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narakurosaki · 3 years

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title: stuck on stupid (part 1) part of the equivalent exchange collection 4/? summary: how he’d gone from the bathroom to sitting on winry’s bedroom floor, he’d never know, nor would he be able to figure out how they’d ended up sharing their first kiss. first of a two part oneshot. rating: t for swearing words: 2,246 read on ao3!

remember, i accept prompts!

He hates peeing in the middle of the night.

Between his metal foot against the wood flooring, and the flushing of the toilet, waking Alphonse was an incredible risk. Though it had been six months since the Promised Day—four months since returning to Resembool—Edward insisted that his younger brother slept whenever he felt tired. He had missed out on years of sleeping once his soul had been bound to their father’s old suit of armor, and Ed often joked that he needed to catch up. It brought him joy to hear the soft snore from Al, and he hated to play with fire when it came to potentially interrupting a good night’s sleep.

Ed shakes the excess urine into the bowl and pulls the chain. He holds his breath as it flushes, the sound bouncing off the inside of his skull. He looks to the door, waiting for the soft call of his name, but it doesn’t come. He sighs, relieved, and washes his hands.

As he exits the restroom, a light from beneath the neighboring door catches his eye. He purses his lips, every fiber of his being screaming to return to bed and forget about it. His legs, however, have other ideas. He tip-toes to the door and turns the knob. The hinges on the door squeak in protest. Ed bites his tongue.

A small lamp serves as the source of light, casting shadows against the room’s opposite wall. At a workbench sits Winry, protective goggles on, examining an unassembled automail arm. He shouldn’t say he’s surprised.

Even after the brothers’ return, Winry had hardly given herself a break. While she had her fair share of customers in Resembool, she had far more back in Rush Valley. So, she and her master had made an arrangement—Winry would place her apprenticeship on hold, constructing new pieces, and doing repairs Mr. Garfiel felt far too uncomfortable doing, and shipping them off to the shop, where he would take care of installation. While he was grateful to spend time with her, Edward couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt whenever he thought about it. Winry was placing her life, the advancement of her career, on hold for him and Al.

He taps the tips of his fingers hard enough against the doorframe to make a sound. “What are you doing up?”

“What’s it look like?” Though she speaks words typically drenched with sarcasm, her voice is calm and quiet. “Gentry back in Rush Valley needs this as soon as possible.”

“Gentry can wait.” Or, maybe he couldn’t, but were that the case, he would have just had Mr. Garfield repair his arm. “I highly doubt one of your customers would want you working yourself ragged on their behalf.”

There’s a faint sound of metal-on-metal as Winry fits a plating over the arm’s tricep area. She begins to screw it into place. “Maybe, but I have the Rockbell name to maintain.”

The urge to groan is strong, but Edward fights it off. “As prideful as ever,” he grumbles. She grunts in response, otherwise paying him no mind. She’s far too focused on her work to bother, and she won’t berate him to leave as not to wake Alphonse. It’s strange how Winry can work through the night; Al always complained how lonely the nights were when everyone was asleep. Didn’t she get lonely? Not that she’d tell anyone. Probably another thing to blame on her pride.

He shuts the door behind him and walks further into the room. Engrossed in her work, Winry either doesn’t notice, or simply doesn’t care. He looks for a place to sit. Her bed? Maybe the chair in front of the vanity? No, bother places were behind her; she’d only continue to ignore him. He settles for the ground beside her, back pressed against the leg of her workbench. From here, he can hear every sound her tools make against the metal she works with. If he listens close enough, he can even hear her breathe.

Above, he hears Winry set down her screwdriver. There’s a shuffle of tools, ceasing when he guesses she’s grabbed the appropriate sized wrench. “What are you doing?” She asks without a beat.

“What’s it look like?” he echoes her earlier words. “I’m sitting on the floor.”

“Duh, Ed.” Something screeches in protest, and Ed hears a faint shit spoken under Winry’s breath. “I mean, why are you up? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Oh, how hypocritical of her. He rolls his eyes. “I had to take a piss.”

She groans, most likely at his crude choice of words. “And waking up to take a piss means bothering me?”

He yawns. “Yep. Didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’m kind of used to it, Ed.”

Malicious or not, her words sting. Of course she’s used to it. He and Al had left Resembool at a young age, never bothering to write or call. Sure, they’d drop in every once in awhile when Ed needed repairs, but they never stayed to visit. They were constantly on the move, in search of a way to get their bodies back. Sure, Winry had Granny, but she certainly couldn’t pull all-nighters anymore. And he highly doubts that Mr. Garfiel stuck around the shop after closing. It was his fault she had gotten used to being alone, and that stings more than anything.

More metal shuffling about. He guesses she’s searching for the right lug nut in her unorganized collection. He curls his toes, watching the automail move at his command. “You don’t have to be. Al and I are home.”

He can hear her dropping the lug nut into place. There’s only the faint squeaking as she tightens it with her wrench. She doesn’t say a word.

So, she’s giving him the silent treatment. Perhaps he should be thankful for those sleeping down the hall. Were it not for them, she would be screaming his head off right about now, or tossing him out on his ass. Somehow, however, the silent treatment is even worse. He’s left alone with his thoughts, contemplating various scenarios as they enter his mind. Why was he even in here in the first place? He’d wanted to go back to bed, but he just had to see that her light was on. Not to mention, she was unappreciative of his kindness. He could never win with her, could he?

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back. They fall back in his face, messier than before. His eyelids begin to grow heavy; how Winry managed to not pass out at her workbench was beyond him. She needs to sleep—rush orders are a thing of the past. The worst he could manage was busting his knee falling off of the roof, and, even then, he wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t mind hobbling around on a spare too small for him. It shouldn’t be any different for her customers in Rush Valley. Sure, they work jobs, they have families to tend to, but, dammit, Winry needed her rest if she were to do her best work.

Maybe that was selfish of him.

Oh, well.

He pushes himself to his feet, yet Winry continues to pay him no mind. For a moment, he watches her; her brow furrows in concentration, her fingers delicately return the piece’s wires to their rightful place. The moment her left hand reaches for her screwdriver, he grabs her hand.

“Edward!” she whips her head to glare at him, teeth bared. “This isn’t the time to play games! I’m busy!”

His mouth twists, and he can feel a blush creeping up his neck. He swallows the lump in his throat. “Shut up, woman. The shop’s closed; it’s time for bed.”

She yanks her arm, but Ed’s grip only tightens. “This needs to get out to Rush Valley tomorrow, Ed. I have to finish it!”

Ed only shakes his head and tugs on her hand. He pulls her to her feet. “Wake up early and finish it. I don’t care as long as you get some sleep.”

She attempts to wiggle out of Edward’s grasp, but her efforts die as they near her bed.

“You can’t possibly think I’m getting in my bed in a greasy jumpsuit.”

“Then change!”

“I’m not changing with you staring at me, weirdo!”

A groan escapes him. He glares at her, she returns it, and he clenches his jaw. “I’m not leaving. You’ll just end up working, again. I’ll turn around, but that’s it!”

Finally, Winry yanks her hand back. There’s fury burning in her eyes, and while Ed can feel her murderous intent growing, he doesn’t back down. She huffs. “Turn around!”

He turns his back to her and crosses his arms. He can hear the zipper of her jumpsuit being pulled down, and Winry’s feet against the floorboards as she steps out of its legs. She mumbles something unintelligible—he thinks he heard the word annoying and his name—and he listens as she opens her dresser drawer. There’s a shuffle of fabric as she searches for something to wear, and, before he knows it, she’s instructing him to turn back around.

She looks so small in her oversized shirt. Her shorts barely peek out beneath its length. There’s that blush creeping up his neck, again.

Desperate to do something other than look at her, he quickly pulls back the bedding. Silently, she lies down. She looks so pissed, and rightfully so. This wasn’t something Ed had ever done. He figures she’s used to his impatience after years on the road. When had he ever insisted she get sleep?

Something drives him to pull the bedding over her body, leaving it beneath her collarbone. She pulls her arms out from beneath the fabric, resting them at her sides. Edward stares at her face. Winry shifts beneath his gaze.

“Okay, you got what you wanted,” she murmurs. If he looks close enough, he can spot the faint dusting of red across her cheeks. “Can you leave now? You’re creeping me out.”

Yeah, he should return to his bed, shouldn’t he? He’d successfully gotten her to agree to sleep. Though, that wasn’t enough. There’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he can’t identify. His insides twist uncomfortably, a lump forms in his throat, and his heart pounds like a kick drum in his chest. He feels his mouth dry out as he and Winry continue to stare at one another. Adrenaline courses through his veins; he can practically feel it pumping out of his heart, the sensation of it dropping growing more frequent the longer he stares. He bends at his waist. In his peripheral vision, Winry clutches her comforter.

The distance between them grows smaller by the second. Ed rests his left palm atop the mattress, careful not to fall on top of her. His right cups her cheek, and it’s then that he notices just how red her face has gotten. He swallows the lump in his throat. Every fiber of his being screams in unison—abort, abort!—but he pays it no mind. He’s already closing the distance, tilting his head to prevent their noses from bumping. The last thing he sees is Winry’s eyes closing in anticipation.

It’s a lame kiss, really. Not that he has anything to compare it to. Their dry lips press together, Edward puckering his, Winry quite unsure what to do. He can feel every best of his heart throughout his body. The hand against her cheek trembles, and his right knee buckles beneath his weight. He stumbles, the only things saving him being the hand atop the mattress and his automail leg. Unfortunately, it ruins the kiss; his lips are now pressed against the corner of her mouth. He pulls away suddenly, eyes wide in horror. Winry’s eyes flutter, pools of blue peaking out behind her lashes. Her lips are still slightly puckered.

Quickly, he straightens himself, covering his mouth with his hand. Without a word, he walks to the workbench and switches the lamp off. At least she can’t see how red his face is in the dark.

