and always believed in her. The one she could now admit to herself that she deeply and desperately missed, not the way you miss a friend you haven’t seen in a while but like a part of herself was gone.

She sent Henry a quick text telling him where she was going and raced out the door. Ten minutes later she was standing in front of Killian’s, practically leaning on the bell.

Killian opened his door and for the first time looked surprised to see her standing there on his small porch.

“Swan!” he exclaimed. “Is Henry okay?”

“Um.” Emma frowned. “Yeah, he’s fine. Why would you think he wasn’t?”

“Why else would you be here?”

“I wanted—” She took a deep breath. “Can we talk?”

“Talk,” he repeated in an incredulous tone, then eyes moved from her face to something behind her and he smiled a huge, fake smile and waved his hand. Emma turned around to see a middle aged woman waving back as she walked down the sidewalk, a similar smile on her face and a very sharp look in her eye. The moment she looked away Killian grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her through the door.

“Come inside, Swan, before the whole neighbourhood sees you,” he hissed.

“Since when do you care about the neighbourhood?”

“Since I have to live in it.” He glanced around then shut the door tightly. Emma went into to the living room and perched on the edge of the sofa, trying not to fidget. Killian followed but remained standing in the doorway, watching her with a dark scowl.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I told you—to talk.”

“I don’t believe we have anything left to say to each other.” When she didn’t reply he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Your tattoo.”

Emotion flashed in his eyes, apprehension and a hint of alarm. It flared just for an instant and then was gone, as thoroughly as if it had never been. Had she not been looking for it, Emma thought, had she not known how to read him as easily as he did her, she’d have missed it completely. “I have many tattoos,” he replied.

“I’m talking about one in particular. The stars over your heart. It’s a constellation, isn’t it?”

Killian’s face was like stone. “Aye.”

“Which one?”

“Swan—”

“Exactly.” Emma pounced. “It’s Cygnus. The swan. You have a swan over your heart, Killian.”

He shrugged. “What of it?”

“What of it is I don’t think you get tattoos that have no meaning. You’ve got Milah on your arm, Liam on your shoulder, someone called Alice on your hip who I’m willing to bet is your mother, and over your heart is—is—”

“Is you,” said Killian flatly. “Is that what you want to hear, Emma? The swan is obviously for you. Because I love you, and because I can’t resist torturing myself with permanent reminders of everyone I loved who is lost to me, etched into my bloody skin. Is that what you came here to get me to confess? It’s a poor confession when you already knew.”

Guilt swamped her, heavy and suffocating. “I didn’t know,” she attempted to protest, her voice quiet but falling like lead in the face of his stark confession.

Anger snapped in Killian’s eyes, fuelled by a pain she hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t allowed herself to see. “Don’t lie to me, love, and don’t lie to yourself,” he snarled. “Of course you knew. You knew when I all but begged you not to go back to New York, and you still left. You knew when you slept with me and you still tried to sneak away before I awoke. You’ve always known exactly how I felt and it has never once stopped you from breaking my heart.”

“Killian—”

“No. I can’t hear this.” He ran a hand over his face. “Go now, Swan, and don’t come back.”

“Don’t come back?” she choked.

“What would be the point? We both know where we stand and I—” his voice broke “—I can’t live with a gaping wound in my chest.” He turned to look at her, his face for once not blank but open and raw and with a plea in his eyes that tore at her heart. “Please, Emma. If you care anything at all for me, leave me alone now. Let me have the chance to heal.”

Emma’s brain was screaming at her to say something, stop him, don’t let this happen, don’t let him go. FIX THIS. But everything he said was true, every angry, hurtful word of it. She had known his feelings and had she had taken them for granted, even used them against him, never thinking of how that might hurt him. She’d caused him so much pain already that she couldn’t now refuse this one small, heartbreaking thing he asked of her.

It’s too late. You pushed him away one time too many and now he’s gone.

“I talked to your girlfriend, you know,” she said, forcing the words past the clawing ache in her chest. “At the restaurant, before you got there. She seems really nice.” She risked a look at his face and almost cringed at the wariness in his expression. “I’m glad you’ve found someone like her, Killian. I really am. You do deserve it. You deserve to be happy.” She stood and moved towards the door, refusing to be hurt by the way he visibly tensed as she drew near. “I—I hope you’ll be happy.” With one last look to fix his face forever in her memory she turned and ran from his house.

…

When she got home Henry was back, sitting at the table with his homework. He looked up to greet her, the cheerful words dying on his lips when he saw her face. He jumped to his feet and hurried over to wrap her in a huge hug. Emma gripped him tightly and let the tears she felt like she’d been holding in forever finally, finally fall. She cried as she could never remember crying before, great heaving sobs that left her empty and drained and clinging limply to Henry’s shoulders.

“What can I do?” he begged. “Mom, tell me what I can do.”

Emma sobbed again, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve him. “Do you think it’d be okay if I came back to Storybrooke with you this weekend?” she asked. “I just really don’t want to be alone.”

“Are you kidding?” Henry smiled, a bright smile that did nothing to disguise his worry. “Grandma and Grandpa would love that!”

“They would. What about Regina?”

“Honestly, I think she’d be glad to see you too. Everyone would. People have missed you.”

“And you wouldn’t mind me tagging along?”

Henry hugged her again. “I’d love it.”

…

They drove up to Storybrooke as soon as Henry finished school the next day, arriving at her parents’ loft just in time for dinner. Snow and David were as thrilled as Henry had predicted, hugging her between them, smiling widely with damp eyes. Emma found her own eyes growing damp as she leaned into the comfort of their embrace, her heart tripping when David gently cupped the back of her head.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” said Snow when they finally pulled apart, cradling Emma’s face between her hands. “Why don’t you and Henry go sit at the table?”

“Is there anything I can—”

“Nope,” said Snow firmly. “It’s all under control.”

Emma seated herself at the table between David and Henry and looked around at the loft. “Wow, have you guys changed anything in this place since I was here last?” she asked.

“Um, I think those curtains are new,” said David absently as he attempted to wrestle a protesting Neal into his high chair. Henry grabbed a toy and distracted his uncle with it long enough for David to get the toddler’s legs through the holes and settle him in. Emma’s heart tripped again. Henry was so comfortable here, far more comfortable with her father and brother than she was, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“We’re thinking of moving, actually,” said David, sitting down next to Emma. “There’s a farm just outside of town that’s for sale, we might buy it.”

“You want to be a farmer?” said Emma blankly.

“I grew up a shepherd,” he reminded her. “And this place won’t be big enough once Neal is older and wants his own room. Plus we haven’t entirely ruled out the idea of more kids. So I think it’s an opportunity we shouldn’t pass up. Your mother, on the other hand—”

“I don’t object to it, exactly,” said Snow as she set a bowl of salad and a large platter of chicken on the table. “It would just mean a long commute if I’m going to keep working with Regina.”

“You’re working with Regina?”

“I’m the deputy mayor,” said Snow.

“You are? Since when?”

“Um, about two years now?”

“Oh.” Emma fell silent as her parents launched into a debate on the merits of farm vs town in a way that made it clear that this was an old, comfortable discussion, frequently rehashed. Henry chimed in with a comment every now and then, egging them on, and Emma ate her chicken rather sullenly and tried not to feel left out.

“So what’s it like being back in Boston after so long?” David asked her, when the conversation hit a lull.

“It’s fine, I guess.” She shrugged. “A bit weird. I don’t normally like to go back to places I’ve left.”

An awkward silence fell and Emma felt herself flush. “I mean, I’m not saying I never would, but—”

“How about you, Henry?” Snow jumped in. “How do you like Boston?”

“It’s pretty cool. I like that there’s so much history. And my school’s really good.”

“Are you still having a hard time with math?” asked Snow, smiling fondly. “I remember that was always your downfall when you were in my class.”

“No, actually, I’ve got a really great teacher at the new school.” Henry shot Emma a questioning look and she nodded. “It’s, um, actually it’s Hook.”

“Hook?” David frowned. “What, like Hook Hook? He’s your teacher?”

“Captain Hook?” said Snow.

“How many Hooks do you know?” snapped Emma, irritated by their disbelief.

“Well,” said Snow, now looking surprised at Emma’s vehemence. “It’s just a bit strange, isn’t it? That Hook’s a teacher?”

“I don’t think so,” said Emma. “He always taught Henry stuff when he used to watch him before.”

“And my dad too,” said Henry. “In Neverland.”

“Really?” asked David, still frowning.

“Yeah. He’s the one who taught my dad how to navigate and how to sail. Seriously, Grandpa, he’s really good at it,” said Henry decisively. “Everyone loves his classes.”

David shook his head. “Not that I don’t believe you, Henry, it’s just hard to imagine. It’s hard to imagine Hook as anything but a pirate.”

“It’s not that hard,” retorted Emma, stabbing at a piece of lettuce on her plate.

“Well, you know, after Pan’s curse when we all landed back in the Enchanted Forest he could hardly wait to get back to his pirate’s life,” David pointed out. “He barely stayed with us for an hour.”

“Though to be fair, it was mostly his ship he wanted to get back to,” said Snow. “And it’s not like that was an option for him here.”

“That’s true,” David conceded. “I guess it’s hard to be a pirate when you’ve got no ship. He could’ve stolen one, but I genuinely did have the feeling he wanted to turn over a new leaf.”

“Wait, wait—what do you mean, no ship?” demanded Emma. “What happened to his ship?”

Snow, David, and Henry all turned to her in surprise. “Don’t you know?” asked Snow.

“Know what?”

Snow and David exchanged a glance. “Hook traded his ship,” said David. “For the magic bean he needed to get to New York to find you. Didn’t he tell you?”

“He traded his ship…” Emma’s head began to spin. “For me?”

“Well, yes, in a way,” said Snow. “Did he really not tell you?”

“No. He never said a word.”

“Well I guess we only know because David basically dragged it out of him,” said Snow.

“He was moping around the town so much after you left,” said David. “Drinking and getting disruptive. I threw him in the cells for a night and in the morning tried to gently suggest he might be happier if he took his ship out for a few days to clear his head, and he said that would be a bloody challenge when Blackbeard had his ship.”

“Blackbeard!” Henry exclaimed. “I didn’t know that part. He hates Blackbeard. Said he’s the worst kind of pirate, a man with no code and no honour. Why would he trade his ship to Blackbeard?”

“He didn’t say. I guess he just really wanted to get back here and find Emma.”

No one was looking at her but Emma could feel the weight of their attention, and she groped desperately for something to say, some way to respond to this revelation. But as always when she was overwhelmed with emotion, no words came. She poked at her food, feeling frozen and numb and so terribly sorry, and desperate for a distraction.

One came a minute later in the form of a knock on the door. Emma had never been more glad in her life to see Regina, come to pick up Henry with Robin Hood and a delighted Roland at her side. In the bustle and confusion that followed their arrival, Emma slipped away to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, downing half of it in one gulp then pressing the cool glass to her temple as she tried to calm her turbulent thoughts.

Regina hugged Henry and watched as he hugged Robin and Roland, smiling a smile that made Emma blink with a new shock of astonishment. It was unnervingly soft for the erstwhile Evil Queen, warm and happy.

“What the hell happened to Regina?” she whispered to her mother when Snow came into the kitchen with their empty plates.

“What do you mean?” Snow frowned. “She looks just the same to me.”

“Yeah but remember I haven’t seen her in three years. She looks… well, she looks happy.”

“She is happy,” said Snow. “She and Robin got married last year you know, and—” she broke off when she saw Emma’s face. “You didn’t know.”

“Huh-uh.”

“But didn’t Henry tell you? He gave her away.”

“I—don’t really ask Henry about his visits here. And you never mentioned it.”

“You don’t ever seem to want to talk about Storybrooke with me either,” Snow replied. “You ask how everyone is, but whenever I try to offer details you change the subject. Have you left this place behind so completely, Emma?”

“I’ve tried to,” said Emma, in a burst of honesty. “I wanted to get away from all of it—magic and villains and being the Saviour. I never wanted any of that and I never really felt like I belonged here.”

“You never really tried,” said Snow. “But there’s always a place for you in Storybrooke, sweetie, whenever you want to take it.”

…

Killian parked his car in front of Granny’s and got out slowly, taking in the sight of the familiar streets and buildings with a resigned sigh. He hadn’t been back to Storybrooke since he’d moved to Brookline, hadn’t had any desire to return until seeing Emma again had stirred up all the old feelings he’d worked so hard to bury. This past week his new life had felt like it was suffocating him—the students who looked up to him, the colleagues who respected him, Anabel who loved him. All of them so obviously concerned by the shift in his mood, caring about him, and the weight of all the pretence he’d built around himself threatened to crush him. Not a single one of them truly knew him, what he was and the things he’d done, the life he’d led for so very many blood-soaked years, and Killian hadn’t been able to bear another second of their kindness.

The Rabbit Hole was just as he remembered, loud and raucous and full of people playing their own game of pretend, fuelled by alcohol and shielded by the brittle jocundity of such places. He looked around for Tink but couldn’t see her, and though he strained his ears could hear nothing over the pounding music. He pushed through the crowd towards the bar where he finally caught sight of her, perched on her knees atop a barstool and waving him over.

“Hey!” she cried, leaping down from the stool and throwing her arms around him. He froze in surprise for a minute then tentatively hugged her back.

“Tink,” he said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” She released him and stepped back, grinning as she took him in. “I guess I just missed you.”

“That’s new,” he snorted.

“Well you used to call me, if you remember, the first year or so after you left. Now I barely hear a word for months on end until suddenly you text to say you’ll be here in three hours and can I put you up for the night. So I have to ask, is everything okay with you?”

Killian tried to summon his old cocky grin and some quip to reassure her, but they refused to come. Everything wasn’t okay, far, far from it, and he knew this was at the root of his spur of the moment decision to come back to Storybrooke. He needed to talk to someone who truly knew him, all of him, and who had known him at his worst. Tink was, as strange as it may be to think about, his best friend.

“No,” he said, and watched her eyes widen at the stark honesty of his reply. “I’m not okay. At all.”

Tink’s face softened and she looped her arm through his, and he let her lead him to an empty pair of stools at the very end of the bar. They sat and Tink ordered a bottle of rum and two glasses, then rested her hand just above his prosthetic and listened, keeping his glass filled as he told her everything. He told her of how hard he’d worked to make a place for himself in this land and build a new life to go with it, and how at times he felt that he’d succeeded in that aim but at others felt a complete fraud. He spoke about his job and how much he loved it and the joy of helping his students learn, but how he still felt unworthy of the trust placed in him by the school and by their parents. He told her about Anabel and how much he wished that he was whole enough to love her and then finally, haltingly, he spoke of Emma. About seeing her again and all that had occurred between them, and the way he’d spiralled afterwards into a depression so deep he wasn’t sure he could recover.

“I’m so tired of living sometimes,” he said. “You know what I mean.” It wasn’t a question but Tink nodded anyway, memories of long nights spent sharing rum and companionship in Neverland hanging thick between them. “Obviously time passes differently there, you have less of a—a sense of it passing, but—”

“But it still passes,” she said.

“Aye. It still passes, and I’ve passed so bloody much of it. And sometimes I think about how in terms of the physical age of my body I’m only about thirty-five. I could live another fifty or sixty years, easily, what with the medical marvels in this realm, and at times I just wonder—” he drew a deep breath “—I wonder if that’s really what I want.”

“You want to die?” Tink asked carefully.

“Not precisely.” Killian tossed back his rum and she poured him some more. “I’m just exhausted by the prospect of more living. Does that make any sense at all?”

Tink nodded, sipping her own drink before speaking. “Years can be a burden,” she said. “Fairies are immortal so we don’t feel them the same way humans do, but we see how they affect you. Most humans your physical age would still have a lot left to look forward to but you’ve already lived the lifetimes of at least three men. It’s understandable that the prospect of living another might feel overwhelming.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

“Well, assuming you don’t actually want to end your life?”

“I don’t,” he assured her. Though he couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed his mind in his more desperate moments, Killian had fought too hard for his survival to ever end himself by his own hand.

“Then you have to find something to live for,” said Tink. “Or someone?”

He shook his head. “Emma doesn’t want me.”

“It doesn’t have to be Emma.”

“It can’t be anyone else,” he muttered, glowering into the depths of his glass. “Not for me.”

“You felt that way about Milah too.”

“I thought I did, but this is different. Milah and I—we were in love but our relationship wasn’t healthy. I can see that now. We didn’t bring out the best in each other; in fact we probably brought out the worst. She wanted the cocksure pirate and so I leaned into that role, for her. We both leaned into it, and we enjoyed it, the plunder and the destruction and the casual cruelty. I think it made us both feel powerful.” He sipped his rum and shot a sideways glance at Tink, who was watching him attentively and still without judgement.

“But Emma, though,” Killian continued, setting his glass down and flexing his fingers around it. “Emma makes me want to be better. Even when I thought I’d never see her again, even though I know we’ll never be together I still want to be the man she inspired me to become.” He squeezed the glass harder, almost hoping it would shatter in his hand. “But then, if I’m only being that man because of her is that truly who I am? And how can I try to build a life with someone like Anabel when I know I can’t love her as she deserves and I’m only even remotely like someone she might want because of my feelings for another woman?”

Tink wrapped her arms around one of his and squeezed it sympathetically, resting her head on his shoulder. “I wish I had an answer for you, Hook,” she said. “But who you truly are, or can be, is a question you have to work out for yourself.” She paused as they both drank. “Have you ever considered telling Anabel about your past?”

He snorted. “Tell a sensible science teacher from the land without magic that I’m Captain Hook? Oh yes that would go over brilliantly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Tink. “I meant telling her a modified version of what happened to you, with your parents and Liam and Milah. Letting her see a bit more of who you are and what shaped you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian sighed and ran his hand over his face. “I’ve thought about it. I genuinely don’t know if it would help or just be a burden on her. For all she knows I’m just a normal man born in Bristol, England in 1981. How would I even begin to fit parental abandonment, a dead brother, and two tragic romances into that man’s life?”

“Two?”

“She already knows about Emma.”

“Right. Well, you’d have to get creative, but if it helped her know you better? At least you could try.”

Killian drank again then tightened his arm to pull Tink closer, resting his cheek on her head as the the pleasant haze he craved began to settle over his mind. “Do you know why I fell in love with Emma?” he asked. Tink shook her head, her hair tickling his nose. “It wasn’t her courage or her kindness or her beauty, though those are all contributing factors. It was because she understood me. We understood each other, from the very beginning, in a way I’d never known before. It scares her but I—I crave it. And that’s what’s missing with Anabel and with every other woman I’ve known, even Milah. That connection of the whole self. It’s something that can’t be forced or—or brought into being. It is or it isn’t, and that’s that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure that I don’t have the energy to sort through all of this realm’s women in hopes of finding a pale reflection of it. I’ve found the love of my life, Tink. It took three centuries but I found her, and I offered her my heart, and she refused it. I don’t think the answer is to try to patch over that wound with another woman. I don’t know what the answer is. Perhaps there isn’t one.”

He frowned as Tink tensed against him, her eyes going wide. “Perhaps the answer is Emma,” she said. “And you just haven’t asked the right questions yet.”

He followed her gaze and felt his jaw clench. Tink clung to him for another brief moment, whispering in his ear. “She might still be your answer, Hook. Don’t lose hope just yet.”

…

Once Henry left to spend the night with Regina and her parents went to put Neal to bed, Emma muttered something about taking a walk and fled the loft, desperate for some space and time alone to sort through her muddled thoughts. As painful and chaotic as they were she knew she had to think them, and feel the feelings that they brought. Already she’d lost so much by trying to run from her feelings. More even than she’d known.

Killian had given up everything for her. That was the thought that kept echoing in her brain. He’d given up his ship, his home, his most prized possession. He’d given it to a man he hated, all so that he could get back to her, knowing she wouldn’t even remember him. All to bring her back to her family. Her home.

And what had she done? She’d scorned him and pushed him away, denied her feelings and run away from them and from him the first chance she got. No wonder he was so hurt. No wonder that pain had turned to anger. He should be angry, she thought in disgust, he should hate her. Yet she knew that despite everything he didn’t. He may not want anything to do with her anymore but he didn’t hate her. She almost wished he did. It might actually make the weight of her guilt and regret easier to bear.

For the first time in her adult life Emma actually, genuinely faced her feelings, and thought seriously about what they were and what they meant. She didn’t love Killian, not the way he loved her, but she could. All the elements were there, from the way they had always understood each other to how easily she’d trusted him to the electric sizzle of their sexual chemistry. It was that could that had scared her, sent her running three years ago. The vulnerability it represented, the loss of control, terrified her. It felt like standing at the edge of an abyss with her her toes hanging over the edge and a gale force wind at her back. She’d fallen into that abyss before with terrible consequences, but then Killian was not Neal. She knew, somehow, beyond any doubt, that if she let Killian Jones into her life he’d never leave her.

If she had let him in. It was too late now.

She began to cry again, not with the wrenching sobs she’d cried the day before but with heavy, drenching tears that flooded her cheeks and dripped off her chin faster than she could wipe them away. Her chest felt hollowed out, aching and empty and hopeless.

She caught sight of the neon sign for the Rabbit Hole and swerved abruptly to her right, cutting across the street without looking for cars. Fortunately there were none. This was Storybrooke, after all, even on a Saturday night. And she really, really wanted a drink.

The Rabbit Hole was fairly busy, its noise and bustle comfortingly familiar. Emma kept her head down as she moved towards the bar, hoping no one would recognise her. It wasn’t until she was nearly there that she spotted Killian.

He was sitting at the end of the bar with a half empty bottle of rum and Tinkerbelle beside him, her arms looped through his and her head on his shoulder. The obvious, comfortable intimacy between them sharpened the ache in Emma’s chest and reminded her of her suspicions about what their relationship had been in Neverland. She was certain it was more than either of them had let on.

As she stood frozen and wondering what to do, Tink looked up, her eyes widening in recognition. Killian frowned and followed her gaze and when he saw Emma the look that flashed across his face nearly broke her heart. He shook Tink off and stood up, tossing back the rest of his glass of rum and heading for the door.

Before she could think better of it, Emma spun on her heel and took off after him. She caught his arm just before he could reach the door and he spun around, yanking it from her grip.

“Bloody hell, Swan, can I never be free of you!” he cried, and the hopeless defeat in his voice made her tears well again. She forced herself to remember that his feelings were justified, that she had done this to him and that he didn’t owe her forgiveness or anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here and I don’t want to bother you, but Killian—”

“What?”

“My dad—he told me what you did. How you traded your ship for a magic bean to come find me in New York.”

A faint flush coloured Killian’s cheeks and he shifted uncomfortably. “It was nothing,” he said. “Anyone would have—”

“No, anyone definitely would not have,” cried Emma fiercely. “You gave up everything you had to get me back here and then I just turned my back on it, and on you. And I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, Killian, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—I wanted you to know.”

He swallowed hard and gave her a small, guarded smile. “You made what you thought was the best decision for yourself and Henry,” he said gruffly. “That’s all anyone can do. I’m just glad you’re happy.”

“But I’m not,” she burst out. “I’m not. I mean, I’m not unhappy exactly but I miss—I miss you.” She heard his sharp intake of breath but barrelled on before she could lose her nerve. For once in her life she knew just the words she wanted to say and she was going to say them.

“And you were right,” she continued. “I knew how you felt about me and I threw it back in your face and pushed you away whenever I could. I was scared of my own feelings, of how strong they were, and I know that’s no excuse but all my life I’ve always run from things like that. I run from things that make me feel too much and I still can’t believe that anyone could really care as much about me as you seemed to and so I ran before I could find out that you didn’t. I know I hurt you. It wasn’t always unintentional, and God, Killian, I am so fucking sorry for that too.”

She swallowed hard, twisting her hands together, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her but not daring to meet it. “And I know that there’s no chance for—for us anymore but I wanted you to know how much I regret it. There’s nothing in my life I regret more than ruining things between us before they could even really start.”

Gathering her courage she looked up at him, and caught her own breath at the expression on his face, that soft, intense expression she’d missed so much. “Do you want there to be a chance?” he said hoarsely. “If there was a chance, would you—could you take it?”

Emma gasped again as hope exploded in her heart and it began to race. She nodded. “Yeah. I think I could. I would.”

“You think?”

She stepped closer, looking up at him, hardly daring to breathe. Music pounded through the air around them, voices shouted, bodies danced, and they were the only two people in the world.

“I could,” Emma whispered, “I can and I will if—if that’s what you want too?”

Killian drew a shaky breath and his fingers trembled as he reached up to caress her face, brushing softly across her cheek before sliding into her hair. He pressed his lips to hers in the gentlest kiss of any they had shared, a butterfly’s wing of a kiss, a kiss of promise and forgiveness and hope. Emma sighed into it as it slowly deepened, as Killian’s fingers tightened on the back of her head and hers gripped his jacket and she couldn’t suppress a moan.

When they broke apart she was breathless and dizzy and he was beaming, a bright, dazed grin that made her heart soar as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you really mean it, Emma?” he whispered. “You really want—”

“You,” she said. “Yeah. I want you, and I want us.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’m yours, love,” he said. “As you know.”

“Just like that?” Emma pulled back enough to look at his face while keeping her arms tight around him. “After all the hurt I caused you, you can just forgive me?”

“Aye, just like that. I’m not saying all the hurt is healed or that we don’t have things to work through. But of course I can forgive you. I love you.”

“Killian—”

“Shhhh, let’s just leave it there for now,” he said. “It’s nothing we didn’t both already know. We’ll work on the other half later.”

“Later,” Emma murmured, snuggling back into his arms. “I like the way that sounds.”

…

@thisonesatellite @katie-dub @mariakov81 @stahlop @teamhook @kmomof4 @shireness-says @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda

#cs fic #captain swan #canon divergence #3b divergence #angst #smut #angst with a happy ending #cs ff #cs ff au #lots of feelings #some heartbreak #they get there in the end #all the perfect things (that i doubt)#profdanglaisstuff #birthday fic #ohmightydevviepuu

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justseveralowls · 4 years

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I’ve spent over 16 hours in two different ERs and I’d like to vent

CW: Doctors hospitals, chronic illness, incompetence, female hysteria, humiliation, mental health stigma,

What follows is my original post made on Thursday, there is a update as of today at the end and the news is not all bad. This is made to spread awareness talk about an issue I feel is way too often ignored and most importantly let other people feeling this they aren’t alone.

So. I have ehler danlos syndrome, celiac, endometriosis, fibromyalgia, and an (so far) otherwise specified seizure disorder. So basically I am a medical dumpster fire. Getting a or in my case several diagnosis has been a long terrifying and grueling for both me and my partner. We have enountered many doctors and nurses who were kind attentive willing to listen and knowledgeable about my Miriad of admiditally uncommon diagnosis. But today I am so incredibly hurt, frustrated, angry and scared and I want to put this out there because this is part of the many problems that chronically ill and disabled people face everytime they walk into a doctors office, emergency room or even out in public.

So I look sick, it’s obvious and it’s been obvious for a long time. I sit at around a six to seven on a pain scale most of my life, which sucks. I have chronic nausea and weight loss that makes me weak and thin in a sick way, which also sucks. But by far the hardest thing is hoe many people refuse to take my seriously. So today after three months on a waiting list I saw a gastroenterologist. I was scared, underweight, sick and tired. I wanted answers like always and let my partner drag me into a beige fluorescent room to try and make some sense. Overall the doctor was nice, but put heavy emphasis on my past of CPTSD from repeated abuse, and implied that my weight loss and severe gastrointestinal problems could be “just a side effect of my anxiety”. That was dehumanizing to say the least. Because I know I’m traumatized, I’ve sat in therapists offices and cried, I’ve pulled myself together, fought addiction and anorexia and I know that I’m healing. I know it’s his job to look between the lines but I also want to just have a chance to be understood, and not dismissed as a psych case.

Later today I had an episode of vomiting and loss of consciousness, over all not great stuff. So my partner in their amazing sense of love and compassion took me to th ER. Because that’s where you’re supposed to go when you’re scared, sick, hurt, in danger and don’t know what to do.

My experience there was by far the worst I’ve ever had. My vitals were highly abnormal (high pulse at rest, low BP, and low pulse ox). I was having neurological symptoms related to my seizure disorder and instead was given a barrage of tests that had nothing to do with why I was there, the condition I repeatedly told them I had, or the worrying vitals. So after two hours a head CT and useless blood work the ER doctor looked at me and my partner (who was forced to wait in the car in 94 degree weather) and told me I was fine and dehydrated.

I’m a nursing student, I’m new, I’m a novice at the most, and I have a lot to learn. But never could I imagine having a chronically patient, with abnormal labs and vitals with numerological involvement be given saline and discharged. My partner and I were terrified because we didn’t know what else to do. I needed help. I needed answers. I needed them to hear me. After me panicking my partner told me that we should try again. Because doctors are here to help us, and if your scared and there’s something wrong they took an oath to help.

So I called the nurse who was awesome, he went and got the doctor and I was ready to make my case. My partner at this point as well as me were terrified frustrated and close to tears. And this ER doctor after hearing our concerns, my history (with chronic illness and anorexia) proceeded to throw up her hand and as’ my partner “what they her to do”. This was shocking but sadly it doesn’t end here. The doctor proceeded to insist that I was fine and the situation was both non emergent and out of her hands. I responded in a passive way because at that point I was scared triggered and exausted. And I asked what she thought I should do”. And the words that came of her mouth hurt me and made more angry than any four syllables ever has.

“Psych referral”

Now let me something straight. I am a survivor, I am working in me healing, I am growing and changing for the better. I take my meds go to therapy and work everyday to get a little better. But this woman who obviously hadn’t read my chart which denotes not only my diagnosis, psychological history, and notEs from speacialists on the severity of my physical condition has just implied that I’m crazy. This was horrible but 8 could see how it would seem that I am overreacting but, due years of gaslighting, medication being forced on me to cover abuse and trauma, I hate being called that. It’s not a real term, nor does it help anyone, nor does it doing anything but make me remember the nights I spent wondering if that word was me.

In one visit, one person managed to dehumanize, humiliate dismiss me and maybe risk my life based on the fact that 8 wasn’t worth the time it took to read my chart.

It so incredibly weird to have to say this but I as a queer, gay, chronically ill, Latin person am in fact still a human being WHOS painand concerns deserve as much respect as anyone else. We all deserve to be helped and heard and people like this are one of the many reasons that I and so many others are scared to ge5 help, scared to tell the full story, or scared to speak up. This kills people. This is killing people. And this is why I in all my chronically glory and working so hard to advocate and move forward in medicine as a whole. Because nobody deserves that. Because I didn’t deserve to sit in an ER terrified and be told I was crazy. Because my partner doesn’t deserve to be dismissed and mocked for being scared. Because I nor anyone else have to prove I am sick enough or disabled enough to be worth someone’s time.

I hope anyone who reads this and understands even a little. Who’s been through it, whose family and partners have been through it know that this is not okay, that this not your fault, and that you are by no means crazy. That the people who make feel like burden or an annoyance are the problem. Because you deserve to be heard. I m hoping everybody’s doing okay, I’m hoping your journeys are treating you well. Because as always no matter who are, where you are and what you’re feeling you are not alone, you are worthy and I believe you.

***Update**

I later went to a larger hospital not in my home town, and through a long stay in the ER got a formal epilepsy diagnosis, given a anti convulsants drug, and overall treated like a human being. I now have contact with their epilepsy unit and have the tool and education I need to start this part of my chronic illness journey. I’m exhausted and getting used to knew meds but am highly grateful for the good doctors out there, the nurses who listen and the partner who was angelic enough to be with me through it all.

#mental health #mine #system speaks #personal #chronic illness #spoonie #recovery #coping #rant #vent #medical struggles #mental health support #ehlers danlos syndrome #actually epileptic

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daemour · 4 years

Text

Wisteria

Part of the Luv Library project - Fantasy.

Pairing: 🐉!Seokjin x 🦄!Reader

Fantasy AU, Angst, Fluff, Dark magic

Summary: Unicorns aren't all rainbows and sunshine. When you are banished from the 🦄 Kingdom, a 🐉, unicorns' mortal enemy, takes you in. He's different. He's willing to help you. But the time to help you is running out and the 🐉 👑 is looking for you.

Warning: Death, dark magic, Latin cursing

—

You have been in this forest for far too long. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up. The wind whistles in your ears, and suddenly you hear a loud puff of air. You whip around, and standing in front of you is a young man leaning against a tree, with unmistakeable wings and horns. He is a dragon. You are in the Dragon Kingdom. "What's a unicorn doing here?" He asks, a smile growing on his face.

You hold your head high, as your mother always taught you. "I have wandered into your kingdom by accident. If you could please tell me the way out, I will gladly leave." The dragon smiles wider, the right side of his mouth pulling up higher.

"Unicorns are overly careful. I doubt your parents or any other unicorn would allow you to go into your worst enemies' territory," he whispers, "so why are you in here?"

You swallow. "I do not think I need to explain myself to you." You stiffen as he stands up straight, smile vanishing. He stalks forward until he has you backed up against a tree and leans down, hot breath fanning your face.

"I won't ask you again."

"I was banished." The words fall from your mouth, fear causing the words to come out. "Please let me go."

The dragon glares at you, and you can feel his anger in the heat in the air surrounding him. "Banished? Hard to believe the Queen would banish a unicorn." He makes no move to back away.

You tilt your head to the side to avoid having to look at him. "The Queen makes her own decisions, regardless of what others may believe," you murmur. The dragon makes a noise of surprise.

"Where will you go if I show you the way out?" You look up in surprise at his question.

"I presume to the Peacelands. There, the other creatures may not touch me." The Peacelands are where all the kingdoms gather for meetings. No harm may come to those who are in the Peacelands, for that is the ancient command the guardians of the lands set.

"Why not go to the faeries or the elves? Surely they will be kind to you." You hold back a bitter laugh.

"The Queen holds much power, even over those not under her rule." The short answer leaves the dragon stunned.

"You speak of the Queen stiffly, yet all the others love her." The dragon speaks thoughtfully.

"I know her nature better than others." You sigh.

"How so? Are you her advisor? I don't think I've seen you whenever she came to visit." The innocent question makes your heart sting.

"I am her child." The dragon takes a step back in shock, and you quickly create distance.

"The Queen banished her only child? For what reason?"

"That is between the Queen and myself." As the dragon opens his mouth to protest, you start to walk away.

"What's around your neck?" You touch your neck, feeling the necklace around it.

"It is provided to all the exiled." The dragon waits for more explanation, and you give it to him hesitantly. "The council allows for the exiled to call for help."

"Has anyone called for help?"

"No, since I am the first to be exiled." The dragon stops in his tracks towards you, and you start walking a little faster.

"You are headed for the center of the kingdom." His words surprise you. Why is a dragon helping you? You sound those thoughts. "I feel sorry for you."

"Please tell me the way out." You request, and the dragon smiles, this time much less sinisterly than the first.

"I would advise you do not travel there immediately. The way to the Peacelands from here goes through goblin territory." You shudder. Goblins are wretched creatures, who only work for their gain. They break the Peaceland laws the most often. "You cannot fly, so the journey would be treacherous, even for a unicorn."

You sigh. "Then I must go to the Dires." The Dires were similar to the Peacelands. However, they have no rules, and demons dwell there.

The dragon shakes his head. "No. I do not wish such a fate upon you. The goblins leave their land in three months. That is when you can travel across. You may stay with me until then."

You narrow your eyes. "I do not trust you."