“Goodnight,” he mumbles into his hand in a high pitch, reminiscent of his going through puberty. He blindly makes for the door until he collides with the wall. Great. Even if Winry can’t see him as her eyes adjust to the darkness, she surely heard his fumble. He reaches out to his left, pawing for the doorknob. Once found, Ed turns it and quickly exits the room.

His heart beats wildly in his chest. He leans back against the closed door and attempts to calm his nerves. His thoughts are occupied solely by the kiss he and Winry had just shared, serving only to add to his anxiety. He clenches his jaw and runs his hand down his face. Clearly, she was fine with it. She had every opportunity to push him away, to tell him no, but she’d allowed it to happen, even kissed him back towards the end…

God, he was so stupid!

He returns to the room he shares with Al, pleased to find his little brother sound asleep. Edward crawls into his bed, lying atop the covers, and stares at the ceiling. He curses Al’s name into the night. Leave it to Alphonse to be right about his older brother’s true feelings.

Tonight was going to be a sleepless night.

#fma #edward x winry #edwin #edward elric #winry rockbell #otp: equivalent exchange #equivalent exchange #my fics

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Cause Somewhere in the Crowd (There's You) (Diamond Chaney) - Plegdoctor

A/N: Not much to say for this one really, just a short Diamond Chaney girlband au based off Super Trouper by ABBA. Enjoy!

The other girls were more excited than she was, unpacking the van and chatting animatedly while all Lawrence could do was stare around. The building in front of her was imposing in more ways than one – physically huge, towering over her and casting a shadow on the otherwise sunny day, but also mentally imposing. Lawrence can still remember walking into it when she was a small girl in primary school, brown hair in neat plaits and eyes as wide as saucers as she hung onto her best friend’s hand and gaped.

Now she’s standing in front of it, brown hair dyed a vibrant purple and thrown into a ponytail at the top of her head, her eyes wide as saucers, and her hand empty.

It had all gone a bit too far really, starting with Bimini slamming their fists on the table in year 12 and excitedly suggesting they start a girlband (“Well, three girls and me innit”) and Lawrence can’t trace her finger along what happened next to lead her to standing in Glasgow, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she realises what she’s doing there.

“You alright babe?” Lawrence turns to look down on Bimini, standing next to her with a concerned frown on their face. “Excited to be back in your hometown?”

Lawrence forces a laugh, a fake smile slipping onto her face in an action that more natural than she would care to admit. “Loving it Bim.”

Bimini grins. “Good. Just think, it’ll be like facing 20,000 of your friends.”

Lawrence’s snort is genuine at Bimini’s words, her eyes rolling fondly at the never-ending optimism of her tiny friend. “I don’t think there’s quite that many seats, babes.”

Self-proclaimed monarch of the PMA, Bimini simply shrugs and pivots to run towards Tayce who is three seconds away from dropping the crate full of water on her foot. Lawrence watches the scenes with a hint of amusement, the weighted feeling in her stomach settling. Her mind goes back to Bimini’s words, the thought of facing 20,000 of your friends. There’s only one friend that Lawrence wants to face when she’s on stage tonight – and that friend is currently on the other side of Scotland in her hairdressing salon.

The thought weighs on her mind until it’s pressing against her cranium and cracking her skull by the time she’s thrown herself across the hotel bed and sighed for approximately the 50 millionth time.

Lawrence loves what she does. She does. She loves her friends, Bimini, Tayce, and A’whora. She loves the process of writing new songs, long hours locked in the studio throwing harmonies and lyrics around until it just sounds like pure gibberish. She (secretly) loves learning the choreography that Tayce insists they must do, repeating the wee steps until her body finally moves in the right way and Tayce enthusiastically high fives her. She loves getting into costume and makeup, the process transforming her from Lawrence Chaney who got picked on in school into international popstar Lawrence Chaney who regularly performs on the biggest stages all around the world with her girlband.

They’ve worked hard for what they have too. Lawrence likes to tell people that becoming a household name is no overnight feat. From the day that Bimini first suggested it, to the joyful tears rolling down their faces as they came second on the X Factor, to their first single blowing up. They’ve worked hard every step of the way and been rewarded for it.

So why does Lawrence feel so ready to give it up? Part of the success that never ends is continuing to work, but for the past two months Lawrence has done nothing but eat, sleep, and sing. Her throat is raw and at moments she thinks she’s going crazy.

Her eyes catch her phone, dressed up in the delightfully tacky pink phone case that was a gift from Ellie for her last birthday. She picks it up and the screen flickers to life, displaying a picture of two girls with their heads close together and identical smiles.

Lawrence hasn’t spoken to her in far too long. Recently the whirlwind of life has swept her up to much for her to even think straight let alone have a conversation with a human being who is not also obsessively repeating lyrics under their breath.

“Hey.”

It’s a lonely word.

“Hey. It’s good to hear from you.”

Then Lawrence hears that voice, that accent that is so soft in her ear, and she could cry.

“I didn’t disturb you did I?”

“No hen, it’s fine, I only jumped so much at the ringing of my phone that I shaved some wee granny’s curls off but I’m sure she’ll forgive me.”

Ellie’s bored and matter of fact tone makes Lawrence burst out a laugh. “Poor Doreen, she’s really got to stop trusting you with those clippers.”

She can only imagine the way the corner’s of Ellie’s mouth might turn up at her teasing. “How is the salon anyway?”

“It’s in good hands. But babe, forget the salon, how’s your tour going?”

Even Ellie, the girl who knows her better than anyone else in the world, is excited for Lawrence and that only breaks her heart more. She grins ruefully, despite the knowledge that Ellie can’t see her.

“Honestly? I’ve been wishing that every show was the last show.”

Ellie’s little high-pitched noise of protest comes from her throat, her mouth undoubtedly in a little O shape with her eyebrows sliding upwards. “But you’ve only just got to Glasgow! You wouldn’t want to miss that!”

“Do you remember that trip to the theatre in primary school?”

A beat of silence at the other end of the line. “Of course I do. The one where I almost threw up on the bus because you fed me too many sweets?”

Lawrence chuckles. “Aye. Love how that’s the thing you remember about it.”

Miles away, Ellie shrugs cheekily. “I never forget friend abuse.”

“You’re such a wee cow, you know that right?”

“All part of my charm.”

“Anyway, being here is just making me realise how much I miss home. Tour is great Els, but I miss everything. I miss you.”

Ellie laughs. Lawrence shoots up in the hotel bed in outrage. “I just poured my heart out to you and you laugh at me?”

“First of all, not sure saying you miss me is pouring your heart out.”

She’s glad she chose to do this alone in the room and not anywhere near the other girls. She can’t begin to imagine the way that A’whora would pounce on her flushed face.

“Second of all, I wasn’t going to tell you this but I have a surprise for you. Listen.”

Ellie switches the phone to speakerphone and holds it away from her ear. In contrast, Lawrence presses her ear against the screen harder, knuckles white as she grips the pink case.

At first she can’t hear anything, just the faint murmuring of people talking in the background. She strains to listen for the sounds of hairdryers and flowing water. None of that comes and Lawrence lets out a huff of frustration.

“Ellie, explain to me exactly what the fuck I’m meant to be listening for?”

This train will depart at Glasgow.

Lawrence’s mouth dries completely.

“You’re coming to Glasgow?”

“No, just got on the train there for a bit of fun, I’m going straight back. Might not even get off the train it’s so comfy.”

“Get to fuck Els, I’m meant to be the funny one in this relationship.” Her mouth might be dry but her eyes aren’t, small jewels of tears welling up and threatening to spill over with every shaking word.

“I’m taking that title for now. I just need you to be the famous one in this relationship. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Ellie, for you I would do this entire tour all over again.”

Closer to her than she realises, Ellie smiles. “Good. See you on stage.”

“I’ll be thinking about you only.”

The call ends with a smile on Lawrence’s lips and a single tear sliding down her cheek. Suddenly she feels alright. And it’s gonna be so different when she’s on the stage tonight.

“Alright slags! Lawrence’s hometown so we’re gonna rock it just as hard as we always do. Hands in and United Kingdolls on three! One, two, three, United Kingdolls!” All four of them cheer, hoisting their hands in the air.

Their little preshow chanting may seem silly to other people but they’ve always done it. Even when it was only them singing covers with Ellie doing their hair and makeup, and A’whora ripping through charity shops to find decent costumes. It feels only fitting that they still do it now when they’re singing their own songs in professionally made costumes and makeup done by a professional artist.

Lawrence still keeps the style of her hair the same though. It’s changed colours a few times over the years, but it’s always in the same curls that Ellie brushed through minutes before the sixth form talent show.

Lawrence inhales as the music starts. The beat is steady and familiar, but tonight it feels so much more electric. She knows that the minute she’s on that stage she’s going to get blinded by that one beam of stage light that always finds it’s way to her eye, but she won’t feel blue like she always does.

When she gets on stage her eyes roam the massive crowd until she sees, in the very middle of a group of screaming girls, a head of baby pink hair. The sight of her proves to Lawrence that she’s still alive, and Lawrence uses that spark of energy to throw everything into her performance. She hits every note perfectly, her body moving in perfect harmony to the choreography that she usually fucks up at least once.

There’s a massive smile on her painted lips and she hopes that Ellie can read the smile, know that because of her, Lawrence is having fun on stage for the first time in months. There’s four of them in the band, but tonight Lawrence feels like a number one. The lights do not blind her but find her instead, shining like the sun.

They finish the first song with a flourish and Lawrence ignores the hundreds of screams to find Ellie’s. They still have the rest of the show, but Lawrence knows that they’re going to get through it and give Glasgow the best concert they’ve seen in years. Then she can stumble off stage and go from popstar Lawrence to Ellie’s Lawrence, falling into her arms and holding her tight. It’s gonna mean so much more tonight.