The dragon huffs, and you can see little flames flickering in his throat. "I will make an arcane bond with you." You consider the idea. An arcane bond is where both parties agree on each of their three terms they must satisfy. If one party harms or betrays the other, the offending party dies.

"State your terms, and I will then answer," You offer.

"I'll hide you at my home until you leave for the peacelands. I will travel with you. I will make sure no one harms you while you are in my abode." You agree and announce your terms.

"I will not use my necklace to call the unicorns while I am with you. I will not use my magic on you. If I am caught by dragons, I will not speak of you." The dragon agrees, and you both shake hands to confirm the bond. As soon as you do, indigo magic flashes around you two to show the deal is in place.

"Let us exchange names. I am Kim Seokjin, but you may call me Jin."

"I am..." Unicorns are given a name that allows them their magic. If one knows that name, they can summon the unicorn, similar to demons. You cannot give him your name. "...(Y/N)."

Jin nods, and you two set off towards his home.

—

You had not expected the dragon's home to be in the side of a mountain. You had not expected there to be a mountain in the Dragon Kingdom. And yet, here you were, exactly where you thought you would never be in. "Your room is ready, (Y/N)," Jin calls out as he goes down the stairs, "I'll show you where it is."

"Thank you."

The room Seokjin had prepared was most definitely a guest room. There was a tacky "Be My Guest" sign above the bed. "That is an interesting sign." You comment, and Jin beams.

"Isn't it? One of my friends made it for me." You did not expect him to take your comment to heart.

"How very kind of them."

"Yes, Jimin is one of the few who likes my jokes. But enough about me! We must get you some clothes!"

"Oh, no need," you say quickly, "my bag is right here." You bring your bag out with a blast of magic from your horn.

"Oh," Seokjin says, slightly disappointed. "I like clothes shopping."

You feel bad. "We can go shopping if you desire." Seokjin perks right up, a big smile on his face again.

"Perfect! I'll go call my friend immediately. He is amazing at disguise magic. We can easily help you hide among dragons as a dragon."

You nod slowly. "All right." You agree, not wanting to disappoint him.

Seokjin's smile gets even wider if that was possible. "I'll go make some dinner. Would you like to join me in the kitchen?"

It would be good to know which rooms were which, but you didn't want to be near the dragon for extended amounts of time. "If it is alright, may I just walk around and get accustomed to your home?"

Seokjin nods. "That's fine. Make yourself at home. If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen, which is the room to the left of the stairwell."

You nod slowly, and when he leaves, you hold your breath for a little bit, waiting to hear if his footsteps recede. Once it does, you look out the window. It faces the peacelands, which is nice, you suppose. The peacelands have always been a sight to behold. They were surrounded by purple gladiolas and white snapdragons, and inside the ring of flowers were glittering pools with cerulean water so clear you could see the bottom. A magnificent royal poinciana stands in the center of the peacelands and casts shade over the closest pools. Japanese wisteria are scattered across the land as well. You were lucky to visit once or twice during your six hundred years of life.

As much as the rest of the peacelands were beautiful, the wisterias are your favorite parts. You had read once, in your mother's vast library, that wisterias stand for long-life and immortality. In the Kingdom of the Yokai, the symbolism for the wisteria is love, support, sensitivity, tenderness, and bliss. The yokai were one of the kingdoms you had considered going to, as you were good friends with their prince, Yuta. Unfortunately, you had written to him to ask, and he had denied kindly, saying that the relationship between the unicorns and the yokai is damaged a little. He offered that to take you in when peace had returned between the two kingdoms. You told him you would think about it, as you were planning on heading to the peacelands.

Turning away from the window and exiting your room, you start to wander through the halls. As you walk, you realize how big dragons really are. Now, unicorns are by no means small creatures, as you were almost two meters, but this dragon seemed to be a half-meter taller than you. You knew stories from your mother of the king dragon being four meters tall, and you shuddered. "Are you alright?" You jumped. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

You turned around to face Seokjin. "It is quite alright. Can I help you?"

"I wanted to let you know dinner is ready. I can take you to the dining room if you wish." You nod, and he heads down the hall, opposite of where you were going.

—

You eat your dinner in silence until Seokjin breaks the quiet. "Why are your eyes so shiny?" You glance up, and Seokjin's ears turn red as his embarrassment heats the room. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

You smile. "It is fine. It is a unicorn thing."

Seokjin pauses. "I was...that's a thing?" He seems shocked, and you chuckle.

"Yes. All unicorns are born with features that befit them, just like how dragons have wings and horns. Unicorns have sparkly eyes and horns."

Seokjin nods, and the silence returns. You quickly finish your meal. "Thank you for the meal. Would you like me to put the dishes somewhere?"

"Oh, I'm finished as well. I can show the kitchen since the dishes go there anyway." You nod, carefully stacking your plates. "It's this way."

He takes you through an oak door, and the kitchen is there. You didn't know the kitchen was connected to the dining room. Maybe castles are different from caves. "This is the sink for dishes, right?" You gesture towards a ceramic sink. "Or is it this one?" You point to the metal one. "Why do you have two sinks?"

"Oh, I used to have a housemate. We argued so much we each had our own separate things. The ceramic sink is the dish sink since he moved out." Seokjin places his dishes in the sink, and you follow suit.

"What is the other sink for, then?" You're curious. You don't think you've ever seen more than one sink. Then again, your mother never allowed you into the kitchen, and you only had your bathroom sink to use.

"It's for my pottery." Your eyebrows raise, and Seokjin grins. "I bet you didn't expect a dragon to do pottery!"

"May I see your pottery?" Seokjin's beaming smile makes your own smile show up. His smile is contagious, you decide.

"Yep! Here's where I keep them!" Jin opens a large door, and inside are shelves upon shelves of pottery. You stand there in shock.

"That is a lot of pottery," you say dumbfoundedly, "so I assume you like it."

Seokjin laughs a big belly laugh. "I mean, yeah. I do. It was always a hobby of mine. My favorite part is baking the clay, especially since I can do that myself easily," he explains with a smile. He pulls off one of his figurines, an extremely tall, bumpy statue, and hands it to you. "This was my first work. I'm not sure what it is myself."

You stare at it. "It is very nice," you say after a long pause. "It is quite unconventional."

Seokjin smiles proudly. "Thank you. You should've seen my first attempt! It was much taller, but I accidentally broke half of it off." He chuckles, and you nod awkwardly.

"I don't think it is a good idea for me to be in the room any longer. I am unsure if I will knock anything over by accident." You say worriedly, standing as still as a statue. You did have a tendency to break things, a habit that had got you into endless trouble as a teenager.

Jin looked over for a second and softened at the sight of you looking so stiff. "It's alright. Some of this pottery is really ugly. Do you want to go back to your room and unpack?"

"Yes, thank you." You smile at him, and he smiles back. His smile is a little crooked, you note.

—

"(Y/N)?" Seokjin poked his head through your door and waited for you to acknowledge him before continuing. "My friend is here to help disguise you."

You stand from your bed and brush the wrinkles out of your clothes. "Alright. Lead the way." Seokjin laughs at your choice of words but says nothing else, only walking down the hall. His legs are long, so you have trouble keeping up.

At the bottom of the stairwell leading to the foyer, you see a young man. His features are similar to a unicorns; smooth, pretty, and delicate. "Hello," you greet him carefully.

"Oh wow, you're pretty," the words slip out of the stranger's mouth, and he claps his hands over his mouth. "Sorry," he mumbles through his hands.

You smile at him. "It is alright. I am (Y/N)." The pretty dragon sticks his hand out for you to shake, and you do so.

"So I'm here do disguise you, right?" Jimin confirms, and you nod.

"Yes. I've heard you're good at magic. I was not aware dragons could perform transformation magic." You say, and Jimin nods.

"It's true. I can do it because I'm half-elf." The revelation shocks you a little, but he didn't look like a traditional dragon.

"You do look quite pretty and delicate to be a full-blown dragon." Jimin laughs, and Seokjin jumps in with a scoff.

"Excuse me, I'm a full dragon, and I'm pretty too!" You laugh again, and Seokjin's friend pokes fun.

"Nah, you're not. Anyways, (Y/N), where are you from?" He ignores Seokjin growl, and you do so too.

"I am from Falgeva." You name the royal capital of the Unicorn Kingdom, and Jimin's jaw drops.

"You're from the royal capital?" You squirm a little, and Seokjin notices.

"Hey, Jimin, I know this is so cool that I have a friend, but we gotta do that disguise." Jimin nods.

"Sorry, I got too excited," Jimin says, and quickly gives you a once-over. "You'll be easy to work with. You've got the look of a dragon."

You raise an eyebrow. "Ah, yes. With my unicorn horn, I look just like a dragon." Jimin and Seokjin collapse into giggles, and you sigh. "Are we going this or not?"

The two straighten up. "Yes, yes, of course," Jimin mutters and begins the incantation for the spell. It's strange, though. Most transformation spells are harmless, but this one hurts. It feels like something is pulsing through your back and burning you from the inside out.

"What are you doing?" Seokjin worries and Jimin's eyes widen.

"I don't know," Jimin screams over the whirling wind that had appeared. "Deodamnatus, Jin, my elven magic is getting contaminated by dragons' natural dark magic. You need to get help."

You start to fret. "What is going on? Seokjin? Jimin?" As you speak, you can see the dark magic rising out of the ground. "Jimin, please stop the spell."

"I can't." You hear Jimin's sorrowful tone in his voice.

"What do you mean, you can't?" You're really starting to panic now. "Just cut off the magic source, in that case, your incantation."

"No, I really can't. This is a rare occurrence, but when my dark magic mixes into my elven magic, it gets uncontrollable." Jimin regrets all his decisions. "We need an elf to save me."

You want to cry but now is not the time. You start to summon magic from your core. "(Y/N), unicorn magic isn't elven magic. It won't work."

"I am aware, thank you." You don't mean to sound sarcastic. "I am calling an elven friend of mine." And with a pop, you manage to summon Jeonghan, the king of the Elves, and your once-betrothed.

"Futue te ipsi, (Y/N), I was showering!" Oh. You just summoned a naked elf into the hall of a dragon. "What the fuck are you-" You assume he sees the dragons, as the black magic had covered your vision.

"Please explain quickly, Jimin. I don't have much time left." You holler. Jimin starts talking to Jeonghan, and you wring your hands. You can hear Seokjin screaming.

"I swear to God Seokjin stop screaming! Puto vos esse molestissimos." That doesn't sound like Jimin. It's Jeonghan. How does he know Seokjin?

You cannot linger on your thoughts, as you can hear Jeonghan and Seokjin murmuring the reverse incantation for this hell show. Jimin didn't take part as he would have made the situation worse.

The magic swirling around you simmers down, and the pain in your back recedes. You can still feel pulsing, but the pain is almost gone. You look at Jeonghan for the first time in a very long time. "Hello, Jeonghan."

"Hello, (Y/N). Please explain why you are here." And so, you do.

—

"You are an idiot." Jeonghan scolded you. After the ordeal was over, the group moved to the couch to explain everything.

"I know." Not how you expected the conversation to turn out, but it didn't come with too much scolding, so you're happy. "I am also sorry for summoning you when you were naked."

Jeonghan scoffed while sitting on Seokjin's couch. He was no longer naked, thank the guardians, as Seokjin had lent him some clothes. They were the same height, but Seokjin's shoulders were much broader, so his shirt hung off Jeonghan, causing him to appear small and dainty. "Why have you not come to my kingdom? I could have helped you." He seemed a lot less angry now and more hurt. Your heart ached.

"I did not want to be the cause of a rift between you and the unicorns, Jeonghan." Jeonghan scoffed.

"Your mother is powerful, but not that powerful." You shudder.

"Jeonghan, please do not argue with me on this. Trust me, I know how powerful she is."

"Wait, wait, wait, hold up for a second." Ah, yes. You forgot Jimin was there. "You're the daughter of the freaking Empress of the Unicorns?"

"Yes." You confirm, and Jimin becomes much paler.

"You're the unicorn the Dragon King was talking about?"

"What?" you inquire. This is news to you, Seokjin, and Jeonghan. "The Dragon King is looking for me?"

Jimin nods emphatically. "Yes. There was a goblin who saw you enter this forest, and he went and told his king. In turn, his king told the Dragon King." You want to cry, but Jimin wasn't finished. "The Dragon King wants to capture you so that you may be held hostage against the Unicorn Kingdom."

"But you are banished. Does the king know that?" You shake your head at Jeonghan's question.

"My mother is too proud to tell anyone that her daughter is no longer of the Unicorns."

"She told me, though."

"I was engaged to you," you say, with a sigh, and Seokjin and Jimin's mouths drop.

"You? Engaged to Jeonghan?" You nod once again.

"Yes, I did just say that."

"But how?"

"Once upon a time, there was a queen. She ruled over the unicorns." You begin your tale, and Jeonghan nods along. "She craved power." Jeonghan opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off gently. "Please let me finish, Jeonghan."

"When I was born, my mother murdered my father so that she wouldn't have to share the throne. When I was old enough, I became betrothed to you, Jeonghan. My mother planned to kill your father. She would have gotten control of the kingdom, as we would have been too young to rule." Jeonghan's mouth dropped open.

"That is why you got exiled and cut off your engagement?"

"I refused to go along with her plan," you explained. "When your father died, she wanted an earlier marriage. The marriage would have been in four years, so you would have had time to adjust to the role of Elven King before she could manipulate you."

Jeonghan nods. "I see. That is the reason your mother asked if I would like to marry her instead."

"What?" You stood from the couch, shellshocked. "She did what?"

"I said no." Jeonghan hurries to reassure you. "She graciously accepted, but I have received no other response from her." You look ready to throw up.

"Jeonghan, I do not know what she's planning," you state slowly, "but you need to go home and make sure to keep an eye on the Unicorn Kingdom."

Jeonghan nods. "(Y/N), there will always be a home for you at the Elven Kingdom," he offers, before leaving with a spell.

Now that the Jeonghan issue is over, you turn to Seokjin and Jimin. "I am sorry." You move into a deep bow as you apologize. "I have caused unnecessary trouble for you."

Seokjin stands, but Jimin speaks before he can. "There's so much trouble now! It's not unnecessary trouble, as Jin brought this upon himself, but he is the Dragon King's son. This makes everything more complicated." Seokjin groans and falls back into his chair.

"You are the King's son?" Seokjin nods miserably, and you feel anger pulsing through your body. How strange. "Why have you not told me?"

"I didn't think it was needed."

"Not needed? Who do you think you are? Some god? The dragons and the unicorns have been enemies ever since the sun and moon came into existence. And you thought you would not tell me that your father is the man whom my race all hates?"

"You've been exiled by your own mother! What are you going to do about it? You're pretty much not a unicorn anymore. Just a human with a fancy horn." You stand there, silently fuming. Seokjin realizes his mistake. "Wait, (Y/N), I-" You raise a hand to silence him.

"I was wrong about you. You are not a kind dragon. You are not a helpful dragon. Si me rogas, potes abire et tu ipse cacare." Your mouth slams shut at the pain that presses against your back, and you want to die. "What is happening to me?"

Jimin looks up, worried. "What do you mean?" He jumps in.

"I think I have been cursed."

"That can't be possible." Seokjin interrupts angrily. "If it did happen, then the arcane bond would have broken, as someone had harmed you in my home." You pause.

"Then what could have happened?"

Jimin looks on as you and Seokjin compete in a glaring match. "Maybe it was your friend, Jeonghan," Seokjin spits.

"He wouldn't do that," you fire back. "We've been friends since childhood."

Seokjin rolls his eyes so hard, they almost popped out of his skull. "People can change. When was the last time you talked to him?"

"Right before I was exiled, you idiot." With each word you spit at each other, you feel an even sharper pain in your back, but you ignore it to continue arguing with Seokjin. "I can't believe you."

"What do you mean?" Seokjin roars.

"How do you not fucking know this? Elves can not cast curses. It is against their very biology! When an elf curses something, they fade! They cease to exist! They-" You stop. "Oh."

"What now? Are you going to see how stupid I am? Test me some more?" Jimin reaches out and hits Seokjin. "What was that for, Jimin?" Jimin points to you.

"(Y/N), your horn." You reach up shakily and feel your horn. Instead of the straight horn you once had, it's starting to curve.

"What color is it?" You ask, and Jimin is confused.

"It's just kind of off-white? The normal for unicorn horns?" You shake your head.

"It is not normal." You say quietly. "A unicorn horn should be white. Pure white. I have been tainted."

"What?" The anger in Seokjin's voice is replaced by confusion.

"It must have been because of the dark magic surrounding me in this kingdom," you rationalize. "I have lived among unicorns my whole life. My mother has hidden her rotten heart with magic. I have never been surrounded by dark magic or evil and known it consciously until quite recently. The dark magic here is slowly affecting my heart and soul."

Seokjin pauses. "You cannot stay here."

"I cannot," you agree, "and nor can I go to Jeonghan. Elves, too, can be tainted. I will go to the Yokai kingdom. Yuta can help me."

Seokjin and Jimin look at each other, then back at you. "I will go with you." Seokjin and Jimin chime in at the same time.

"No," you refuse. "I will not bring a dragon to the Yokai Kingdom."

"But I'm half-elf, so wouldn't it be fine? I don't even need to be in the kingdom."

"Alright, I will let you come along, Jimin." You turned to Seokjin slowly. "I am going to have to break our arcane bond."

Seokjin leaped up from the couch. "Why?" he demanded.

You started to explain yourself. "You are the Dragon King's son. Even if you do not live with him, you are bound to be noticed and recognized. Especially if royal guards and workers are looking for me. Another reason is your natural dark magic. You cannot help it, but it would further my ailment along. Jimin is a half-elf, so it would be safer." Seokjin huffed but didn't argue. "I must leave as soon as I can. Jimin, would you be alright with leaving tomorrow?" He nods, and you smile at him.

"It's a plan," he cheers, and you laugh giddily. You don't know why you're giggling, as this is a matter of life and death, but the situation seems bizarre to you. Maybe it's because you've never done anything like this. Adrenaline can do magical things, you conclude.