Because, somewhere in the crowd, there’s Ellie.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #uk2 #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #ellie x lawrence #girlband au #song fic #lesbian au #fluff #plegdoctor

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betweenpaperpages · 4 years

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Lava Java: Eggnog Latte

Summary: Mr. Gold explores more of Lava Java's menu.

Beta: @ishtarelisheba

Note: This piece has been renamed to ‘Lava Java’ in order for the chapters to be properly titled.

Read on AO3!

Ch 1. [Peppermint Mocha] | Ch. 2 [Eggnog Latte]

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“I’ll take a flat white, a ginger snap scone, and your phone number.” Keith grinned as he leaned on the counter attached to the window, looking up from behind his sunglasses.

Ruby folded her arms across her chest with a deadpan stare at her customer. It was winter, who wore sunglasses in winter?

“Hey Belle, one of each for this numb skull, I’m going to take five,” Ruby called out, turning her back on Keith to the back and out of his sight.

Belle offered her a salute along with an, “Aye, aye, captain!” before getting to the task at hand.

Keith huffed as he stood up straight, shoving his hands into this back pockets and muttering his annoyance under his breath. Once again rejected. As soon as his order was finished he snatched it up with more force that needed and left the shop.

“That man doesn’t know when to give up, does he?”

Belle chuckled as she heard Ruby step back into the shop behind her. “No, never. Even after two years with Archie, he still thinks he can get you to fall into bed with him.”

She rolled her eyes, tying her apron back in place. “The only way I’ll fall because of him is by tripping over his drunken ass outside the Rabbit Hole.”

“I’m sure it can be arranged.”

“Speaking of arranging things,” she noted, nodding towards the window, “here’s your favorite customer.”

Belle tilted her head in confusion as she was ushered forward to the window by Ruby. Looking out against the afternoon chill, the window framed Mr. Gold as he walked towards the coffee shop, his cane carefully treading the winter ground.

As usual, he was dressed in one of his signature suits with a heavy wool coat over top, a slick touch of leather accenting the lapels of the designer piece. The weak winter sun had slipped through the clouds just enough to catch and highlight the few strands of grey that distinguished his temple, and somehow completed the entire look.

Her cheeks flushed at the accusation. Clearly Ruby knew her too well. It's what one gets for working for and with their best friend, she thought.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gold, what can I get you? Your usual?” Belle questioned as he approached.

“No, thank you, Miss. French,” he answered, shifting his weight onto his good knee. “I’ve been told by my grandson it's a crime that I haven’t had…” His eyes glanced to the menu board to confirm the availability, “...An eggnog latte?”

Ruby smiled with pride from behind her employee, stepping forward as she placed her hands on her hips. “What can I say? Best in town, Henry is right!”

“You mean the only one in town, Rubes.”

“That makes it the best!”

Belle laughed, shaking her head. “Of course, how could I have any doubt? I’ll get started on that for you, Mr. Gold.”

Ruby looked from Mr. Gold to Belle before glancing back again, her eyes next slipping up the street to the other businesses. She knew she wasn’t needed here and would simply get in the way for the moment.

“I think you have this place covered. I’ll leave you to this and go order us some lunch. Granny’s, my treat,” she announced, grabbing up her coat and purse as she left Belle to her own devices.

In the lull of Ruby leaving, a comfortable silence fell between Belle and Mr. Gold as she pulled the espresso shot for the drink.

“How is Henry doing, by the way?” Belle questioned, moving down the coffee machine to steam the milk, flipping the lever.

“Quite well, excited for his winter break. He and Grace have already been planning this year’s attempt to capture St. Nick.”

“This year’s? I can only imagine what last year’s attempt must have been like.” “Or the year before that. That year it was code name ‘Candy Cane Crusade.’” Mr. Gold chuckled to himself, pulling out cash to pay for his order. “The two of them have been at this since they were five.”

“And just what do they plan to do if they were successful?” Belle questioned. She carefully combined the drink into the cup, topping the latte with whip cream and a light dusting of cinnamon.

“I suppose to convince the non-believers? Your guess is as good as mine, Miss French.”

“Belle.”

“Pardon?” “Please, call me Belle.” She placed the drink between them, her hand resting on the counter beside it. “I’d like to think by now we’re friends.”

A smiled plucked at the corner of Mr. Gold’s mouth, hiding his embarrassment with a drink of his coffee.

“Henry was right, it seems. This is the best.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome… Belle.”

#Eggnog Latte #Rumbelle #Peppermint Mocha #Mr. Gold #Belle French #Ruby Lucas #Keith Nottingham #Lava Java #Fan Fiction #Between Paper Pages #Coffee Shop #Henry Mills #ONCE #Once Upon A Time #OUAT #Fluff #Holiday #AO3

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thisyearingaming · 4 years

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2011 - This Year in Gaming

Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective - Nintendo DS, January 11th

A quirky adventure game where you are fucking dead, and you gotta work out who killed you. Ghost Trick is like Ace Attorney at first glance - it looks similar, and is made by effectively the same development team. Give it a shot on iOS.

Dead Space 2 - Multiplatform, January 25th

Dead Space 2 was the undisputed king of alien horror until Alien: Isolation released. Yeah, you battle massive acid-spitting aliens, but it’s the necromorph babies you’re gonna be shit-scared of. It isn’t quite as unique as it’s predecessor, but it’s definitely much better to play. Bring your brown pants.

The Nintendo 3DS Releases - March 27th

The 3DS was like magic when you first fired the 3D slider all the way up - then it became a gimmick you never used again. Releasing with a few decent launch titles and being able to boast Street Fighter IV as playable, the 3DS arguably didn’t really pick up much steam until a few months after launch. While more powerful than the original DS which was six years old at the time, I can’t remember being particularly interested in it at the time.

Portal 2 - Multiplatform, April 19th

Valve’s final single player experience until their jump into VR was a bloody good one - very funny and amusingly written with the best Steve Merchant performance since The Ricky Gervais Show, Portal 2′s puzzle solving adventure is rarely a chore to play through, and has thousands of custom maps courtesy of the Steam community.

L.A. Noire - Multiplatform, May 17th

Rockstar’s foray into adventure games has stood the test of time as an enjoyable and often startling journey nto the seedy underbelly of 1947 Los Angeles - as Cole Phelps you’ll threaten a Jewish man with the gas chamber, arrest a paedophile instead of a clearly guilty father, quote Hamlet to a prop skull at the scene of a car crash, destroy thousands of dollars of property, and yell at a child whose mother’s just been murdered. Great fun!

youtube

The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings - Windows

CDPR hit it out of the park with a fantastically improved sequel to 2007′s Eurojank diamond in the rough The Witcher, and really introduce Geralt of Rivia to more people for the first time with this game. A branching story that sees Geralt hunting Letho, the killer of King Foltest, and allying either with smelly hippy elven leader Iorveth and his terrorists who don’t appear in the sequel or the very cool but quite racist Vernon Roche and his special forces group, who are supporting characters in the sequel.

Alice: Madness Returns - Multiplatform, June 14th

A surprisingly charming, unsettling dive into the fractured psyche of the Victorian equivalent of an actual goth gf, Alice is a sequel to American McGee’s Alice from 2000. Surreal as fuck and absolutely drowning in atmosphere. Just don’t look at any of the YouTube comments on videos of the soundtrack. Rather bizarre show...

Duke Nukem Forever - Multiplatform, June 14th

Sometimes it’s best NOT to bet on the Duke. I bought this game to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and I did neither - DNF is fucking boring, and I blame it ALL on Randy Pitchford’s devotion to ruining things I like. DNF could’ve been brilliant - either embrace your heritage like Doom Eternal would eventually do, or make it into a “last hurrah” kind of thing where Duke realises he’s getting old and can’t kick ass forever. The greatest disappointment of the 2010s so far - but worse would follow with it. The King is dead - hail to the King, baby.

Deus Ex: Human Revolution - Multiplatform, August 23rd

The piss-tinted prequel to 2000′s excellent conspiracy RPG Deus Ex, Human Revolution is like smashing Robo-Cop into a world where Detroit is not a humanitarian disaster zone. Adam Jensen, the gravelly-voiced biomechanically enhanced security chief of David Sarif, is dragged into a world of American conspiracies involving FEMA death camps, the government enforcing martial law in US cities and massive Chinese conglomerates plotting to control the world. Just like real life! DXHR is my favourite in the series for its design, atmosphere and narrative.

Dead Island - Multiplatform, September 6th

Eh. Wasn’t that good. Notable for having the most misleading fucking trailer since Metal Gear Solid 2, but nowhere near as fulfilling upon release. An open world zombie survival game with a focus on melee weapons more fragile than your granny’s second hip. Oh great, now there’s a dead kid on my page. Thanks, Techland!

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Driver: San Francisco - Multiplatform, September 6th

A game you literally can’t buy anymore, DSF was incredible to play when it came out and has only really gotten better with time. It��s still so unique for a driving game that I’m surprised Ubisoft have had the good sense to just leave it and not go pants-on-head retarded with the franchise since. Nick Robinson had to buy Subway gift cards just to purchase this game.

Batman: Arkham City - Multiplatform, October 18th

Arkham City was so cool at launch and it still is today. A proper Batman epic with twists, turns, and the most addictive combat arena for years. This whole thing is gold from start to finish, except for the Harley Quinn DLC. I can’t even go into detail about it here, but I fucking LOVE this game.

Sonic Generations - Multiplatform, November 1st

Sonic Generations is the best Sonic game since 3 & Knuckles, but has now unfortunately convinced Sega that not only do people despise the Adventure games, they also really want to see Classic Sonic and Green Hill EVERY GODDAMN DAY. Generations is like a proper celebration of Sonic’s history, even including stuff from every reviewer’s favourite punching bag Sonic 2006 - I really like Generations and it has a stellar modding scene on PC.

Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception - Sony PlayStation 3, November 1st

The “finale” of the Uncharted series until Naughty Dog decided it wasn’t. Uncharted 3 may not be as tight as Among Thieves, but it’s just as enjoyable. As quipping invincible action hero Nathan Drake, you’ll ruin historical artifacts and “incapacitate” about 4000 guys in your quest to find Iram of the Pillars, chased by Cruella de Ville and her mercenary squad of a million faceless Englishmen.

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 - Multiplatform, November 8th

God I was so excited for this. World War 3 never looked cooler, and then it came out - and it wasn’t that good. It didn’t feel as epic as MW2, not as well-written as MW, and not as interesting as World at War and Black Ops. Multiplayer was... fine? I think this is the point where most people realised that Call of Duty was basically downhill from here.

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim - Multiplatform, November 11th

See this paragraph? You can read it. Another installment in Bethesda’s cross-franchise “Little Lies” series, Skyrim has been released more times than China’s created a pandemic. But it’s still really good and when you rub it the right way it comes all over your screen like a particularly excited storyteller, ready to point in the direction of adventure.

Super Mario 3D Land - Nintendo 3DS, November 13th

Yeah this was the point I decided I wanted a 3DS. It looked incredible and so fluid, and it really was! Playing this was great fun. That’s really all there is - I can’t be funny about it, nor overly critical. What do you want from me?

Assassin’s Creed: Revelations - Multiplatform, November 15th

I didn’t like this when it came out - I thought the new graphic style was bad, Constantinople was dull, and the music was too different. Ezio was angrier, older, and the complete lack of any supporting cast from Brotherhood had me thinking this was a game that nobody wanted to work on - but now that I’m older, I can see this for how good it really was. Revelations blends the Ezio and Altair stories together, culminating in a satisfying emotional climax.

Saints Row: The Third - Multiplatform, November 15

This video speaks for itself.

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Minecraft - Windows, November 18th

There’s something beautiful about those early builds of Minecraft. Quiet, unassuming, and riddled with potential for exploration. I could talk for hours about the first time I was thrown into Mojang’s survival experience, about how I still get a bit weepy hearing Wet Hands by C418, about how shit-scared I still am of the mines and caves. Minecraft is immortal, and always will be.

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winryofresembool · 5 years

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Edwin Week day one: First (paternity package)

A/N: Long time no fics! I have explained myself here so many times already that I won’t do it again, but it feels nice to be able to write again. Let me open up the topic of the fic a bit: in Finland expecting women get to choose if they want a certain amount of money from the state, or if they want to get a maternity package full of baby clothes and other necessities instead. Well, what just happened in my “real life” was that my sister-in-law got my brother a paternity package (aka she picked him some dad-themed items), and the idea was imo so sweet that I had to channel it into an Edwin fic. So, after this long and boring rant, here we go. The usual, enjoy, and pleease review! :)

@503week

Words: 1400+

Genre: fluff (mild hurt/comfort)

Warnings: probs swearing?

“Ed, you have been so quiet today… That’s so unlike you,” Winry noted as they were resting in the living room after the dinner. Ed turned his attention from his book to his wife, scowling at her.

“Yeah? I’m quiet a lot when I’m doing my research,” he claimed.

“That might be true, but you haven’t even gushed about my stomach at all for at least 2 days now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Winry was 8 months pregnant and starting to feel like she was ready to pop out any moment now. Her husband’s Maes Hughes like excitement over the baby was only adding to her discomfort. While it was sweet, his constant “Is everything OK? Do you need something? A blanket? Water? A pillow? Is the baby kicking? Are you SURE that wasn’t a contraction? (“no, Ed, it was just a fart”)” was starting to get on Winry’s nerves now that they were so close to the due date. However, that gushing had suddenly ended a couple of days ago, and Winry didn’t know what to make of it. While it was a relief that she managed to go all the way from the sofa to the toilet without him asking what was wrong when the baby was simply pressing against her bladder, she knew that something wasn’t right. Something bothered Ed, and he wasn’t telling her what it was.

“Huh? I thought it was annoying you.” Ed shrugged, trying to brush the topic off.

“Since when have you cared whether something annoys me or not?” Winry rolled her eyes. There was some seriousness behind her question, though; despite being a couple, the two of them were the masters of annoying each other. Ed had even said once that he wouldn’t want to date someone with whom he couldn’t have occasional bickering battles. The fact that Ed used that excuse made Winry even more convinced that Ed was keeping something from her.

“You are being pushy, woman.” Ed glared at her for a moment before hiding his face behind his huge alchemy book. He didn’t get to fake-read it too long, though, because Winry smacked him on the head with a newspaper that had been lying on the sofa table.

“What the hell, Winry? I’m trying to read that!” he exclaimed and tried to take his book back from his wife who had snatched it from him when he had tried to defend himself from the newspaper attack.

“No, you are trying to ignore me,” Winry said, holding the book out of Ed’s reach. “And as your pregnant wife I can’t accept that. Seriously. Talk to me. If you can’t tell me what’s bothering you, then we have much bigger problems than I thought…”

“If you really must know…” Ed sighed in defeat after a long silence. “Al gave me this the other day.” He pulled a book he had really been reading when Winry wasn’t nearby from behind the sofa cushions, and Winry’s mouth formed a huge ‘o’ when she read the title.

“How to be a good parent,” it said.

“Ed…” Winry started, but her brain couldn’t decide what to say next before Ed continued:

“This book… has made me realize there’s still so much I don’t know, so many things that I haven’t experienced myself because my dad was never there,” he uttered bitterly. “And… there are moments when I’m wondering if I’m ready for this.”

“Ed, my granny always says none of us are really ready for the first baby, no matter how well prepared we are, but we’ll still figure it out eventually…” Winry tried to comfort him, but that wasn’t enough to convince Ed.

“No, you don’t understand. What if I become like my dad? What if one day I just leave you and… I could never forgive myself for that!”

“Listen,” Winry said as softly as possible even though she couldn’t deny that Ed’s words upsetted her. “The fact that you worry about that means that you are different from him. I know that you would never do that to your own child when you know what it feels like. I understand why you are scared… hell, I’m scared too! Remember, you’re not the only one without parent models in this room!

“Yeah, you are right. I’m sorry.”

Winry didn’t answer to Ed’s apology, instead she said as an afterthought: “We have already been through so much together… and we have always survived, right? And Granny, Al, Mrs. Gracia, Mrs. Izumi, everyone will help us.”

“I know.” At least he gave Winry a quick grin, which she took as a good sign.

“If you’re still not convinced… I suppose I could give you my present a little early,” Winry noted mysteriously and left the living room, getting something from a closet that Ed never checked. Soon she returned and handed him a box that had apparently been lying there for a while now.

“What’s this about?” Ed asked with confusion. “It’s not my birthday or anything…”

“I was going to give this to you after the baby was born, but… I suppose this is as good a time as any.” Winry stated.

Ed lifted the lid of the box, and saw the box was full of objects… for the baby.

“Huh? What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, still not understanding where Winry was aiming to. How was this supposed to cheer him up?

“It’s something I like to call a ‘paternity package’! In some countries, I hear a woman who is expecting receives a maternity package from the state, and the package is full of baby clothes and other necessities needed for taking care of a baby. The baby can even sleep in the box when it’s still tiny! But yeah, this is meant for you, and I made it. Well, Al helped me a bit, because I had a hard time deciding what you’d like…”

“Oh…”

Ed started taking in everything that was in the box. First he found a baby’s bodice that said ‘daddy’s little sunshine’ on the front. Winry blushed a bit when he kept staring at it with an unreadable expression, and said “I know, it’s a bit cheesy, but…”

“No, it’s… sweet…” Ed said, surprising her. “Did you make the text yourself?”

“I did…” Winry admitted.

The next thing he found from the box was a rag for wiping the baby’s face, and to Ed’s surprise it had black skull shapes printed on it.

“Out of all people I know, I wouldn’t have expected you to get me… well, technically, the baby… something like this… I have always thought you call them ‘tacky’…”

“It is tacky! But it’s also something you like so we thought it would make you happy…” Winry twitched her hands nervously.

“I can’t believe you’d get me all this…” Ed patted Winry briefly on the head affectionately before turning his attention back to the box. “What the… This must be the coolest pacifier I’ve ever seen!” He lifted the small object closer to his face so he could see the letters Al had transmuted into the handle better. ‘Silencing transmutation’, it said. Ed couldn’t hide his grin anymore, as it got wider and wider the more baby things he found from the box.

Finally, he lifted the biggest object from the bottom of the box and unfolded it. It was a baby’s blanket, and someone (most likely Winry) had drawn simple, small transmutation circles on it with a fabric pen. When Ed took them in better, he realized it was a code that he needed to break. It didn’t take him too long, though:

S-U-C-C-E-S-S-F-U-L H-U-M-A-N T-R-A-N-S-M-U-T-A-T-I-O-N

He started laughing so hard he doubled over, and when he finally calmed down enough to see Winry’s expression, he noticed she was having a hurt expression on her face.

“Why are you laughing?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Because…” Ed guffawed, wiping a couple of tears from the corners of his eyes. “This must be the best present ever! Only you and Al would do something like this! Did Al help you with the code?”

“Well, he gave me the idea about the transmutation circles, but I made the code myself…”

“I always knew there was a reason why I married you!” Ed ruffled Winry’s hair again, now longer than earlier.

“Hey!”

“Seriously, though, this is… wonderful. You always manage to cheer me up… Just like that day at the train station.”

“Now, do you believe that /I/ believe in you?” Winry asked, happy about the shift in Ed’s mood.

“Yeah… Thank you, Gearhead,” Ed said, smiling widely.