—

"Ready to go?" You stir, and the hand on your shoulder starts shaking you gently. You bolt up in your bed and see Jimin peering down at you, a slight smile gracing his lips. "Ah, you're awake."

"I am," you mutter, rubbing your eyes and tumbling out of bed with the blankets wrapped around you, "I am awake. I am awake."

"You don't look very awake." Seokjin peers through the doorframe to tease you, and you ignore him. You seem to be doing that a lot these days.

"Do not worry." You stand, and with a little magic, you put the bed sheets back on the bed neatly and pack your things. "Thank you for hosting me. I will meet you two in the foyer, and then I can break the arcane bond, and we will head out."

Seokjin quiets a bit and leaves you and Jimin. "You know," Jimin begins, "you shouldn't talk so freely about breaking your arcane bond with him." You look up from your luggage.

"Why?"

"He and his mother had an arcane bond." Well. This was news to you. "She dishonored it to save him from his father. This is why he doesn't live with the Dragon King. Arcane bonds, and especially breaking arcane bonds, are a sore subject for him."

You sit back on your heels and don't respond to Jimin for a few seconds. "I see." You stand and brush off your pants, flicking the hair out of your face. "I will not throw the term around so carelessly."

"Thank you." Jimin manages to get the words out before you and him head down the hallway. "Hey, I mean it. Thank you." He grabs your arm, and you turn to look at him.

"It is alright." You start walking quicker, and Jimin gets the hint, no longer saying anything else on the matter. "Let us go. I do not want to keep Seokjin waiting."

As you reach the hall, you can see Seokjin at the foot of the stairs. "Are you sure you have enough food?" You nod. "And enough water?"

"Jin, don't worry! I'm sure (Y/N) packed all she needed!" You nod again.

"Seokjin," you start to speak, and both Seokjin and Jimin turn to look at you, "this is a very last-minute decision. But if you really think you must come, you may. I just ask that you keep a distance away from us." Seokjin brightens up, and Jimin grins brilliantly.

"That's great!" Seokjin is so excited about this. "I know the forest really well! I'll be so helpful! Just watch me!"

You smile at his excitement. "Jin, go and pack quickly. We will wait." Seokjin stops and turns towards you. "Jin?"

"It's nothing," he says, walking away, and you stare at his back.

When he leaves, Jimin whispers in your ear, "It's the first time you called him by his nickname, (Y/N). It's always just been 'Seokjin,' even though you've stayed here for two weeks." You sigh.

"It was always custom for a unicorn to use a nickname. True names are prohibited unless you are blood family." Only blood family cannot summon you. Jimin 'ahhs' in understanding.

"Here, nicknames are very important to us," Jimin explains, "it shows trust. If someone calls you by your nickname, it shows they trust you and are willing to stay with you."

You nod carefully. You had no idea nicknames were used like that here. In some ways, the unicorns are more uptight than dragons. "What is your nickname, Jimin?"

"My nickname? It's Jiminie or Mochi. What's yours?"

"(Y/N) is my nickname."

"What's your full name?"

"I cannot tell you," you say, and Jimin asks why. "Unicorn names hold similar abilities as demons' names. If someone says a unicorn's real name, they can be summoned."

Jimin's mouth drops open. "Oh. Wait, but wouldn't it be helpful to know your true name, in case we get separated?"

You pause. "Alright. But you can not tell anyone," you warn Jimin.

"Of course!"

"Apneri. Please do not call it unless you are in immediate danger." Jimin nods, and with that, Seokjin returns, holding a backpack.

"Let's go, birches," he whoops, and Jimin giggles.

"What's with the birches?" he teases.

"I don't want to make the darkness grow in (Y/N)." You chuckle, and the two dragons turn to look at you.

"Swearing is alright. Remember? I swore during our argument," you say, and Seokjin hesitates, then laughs.

"Ah, yes. How could I forget?" Seokjin reminisces jokingly. "I believe you called me an idiot."

"Yes, sorry about that." You roll your eyes at him, and before he can respond, Jimin interrupts with a single sentence.

"We should go."

"I forgot about that." Seokjin mumbles.

"You had been begging to go. Do not lie to me and tell me you forgot." He gives you the puppy eyes. "Do not give me that look."

"I'll give you whatever look I like." Seokjin declares, and heads out the door to dodge your kick.

"Which way is it to the Yokai Kingdom?" Jimin asks as he and you follow Seokjin out the door. "I didn't even know they were on our border."

"The Yokai Kingdom is north of the Dragon Kingdom's center," you answer. "This is why I did not want Seokjin to come along. We would have to go either around or through the center."

Seokjin rolls his eyes. "We can just go around. There's also a set of secret underground tunnels, but those are dangerous."

"It is better than being caught by anyone. We will go through the tunnels," you reason. Seokjin sighs like he is about to die, but doesn't argue.

Jimin skips along. "This is exciting. I've never done anything like this before."

"Neither have I," Seokjin responds.

"(Y/N) have you?" Jimin pipes up.

"Yes. I traveled from the Unicorn Kingdom, through the Kingdom of the Dwarves, to try to get through the Peacelands. Thankfully, the Kingdom of the Dwarves is mostly underground, so the journey was not too long." Because the kingdom is underground, it spans vertically, not horizontally. Thus, the width of the land is only a couple hundred kilometers. It was still long enough to take a day of travel, as you had to stop to rest.

"Really? That's so interesting. I've never met a dwarf before. Have you?"

"Yes." This time both you and Seokjin answer.

"I met one on my journey through his kingdom. He was very kind and pointed out the right way to the peacelands," you shared your story.

"I met one when I was living in the palace. He was the Dwarfen Emperor's ambassador. It turned out he was stealing money from both kingdoms, so he was executed."

"That's just confusing." Jimin teases Seokjin about his story. "(Y/N)'s story was better."

Seokjin spits a couple sparks of fire at Jimin playfully, and Jimin punches him back. You continue moving on while watching them with amusement. Before you can get very far, however, you hear a yell. You spin around and see Jimin on fire. Quickly summoning a storm cloud, you make sure it drenches Jimin immediately. "What-" Seokjin and Jimin stare at you.

"Sorry," you mumble, "but I got scared for a second."

"It's alright. It's funny too." Jimin sidles up to you and leans over to whisper in your ear. "Can you do it to Jin?" You giggle.

"What are you two planning?" Seokjin asks, but his question is answered with wet clothes. "You two are little stinkers."

Jimin smiles cheerfully. "I know," he sing-songs and Seokjin rolls his eyes again.

"You two do that again, and you'll have a mutiny on your hands." You raise an eyebrow and counter him playfully.

"You are the one leading us through the forest, so you are technically the leader. That would just be harassment, and I will report you."

Seokjin scoffs. "Who're you going to report me to? My dad?"

You narrow your eyes. "Don't try me," you threaten jokingly. Seokjin reaches out to poke you, but before he can, horns interrupt the playful atmosphere.

"It's the royal horns," Jimin speaks in fear, and you and Seokjin freeze.

"(Y/N), get behind me. This will probably harm you, but I am going to use my magic to shield you." You nod, and scramble behind Seokjin, dropping down to the ground. As Seokjin's magic settles onto you, you hold back your whimpers as the sharp pulsing in your back returns. You can't see anything, as the shielding magic blocks your sight, but you can hear feet stepping near you.

"Hello, Jiyong."

"Hello, Seokjin. Jimin." The pure disdain in both Seokjin and who you assume to be Jiyong is obvious. "Have you heard the news? There is a unicorn in this kingdom. Can you believe it? A stupid, unworthy, glorified horse ventured into the great Dragon Kingdom? How idiotic can you get?" With each word, you get angrier and angrier. The pulsing in your back picks up, and you have to take deep breaths to calm down.

"I did hear from Jimin. In fact, he had just told me." Seokjin lies with such ease, you wonder if he does this daily. "We were just heading into town to get the latest news on the subject."

"It's fine, you can walk with me. In fact..." Jiyong pauses. "Why do I smell unicorn?"

He begins moving towards Seokjin, and you curl up even tighter, your heart pounding in your chest. The pain in your back intensifies. You hold your breath unconsciously when Jiyong stops right where you are. Jimin bites his nails, and Seokjin's ears turn red. Jiyong rips the dark magic away, and you straighten. The dragon smirks sinisterly at you, and you glare at him. "What's this, Seokjin? Have you been harboring a unicorn from your own kingdom? From me? Your own brother?"

Seokjin scowls. "This is no longer my kingdom, and you are no longer my brother. You know this."

"Aw, you're still hung up on that one time? Give it a break, Seokjin." Jiyong rolls his eyes. "I'll tell you what, pipsqueak. I'll give you a pass. If you let me take this unicorn back to father, I'll guarantee you a spot in the kingdom. Or I can let you go back to your home in peace. However, if you decline, I will make your life hell."

You step in between Jin and Jiyong. "Do not do anything to Seokjin or Jimin. They were dragged into this. I made them." With each lie, you feel the pain in your back increase. There is now pulsing in your head.

Jiyong licks his lips. "Oh, look at this. A unicorn is making demands, and she's not even in her kingdom. Whatever shall we do? Come along, darling, let me help you." He seizes your arm, his fingernails gouging into your skin. You jerk your arm away, and Seokjin reaches out to you.

"Don't touch her, Jiyong!" You slap his hand away, but it's too late.

"Oh? It doesn't seem like you forced them. Unicorns are incapable of performing manipulation magic."

"I have been corrupted by the dark magic here. You have no idea of what I am capable of." You seethe, but with that final burst of anger, your body and soul cannot handle the evil you're committing, even if it's for a good cause. The pain in your back and head is unbearable, and you fall to your knees.

"Look at this vacca foeda," Jiyong sneers, spitting at your feet. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Seokjin. Jimin." You call out your friends' name, ignoring the dragon you're at the feet of. "Run."

"I'm not leaving you!" Seokjin yelps, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"We're in this together," Jimin adds in, fire glowing in his throat.

"No. I have a plan," you tell them, and Jiyong smirks.

"What are you going to do? Cry? Put a storm cloud over my head?"

"Neither," you hiss, and grab your necklace. It glows, and in a flash of light, the unicorn queen and her army appears.

"Apneri, what is going on?" the queen asks at you. "Why are you in the Dragon Kingdom?"

You can feel the effects of breaking the arcane bond taking its toll on you. "I do not have much time, mother. I broke an arcane bond. I must ask you one thing."

"What is it?" Your mother's eyes soften. She looks at you with pity.

"Spare Seokjin and Jimin." Seokjin sobs and falls to his knees. The queen nods once. That's enough confirmation for you. You fall to the ground, and Jiyong howls in pain as your life and soul fades.

—

Wow my hands hurt. This is 25% of the original word count, and 1/5 was written today. I'm sorry for the delay. But I really love this, and I hope you do too. Maybe I'll post an alternative ending. Thank you.

Also, we love how the title has nothing to do with the fic except for like one section.

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wolfpawn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 126

Chapter Summary - Tom and Danielle are enjoying their trip to Italy.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

I always loved that dog mosaic. Cave Canem is effectively the Latin for Beware the Dog, so I love that someone loved their dog so much they paid a professional artist to put a mosaic on their doorway of it. I am so envious of the archaeologist that got to unearth that.

I WILL get there, it is my dream!

All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

‘What do you think?’ Tom asked as they sat overlooking the vineyard.

‘I think a wine tasting is wasting on my sorry ass.’ Danielle beamed as she raised her glass. ‘They all taste similar to me.’

‘And the food?’

‘I already told you, I am not leaving.’ Tom chuckled. ‘Thank you, Tom. I...I love it.’

‘Delighted to hear you say that. Now, about that pasta…’ He eyed her carbonara, licking his lips.

‘They are going to have to shove us in the doors of that plane.’ Danielle joked as she stole some of Tom’s risotto. ‘I think this is the first one of these I have ever seen that is not a mushroom risotto.’

‘Yes, it’s the most common.’ Tom concurred as he stole some of her food. ‘It is exquisite.’

‘I’m telling you, I am not leaving. Ring your mum, get her to send on our dogs and we will stay here, forever.’

‘You need to go back, remember how you were going to take over the business world.’

‘I think it was taking over me for a while.’ She sighed as she enjoyed sitting in the sun.

‘I think you may be right, but we won’t let that happen again.’ Tom promised. ‘We need to do more small trips like this.’ He took her hand in his and kissed it. ‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’

‘Yes. Oh, my God, I am so bloody excited.’ She beamed, looking at the dormant volcano that was not too far away. ‘This is incredible.’

‘Only the best.’

Danielle was like a child on a tour at a toy shop as she looked at the remains of the old city. Both she and Tom were in awe, both having studied Roman history and civilisation, they both knew of the city from school and from the countless shows they could recall seeing as youths before actively seeking documentaries as adults, both individually and together. ‘Is it wrong to say I love this?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, about sixteen thousand people died as a result of the eruption, so that obviously is not a good thing, but to see it, to be here, after thirty years of hearing and reading about it.’

‘That’s true.’ Tom conceded. ‘But you don’t mean it in a bad way, so it’s fine to say it. I feel the same. I never got to see it properly. I passed by, but never really got to see it, so doing this at all, much less with you, is wonderful.’ He put on his sunglasses as he spoke. ‘I think everyone needs to get out of Britain, and Ireland for that matter, for some part of the winter, seeing some sun is a rare and needed occurrence.’

‘I can’t even attempt to argue that.’

‘Nervous?’

‘About seeing the city? Why would I be? I mean, I know she is overdue an eruption, but there are warnings in place these days.’ Danielle dismissed.

‘I mean about the email.’

Danielle pursed her lips. They were three days into their holiday and the day before, their day was interrupted by an email from Branagh, stating that work as to start, as soon as she returned. The weather was wet enough to serve their requirements, so they needed to avail of what they could. ‘Nervous or not, it needs doing. Are you okay with…?’

‘I will look after our boys. I have a few things I need to do for Early Man, but on the whole, I will deal with everything. He said it would only be about a fortnight.’

‘We’ve done longer than that. We will do longer than that again.’ She smiled.

‘Yes.’ Tom gave her a weak smile.

Danielle looked at him for a moment before speaking again. ‘I keep thinking you are on the verge of saying something to me but are hesitating.’

Tom’s brows knit together before he cleared his throat and looked at her. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes. Is everything okay?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Tom smiled, but she was still uncertain. ‘I am just thinking over a few things. Actually, I do have something to ask you.’ Danielle gave a small facial expression that told him she was paying attention. ‘Mum’s Christmas present?’

‘Yes?’

‘What are you getting her?’

‘I thought a nice weekend in that hotel near your cousins, so she can be spoiled and see your aunt all in one.’

‘Damn, you’re good.’ Tom commended.

‘I know right.’ She winked. ‘Why, what were you thinking?’

‘She wants to go to a show, so I am thinking of bringing her.’

‘Oh, she will love that.’ Danielle smiled. ‘Is it in London, you should bring her to Gordon Ramsey’s place beforehand, she is dying to go there.’

Tom’s brow rose slightly. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, apparently he got some new thing in, I don’t know exactly what, but she is gagging to go and I think she would love you to bring her.’

‘You are the best partner ever, scoping this out for me.’ He kissed her.

‘What show?’

‘Nutcracker, ballet. Not my thing really, but you know Mum.’

‘Oh, she will love it.’ Danielle agreed. She took out her phone.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Telling Emma, she wanted to know what we are doing so that no one accidentally gets her the same thing.’

‘Of course.’ Tom self-scolded, knowing that Sarah had texted her present of a holiday with her and Yakov and Sophie to France for a week already. ‘She is spoiled.’

‘And rightly so, your Mum deserves it.’

‘Yes, she does.’ Tom agreed.

Danielle sent the message before smiling with satisfaction and putting her phone away again. ‘Don’t forget to turn your phone on silent.’ She instructed.

‘You will not be happy if someone doesn’t on this tour, will you?’

‘Oh, they’ll be added to the Pompeii death toll, I swear. Murder will occur.’ Danielle promised as she walked forward, Tom chuckling as he put his hand around her waist and kissed her temple. ‘You know you would be reluctant to stop me.’

‘I would, but that would ruin the holiday, you being imprisoned. I plan to treat you more before our return to wet and windy London.’

‘Fine, I won’t murder inconsiderate people, I may maim them though.’

‘I only ask that you try not to.’ Tom joked as they stood, ready to listen to their guide.

Danielle stood staring at the mosaic floor. She could not remember the first time she had seen the image in front of her, seeing it in person was something she was unsure she would ever do, but there it was, she could not help the little smile on her face.

‘You like this, yes?’ She turned to see the Italian girl that was giving their tour.

‘Very much.’ Danielle smiled. ‘It looks so fresh, not two thousand years old.’

‘It is my favourite too. I remember the day I saw it first, I thought the same.’ She smiled.

The pair made small talk for another few minutes before the woman excused herself to bring them on more of the tour.

‘You look somewhat lost?’ Danielle smiled.

Tom walked back to her, having left her side for a moment to read something he realised he had missed only for the guide and Danielle to start their conversation in his absence. ‘I felt it would be wrong to have inserted myself into your conversation. Having fun.’

‘So much. I love this.’

Tom looked at the mosaic on the floor. ‘It looks better than I thought it would after so long.’

‘Kind of like yourself.’ Tom’s eyes widened before he gave her a playful glare. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’ She giggled.

Tom wrapped his arms around her. ‘You terror.’

‘Yes, I am.’ She smiled.

‘I cannot believe how much you have changed.’ Danielle frowned and looked at him. ‘Six months ago, I would never have been able to hold you like this in public.’

‘Six months changes a lot. The constant little din of photographers, comments and people have slowly built up my resilience to these things. I know we could and probably will be photographed here, but I don’t care. People will comment on me, us, whatever and I will laugh at the stupid comments, smile at the nice and scoff at the rest because I care more about your ginger-haired arse than I ever will about what they think.’