“No problem, Alchemy freak.” Winry answered, receiving a wet kiss on her cheek.

#503week #edwin #edxwin #edward elric #winry rockbell #fullmetal alchemist #my fics

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setaripendragon · 5 years

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The Light of a Pole Star - Part 3

Okay, this part was a lot of fun. The whole birthday scene came out of nowhere as I was writing, it was a complete aside that turned into an actually important plot point XD Also, Maes’s voice will always and forever sound like Opalsong’s reading of The Demon Alchemist series in my head.

“You know your boy is hopelessly in love with you, don’t you?”

“My- Are you talking about FullMetal?”

“Mmhm.”

“He’s fourteen.”

“Mm, I don’t think he is. Not really.”

“He really is.”

“Don’t be so literal, Roy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I know what you mean, Madame, but it’s still- I can’t just ignore-”

“Ahh…! Is my baby boy falling in love, too?”

“What? No! That’s not-! He’s a child! I would never-!”

“Pfft. Of course you wouldn’t. I raised you better than that.”

“You did.”

“But he’s not going to be a child forever, Roy. He’s not even going to be a child for much longer.”

“…I know.”

“I’d let him work here in a couple of years. Maybe even one, given how world-weary he seems.”

“World-weary. That’s a good phrase for it. Speaking of, how’s Nina doing?”

“Oh, she’s as precocious as you were, Roy-Boy. She’s recovering well.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“I’ll have someone drop some pictures off with Maes for you.”

“Oh, good god, alright. I’m sure FullMetal will appreciate some as well.”

“Speaking of, I hear his fifteenth birthday isn’t too far off.”

“Mother…!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Roy, I’m helping you out here.”

“How, exactly?”

“Have you thought about what to get him for his birthday?”

“If you’re about to suggest something salacious, let me cut you off now and say; don’t.”

“Heheh. Only a little salacious. He’s fifteen, I think he can handle a Vittori.”

“A- One of the Vittori reproductions? Really? Why on earth-?”

“Call it a hunch.”

The Hughes residence is packed to bursting. Ed feels distinctly uncomfortable, being at the center of all this attention and effort, but it’s also kind of nice. He isn’t super keen on the idea of celebrating his birthday. He has eight of them rattling around inside his skull, plus two namedays, and a soulday. This one in particular gets lost in amongst the others too easily for him to care very much. Still, Teacher’s visiting, and so is Winry, and a woman who introduced herself as Roy’s foster-sister has brought Nina round, and Roy’s whole team have come, and Gracia has made a freaking fantastic triple chocolate cake.

Al is sitting on the floor a few feet away from the couch where Ed is sitting, passing Elysia crayons for her colouring, and Nina had two slices of cake and is now chattering Winry’s ear off, and Hughes is taking pictures of everyone and everything like a maniac, and Roy’s sister is flirting with Havoc, which seems to be mortifying both Havoc and Roy, which is hilarious. And Teacher is chatting with Gracia and Riza over mugs of tea from her place in Sig’s lap.

It’s good, Ed decides. It’s just good to be surrounded by friends and family and to take one day off from the pressure of righting his wrongs and fixing his mistakes. He’ll get back to the quest to restore Al’s body tomorrow, but today, he has permission to relax a little. It’s good.

“Is it time for presents yet?” Nina asks abruptly, abandoning Winry to throw herself half over the back of the couch, feet in the air and tail wagging, which puts her head somewhere in the vicinity of Ed’s shoulder. “Big brother! You need to open all your presents!”

“Good idea, Nina!” Hughes enthuses, and then suddenly everyone is bustling about retrieving their gifts for him and depositing them on the table. A lot of them, Ed is delighted to see, are book-shaped. Then Hughes holds Elysia up so that she can very solemnly hand Ed the card she’d made for him. It’s covered in glue and glitter, and of course the glitter goes everywhere, and Winry winces when it gets on Ed’s automail, but even she can’t deny that it’s utterly adorable.

“Mine next!” Nina insists, so Ed opens up the clumsily wrapped package she thrusts at him. It turns out to be a hand-knitted scarf, which Ed suspects is the result of Roy’s Mum’s attempts to keep Nina occupied and out of trouble. It’s a little wonky and uneven, but it’s a bright, eye-searing red, and it was made with love, so Ed wraps it around his neck at once and preens. Winry gets him a set of automail maintenance tools, like she always does in a passive-aggressive attempt to remind him to take care of his automail, and Granny sent on a book titled Beginner’s Guide to Combustion Engines, because she thinks she’s hilarious, and only Teacher and Al really get why it pisses him off so much.

Teacher got him a proper Xerxesian kattari, which she must have made herself, and Ed freaks out for a moment, because what idiot decides to take up blacksmithing – even alchemically enhanced blacksmithing – when they’re sick? Sig shares a commiserating look with him when he hands over all the extra bits and pieces Ed needs to maintain the blade. And in keeping with the theme – had they collaborated? – Al got him a book about the few Xerxesian alchemists that history remembers with a handwritten note inside that says ‘you can tell me all the things they got wrong – love, Al’.

Hughes got him a photo album half filled with pictures of Ed and Al and the people they know, with space left over for more, and Gracia added a pile of blank journals to the gift, which Ed definitely appreciates. The rest of Roy’s team all got him various books; a massive scientific treatise from Falman, a recent alchemist’s autobiography from Fuery, a fascinating obscure book about spiritual symbology in alchemy from Hawkeye, a book about the art of making fireworks from Breda. Havoc, on the other hand, had got him a swear-jar. Which sends Ed into hysterics.

Then Roy’s sister – Vanessa – hands over a small, prettily-wrapped package, and Ed splutters a little about how she didn’t have to, he doesn’t even know her, what the hell. She just laughs at him. “I insist. Auntie Chris insisted. At least as a thank you for making Roy’s work stories so much more interesting.”

“Oh, well, um, okay then, I guess?” Ed says, and sets to opening the packet. It turns out to be a couple of pretty hair-clips. Nothing so ornate as to be mockingly ‘girly’, but whoever made them paid just as much attention to form as function. If he wears them day-to-day, he’s going to end up worrying about damaging them. Not that he ever does anything creative with his hair anyway, so it’s a bit moot.

Roy looks mortified, though, so that’s definitely a plus. And, in the spirit of winding him up as much as possible, Ed decides ‘fuck it’ and tugs the band off the end of his braid, shaking his hair out and tugging the top half back into the clip he likes the best. It’s a style he’d worn a lot when he was Proteus, one that Huang had always gotten distracted by when they were researching together. “Thanks!” He says brightly to Vanessa, who looks so gleeful Ed figures she’s caught on to his plot to torment Roy and approves.

“Alright, I suppose it’s my turn, is it?” Roy asks, resigned.

He slides a large square present out from where it had been leaning against the side-cabinet thing that Gracia keeps knick-knacks and Elysia’s toys in, and hands it to Ed over the table before stepping back. There’s an odd touch of apprehension about him, nothing obvious, just a stiffness in his pleasant expression that suggests it’s taking effort to keep it in place.

Ed lays the present on his lap and studies the shape of it. “It’s a picture-frame.” He decides after a moment of feeling the edges.

“The purpose of presents is to unwrap them, FullMetal.” Roy drawls.

“The purpose of giving presents is to shut up and be nice, Colonel Bastard.” Ed retorts, but he does tear into the wrapping paper, and peel the picture out of it. And then he freezes, heart racing and head spinning, because that- that’s him. Or well, technically, it’s her, when he was a her. He presses a hand to his mouth to stop himself blurting out something stupid, and just… stares.

It’s not the original, he can tell right away, but it’s an excellent reproduction. Ed-when-he-was-Lucia is sitting naked in an unmade – and very rumpled – bed dressed in off-white linens underneath a wide window letting in a spill of brilliant morning light that picks out the amber tones of Lucia’s tanned skin and the golden tones of her light brown hair, which is twisted up into a messy, careless bun pinned in place by a paintbrush, many loose strands curling about her neck and shoulders. There’s ink and graphite stains on her fingers and thighs, and love-bites dappled across her neck, chest, and wrists. She’s sitting sort of cross-legged, one knee tucked uselessly under the light sheet and the other propped up so that she can lean a notebook on it and scribble down her ideas.

Several people are asking what it is, and Havoc and Hughes and Hawkeye all shuffle around the back of the couch to peer at it over Ed’s shoulders. Havoc lets out an impressed wolf-whistle, while Hawkeye says, in a carefully neutral tone of Stern Disapproval; “That’s a bit inappropriate, isn’t it, sir?”

Which, no. No, Ed’s not going to let that stand, because it’s not. The moment hadn’t even been sexual, except that they had just had lazy morning sex. But then Ed- Lucia had had an idea, and she’d flung herself out of Fiametta’s arms to find something to write it down with. Only then had she realised that she’d just abandoned her new lover without regard in favour of science, and she’d looked up expecting annoyance and exasperation, only to find Fiametta grinning and looking at her like she was the most perfect thing in the whole world. So Lucia had gone back to bed and settled in to write down her notes, and she’d gotten so absorbed she hadn’t even noticed Fiametta going for her sketchbook, and then her paints, until several hours later.

At which point she’d taken one look at the first attempt, and punched her in the arm for ‘making me look ridiculous, you complete sap’. The consequent versions had only gotten more ridiculous, because Fiametta had decided it was her purpose in life to wind Lucia up like that at every available opportunity.

It’s not inappropriate at all, except for the fact that Roy has no idea what he’s saying with this picture because he doesn’t know. Ed looks up at Teacher, the only one who gets it, and she raises an eyebrow at him, smug. ‘He doesn’t know he knows, but he does know.’ Ed thinks, and it’s… Good is something of an understatement.