‘We both know you love my ass.’ Tom grinned.

‘I do, that’s not a secret at this stage.’ Danielle smiled back.

Tom braved leaning in to give her a kiss, somewhat startled when she leant up and met his lips with hers. ‘I love you.’ He whispered against her lips.

‘I am somewhat fond of you too, Mr Hiddleston.’ She smiled back.

‘Elle?’ Tom looked around the room as he came out of the bathroom. ‘Stop hiding, we have to go back to Rome today.’

‘No, we don’t.’ He turned to see Danielle on the balcony.

‘Yes, we do.’

‘Give me one good reason why we need to go back.’

‘I have two, their names are Bobby and Mac.’ She made a face that showed her reluctant conceding as she walked back inside. ‘We will be back.’

‘I know, but I love it so much. It’s so carefree here.’

‘It is.’

‘Your phone was buzzing.’

‘Thanks.’ Tom checked it before rolling his eyes and throwing it down.

‘Dare I ask?’

‘Us being tactless for getting engaged at Pompeii, us being too “in people’s faces” about our relationship and me trying to recreate the beach photo of me and Taylor.’

‘Forget about them.’ Danielle dismissed. She turned and got her own phone, typing something before scanning it. ‘Look at the nice instead. I am not the only one loving your new facial hair, it is a big thing.’ She sat on the bed, Tom joining her immediately. ‘People, for the most part, are saying it is natural affection and…..why didn’t you tell me my underwear was showing? Tom!’ she playfully slapped his arm as Tom chuckled next to her. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake. You’re terrible.’ He licked his teeth as he grinned. ‘They are not exactly plain either.’ Tom started chuckling again. ‘Unbelievable.’ Danielle went to get off the bed only for Tom to pull her back. ‘How would you like it?’ She asked.

‘There are pictures of me with my boxers showing.’

‘When you wear them.’

‘Part of the reason I sometimes don’t.’ He grinned, leaning over and kissing her.

‘Don’t start, or you’ll need another shower.’

‘That is hardly a deterrent.’ Tom grinned, kissing her again.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 126 #tom hiddleston #Tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

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benvoliosantodomingo · 4 years

Photo

BELLAMY SANTO DOMINGO | THE KEEPER

“what is your religion? [...] - to love what is good and beautiful when i see it.” - george eliot

basic information

full name : bellamy santo domingo meaning : bellamy ( french ) - “fine friend” santo ( latin ) - “holy or devout” domingo ( spanish ) “of the lord”

nicknames(s) : bell, bells preferred names(s) : bellamy, bell, bells birthdate : may 21st, 1995 age : 24 zodiac : taurus gender : male pronouns : he / his romantic : panromantic sexual orientation : bisexual nationality : Italian ethnicity : italian / brazilian current location : verona, italy living conditions : bellamy lives in an apartment by himself, away from the villa santo domingo. it has large windows that let in a lot of light, two guest rooms for his various friends to move in and out of, a large kitchen even though he can’t really cook worth anything, and he keeps it filled with the things that are important to him. one wall is two large bookshelves, relics from his travels are scattered around the place, and a wall in his bedroom is dedicated to pictures of the people that he loves, and pictures and postcards from his years traveling. its the only place that's ever truly been his, so he’s tried to leave his mark on it as much as possible. title(s) : benvolio, ufficiale santo domingo, the keeper

background

birthplace / hometown : bellamy was born and raised in verona. social class : bellamy comes from a wealthy upper-class family, but he never really agreed with everything that came with that distinction--and in comparison to families like the rossos and the montagues he always felt like his own family saw themselves as distinctly lesser. now that he’s an adult and living on his own, he would say that he’s firmly middle class and happy to be so. education level : bellamy has a high school education, and received police training upon returning to verona. father : luca santo domingo mother : ana santo domingo ( née moreno ) sibling(s) : bellamy is the oldest of five, and has only brothers. they aren’t particularly close due to bellamy’s proclivity for gentleness and peace, and the ones that are old enough are particularly devoted to the montague cause, like their parents. he makes an effort to see them occasionally--but it usually doesn't end well. dante santo domingo ( 22 ) leonardo ( leo ) santo domingo ( 20 ) milo santo domingo ( 17 ) raphael santo domingo ( 13 ) children : none, but he is very much the mom friend. pet(s) : none, but he’s not opposed to the idea of having one. other important relatives : part of his travels involved staying with some of his mother’s relatives in brazil, and he has various aunts and uncles that are involved with the montagues in various capacities. previous relationships : juliana capulet his secret high school girlfriend--two gentle souls who found solace in each other, in abandoning the pretenses they had both been affecting for their families. their relationship ended when bellamy decided to go traveling, but they left on good terms. carlos de leon a formula one driver that bellamy met while he was staying in spain. he made bellamy momentarily forget everything that he had left behind, and they burned brightly for a few months. he begged bellamy to stay, to leave everything behind and start new, but ultimately bellamy decided to move on. jack hawthorne a poet and an an american student at oxford that bellamy met while he was in england. they dated intensely for six months, and that was the closest that bellamy ever got to really considering staying somewhere--but ultimately there was more of the world that he wanted to see, and he wasn’t willing to give up on the people he had back in verona. they’re still close, and text from time to time. arrests? : none, he’s the one with the strict charge of bailing others out of jail. prison time? : none.

occupation + home

primary source of income : the salary he earns from being a police officer. secondary source of income : his salary as a soldato, and a trust fund account from his parents which he uses as sparingly as possible. he wants to create a life for himself based on his own merits. content with their job (or lack thereof?) : bellamy is only on the force because the montagues placed him there upon his return--if he had a choice he would do pretty much anything else. there are aspects of the job that he likes, but he detests having to stand by and watch violence occur just because its in the montague name, or arriving moments too late to stop the cruelty from occurring. once upon a time, he’d imagined that he might study to be a poet, or a writer of some kind, but he’s since pretty much given up on that. past job(s) : he picked up odd jobs on his travels whenever his funds started to get a little bit light--waiting tables, local bookshops, things he could pick up and leave pretty easily. spending habits : bellamy’s parents presented him with a trust fund account as their way of taking care of him once he was out of their sight--but he doesn’t like to use it that often. it’s money they gained at the expense of others, and its their excuse for not having to think about him. he doesn't believe in spending money just for the hell of it, to show off what you have--he gets only what he needs to make himself comfortable, to make himself happy, with the salary that he earns from his job. his parents money gets donated to charities most of the time--shelters, food banks, organizations that stand against mob violence, no matter how small they may be. most valuable possession(s) : an old t-shirt he stole from marcelo on a particularly bad night that still has their scent, and a daisy that roman had once tucked behind his ear that he keeps pressed in-between the pages of a book.

skills + abilities

physical strength : 7/10

bellamy keeps himself in good shape, and his job requires him to be able to lift heavy objects, or even people out of harm’s way if necessary. he’s not as strong as someone like marcelo, who works out regularly and with the specific purpose of being able to overpower other people, but he can hold his own.

offense : 6/10

bellamy doesn’t believe in violence, and would much rather talk his way out of an altercation. however, he’s had effective tutors throughout his life who insisted that he be able to keep himself safe, and hold his own if the need ever arose, so he knows the basics.

defense : 6/10

again, he is capable of holding his own should the need arise, but he doesn’t go out of his way to practice the skills, and he would prefer to do just about anything other than get into a physical altercation.

speed : 8/10

bellamy’s preferred method of exercise is running, and his job requires him to be able to take off running at a moment’s notice, so his strength really is his speed. it also comes from childhood and teenage years running from whatever mess his friends got themselves into, so that he could bail them out later.

intelligence : 8/10

bellamy is primarily intuitive, rather than classically educated and booksmart. he has a talent for reading people, and for reading emotion. he did grow up among the books of the verona library however, and has always been a voracious reader, and has taught himself a lot over the years.

accuracy : 5/10

he hates shooting a gun, and his hands shake pretty much every time he has to draw it. he’s just good enough to pass the test to get on the police force, nothing more.

agility : 8/10

he’s young, and a youth spent raising hell on the streets with his friends meant he developed a good deal of agility--he can hop a fence, a wall, or scale a fire escape with ease.

stamina : 7/10

bellamy is physically fit, and trains pretty regularly, so his stamina is pretty above average. however, he has a low tolerance for pain and when he gets hurt it generally tends to really hurt.

teamwork : 9/10

bellamy loves working with other people, and his skillset lies directly in his ability to communicate--he recognizes that no one ever really does anything alone, and that the future he envisions, in particular, will require as many people as he can convince of its plausibility. he can however, be blind and obstinate when his friends are brought into the equation--he will choose them above anyone else, every time.

talents : bellamy has some talents as a writer, though he would never admit to it. he's skilled at communicating, at convincing other people to believe in his ideas, and he’s also very good at doing so in a way that never strays from genuine. he’s also pretty good at surfing, driving, and dancing. shortcomings : bellamy is loyal to a fault--it would be easier to convince people of his crusade for peace if he could detach himself from the people in his life would oppose such an idea, but he never will. he also tends to be stubborn, and idealistic to a near fault. his life hinges on his ability to see peace brought to the streets of verona, and he refuses to consider that that might not be a real possibility. languages spoken : italian, english, a little bit of portuguese, a little bit of french, and a little bit of spanish. drive? : yes, and at speeds that probably wouldn’t be considered “safe” or “legal”. jump start a car? : yes! change a flat tire? : yes! ride a bicycle? : yes! swim? : yes! play an instrument? : no--his father played the guitar, and bellamy briefly considered learning, but got bored pretty quickly. play chess? : no--there was always something more interesting for him to be doing, somewhere else. braid hair? : yes, for the benefit of his friends exclusively. tie a tie? : yes, and a bowtie. pick a lock? : no, that’s what he had roman and marcelo for.

physical appearance + characteristics

face claim : marlon teixeira eye color : brown hair color : brown hair type / style : its always been curly, and he’s never really been particularly gifted at controlling it, so he generally doesn’t fuss with it. glasses / contacts? : none dominant hand : right height : 6′2 weight : 175 build : bellamy is tall but solidly built--the muscle that he gains tends to fill him out. exercise habits : running, boxing, lifting weights, yoga on occasion skin tone : he’s got his mother’s olive complexion. tattoos : none yet, but he’s considered it a couple of times--he’d like for them to be meaningful, connecting him to the people he cares about. piercings : none. marks / scars : bellamy was an active child and carries the scars of that, and he has a very active job that has a tendency to leave him bruised and bleeding. notable features : his curly hair, his nose, and a nice bone structure. usual expression : bellamy makes an effort to smile as much as he can, as a kind of defiant act. clothing style : bellamy has a weakness for nice clothes--he has a couple of designer suits that he’ll break out on occasion, and even his casual wear tends to be high end. he runs the full spectrum--he likes cozy sweaters some days, sportswear others, and some days he just wants to wear a crop top. jewelry : a watch most days, rings he accumulated on his travels if he’s not on duty. makeup : a little bit eyeliner, if he’s going out. allergies : jerks! diet : bellamy can cook well enough to stay alive, but he's not particularly gifted. he knows a few of his mom’s old recipes, and he can follow along with the food network, but he’s not really skilled enough to branch out and be adventurous by himself. he does like trying new things--he’s frequented a lot of out of the way restaurants in verona, and he’s totally that guy that will tell you that a particular dish is made better at a distant locale where you wouldn’t expect it to be made better. he notably is not phased at all by spice. physical ailments : none.

psychology

jung type : ISFJ enneagram type : type 2, the helper. the caring interpersonal type: generous, demonstrative, people pleasing, possessive moral alignment : neutral good temperament : melancholic element : earth primary intelligence type : intra-personal Intelligence. mental conditions / disorders : bellamy struggles with anxiety. sociability : bellamy is incredibly sociable--he draws his strength from other people, he has a deep and abiding love for humanity as a whole and believes wholeheartedly that they are capable of good. the only time he has a tendency to withdraw is when he’s well and truly upset--he’s used to being something solid for everyone else to lean against, and he doesn’t want them to worry about him. emotional stability : bellamy tends to feel everything very deeply, and makes it a point to not hide that about himself. he grew up in a household where he was expected to keep his emotions in check, to channel them into violence and aggressive behavior, so as he’s been on his own he’s always been very outward about his expression. when he’s upset, he’s well and truly upset and its obvious. when he’s happy, he’s out and he likes to be among people. obsession(s) : bringing peace to verona, and ending the mob war. when he was younger he fell deeply in love with the written word, and spent most of his teenage years drinking in every book he could get his hands on. compulsion(s) : bellamy has a bit of a savior complex--if he sees someone in need, he feels compelled to try and do something, even when there might be nothing to be done. phobia(s) : bellamy fears losing his loved ones, leaving him alone, deeply. addiction(s) : none. drug use : recreationally when he was younger, when he was in social situations. since he’s been back in verona and on the police force he’s tended to stay away from them. alcohol use : mostly socially, but those tend to be heavy binges. he drinks when he’s truly upset, as a kind of last resort coping mechanism. prone to violence? : absolutely not--he believes that most situations can be diffused without resorting to violence, and that violence is a plague that has swept through verona unchecked for hundreds of years. he prefers to resolve things with his words, with his voice, or to exit a situation entirely. if he feels its a last resort, he might turn to it, but it would have to be a desperate situation.

mannerisms

speech style : it depends on the situation--he generally speaks like a young person, with a lot of slang, and sometimes at more of a loud volume. if he really believes in what he’s talking about, he tends to speak very forcefully, with a lot of hand gestures and eye contact, with clear and concise language. he’s a gifted speaker who knows how to tailor his manner of speaking depending on audience. accent : italian quirks : he’s always playing with his hair in one way or another, his manners tend to be less on the formal side because he grew up in a big family, he always gets up before the sun if he can help it. hobbies : reading, writing, drawing, taking photographs, dancing, he’s trying to learn how to cook better, shopping nervous ticks : whenever bellamy’s nervous his hands start to get a tremor in them. drives / motivations : what drives bellamy is the idea that a better future exists--a future where the people he loves will live and grow old, will do the things that bring them joy. he just has to figure out how to change things, to convince people to see that future in the same way that he does. he’s very motivated by his makeshift family, by making sure that they are safe and well taken care of. his primary motivation has always been kindness, everything he does comes from that place inside of him. fears : he fears losing himself in this war, as well as losing the people that he loves about. he fears that violence will corrupt beyond what he can save, that he will have to bury the family that he’s made for himself. positive traits : kind, selfless, optimistic negative traits : none he’s an angel he can be stubborn, he can be blindly optimistic, and he tends to be kind of a martyr at times. sense of humor : more on the dark and dry side--its a side effect of being friends with marcelo rosso for so long. do they curse often? : yes! he’s young and his family consists of his friends, he’s never felt the need to clean it up for them.

favorites

activity : writing next to a sunlit window. animal : all of them beverage : anything fruity book : the sword in the stone by t.h. white, maurice by e.m. forster, one hundred years of solitude by gabriel garcia marquez, the collected poems of john keats, the return of the king by j.r.r. tolkien color : green designer : thom browne, prada, louis vuitton food : he has his issues with his mother--but she remains the best cook he’s ever known. he misses her brazilian food every day, as well as her high tolerance for spice. flower : sunflower gem : tourmaline holiday : halloween movie : the lord of the rings trilogy, an american in paris, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind quote / saying : ”the future has several names. for the weak it is impossible; for the faint hearted it is unknown; for the valiant, it is ideal.” - victor Hugo scent : bright and floral sport : football (soccer) television show : parks and recreation, cooking shows, queer eye weather: warm and with relentless sunshine vacation destination : são paolo, brazil

attitudes

greatest dream : seeing his friends grow old and build happy lives for themselves. most at ease when : he’s with the people that he cares about--they know him as well as anyone he shares blood with ever could. least at ease when : he’s on the job, specifically when he has to draw his weapon. any kind of combat situation makes him uneasy. worst possible thing that could happen : he resigns himself to life in the mob, realizes that peace is unattainable in verona, and becomes like his parents and everyone else in the montague ranks. biggest achievement : leaving verona when he was 18 years old, and seeing what else the world had to offer. biggest regret : allowing himself to be lured back, allowing the montagues to put him in the verona police force. top priorities : keeping his loved ones safe and alive, building a better world for them to live in.

#diveronatask #i want to tell this story without having to be in it / about

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petrichorismydrug · 4 years

Text

RUBATOSIS || JJK || Part 01

Pairings: Jungkook x reader

Genre: Fluff, minor angst (this can change) | Roommates, coffee shop, soulmates AU | Latina OC

Word count: 2.8+k

Sumary: It started with a small hold of his hand, then it was just easy to hold his hand because for some weird and unknown reason it fit perfectly with yours.

A/N: I'm a sucker for Soulmate AU's, what about it? (also hybrid ones but thats a conversation for my other fic) I just can say that this story is a mess in my mind but I am working really hard to put all in place (dont know how I really made this chapter with all the ideas flying and me barely catching them)

PT1 | PT2

[THEN]

Living alone was one of the most exciting thoughts that crossed your mind, the idea alone was intriguing and scary but more than anything, adventure was what made you tremble with anticipation. Of course, that was until actually starting your alone and independent life that realization hits and time showed you that in reality this whole thing of having your apartment and control of everything was nice, yes, but, not sharing it with anyone, it is one of the things in this life that you started to dislike the most. Ironically, this epiphany showed a little late, to be precise six months after living alone.

Basically, to have no one to prepare breakfast for in the morning, someone to eat lunch with and talk about the little things of the day that made you smile someone to dine with and maybe watch a bad comedy or horror movie to criticize every mistake and focus on them not to die of fear. Arriving from work and not being received by anyone, and in the same way, never receiving anyone made you aware of the things that meant to be forgotten wanted and never show up again. Everything was going well if not for that, and in a way, this is affecting other aspects of your almost perfect life.

Have you ever eaten something ultra-delicious, but then you eat it later with someone you appreciate, it tastes even better? Well, if you haven’t you should, this is very well known, everyone loves food, so you do, food is good and being good in the kitchen was a plus to your situation. You could serve someone a three-course meal and never know it’s a way of saying ‘You cute, I dig you’, that’s the beauty of food, it’s like another language and the ones interested in it can talk it.

but her mind always returns to the same, 'if there is no one to share it with, what is the point? it doesn’t taste quite as good as it should be'

This is one of the many problems she had to deal with when raised by a somewhat traditional Latin family. Of course, there are many good things in the culture, but you stop at times like these and start to feel homesick now that you are away, and you want to have the whole family together to talk, sing, and even to discuss.

Her apartment is nice, comfy and with an open concept that keeps a clear and controlled environment. The first month was challenging and adventurous, but as time passed there was not enough yarn to knit, books to read, enough plants to take care, enough flour to make desserts or even, enough series on Netflix to obsessed with, and when she started to lose weight the problem was clear. She needed a roommate. Clearly.

Reaching that conclusion was easy, now, finding a roommate, that was the real problem, because it's not just finding a roommate, but finding the right one. Gender? Doesn't matter. Age? Doesn't matter. Being crazy? Can't happen -with one in the apartment is more than enough-. Big pets? Sadly, building owners do not allow animals larger than a domestic cat, which is an injustice, even more because they give less opportunities of a warm home to larger animals. Don't have time for your roommate? Don't like sweets? Sorry you must go. Next please.

***

"Jin, have you seen my wooden spoon?" the boy in question looked at her sideways and a smile spread across his face, she was looking everywhere picking up things, opening and closing drawers and just seeing her was funny.

"The one I give you? The one with your name on it?"

"Yes, I been looking for her and I think I dropped somewhere, and I can't lose her, I just, can't" knowing that missed pieces slash things go to another part and you don't know when they will come to you again was intriguing, but this spoon was way to special to just go around losing her. Many, many socks were missed, and their other half was lonely, but it literally was not a big of a deal when you can buy another pair of the same, more if they were weird shapes and colorful printed all over them. luckily the polka dots and strapped ones that she only uses on special occasion were safe and sound at the back of her drawer.

"Maybe, and just maybe, don't pay attention to me, but, are we talking about the one in your hand?" she let out the air she was holding, and worried to see that yes, in fact, she had the spoon in her hand. She dropped his shoulders defeated.

"I think I am going crazy" While making coffee for the client in turn, Jin asked with real curiosity

"What is going on? the neighbors being noisy? Because you know I can deal with them." she narrowed her eyes to him

"First of all, yes, you are very loud. I do not care what you say, jumping in your bed late at night, because according to you, 'it is relaxing' ... it does not sound good, much less from my apartment that sadly it is below yours." he looked embarrassed by the scarlet color of his ears, but his superb smile covered him very well "It doesn't matter, forger it, but don’t you dare your Tim Allen 'how do I look' voice of Santa Clause, it would no work this time"

"No but really, 'How do I look? Nice?'" Jin said with all the self-confidence of the world and mastery of that phrase with everything; facial and body management. Delivering the coffee he made, with a smile to the girl who now -if she had not had one before- developed a crush to the barista. "Have a nice day" was said with the most common custom service and with that, she left stunned, like many other women during the day. It is good to have a partner who is your boss and your friend. "What is going on?" she pouts

"Nobody told me it would be so difficult to find a roommate" Jin scoffed

"Whoever told you it was easy is a dic- addicted to lies"

"Just ... you're my friend, be a nice one and support me, will you?"

"What do you want me to say? “she pouts again, and the simple act made Jin hug her "Do you want me to live with you?"

"Aw, you're so cute, but no, of course not."

"Hey!" he was offended " What do you mean by that?" she takes a step away from him, and her stare was warm but little sad.

"Jin, we can't live together " the look they shared for a few small seconds that felt like a small eternity, full of knowledge and words never said, made the environment a bit heavy. Some time ago, the elephant in the room was big, now it is just back in occasions like this, looking thru the big window but he walks away immediately.

"I know" His words were soft.

The bell of the store rang, announcing another customer. He took her hand giving it a little stroke and kissed her forehead; received customers with his characteristic customer service smile was his specialty, while she was dedicated to continue with her cookies, which she had forgotten for a moment, trying to forget the strange and abstract reddish tones on her cheeks.

***

When closing time was finally near the store was for some funny reasons always busier that other hour in the day, and maybe any other coffee shop at the area. Reasons? The boss. A lot of girls tried to invite him to date and, what better opportunity than waiting the last moment of work of someone to do it? It was sad when they all went alone with their hot coffee or chocolate with no boy next to them, but Jinbony was no easy boy. And really, people need to start picking that up, he has been the same with the little fan club that has been gathering almost every day, and it is a little scary that there are more and more girls, more in the weekends, lucky for him those are his off days lately. But on the bright side, they always spend a good amount of money in the coffee so they can come as much as they want.

Even though, with all the work, girls whining and acting cute and one or two difficult clients, the day was nice and the night pleasant, not so cold nor so warm, just perfect, announcing the slipping cold and beautiful winter, waving its way, with wind embraces, walking if not running faster and quietly, like a whisper, a soft and caramelized rustle.

The hope of having a roommate was getting farther and farther. Jin was setting the alarm when her phone rang. At this time, it was normal to receive calls from unknown numbers, even so, it always filled her with distrust. Phone calls were never an easy task to do, no when you don't know the person at the other end, and surely, she does not know this one.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this _____?" the voice said excited. It sounded a little breathy, and kind of appealing?

"Yes, who is calling?"

"Oh sorry, I'm calling for the apartment, I saw your announcement at the University, are you still looking for a roommate?" at that moment, Jin stepped out of the store and locked the door, turning to see the surprise and confusion on her face mouthing a 'what?' she dismissed the question with a gesture. 'University?' she thought, not knowing what the guy was talking about because she doesn't remember putting ads there.

"Yes, it's me, I mean I am am-still-am-looking for one" silence. Hardly 3 seconds passed until some background voices filled the silence, as if he had his phone on speaker. A 'Shhh' was heard.

"So... you are still looking for a roommate" the voice said as matter of fact

"Ah! yes. The room is still free."

"Perfect, when can I come to see it?"

"When you want to."

"More perfect even, can I come tomorrow?" the voice for weird that it was, started to put a smile in her face.

"Yes, at what time?"

"Around 6 it's fine with you?"

"Six is good."

"Awesome, see you tomorrow then." and a lot of 'wooo's' were heard before he could end the call.

Suddenly her phone was really spellbinding, and it seemed to be interesting this happening? Finally, a roommate. She wasn't even mad at how the call ended. She looked heavenward, taking notes of how the sky was dark blue and purple with lots and lots of stars, it was without doubts a pleasant night, even the police siren that was being heard at the distance was a great add to the calm night.

The voice of his friend brought her back of her mental notes of the day. "So, a new prospect?"

"Yes" she said almost breathless "This is so on point, don't you think?" they started to walk the so known path that lead to their homes.

"Yes, I know, you are always lucky to have things as you want."

"Hey, that is so uncalled for. What do you mean?" Jin scoffed.

"You are a good person that for some weird reason always gets what she wants." that matter of fact face didn't pleased her

"That is so not true! I beg to differ."

"You really do, you just don't notice"

"It's just coincidence Jin."

"Didn't you know?" he went poker face "Coincidence does not exist." his serious face and tone was broken by his laughter,

getting her too, and basically that was a daily basis thing between them, there was always smiles here and there, laughs and inside jokes that only the two of them knew. being with Jin was always a roller coaster but without the feeling of leaving your stomach at the back of the starting game. When finally laugh died she could speak.

"That's what they say, but honestly, I do think coincidence has a little space there. Maybe not everything is destiny or fate, don't you think?"

"Nah, if that was the case, we would be dating now." the way he said it and the little effort he put into sounding normal, gave chills. There is no way for someone to say something so embarrassing and not feel sorry as soon as the words leave your mouth

"Oh, shut it." it seems that she said those words, for the colors on her face, what is that color called? traffic light red? But Jin didn’t seem affected, instead he put on a dramatic voice, accompanied with a hand on his heart.

"If it wasn't for Brandon, that little bastard."

“He has nothing to do with this.”

“Say that all the times you want, but he is the one that…”

“Jin, you know that that is no true, lets just leave it there, and besides, you are no talking true here, you never liked me.”

Jin kept silence, everyone knew she had a crush on him in the past, because when you meet in person someone such as him is impossible not to curse the nature for the injustice and be all dragged by his looks. And then you get to know him and he is amazing, but then you meet him more and you know that he is no really the guy for you, and its fine, he is an amazing friend but nothing more can come from that relationship, even though everyone in the world says that men and women can not be real friends because sex is always present, that was not true in their friendship, they all, were just friends, nothing more nothing less.

***

They finally reached their building and were at the elevator. The silence in there was replaced by the notification tone of her phone. A text message to be exact.

[09:36 p.m.] Unknown 'my name is Jungkook, btw'

[09:36 p.m.] Unknown 'Jeon'

[09:36 p.m.] Unknown 'Just figured you wanted to know'

[09:37 p.m.] Unknown 'or maybe not, but'

[09:37 p.m.] Unknown 'see you tomorrow'

"How cute" she stated, answering back to him.

"I know I'm cute, and you know, it would be a pleasure to have my heart broken by you"

"Please stop quoting the fault in our star, that is weird." and by the time they reached her floor, she pressed send.

[09:40 p.m.] Me ‘Pleased to know your name, no long stranger. See you tomorrow.’

#jjk #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #soulmate au #roommates au

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callioope · 5 years

Text

Questions Meme!

Hello, yes, this HAS in fact been sitting in my drafts for ages and ages. Thank you to both @crazy-fruit and @ruby-red-inky-blue for tagging me and for waiting forever for me to answer (oops)! I’m sorry I took so long, but y’all ask really good questions and I had to think about some of them!

Question Set 1

1. How are you?

Oh, I’m doing alright! Thank you for asking. The earlier part of this year was rather rough, but therapy has been helping. I’ve been rather busy these past few weeks with traveling, and my schedule going forward is rather busy, too, so while I’m excited for those things, I’m also excited for the eventual moment I can just relax.

2. What would you say are your talents?

Writing. Making fancy color-coded spreadsheets. I’ve been told that my super power is getting random (annoying) songs stuck in other people’s heads. Does that count as a talent?

3. If you had the chance to start your life again, would you take it?

NOPE. No thanks. I like where I am at right now, and I would not want to relive my awkward years. Er, at least, my more awkward, younger years. Cuz I’m totally still awkward. Just less awkward. I hope?

4. Which language would you like to speak instantly?

HMM. ALL OF THEM. It’s really hard to choose!

Language fascinates me, and in another life I feel like I would have devoted a lot more time to learning more of them. Unfortunately, I really hated German class in high school because of the teacher’s tendency to put people on the spot -- I think that is sort of inherent in a language class, but I get anxiety speaking in public.

Anyways, I suppose I’ll answer Turkish to this question, since spouse and I keep saying we’re going to try to learn Turkish via Duolingo. For the record, my HS offered six languages, which was the most I’ve ever heard of an American school offering, and I was always quite happy with my choice of German. (The others were Spanish, French, Italian, Chinese, and Latin.) I do wish I had maintained my German better, and I that I had more time to learn Spanish.

5. Where would you like to be right now?

Honestly? I’m pretty happy when I’m at home. But if I had to answer where “else” would I like to be right now, out of the whole world? Being back on safari in Botswana is a top contender, as are a variety of places in Turkey, and also Munich.

6. What name would you give yourself?

I’ve always liked my actual name (Elizabeth). I know I go by Liz; one of my HS friends was quite stubborn and I’m a bit stuck with it now, but I don’t mind it. There are worse nicknames that come from Elizabeth. I used to go by Fiona online; I’ve always been fond of that one.

7. What is something you’re currently learning?

OOF, what a good question. I sorta blanked on this at first, and my first thought was uhhhh learning how to cope with my OCD??? I’m doing exposure therapy right now, ish. Emphasis on the ish. Also mindfulness. Does that really even count? I started a beginner’s knitting project several months ago that I never finished, does that count? (I just need to seam it, that’s what I’m putting off. I have knit plenty of scarves; however, this is my first hat.) I’m sort of teaching myself ukulele although I haven’t really learned any new chords or songs in awhile. I would very much like to take more photography classes with a focus on wildlife photography. That involves buying a new camera and... signing up for classes.

Question Set 2

1. What is a detail in a piece of art/a text that you like that you really admire?

This was very difficult, at first because it was like looking at a bin full of loose things and just seeing an assortment of color and being overwhelmed by it all, and then because once I did start digging around, I kept finding different ideas and it was too hard too choose.

Character-building: In the A Song of Ice and Fire series, when Arya starts working for the House of Black and White, Martin stops using the name “Arya” as she dons different identities. For example, he uses “Cat” for a bit, among other names. It shows she’s trying to be someone else, but the caveat is that there are still little mannerisms and such that show she hasn’t really left Arya behind (I think maybe she bites her lip or something? I don’t remember specific examples because it’s been over 5 years since I read these books, but I do remember really appreciating the general technique at the time).

Music: In The Beatles’ “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” I love those repeated arpeggios, over and over, building, intensifying, as the white noise comes in and you can just feel the heaviness of desire, of want... (and then I love how it just breaks so suddenly! And I know it wouldn’t have been intended this way because that’s the end of side one, but since I listen to the whole album on spotify, then those bright chords of “Here Comes the Sun” come in and god Abbey Road is the best Beatles album)

Writing: the poetry of Florence + The Machine’s “All This and Heaven Too,” obviously, since literally the title of my blog comes from that. I’d quote that whole song honestly. There’s something that speaks to me about the incapability of language to fully encompass just... everything. I mean, love in specific here, but also just everything. Words are just these little boats we put meaning on and we hope they make it to the other side but everyone takes ‘em a little differently.

Like, look at this:

And the words are all escaping, and coming back all damaged And I would put them back in poetry if I only knew how

And this:

Words were never so useful So I was screaming out a language that I never knew existed before

Anyways, there’s also something just incredibly soothing about the music, too, and how she sings the song. There’s another line, from Sara Bareilles’ “Miss Simone” that goes “How does she know what a heart sounds like?” which pretty much sums up how I feel about “All This and Heaven Too” (and also many of Sara Bareilles’ song, especially that particular album, but I digress).

Anyways I did have some art examples, but I think I’ve rambled long enough.

2. Is there an idea that you really liked but had to discard because you couldn’t get it to work?

If I really like an idea, I don’t really “discard” it so much as put it on the shelf to attempt later. Out of recent fic ideas, I’ve really struggled with “How to Lose a Spy in 10 Days.” I first thought of this in late spring 2017, and for awhile I couldn’t stop thinking about it, but I was working on Whatever I Do at the time, and wanted to wait before starting another WIP. By the time I got to writing this, the inspiration well had sort of dried up.

I really like the idea of a fun cat-and-mouse rom-com idea where Jyn and Cassian keep outsmarting each other, with a whole lot of competency kink, some “oh shit we actually work well together!” and maybe some battle couple. And I was really looking forward to both the moment when they both finally let their guards down around each other and the big confrontation when they actually find out each other’s identities. But it involved more mission writing than I was prepared for, and I really struggled with it. I think I need to start over but that involves a lot of working, so it’s unfortunately shelved for now, and I’m working on a “You’ve Got Mail” concept instead.

3. Is there something fandom-related you would like to be able to do (i.e. I’d like to be able to make gif sets but can’t)?

Oh, yes, absolutely! Really anything that’s not writing related, lol. Gif sets, art, etc. But most of all, I have a music video idea for the song “So Close” from Enchanted--like I have a whole story board plotted out in a google doc. But I don’t have any video editing software, don’t even know how you get the scenes for a music video, etc. I have made videos before, but not since high school, and I don’t even have the cheap, basic video editing program I used back then. Sometimes I think I should just attempt make a gif set instead, but there are so many lyrics! and scenes that go with the lyrics! that I don’t know how to consolidate it into that format anyways.

4. What is a skill you’ve acquired through fandom work?

Hmm, this was tough. I’m going to say HTML. I’m not up-to-date on webdesign at all, but back in my early fandom days, I ran a few fansites. I still sometimes use HTML while leaving comments or to edit posts on dreamwidth or w/e. It’s super basic, but it has helped me at work at a variety of jobs. I take it for granted that people my age should know basic HTML, but a lot of them don’t, and then a lot of people I work with now are older and definitely not tech savvy.

5. Do you think anyone can learn to create great art, or does it take talent?

Well, I’m going to cheat a little. I do think think that anyone can learn to create great art, but I also think that everyone has a talent at something, and part of learning to create great art is recognizing your skill sets and honing those. If that makes sense? I’ve sort of seen both sides to this. I’ve seen naturally talented people create great things, but I also think that they’re probably cheating themselves if they’re not learning and honing their craft and trying to get better. But I’ve also seen people who started out making things that maybe you wouldn’t call great, but they worked hard over and over again, and looking at their work now, you’d say they were talented without ever knowing the difference. Great art = talent + learning + passion. Did that even answer the question? ...moving on

6. Do you prefer AUs or in-universe? Why?

I prefer to write in-universe, for sure. I find modern AUs more challenging, mostly because--and I feel kinda bad saying this--it’s very difficult for me to tap into Jyn and Cassian’s characters without some kind of tragic background. Their experiences and how they coped with them shape their personalities, and it’s really hard to separate them from those. My WWII was easier because, hey, it’s war, not so different from in-verse. But I initially tried to write Learning Curve in a modern AU and I was just totally bored. Putting it in universe made it more interesting to me, especially having to finagle a happier plot inverse. IDK, it might even be that I generally struggle to make up any conflict in modern AUs that feels interesting.

THAT SAID, lol, I definitely read either. So it’s probably strange for me to be hung up on it because I’ve read nice fluffy modern AUs and found them perfectly engaging.