Roy is fumbling for an explanation under Hawkeye’s stern stare, trying to play it off as a combination tasteless joke and attempt at winding Ed up, but Ed isn’t listening. He carefully leans the paining against the back of the couch and gets up. Roy’s faux-blasé defence trails off as Ed rounds the table, walks right into him, and hugs him tight. He’s in civilian dress, so it’s actually comfortable to hug him, and as Roy’s body-heat soaks through to him, Ed silently mourns the fact that he can’t just stay like this forever. “Thanks. I love it.” He says quietly.

“…You’re welcome.” Roy replies, just as quietly, carefully setting his hands on Ed’s back, not quite returning the hug, but something close to it.

“Huh.” Hughes says, in his scheming-voice. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Vittori, Edward.” He remarks lightly.

Teacher snorts.

“You shut up.” Ed grumbles at her, pointing in her direction without looking. He forces himself to let go of Roy before the hug becomes awkward, and turns to Hughes to try and explain his overly-emotional reaction to an indecent portrait of a long dead Aerugonian alchemist. “She did a good series on alchemy.” He states, crossing his arms defensively and feeling his face heat up.

“Hey, it’s okay, Boss. You’re at that age where-” Havoc begins, his tone gleefully mocking because he’s obviously a sadistic fuck.

“No. Nope.” Ed sticks his fingers in his ears. “LALALALALA!”

Ed is minding his own business, grabbing a quick lunch at a bakery a few streets away from the library, when out of fucking nowhere, Hughes slides into the seat opposite him with a cheerful “Hi, Ed!” and the sort of smile that makes Ed realise why most people find his grins a little unnerving.

“Uh, hi, Hughes.” He greets warily.

“Oh, please, Maes is fine.” Hughes – Maes – insists. “This is a social call.”

Ed gives him a dubious look. “Well it looks kind of like stalking.” He counters, and then takes a huge bite of his pasty. Maybe if he finishes quickly he can escape back into the library.

“That’s hurtful, Ed.” Maes protests, sounding entirely insincere. Ed makes an indistinct ‘mrmph’ noise around his mouthful. “I just wanted to know what your intentions are towards my best friend.” He announces, and although he’s definitely joking, tone jovial and eyes bright, there’s a thread of something a little more serious underneath.

Ed swallows hard, coughs a little, and then starts laughing. Because trust Maes Hughes to see that there’s more to Ed than a fifteen year old with a crush. “Well, I guess my intentions right now are to wait until he won’t have a panic attack if I jump him, and then jump him. Repeatedly. Preferably for the rest of our lives.” He answers, just as light-hearted as Maes, with just as much truth underneath.

Maes’s smile becomes a lot less sharp, softens into something that doesn’t make Ed want to flee to the safety of the library anymore. “How long a wait is that going to be?” He wonders, without any hint as to what he thinks the right answer is.

“Well, I had it from a reliable source when I was twelve that I’d be eligible for moderately respectable sex work in five years, so that’s only two more to go.” Ed replies lightly. Maes blinks at him for a moment, which isn’t the reaction Ed was expecting, but then he laughs. Cackles, really. “What’s funny?” He asks dubiously.

“Madame Christmas told you that, did she?” Maes asks pointedly.

Ed stares at him. “You…” He stops, and wonders if the synchronicity of his lives could get any more ridiculous. “Wait, let me guess. She’s got something to do with Roy, doesn’t she? Oh, that fucker.” He exclaims, eyes widening. “That’s how he knew to get me that painting! She fucking told him, didn’t she? Oh my fucking-!”

“Mm, yes. I think it was one of hers, originally. She likes to hang what she calls ‘dignified pornography’ on the walls of her upstairs business.” Maes confirms.

Ed whines and puts his head down on the table. “Next you’ll be telling me Roy grew up there or some shit.” He complains.

“As a matter of fact, he did.” Maes confirms, sounding intrigued, and Ed just groans, because, okay, he walked right into that one. “When she’s not working, she goes by Chris Mustang.” Maes adds, and at that, Ed sits up again.

“She’s Roy’s mum?”

“Biologically? His aunt. But she raised him ever since his parents died. So, yes, that’s who he means when he talks about his mother.” Maes explains. “But going back to that painting, Ed.” He goes on abruptly.

Ed huffs, going a little pink. “What about it?”

“I had a long chat with the Madame after your birthday. You said some very interesting things in between being very, very cryptic, and bringing up conversations you never actually had with Roy about old Aerugonian painters.” Maes states, resting his forearms on the table as he leans in and watches Ed with a pointedly patient expression.

Ed narrows his eyes. “We did too talk about renaissance painters.”

“Yes, but not Vittori.” Maes stresses. “And nice dodge, by the way.”

“Well, I was talking about Vittori, and he got the story right, so it’s not my fault if he didn’t realise, and only got it right because he’s that much like a perverted lesbian hedonist from the fifteenth century.” Ed retorts. “And I didn’t dodge shit. I just addressed the only point you actually made.”

Maes snorts, and leans back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re going to be very good for Roy, you know, when he manages to pull his head out of his ass. He needs someone like you in his life to keep him honest, keep him from twisting himself up into contortions with all the games he likes to play.”

Ed eyes him for a long moment, because, hell, but that was a good summary of at least one of his lives in its entirety. The Xingese royal court was a pit of vipers. “Yeah.” He agrees shortly, but apparently even that is enough to put that worrying gleam of curiosity into Maes’s eyes again. This time it’s totally a dodge, and Ed doesn’t even care, when he says; “So, what were those interesting things you wanted to interrogate me about?”

“Oh, you know…” Maes says, with entirely and obviously feigned nonchalance. “Treason.”

Ed snorts. “Yeah? Is this you delivering Roy’s official pitch?”

“No, Ed. This is me asking how the hell you even knew there was a pitch.” Maes sighs, no longer light-hearted at all. He’s watching Ed carefully, worried, and it makes Ed feel bad. He hadn’t meant to make Maes paranoid about discovery. But of course, if a teenage wildcard like him could figure it out, anyone who didn’t know that the knowledge came from lifetimes of experience with Roy and his masks and his stupid doublespeak bullshit and his penchant for self-sacrificial righteousness would be forgiven for assuming that one of the Generals, or the Fuhrer himself, might be able to see it, too.

Ed could lie, or dodge again, or something, but he doesn’t want to make Maes’s life harder than it has to be. He’s a good friend to Roy, and he’s been a good friend to Ed, too, so far. “I bet you looked into Valentino’s Bar, huh?” He asks.

Maes narrows his eyes, but plays along. “What do you take me for, Ed? Of course I did. Headquarters for one of the most successful Aerugonian resistance forces this side of the border in a hundred years before they blew the place up. I looked into this Malka person you mentioned too. And believe me, I’m dying to know what a border scuffle and a mullah from eighty years ago have to do with Roy, but I’d like to know about the treason thing first.”

“Valentino’s Bar.” Ed holds up his hand, and then ticks each point off on his fingers as he goes. “The Wolfsbane killings. Knyazhna Tatiana Nikiforova. The assassination of General Maultier. The Riviere Traders. The first Xingese Empress.” Ed pauses. “I think that’s… No, wait, you can probably count the Second Drachman Revolution, too, really, although you may have to dig pretty deep to figure that one out.”

“I recognise a few of those.” Maes acknowledges.

Ed nods emphatically, as though it must be obvious even though he knows Maes probably won’t understand. “That’s how I knew. I don’t think anyone else has made the connections, though, so you don’t need to panic.”

Maes stares at him for a long, long moment. “Challenge accepted.” He says finally.

Laughing, Ed shakes his head at him. “If anyone can figure it out, I’d put my money on you, Maes.” He offers, and Maes beams at him.

“Your faith in me is heartwarming, Ed. Almost as heartwarming as my beautiful daughter!” Maes enthuses, and Ed resigns himself to watching the man parade out a stream of photographs of Elysia. At least, since he’s not required to say more than ‘aww’ and ‘wow’ every now and then, he actually has a chance finish his pasty.

This goes on until Ed’s almost finished eating, and then Maes, with well practised insincerity, checks his watch and says; “Oops! Looks like my lunch break is over!” And sweeps all of his photos back into his pocket and stands up while Ed is still chewing on his last bite. “See you later, Ed.”

“Mrmph.” Ed says again, nodding.

Maes chuckles. “And, one last thing, Ed?” He says, pausing on his way past Ed’s chair. Ed looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, and Maes hands him a little folded up piece of paper. “Don’t wait too long. Roy will keep you at arms length forever if you let him, because he’s got a martyr complex the size of the Eastern Desert. We’re working on him, but he could do with a reminder from you that you’re older than you look.”

Then he’s gone, and Ed’s left staring at empty space in confusion. If he’s translating Maes-speak right, that was a ‘well, I think you should jump him now’. He looks down at the paper in his hand and unfolds it, only to find nothing but an address written there, and he’d bet his other arm and leg that it’s Roy’s. Maes is an interfering matchmaker, and Ed doesn’t know whether to be pissed off or grateful.

Ed decides Maes’ gift is too good to let it go to waste, so the next time he’s back in East, he breaks into Roy’s house while the man’s still at work and makes himself at home. When Ed had told Al his plan, Al had given him one of those inexplicably readable looks of his where he’s judging every single one of Ed’s life choices in every single one of his lives, and then he sighed and wished him luck, which is why Al is best little brother in the whole wide world.

When Roy gets back, Ed is happily ensconced in Roy’s living room with half the books from Roy’s personal library spread out around him, a fire blazing in the grate, a ridiculously snug blanket over his shoulders, and a mug of some weird fancy tea at his elbow. Roy, of course, comes in warily, prepared for an intruder, fingers poised to snap, and stops dead in the doorway, staring. “FullMetal?”