Tagging: @theputterer, @magalis, @allatariel, @mythologicalmango, @threadsketchier MY USUAL DISCLAIMER APPLIES: no pressure if you just don’t wanna, AND if anyone sees this and was like “aw hey i wish she’d tagged ME” well guess what, I wish I did too! so go ahead and do it and let me know and then i’ll know to tag you next time, too :-)

Questions:

When you suffer a setback or a series of setbacks when creating (writing, drawing, knitting, any kind of crafty project thing you work on... even work), what are some strategies you use to cope with that stress and move forward?

What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to create/make and what did you learn from it?

What part of a bicycle would you be?

What’s a helpful writing (art/crafting/work) technique you’ve learned?

What’s a piece of art that made you see things differently?

You’re a new addition to the crayon box. What color would you be and why?

What was the last board game you played and what did you like or not like about it?

*sorry these came out rather writer heavy!

#about me #tag meme

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doctortreklock · 5 years

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Never Returned to the World They Knew - April 9, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: "For someone whose dying, you seem kind of happy." (x)

Fandom: Merlin

Title: “Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too” by Shel Silverstein

Words: 1615

It is 1099, and Merlin's lifeblood is soaking the dusty ground beneath him.

He laughs joyfully, the sound loud and broken in the quiet, over in an instant. It is replaced by ragged breaths, the dark stain beneath him ever growing. The sounds of battle rage on, but he is laying in a pocket of calm, his heartbeat growing fainter by the second.

"For someone who is dying," the man next to him gasps out, "you seem kind of happy."

His name is Richard, and he will never walk again, his leg broken in two places, his ankle shattered. He will likely live, though, and be able to return home to his wife and small daughter. He is here for the money and the opportunities. Richard has no desire for a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

"I am happy," Merlin manages around the wounds carving bright streaks of pain through his abdomen. "He's not here yet. I get another chance." Underneath is the more pervasive threat, the dull burn that gradually fades as his body becomes more and more numb.

Richard seems to take that as a sign that Merlin has fallen into a hazy delirium from blood loss. He sits propped up on a rock next to Merlin and begins to recite a prayer, the Latin obviously memorized by rote. A buzzing fills his ears, Richard's words vanishing beneath the hum of his brain shutting down.

Richard doesn't understand that Merlin meant every word he said. Arthur isn't here yet. Merlin has been waiting for him, has been rushing headlong into any trouble England can find herself in, but he hasn't found Arthur yet. And if Arthur hasn't returned, then Merlin isn't done. He will be back again, his reincarnation both a blessing and a curse by turns. He doesn't know why he's still here, just knows that the Once and Future King is still slumbering, and the Old Magic in his veins and his lungs and his skin won't let him go without Arthur.

And so Merlin will wait.

The last thing he sees is sky.

It is 1471, and England is tearing herself apart.

Apparently not content with a century of bloodshed in France, Merlin's countrymen - Arthur's subjects - have turned their violence against themselves. Battle lines are quickly and decisively drawn, as mortal men kill for their chance at the throne.

Merlin wants to scream. It's Arthur's throne, he yells in the silence of his own head. It belongs to Arthur and nothing you can do will make you worthy of it.

Time and time again he finds himself by a lake in Wales. Some days he paces wildly, his hands making sharp, angry gestures as he regales his king with the latest in a long line of reasons that prat needs to come back and fix things. Some days he stands still and watches the water quietly before leaving without a word.

And some days he sits at the edge with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around himself as the water gently laps at his toes. And he speaks softly and tells Arthur about all the things he's missed and all the things Merlin wishes he could see. And all the ways that the world is bigger than it was before, and Merlin so much smaller, and how much he misses Arthur.

And king after king is murdered and deposed and Merlin can't stop himself from shaking. Because if this isn't enough for Arthur to come back, if this isn't the hour that England needs him most, then how much worse is it going to get?

It is 1652, and the monarchy has fallen.

Parliament, the people, have decided that they are tired of kings and queens and have taken the country into their own bloody hands.

The king is dead, his son banished, and Merlin watches in horror as Arthur's throne is shrouded and sits empty.

He goes to the abbey in London once and finds the tomb of Edward the Confessor, whose death caused the invasion of William and his band of Frenchmen from Normandy. Merlin wonders if Edward knew what chaos his death would bring. If the Saxons who preceded him knew what Arthur's death had done to Camelot and his united Briton.

Merlin has been alive for about a millennium by this point (give or take a few years here and there), and he has seen the good, the bad, and the worse of England. He's been born a lord once or twice, has fought in wars and taken religious oaths and worked the land. Merlin was and always will be a child of the people.

The king had fought Parliament and had lost. Merlin, the boy from Ealdor, knows that Will would have been viciously gleeful about it. That his mother and Gwen would have welcomed the change, the chance to lead a kingdom without bowing to blood and birthright.

But Merlin, who had fought warlocks and dragons and knights to protect the Once and Future King of Camelot? Merlin knows that there are some people who were born to rule, and rule well. That Arthur, no matter his status or birthright, would always end as a leader of men. That people would always gravitate toward him, regardless of whether there was a crown on his head.

He leaves Westminster. Perhaps the throne itself isn't as necessary as he had always believed, but Arthur would always be Merlin's king.

It is 1940, and the sky is falling.

Explosions have rocked London for nearly two months straight. Merlin has used his magic more in the last six weeks than he has in six centuries. He rescues children under teetering beams and keeps glass shards from flying when panes shatter against the ground. He keeps windows dark and streets empty at night when the Luftwaffe soar overhead, dropping death in their wake.

He had forgotten what it was like, to feel the rush of energy flow through him, of life. It's as easy as breathing, and he uses it to keep the people of England safe - his people, Arthur's people.

Merlin keeps his eyes open and his ears attuned to the slightest rumor. He reads the newspapers everyday and every war bulletin he can get his hands on. There's no sign of Arthur.

It seems the entire world is at war. Merlin can't imagine a world worse than this one, and it appears other people agree. Arthur may have been gone from the world for centuries, but he never left the public imagination. It seems everyone, from Parliament members to homeless orphans, believes that now is the time for Arthur's return.

But there is no sign of Arthur.

In a way, Merlin is almost proud of that fact. Does he want to see Arthur again? Yes, desperately. He has missed his friend, and Arthur's return may be the only thing capable of halting Merlin's reincarnations. But if Arthur isn't here, that means England will survive this, that she will make it through the bombings and the terror. That Germany will not see her fall. And that is its own kind of comfort.

It is today, and Merlin is still waiting.

He is 27 again, and he's sitting on the edge of a fountain in Trafalgar Square, drinking a cup of overpriced coffee and absentmindedly scrolling through the news on his phone.

Each year and each day, the tidings become grimmer and the predictions become more dire. At least, that's what the anchors would have you believe. Merlin lived (and died) through half a dozen waves of the Black Death and over thrice as many wars. He's been shot, stabbed, decapitated, drowned, drawn and quartered, and beaten to death. Rumor of government corruption abroad and economic collapse at home don't shake him the way they do his modern contemporaries.

Sometimes Merlin takes a moment to step back and think about everything that has changed in the last millennium and a half. To marvel at the changes that have been wrought. He misses the magic that permeated everyday life and the smell of dirt roads after it rained. He's also a great fan of penicillin and indoor plumbing, though, so he's not that nostalgic for the 6th century. (Also the coffee.)

But even though he goes to school (because it's expected) and gets a job (because he still needs money, even if he does keep leaving it to himself), he is still only waiting for Arthur to emerge from a lake in Wales. And Merlin wonders how his friend, his king, is going to be able to stand up to guns and missiles and nuclear weapons when he was always most comfortable with a blade in his hands and a horse between his thighs as he led knights into battle.

Merlin comforts himself the same way he has for the last five centuries. The world is changing, but Arthur can change with it. He doesn't need to be king (though thank gods the monarchy had been restored). Arthur was, and will be, a leader of men. He is just and true and righteous, and he will cut down England's enemies with whatever weapons he has to hand, whether swords or soldiers or words.

Arthur Pendragon is the Once and Future King, and he will be glorious upon his return, be it as a soldier, a lawyer, a journalist, a king, or a school boy who hasn't yet learned that money can't buy friends.

Merlin checks the time, then pockets his phone and tosses his empty coffee cup, heading towards the nearest Tube stop.

Arthur will be back one day, and Merlin will be waiting for him when he does.

#Resolution19 #Merlin #Reincarnation #Merlin's just sort of chillin'#waiting for Arthur to come back #even though he spends most of the time not very chill at all #poor Merlin #I'm really digging this Silverstein title style #I might do another one later #this is my 1k+ for the month btw #in case anyone's counting but me lol

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myforeverforlife · 6 years

Text

home is with you.

Your boyfriend is extremely important to you — but so is your job. When you’re offered the opportunity to do work abroad for the summer, you jump at the chance. Jongdae is understanding, the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. But even kind words meant to comfort aren’t the same as having your best friend, the love of your life by your side.

Word Count: 5,904

Masterlist

You weren’t always this lucky to have time to call Jongdae nowadays.

”And then, Jongin realized that he had left his keys inside his car, but the door had already locked behind him! He had to call a locksmith to get him in.”

You laughed along with Jongdae, hand coming up to cover your mouth in a half-hearted attempt to stifle yourself. “Was it the same person as last time?”

“The exact same one. They looked pretty annoyed,” Jongdae told you, chuckling to himself from his side of the phone.

“He should just leave a spare key somewhere, for the next time that this happens.”

“You know Jongin, he’d end up losing that one too.”

You hummed in agreement, rolling onto your back and pressing the phone closer to your ear. It was 5:18 in the afternoon in Seoul, but 10:18 in the morning for you. You were currently on a summer trip with some other professors and a handful of graduate students from your university studying a small sample of the wide variety of languages spoken in South Africa. The hotel you were staying at in Johannesburg was beautiful, but it didn’t have the same appeal as home.

Especially when your favorite person was almost 8,000 miles away.

“How is your work going? Fluent in any new languages yet?” Jongdae asked, a crinkling noise carrying through the phone as he moved around.

“I wish I was that good,” you said with a giggle. “We’ve been focusing on finishing up our lessons on Xhosa first before starting on Zulu next week.”

“Oh wait, Xhosa’s language that they used in Black Panther, right? The one with the clicks?” Jongdae gave a small click of his tongue himself.

“Yep! I’m surprised you even remember that.”

“I learned from the best.”

You chuckled, never failing to be flattered by the way Jongdae dropped compliments on you out of the blue. He always did it so easily, you couldn’t do anything but accept them gratefully. “I can only hope that my students think the same thing.”

“I’m sure they do. You always have a bunch of students talking to you and trying to get in touch with you. Speaking of, you have some letters in the mail from some of them.”

“Did you read them?”

“No. Did you want me to?” You heard a creak and guessed that he’d gotten up from his seat, heading over to the counter where you keep your unread mail. You could picture it so clearly, Jongdae’s slipper-covered feet padding across the floor as he flipped on light switches in the hallway until he reached the mail. The thought was so vivid, you felt a familiar wave of uneasiness come over you. These periods of homesickness still came to you often, even though you’d been in Johannesburg for almost a month already.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the present. “No, it’s okay. How many letters are there?”

Jongdae hummed to himself as he counted, and you knew that he was flipping through the letters one by one, movements swift like they always were. “Four. Are these all your senior students?”

“They might be. Actually, can you open them up and send me pictures of them? They might be urgent.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks, Dae.” You stretched out on your bed, sighing as you felt yourself physically relax. “I miss being home, even with all the work.”

“I miss you too. Eating at home by myself is getting pretty old.”

Your eyes closed shut at this, a grimace finding its way onto your face. “I feel so guilty. I wish you could have come with me.”

“Oh babe, I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t feel bad, please? I’m glad you got the chance to go on this trip. How often do you get to go travel, especially to places far away like South Africa?”

“I know, but still.... I miss having you with me.”

“I miss you too, Y/N.” Jongdae’s voice was more quiet, taking on a more somber tone. “But it’s two months away from home, and you’re already halfway through. Before we know it, you’ll be back home.”

You smiled to yourself at these last words. Home. Back home with Jongdae, in the comforts of the apartment the two of you have been living in for a couple of years. “You’re right. I’ll be back home and leaving my lecture outlines and worksheets all over the place like usual.”

Jongdae laughed, the sound light and cheery like always, reminding you of sweet lemonade on a warm day. “I found a page from one of your lectures the other day. It was under the table in the living room. I didn’t realize how much I really missed you until I started getting all emotional over a piece of paper, and it was like the most boring of papers you could have ever imagined. It was a sample page from a dictionary, your freaking Latin dictionary, can you believe it? I was tearing up over that?!”

A snort escaped from you, and you fought back the giggles as you heard Jongdae joke over the line about how it wasn’t supposed to be funny, it was supposed to be touching and romantic.

You’ve missed talking to him like this.

A couple of days later, you were sitting beside one of your colleagues in a private bus on your way to your destination: the University of KwaZulu-Natal. The trip would be long, almost six hours if you were lucky, but the dean of your department had a close friend who taught Zulu at the university, and had arranged for him to get your travel group familirized with the language. You were looking forward to a change in scenery after staying in Johannesburg for the past month, and thankfully the hotel that you would be staying at in Durban was close to the ocean.

You stared out the window aimlessly, watching the other cars and people as they passed by while the rest of your colleagues chattered amongst themselves. Since you were so caught up in your own thoughts, you almost missed the slight buzz coming from your cellphone.

Quickly, you pulled it out of your pocket, letting out a sigh of relief when you saw who had texted you: Jongdae.

JD: did you sleep well? :)

🌷: I did! 💕 what are you doing right now?

JD: missing you

🌷: jesus CHRIST dae

JD: i love you!!! so much

You giggled softly to yourself, garnering the attention from your seatmate, Nari. She had been teaching at the university a bit longer than you had, and she was like an older sister to you. “Texting your boyfriend?” she asked with a playful wiggle of her eyebrows.

“The one and only,” you replied, sending Jongdae a text before putting your phone down so that you could talk to your colleague properly. “He’s been extremely cheesy lately.”

“He must miss you a lot.”

“Yeah.” Nari didn’t fail to notice how your face fell, and she gave your arm a light poke.

“Look at you, Miss Lovebird over here,” she sang with a childish grin. “I bet you’ll be the happiest out of all of us when we get to go home.”

Her efforts to cheer you up didn’t go unnoticed, and you were overcome with gratitude for this entire experience. Not only was the trip extremely well-planned out, but your colleagues and seniors were also friendly and kind as well. You really couldn’t ask for a better trip.

“I guess so,” you replied, resting your head against the back of your seat. “Although I heard that you’ve got someone waiting for you back home too.”

“What?! Who told you?” Nari exclaimed in a hushed whisper, quickly looking around to make sure no one had heard. “I didn’t even say a word about him to anyone!”

The next hour was filled with soft giggles and gossip about the budding romance between your colleague and another professor in your university’s History department.

When the long drive was finally crawling to an end and you were able to catch the sight of the rippling crystal-clear ocean by the coast of Durban, you let out a sigh of relief. Being landlocked didn’t suit you, and getting even a small glimpse of the water was enough to put you at ease.

The hotel was situated close to the beach, promising you a beautiful view of the sunrise and the sunset every day for the remaining month in South Africa. Eager to show Jongdae, you stepped out onto the balcony of your room and held your phone up, snapping a vibrant photo of the landscape before you. Without hesitation, you sent the picture to Jongdae before remembering that it was almost midnight over in South Korea.

JD: you’re at the beach??

🌷: close to it, our hotel is like right by it sorry, were you about to fall asleep?

JD: no i’m over at minseok’s house he and chanyeol say hi 👋🏻

🌷: tell them i say hi too!! babe, we’re coming here together someday so we can stay in this hotel

JD: YES!!!! ✈️

🌷: lol i love the enthusiasm!

JD: you know me, your trusty hype man always on hand

🌷: true, true 😂 do you have time to talk? not facetime tho, i look so sweaty ugh

A couple of seconds after sending the last text, your phone screen changed to alert you of an incoming call from Jongdae. You smiled at the profile picture you had set for him: one of him grinning widely as he stood with his arms wrapped around you from behind. It had been taken at your birthday dinner last year, and you could never find the will to change the picture. “Hello?”

“Babe!” he yelled, a laugh filled with giddiness filtering out through the phone’s speaker. “I want to go over there to see you right now,” he said, a wistful whine seeping into his voice. “And you know I don’t care how sweaty you are,” he added in reference to your last text.

Before you could answer, another voice broke in. “Y/N!” You easily recognized the voice as Chanyeol’s. “Hurry up and come back, your boyfriend’s going crazy without you!”

“I am not!” You heard Jongdae yell, and the sounds of scuffling as you assumed the boys were fighting over the phone.

“Dae? Hello?” you called out, rolling your eyes as they continued to wrestle over the phone. Suddenly, as if at the flick of a light switch, all traces of the boys’ fight were gone, leaving only an empty silence on the other side of the phone. “Dae?” you tried once again, eyes growing shifty as you tried to figure out what had happened.

“Hey, Y/N,” a new voice spoke. “I stole the phone from these goofs before they could break it.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding. “Hi, Minseok. I hope Dae hasn’t been bugging you too much. How’ve you been?”

“Eh, same as usual.” You could tell the older boy was smiling, the thought of his wide grin bringing back memories of home with your friends.

“Hey, give me my phone back! I was talking to the love of my life!” Jongdae yelled out, probably from behind Minseok, you guessed.

Minseok sighed, pretending to gag before you heard him yelp. “It was nice talking to you, Y/N. I’m giving the phone back before Jongdae punches me again. Enjoy the rest of your trip!”

“Thanks, Minseok!”

A breathless Jongdae was heard once more, panting slightly as he spoke into the phone again. “Hi again, babe.”

“Dae, why are you breathing like that?”