“Hey, Bastard.” Ed will call Roy ‘Roy’ to his face when Roy calls him ‘Edward’ again. “Shut the damn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

Roy is so off-balance that he actually does as he’s told. Ed will have to remember that trick. Then he returns and goes right back to staring. “How did you get in?”

“Transmuted the lock, obviously.” Ed informs him. “I can show you how to alchemically booby-trap your locks later, if you like.”

Roy sighs in long-suffering exasperation. “How did you even know where I live?”

“How did you even know I’m a fan of Vittori?” Ed retorts.

“Touché.” Roy admits, and then just stands there, staring in bewilderment.

Ed glances up from his book at last, and gives the man a judging look. “Well don’t just stand there like an idiot, idiot. Go order some take-out and then come explain to me why the hell you have bullshit like Dee’s Hierarchy of Elements on your shelf.”

“FullMetal…”

“Food, Bastard.” Ed insists.

Sighing again like the melodramatic bastard he is, Roy goes to call for take-out. While he’s doing that, Ed clears a space for him on the couch, shifting books he’d left lying open beside him when he got caught up in something else. Roy comes back, eyes the newly open space, and then gingerly seats himself. “FullMetal.” He says again.

“I’d say ‘that’s my name, Bastard, don’t wear it out’ except, you know, it’s not.” Ed says pointedly.

Another sigh. “What are you doing?”

“Investigating your personal book collection.” Ed replies immediately. “It’s not half bad, honestly. Although, seriously, what’s with Dee’s shit? His theories were debunked decades ago.”

“Most of his theories were debunked.” Roy counters, and the next half hour is full of good-natured bickering and alchemical debate. Then the food arrives, and the next hour passes by the same way, except now with really good food, too. The conversation takes a slightly darker turn as they dive into discussing human transmutation, biological alchemy, soul alchemy, and the difference between them, but even then, Ed feels more hopeful about his quest than he has in a while now, revved up with new determination because Roy might not have as much knowledge as Ed on the subject, but he’s painfully insightful, and so good at coming up with the things Ed’s missed.

Shit, but Ed loves him.

And it must be written all over his face because Roy falters in what he’s saying, in whatever argument he was making, and his expression turns conflicted and uncertain. Ed hates it. “Don’t.” Ed says, before Roy can say anything. Roy closes his mouth, but doesn’t look any less pained.

“Edward…” He says, half chiding, half pleading.

“Roy.” Ed returns, wry. Roy sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, you know.”

“You’re half my age.” Roy retorts, sounding agonised.

He’s not exactly wrong, even if he’s not exactly right, either. Ed sighs, and looks down at the blanket that’s now draped over both of them. He picks at the edge of it with his automail hand. “Yeah. Why d’you think I haven’t actually made a move on you yet?”

Roy huffs a weird little half-laugh at that. “This isn’t you making a move?” He asks dryly.

Ed snorts. “Believe me, bastard, when I make a move on you, you’ll fucking know about it.”

“Literally, I suppose.” Roy muses wickedly, and then winces. “Sorry, that was-”

“If you say inappropriate, I’m gonna hit you.” Ed warns him, holding up his flesh hand in a fist in warning. Roy very pointedly presses his lips together and doesn’t say a word. “Cause it isn’t inappropriate, it’s fucking true. But I’m not stupid, you know. I do get that you’d feel kind of skeevy if we did anything yet, so- so I’m waiting. That doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend that there’s even the slightest fucking chance I’d pick anyone else in the world but you.”

Roy’s eyes go wide, and then he closes them. He leans in, and for a moment Ed thinks he’s going to kiss him, but instead he just leans their foreheads together. “You can’t know that for sure.” He whispers, sounding like it hurts to say it.

“I can.” Ed insists. “I do.”

“I know you’ve seen more of the world than most people your age, and I know that- that there’s more to you than just a fifteen year old hellion, but you shouldn’t tie yourself to me before you’ve had a chance to- to explore, and-”

“Idiot.” Ed huffs.

“I’m serious, Edward-”

“I know you are, Roy, that’s why you’re an idiot.” Roy pulls back to frown at him, and Ed wonders if Teacher is right, if he should tell him the whole truth. They’ve already been talking about souls half the evening, after all. But Ed… Ed isn’t quite ready to put himself that far out there when Roy is still battling his fucking conscience. It would feel… manipulative, or some shit. “Can I tell you a story?” He asks, instead.

“Can I stop you?” Roy answers wearily, but he’s smiling fondly, so Ed figures that’s not a no.

“Nope.” Ed squirms around until he’s comfortably leaning on Roy, and Roy hesitates only a moment before curling his arm around Ed’s shoulders. “Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a boy.” Ed begins, measuring out the words.

“A fairytale?” Roy wonders, sounding startled.

“Yeah, sort of.” Ed hedges, because no, it’s not, it’s his life – their lives – but he’s not going to tell Roy that just yet. “Anyway, so this boy, he had real shit luck. Like, the shittiest. His parents died in a landslide when he was four, and not even a year later, he got nabbed by fucking slavers and carted off into the desert to be sold to some rich asshole who thought he was hot shit and that it somehow made him look good to have a tiny ‘exotic’ little boy serving drinks at his stupid parties, and not like a complete shit-stain.”

“That does sound unfortunate.” Roy comments, sounding confused.

“Yeah, but this kid, right, this kid was resilient, and clever. He made this plan. Cause, see, in Xerxes-”

“Oh, is that where this is set?”

“Yeah, shut up. In Xerxes, academia was everything. If you were smart, if you could make a valuable contribution to the Great Library, you could earn your way up to the top, even if you started out a slave. Even if you weren’t Xerxesian by birth. So that’s what he decided to do.” Ed pauses, thinking back and trying to sort an entire lifetime into something he could tell Roy and have it make sense. “One day, when he was out running errands or some shit, this slave just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see this building – one of the big manors for the Savants – collapse.”

“Savants?” Roy questions.

“It’s the best translation of the title. Like I said, the heirarchy in Xerxes was about academia, not the military, or inheritance, or anything like that. They were people who- who fucking revolutionised knowledge in whatever field of study. Being recognised as a Savant was, I don’t fucking know, like being a General, I guess, here. You’re powerful, and people kinda have to listen to you, and you get lots of perks and rewards and shit. There were also teachers and shit, Professors or whatever, which was basically one step sideways, not quite parallel, but… the State Alchemists, sort of?”

“I see.” Roy says, sounding a little bewildered. “So… so this manor collapsed?” He prompts.

“Yeah, and this boy- Well, he was a teenager, by today’s standards-”

“Today’s standards?”

“In Xerxes you were considered a child until you were twenty-five, on average.” Ed explains impatiently. “When you completed the standard education and could choose a speciality. Anyway-” Ed presses when it looks like Roy’s about to ask more questions. “So, this boy recognised an alchemical reaction when he saw one, and managed to pinpoint the source in amongst the rubble.”

“Who did he find?” Roy asks, which at least isn’t a distracting question.

“This kid. Nine years old, half crushed by rubble. His entire right arm was so much mush. He’d been being an idiot, trying to get his super-clever Savant grandmother to pay attention to him, and his circle had backfired on him and brought the whole house down. And this slave kid pushed this massive piece of masonry out of the way with one shoulder and grabbed the other kid with the other hand and just hauled him out of the mess he’d turned his entire life into. Carried him to the healers. Went right back and dug out the kid’s cousin. His grandmother was already dead, but if it hadn’t been for that slave, his cousin would have died before anyone got around to getting him out.”

“Edward…” Roy says slowly.

“I’m not finished, bastard, let me finish.” Ed retorts. Roy nods silently, so Ed forges on. “So this kid, this dumbass kid who destroyed his entire life all by himself because he couldn’t appreciate what he had when his dad was gone and his mum was dead, knew that he had to pay back this slave for saving him and his cousin. So he went and found him and taught him everything he knew, everything he got to learn just because he was born to an educated family. They studied together for years, ended up fucking revolutionising alchemy. Heh. The slave was elevated to Savant because he figured out that water is actually combustible if you pull it apart.”

“Is it really?” Roy asks, smirking. “I had no idea.”

Ed cackles. “Sure you didn’t.”

“I assume the other boy became a Savant, too?” Roy questions, giving Ed a soft look under faintly furrowed brows. Like he’s figured out Ed’s talking about them but still isn’t sure what the point is. Jokes on him, because that is the point.

“Yeah. He figured out some really cool architectural tricks. There’s so much cool shit you can do with rocks and sand if you really pay attention to the molecular structure. Like fixing fault-lines in otherwise apparently solid stone.” Ed explains with a grimace. Roy tugs him a little closer.

“I take it the boy’s cousin did recover, too?” Roy asks gently.

“Yeah.” Ed confirms. He knows Roy thinks he’s talking about Al, even though he’s not. Lyco hadn’t been much like Al, really. He’d been a daydreamer, kind but absent-minded, and he didn’t understand people at all, not the way Al did. Ed had loved him just as much, though. “Xerxes was pretty good with healing alchemy, so he got better eventually. And eventually, these two dumbasses got around to admitting that somewhere between the heroics and the research and the awards, they’d fallen in love. It didn’t really change that much, though, they still bickered over theories and played with alchemy together and spent most of their time side by side in the library. It was just that when they went home, they went to the same place, and sometimes they had sex, which was pretty fun.”

Roy makes a sound that’s trying to be a laugh, but is a little too strangled to manage. “I think I see your point, Edward-”

“Still not finished, bastard.” Ed interrupts. “So they got married, and eventually they got asked to tutor the royal children. Which, in case you can’t figure it out, was one of the very highest honours a person could be awarded in Xerxes. They probably couldn’t really have said no without being, like, shunned or something, but it didn’t really matter because… because they really enjoyed it. Not just teaching, which was frustrating as all hell but entirely worth it, but teaching those kids. They were hellraisers, don’t get me wrong, but they were so good, too. Getting to help them discover themselves? Discover the amazing things they could accomplish? Those two stupid boys loved that a whole hell of a lot. Queen Aesara was one of Xerxes most beloved rulers, and they were so proud of her.” Ed pauses, and collects himself. “And they lived happily ever after for the rest of their days or whatever shit. There, now I’m done.”