“Have you ever tried to grab a phone from Chanyeol? That monster’s like two buildings tall.” You heard the sound of a door clicking shut. “I’m hiding out in Minseok’s bedroom now so they don’t try to steal it away again.”

“Mm, good thinking.”

“So, where were we?”

“I honestly don’t even remember. Probably something along the lines of us missing each other a lot.”

“Yeah, that sounds like us.”

“Just four more weeks, and then I’ll be back home. I can’t wait to show you all the pictures I took. And the beach here is so pretty! I mean, I haven’t gotten a chance to actually go down there yet, but I’m planning to whenever I can.”

“Is it prettier than the ones here?”

“Nothing beats the beaches back home.”

“We should go on a trip together someday, but your semester’s coming up soon and I’m always busy with work.” Jongdae made a small noise, a small humming as he tried to think of a solution.

“We could always leave work behind and go on a surprise trip,” you teased, knowing both of you would never actually do such a thing.

True enough, Jongdae laughed. “Even I’m not that spontaneous, athough the idea is tempting. I’d love nothing more than to just have more than a couple hours just for the two of us. No work, nothing to worry about.”

“Same.” You thought back to your last date with Jongdae; a trip to the movie theater to go see Infinity War. Both of you were entirely too busy to have more than the weekends and the occasional day off. Even then, it seemed like some parts of your minds were always reminded of something that needed taking care of at work.

The door to your hotel room opened behind you, and you spun around to see Nari’s head peeking out from behind. Her eyes glanced up to the phone at your ear before she tapped at her watch, then held up five fingers.

You looked over at the clock on your nightstand, surprised to see it was almost time for dinner. With a grateful smile to your roommate for the reminder, you watched as she silently closed the door behind her. “Dae, I have to go. The rest of the staff is meeting downstairs for dinner with the dean, and I can’t be late.”

“Yeah, no worries! I’ll text you later before I fall asleep.”

“Okay, bye Dae. I love you.”

“I love you too, babe.”

The next couple of weeks passed by so quickly, you were almost convinced that they had been a dream. Your team got to learn from some of the university’s professors not only about the Zulu language, but also about the culture and the history of the people who spoke it. The professors were kind and accommodating every step of the way, and you had been over the moon when they gave you copies of some of the materials that they used to teach in their classes. The appeal of having new material to share with your students and colleagues back home was so great, you almost forgot about how homesick you had been at the beginning of the trip.

Before you knew it, it was your final week in South Africa, and you had almost everything prepared for your return trip back home. Your suitcases were nearly packed with your belongings and souvenirs for your loved ones waiting for you, a daily reminder that soon, you would be back. It seemed that the feeling was contagious — the number one topic that you and your colleagues all talked about was what it would be like when the plane landed back in South Korea.

“The first thing I’m gonna do is run back home to visit my mom,” Justin, a professor in Ethnic Studies, spoke up. You were all gathered around a set of tables at a restaurant, lazing around and relishing in the easy conversation that came to you all. Drinks had followed after the savory dishes, and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t feeling a bit tipsy at this point.

“Because you miss her?” someone called out, too far down the table for you to see who it was.

“Well, yeah, that too. But also because I miss her cooking.”

The table broke out into groans and chortles of laughter as Justin’s voice grew louder. “What?” he asked, face red from the drinks he had earlier and his embarrassment.

“I never would’ve guessed that alcohol makes our friend Justin here all sentimental,” Nari whispered to you, hiding her smirk behind her hand.

You hummed in agreement, downing the rest of your drink before setting it down on the table. “You’re one to talk,” you said with a laugh, the sound more of a silly giggle as you let yourself relax. “Remember that time we went drinking to celebrate you getting approved for tenure and you cried for hours at the bar?”

“She did what?!” Justin yelled, eyes bugging out as he glanced from you to Nari. Who would have imagined calm, always-prepared Nari as emotional when drunk?

She shot you a glare, but you pretended not to notice and continued on. “If you ever see Nari drunk, she gets all sappy and basically starts giving speeches about how much she loves every single person in her life. That time, I was worried until she started talking about how thankful she was to everyone she worked with. In. Full. Detail. We were there for practically the whole night.” “Alright, and alcohol turns you into a chatterbox,” Nari interrupted, pulling you up along with her. “I’ll be taking this girl back to the hotel before she gets even more intoxicated.”

The rest of your drinking party shouted out their farewells, some of them advising you two to stay safe as you stumbled out of the restaurant.

“I’m not that drunk,” you grumbled, although you let Nari hold onto your arm for safety. As you continued to walk, you found yourself leaning onto her more and more, your steps growing heavier.

“Yeah, okay. I’m pretty sure your boyfriend would lose his mind if I let you do something crazy.”

Your eyes widened at the mention of Jongdae, and you clumsily got the clasp of your bag open, rummaging through it for your cell phone. “I should call him! I can’t remember the last time I even texted him.”

“Y/N, I saw you texting him an hour ago. He’ll live without you texting him until tomorrow morning.”

Despite her words, you finally got your phone out and began typing out a text to Jongdae.

🌷: dae i loove yiu

JD: babe? are you okay??

🌷: aveolutelyy fome

You squinted at the screen of your phone, trying to decipher your own text while Nari stood beside you and tried to call a taxi. Your phone suddenly started to ring, the familiar ringtone that you reserved for Jongdae playing in your ears.

“Y/N?” you could hear him say, and you pressed the phone lazily to your ear. “Where are you?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Out eating. And drinking.” You stifled a small burp before continuing on. “I love you, Dae.”

“I love you too babe, but are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am absolutely, one hundred percent fine.”

Nari leaned closer, rolling her eyes at your statement. “Jongdae? This is Nari, your girlfriend’s pretty drunk so I’m taking her back to our room.”

“Thanks,” Jongdae sighed out in relief.

“He says thanks,” you relayed to Nari. “But you’re wrong — I’m not pretty drunk, I’m only slightly drunk.”

Nari snorted at this, continuing to look for a taxi while you heard Jongdae speak up through the phone. “I really doubt that,” Jongdae said with a chuckle. “Get some rest and I’ll call you later.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

“Okay. You better remember.”

Jongdae let out a breathy laugh before making a sound in acknowledgement. “I will. Goodnight, babe.”

“Goodnight,” you murmured before hanging up, the phone cold and heavy in your hand.

A taxi suddenly drove up to the sidewalk, and Nari patted your shoulder softly. “Come on, Miss Lovebird. Let’s get you back so you can catch some sleep.”

You let her help you into the cab, leaning against her shoulder as she gave the hotel’s address to the driver. “Nari?” you asked, watching the lights of other cars whiz past as you looked out through the window.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for always looking out for me.”

She glanced down at you, brows raised in surprise. “Yeah, of course. It’s nothing.” As your best friend, it was second nature for her to have your back. Of course, she didn’t tell you that before this trip, Jongdae had asked her to keep you safe as well.

“That boyfriend of yours is a real gentleman,” she told you, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You guys are so cute, it makes me sick.”

You shook your head, closing your eyes. “Jongdae’s the cute one.”

“Okay. Just go to sleep, dream about Jongdae or something,” she teased.

You didn’t answer, the only indication that you had heard being a small nod.

You didn’t remember much of anything else, except for being woken up by Nari, heading up the elevator and then a fluffy blanket being draped over you.

And silly as it was, you did dream of Jongdae.

The countdown to your flight was drawing excitingly closer, and you felt as if you were all the way up on cloud nine with no intention of coming down. But of course, something managed to bring you down anyways. Multiple things, in fact.

The first disappointment came a couple of days before your flight was scheduled to return home. Jongdae had called you just as you were about to leave the university and head back to your hotel, his words coming out in a blur.

“Babe, I’m sorry, but something came up and I can’t pick you up at the airport when you get back. But I’ll send someone to come get you, I promise!”

“Dae, don’t worry about it. I’ll grab a ride from a friend or something,” you told him, even though you did feel slightly let down by this change in events.

“No, I’ll make sure there’s someone there to get you! I don’t want you to have to go home by yourself.”

Even with the sudden drop in your mood, you still couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad at Jongdae. Whenever things fell through, he always found a way to make up for it. “Alright, Dae. I’ll see you soon.”

The next blow hit you when you were finally, at long last aboard the flight and realized that you were missing a USB full of notes and assignments you had collected during your summer in South Africa. The files contained things you wanted to include in your lectures for the new semester, and after failing to find it in your carry-on with your laptop, you could only hope that it was with your luggage. It really wasn’t as big of a deal as you thought it was, considering the fact that you could email the professors in South Africa and explain the situatoon to them. But with tensions already high and fatigue riddling your brain, the USB remained a dark cloud over your thoughts. For the rest of your flight, you were constantly plagued with the worry that it had been left behind in South Africa, now thousands of miles away and laying abandoned on a polished hotel table.

When your flight finally landed after an excruciating twenty-seven hours up in the air, you grabbed your belongings and headed out to where Jongdae had texted you to wait for your pickup. At that point, you were so tired that you forgot about looking for your USB, and you were determined to catch some sleep in the comforts of your bed with your favorite person.

You had said your goodbyes to everyone else, giving Nari a hug and promising to call her before heading over to where Jongdae had said your ride would be. You were walking with your bags in hand, looking down at your phone when someone called out your name, the voice all too familiar. Looking up, you saw Junmyeon waiting for you, waving his hand and holding up a sign that read: “Professor Y/N, welcome home!”

“Jun!” you screamed excitedly, or at least, as much as your jet-lagged, exhausted self would let you. You came closer with arms outstretched, leaving the suitcases a couple of paces behind.

“Welcome back!” he greeted you cheerily, returning your hug and then taking the suitcases himself. “How was your flight?”

“Long. I honestly just want to sleep for decades. Oh!” You suddenly remembered the USB, explaining the story in full detail to Junmyeon even as he looked over you warily.

“We can look for your USB later, I think your health is more important. Plus, Jongdae will be pissed at me if you end up fainting from exhaustion. Come on.”

You lumbered into Junmyeon’s car, letting your head rest on the window as the two of you talked. Junmyeon filled you in on everything you had missed: from Jongin and Chanyeol’s joint cafe venture being a success, to Yixing’s latest return from Changsha. You gave him the gist of your trip, elaborate stories shortened down to small summaries in your weary condition, but Junmyeon knew he’d end up hearing the full stories sometime later on once you were well-rested.

He pulled up to your place, immediately getting out to grab your suitcases for you. “Will you be okay getting this stuff up by yourself?” he asked worriedly, his feet shuffling slightly as he thought.

“Yeah, I’ll take the elevator, don’t worry. Is Jongdae home?”

His eyes widened briefly before he looked away, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Uh, I don’t know. He didn’t tell me anything before I came to pick you up.”

Too worn out to question his behavior, you gave little thought to his response. After waving goodbye, you managed to get all of your belongings inside, up the elevator and to your floor. The wheels of your suitcases made a hushed, rustling sound as they rolled over the carpeted hallway. There was no one else out yet, seeing as it was still only eight in the morning and on a Saturday, no less. You let out a small huff of exhaustion as you got to your door, unlocking it and pushing it open with your shoulder. What lay beyond the threshold, however, left you speechless.

You were taken aback to see papers scattering almost every available surface of your home, each one slightly different from the rest. From where you stood at the door, you could tell that there was a line of text on each one of them, although you couldn’t tell what they said from this distance.

After switching your shoes for your well-missed slippers, you ventured closer to a sheer of paper laying on the floor next to the shoe rack. A smile lit up your face as you realized what was on it: the words “I love you”. A glance at the pages nearby showed the same phrase, but in other languages.

A small journey around the room had you gaping in awe at the diversity of the langauges scattered throughout it. “I love you” in Korean stared up at you from the couch, one in Italian was taped to the TV. You were even impressed to see it written out in Icelandic and even Xhosa and Zulu, the two languages you had been studying during your summer trip.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out, taking precious time to study each sheet of paper, every symbol on them all written in a hand you knew too well: Jongdae’s. “Dae?” you called out, stepping over a sheet of paper in your way. “Are you in here?”

You turned the lights on as you made your way to the bedroom, the bulbs sputtering to life as they lit up overhead. When you finally got there, pushing the door open cautiously, you were disappointed to see no sign of Jongdae anywhere. Upon further inspection, you caught sight of a small, yellow envelope resting on top of the blankets.

Careful to take your time in reading, you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face and the sudden warmth settling in your chest.

“Welcome home, babe! I’ve missed you, I hope you enjoyed the small surprise I set up~ I’m sure you’re wondering where I am, right? Meet me at the place where we first met, I’ll be waiting for you there ❤️”

The place where you first met? You remembered first meeting Jongdae at a mutual friend’s housewarming party, but you were confident that he didn’t mean for you to meet him there? Surely you were missing something...

You paced around, the envelope in your hand as you willed yourself to think. “Come on brain, work with me here,” you pleaded, throwing your head back to stare up at the ceiling as you continued to walk around in circles.

Circles. A hand came to your mouth as the answer suddenly hit you like a flash of lightning. The party was the first place where you two had actually spoken to each other, but you two had met each other for the first time while walking in circles at the botanical gardens close to your university. You were there on a lazy Sunday afternoon with Sehun taking pictures to fit his Instagram aesthetic when he had spotted his friends, Jongdae and Kyungsoo. Jongdae had assumed you two were dating at first, and he had later confided to you that he was glad the opposite was true.

Quicker than you would have thought physically possible, you were back downstairs and beginning to worry about how to get to the gardens when you recognized a car parked outside.

“Jun? What are you still doing here?” you asked, peering into his car.

Junmyeon rolled down the passenger window, a playful grin on his face as he unlocked the doors. “Need a ride?”

“You’re in on this too!” you exclaimed, hopping into the car.

“I’m guessing you know where we’re going?” he asked, already setting off.

“Seoul Iris Garden!”

The drive was far too long for your waning patience, your feet tapping against the floor of the car as you fidgeted in your seat. All of the fatigue that had been weighing you down earlier was gone, a sudden rush of adrenaline replacing it.

“Will you at least tell me where he’s waiting?” you pleaded, for what was probably the fiftieth time since you got in.

“It’s a secret. And if I tell you, it won’t be as fun.”

“For you, or for me?”

Junmyeon ignored this with a knowing smile, pulling into the parking lot. Before he could even put the car into park, you were out and jogging into the depths of the gardens.

The gardens were peacefully quiet, only a couple of people walking around in the early morning. You, by contrast, were out of breath and starting to get sweaty with all of the running around you were doing. You had seriously underestimated how difficult it would be to find Jongdae.

As you dashed past patches of flowers, you finally caught sight of a small figure standing atop a bridge spanning a small stream. “Jongdae!” you chirped out, a triumphant laugh leaving your lips as you approached him.

He turned around, his grin spreading on his face and his eyes alight with mirth as soon as he caught sight of you. A burst of laughter bubbled out of him as you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him close to you as you rested your head against his chest. “You found me! And you saw all the papers back home?”

“I did! I can’t believe you had me run over here in my airport sweats though, especially now that I see what you’re wearing,” you joked as you loosened your grip to look him over. Jongdae stood before you in a button-down you had bought for him a couple of years ago, with a pair of black pants and shiny dress shoes.

“You know it doesn’t matter to me even if you’re even out in pajamas,” he murmured. He lifted a hand to your face, running his thumb over your cheek as he gazed into your eyes, as if he couldn’t believe you were really there before him.

“So what’s the big occassion? This is all a bit much just to welcome me home, isn’t it?”

“Well...” Jongdae cleared his throat before dropping his hand from your face. He held onto both of your hands in his own, his thumbs running over the back of them nervously. “I missed you so much, more than I even expected.”

“I missed you too, Dae.” You leaned up to press your lips to his, the sensation of his lips against yours something that you had been longing for ever since you left.

Jongdae pulled away, much too quickly before your liking before resting his forehead against yours. “This trip was an eye-opener to me. I mean, I already knew that I loved you, but I didn’t know that I had room in my heart to love you even more until after you were miles away from me. I looked forward to every text, every phone call, every picture that you sent me. Chanyeol wasn’t kidding when he said I was going crazy with you gone,” he added with a small chuckle. “I think I went over these plans like crazy for the past month or so.”

“And it definitely swept me off my feet. Thank you, Dae.” You nudged his nose with yours, giving a hushed giggle when he pressed back, just as gently.

“There’s still one more thing.”

Jongdae let go of your hands, and before you knew it, he was down on one knee and pulling a small box out of his pocket as you gaped down at him. With trembling fingers, he got the top of the box open, revealing a delicately designed ring inside, the diamonds there sparkling in the light of the morning sun.

“Y/N, I love you. So much. I can’t imagine a day without you in my life. I love hearing the sound of your laughter, the way you whisper to me when we’re falling asleep at night. I want to wake up beside you everyday for the rest of my life, not just as your boyfriend, but as your husband. Will you marry me?”

You were nodding even before he could finish his question, dropping down beside him and catching his lips with yours in a kiss. “Of course,” you breathed against his lips. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Jongdae beamed at you with a smile so full of love, you weren’t sure how any single person was capable of carrying around so much affection. You let him slip the ring onto your finger, the cool metal resting there as if it had been there all along. He brought your hand up, his lips brushing over the ring as you felt a flush start to dust your cheeks.

Your relationship was strong enough to withstand time and distance, something both of you had learned through this trip. Together or apart, you two would always come back together. Home was with Jongdae, and his was with you.

And now, the two of you would create a new one together.

A/N: i knew going into this that there really was only one option for the ending — absolute fluff haha! i hope that you guys enjoyed this and that it was worth the wait! this fic was inspired by exo-cbx’s “miss you”, which talks about a long-distance relationship as well (and also the song is just really good, so that was definitely on repeat while i was writing this) also fun fact: i almost majored in linguistics, and then decided against it because grammar is my #1 enemy 😅

@mikapeanut

#kpoptrashtag #exo #jongdae #chen scenario #jongdae scenario #chen fanfic #jongdae fanfic #exo scenario #writings

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