They sit in silence for a while. Ed doesn’t mind, although he’s a bit restless. “Is that the sort of thing you want from your future, then?” Roy asks eventually. “Teaching?”

“Eh.” Ed shrugs and tries to explain. “Maybe? But there’s lots of things I could do once I’ve fixed my fuck up and Al’s okay. Lots of fulfilling paths to take or whatever. Could teach. Could do research. Could become a doctor. Could open a restaurant. Could go into fucking journalism. Lots of ways to do good in the world. My point is… it’ll be better with you there. I want that. And I think you want that, too. To do whatever we end up doing together.”

He hears Roy swallow, and then let out a breath that shakes. “Yes, Edward. I want that, too.” He agrees. His arm tightens momentarily around Ed’s shoulders, and his head tips to lean his cheek against the top of Ed’s head, and then he turns so he can press an achingly gentle kiss to Ed’s hair. Ed turns into Roy and hides his smile against the man’s shoulder.

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lilacmoon83 · 5 years

Text

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 114: One Less Problem

They had run out of daylight when they initially found the skull, but the two men returned first thing the next morning. Over the course of the day, a complete excavation site was set up, as they took to digging in earnest. It was hard painstaking work, but they had recovered many bones and they were now all spread out on a tarp. They didn't have them all and likely never would. It had been in the ground for twenty-eight years, but they had recovered the large bones. The skull obviously, along with parts of the rib cage, a humerus bone, and part of the pelvic bone, as well as several other small fragments that were either parts of larger bones or smaller ones entirely.

Landon proceeded to take photos of the bones they had collected with his phone and Greg waited impatiently.

"Did you send them?" he asked impatiently.

"Sent...now we just wait to hear back, but I'd be surprised if this doesn't draw at least some attention from the feds," Landon replied. Greg sighed and covered up the bones to protect them, before they trekked back to town. As they neared, they began to hear screams of panic and terror.

"What the hell is going on now?" Landon wondered.

"In this town...that's hard to say," Greg replied, as they hurried to find out what the commotion was.

"Get your camera ready though. If the feds need more convincing...then this might be it," he added.

~*~

Snow strolled along Main street, pushing the stroller, while Emma walked beside her. They were window shopping and slowly making their way toward Granny's for some cocoa.

"Thanks for coming with me, honey…" Snow said. Emma put her arm around her mother.

"Are you kidding? You know I love spending time together and especially with my new baby brother. We don't get to do it often enough," Emma mentioned.

"I still think we should get Xander a baby leather jacket though," she added. Snow chuckled.

"As cute as that is...he is going to outgrow all his clothes in a matter of weeks at this point. But maybe when he's a little older. I do like the idea of dressing him up to look like his daddy and big sister," Snow replied.

"Hear that kid? You have a future in leather," Emma joked. Snow giggled.

"Oh can you just imagine him in a tiny leather jacket following his daddy and sister around?" she gushed and Emma chuckled again.

"Yeah...our tiniest detective," she joked and Snow gasped.

"Oh...you could get him a little Sheriff star to wear!" she gushed. Emma shook her head.

"Yeah...I'll work on that," her daughter answered. Suddenly, they heard screams and braced themselves, as Pan loomed above them in the sky.

"Here we go...he took the bait," Emma muttered. Snow swallowed thickly and prepared herself for what was to come. The demon did as expected and dove down toward the stroller. Snow blocked him from the stroller, but surprisingly, he grabbed her instead and put a dagger to her throat.

"Did you really think I was going to fall for this, Princess?" he hissed, as he kicked the stroller and tipped it over. A doll came tumbling out of it, as Persephone, Hades, Emma, Eli, and David moved in.

"Let her go…" David growled, as he brandished his sword.

"You idiots really think you could outsmart Pan?" he countered, as he started backing away with Snow.

"You know...her soul would make a very nice addition to my road to immortality. Daughter of Persephone and all," he said.

"And making your husband watch me rip your shadow from your body will be a bonus," he added, as he glared at David.

"Let. Her. Go." David hissed.

"You have a choice, Prince Charming. Your wife or your son…" Pan warned.

"I refuse to accept those are my only two choices," he hissed, as he slowly stepped forward and Pan recoiled with Snow, as he used his powers to start tearing her shadow away. She screamed in pain, as he did so.

"One more step and she dies…" he growled, which made him stop in fear that he would hurt her.

"Let my daughter go…" Persephone demanded, as she and Hades moved in.

"If this was your plan, then you really have lost your touch," Pan said, looking at Hades.

"Have I?" Hades challenged. Pan smirked.

"You absolutely have…" the demon said, as he tossed an object at their feet. He waved his hand and it opened, sucking both Gods inside it. Snow cried out, as her mother and step-father disappeared and the box closed. Pan chuckled.

"Pandora's box...not even Gods can escape it. Now...where were we? Oh yes...her or the child?" he questioned.

"How about a third option? Like sending you to hell," David countered, which made Pan chuckle arrogantly.

"And you think you can actually accomplish that?" Pan questioned.

"I'll admit, your duel with Blackbeard and the beating of him was impressive...but that pirate is nothing compared to my power," he added, as he sensed something behind him and caught a fireball in his hand.

"Betrayal runs thick in our veins, son...I anticipated you selling out to the bleeding hearts here, but I thought you were smart enough not to cross me," Pan growled, as he nullified Rumple's fireball and continued to hold Snow hostage. She choked, as she struggled to breathe in his vice-like grip.

"Charming…" she rasped.

"Let her go, you son of a bitch!" David cried, as he grew desperate to free his wife.

"Temper, temper...Your Majesty," Pan chided, as Eli stood beside David, his eyes fixated on his little girl.

"The time for stalling is at an end," Pan said, as he wrapped a hand around Snow's neck and lifted her off the ground. She gasped for air and flailed, as she slowly choked to death.

"NOOO!" David screamed, as he charged, only to be blown back by a blast of Pan's magic. It knocked him head over heels and he landed painfully on the ground.

"Dad!" Emma cried and then turned back to Pan.

"Mom!" she cried again, as her mother was slowly fading away.

"What will it be, Emma? Baby brother of mommy dearest?" Pan goaded.

"Still neither, you psychopath," Persephone hissed and Pan's head snapped to the side, as he found Hades and Persephone standing there, much to his shock.

"How? I trapped you!" he roared.

"Yeah...in a fake Pandora's box. We disappeared in a puff of smoke to fool you," she retorted. Hades smirked.

"And for dramatic effect. I do love my theatrics," Hades quipped.

"As much as you love your daughter? Because I'm about to snap her neck," Pan threatened.

"Not unless...you want to be trapped in the real Pandora's box…" Snow rasped. Pan's eyes widened, as he spied the box in her hands and immediately tossed her away. She gasped for air, as Emma and Eli helped her to her feet.

"You really think you've won?!" Pan cried, as he glared at his son.

"I expected more of you, son. You side with these so called heroes over me?" he questioned.

"In a heartbeat," Rumple retorted.

"And now it's time to end you for good," he added, but Pan chuckled.

"Every time you go up against me, Rumple...you lose," the demon warned.

"Not this time," Rumple growled, as he opened the vial in his hand and sent the squid ink inside splashing toward him. But Pan smirked and stopped the ink in midair, before tossing it back onto Rumple and Belle.

"Like I said, Rumple...when you go against me...you lose," Pan hissed.

"I know...that's why I'm not delivering the final blow," Rumple replied. Pan's brow furrowed and turned to the two Gods, figuring they were the true threat now. Persephone unleashed a beam of magic and he countered with his.

"Not even you can defeat me, Goddess…" Pan boasted.

"Well...we'll never really know, now will we?" she asked, as her smug smirk was unnerving to him.

"What…" he started to say, until he heard something behind him. He turned to find David there with a peculiar looking bottle. He had lost sight of the Prince and didn't consider him to be a threat. Pan barely had time to scream, as David smashed the bottle at his feet and then scrambled to Snow and Emma to get them away from the blast zone.

"NOOO!" Pan screamed, as the hellfire exploded in his face and overtook his body, burning him beyond recognition, while they could only watch on in horror and awe.

"Whoa…" Emma uttered.

"Ohhh…" Snow cried, as she had to turn away from the gruesome sight of someone burning alive. David held her and looked on, as she buried her face in his chest. Pan screamed in rage and agony, causing Belle to recoil as well against Rumple. But the latter watched with satisfaction, as Pan finally got what he deserved and his screams ceased, as the flames squelched and his ashes floated to the ground. There was a collective sigh of relief, as the looming threat of Peter Pan was neutralized.

"It's over, my darling…" David whispered to her.

"Oh Charming...you did it…" she gushed, as she tackled him in a hug and their lips met passionately.

"He'll never threaten to take our baby...or our daughter again," he promised her. She smiled at him and then kissed him again.

"Okay guys...save it for home," Emma complained. Their lips parted and they smiled, as they hugged their daughter between them.

"That was one hell of a plan," David complimented his step-father-in-law. Hades shrugged.

"It was," he boasted.

"I knew he'd be so focused on us as the true threat that he'd never see you coming," he added. David kissed Snow's forehead and then examined her neck.

"I don't like that you got caught in it though. That wasn't part of it," he said.

"I'm fine...promise," Snow replied. David looked at his mother-in-law and she smiled, as she came to examine her daughter's neck. Her hands glowed purple and the marks on her daughter's skin disappeared.

"Thanks Mom…" she said, as they shared a hug.

"So...any chance what we just did will work on the Chernabog?" David asked.

"Unfortunately no...the hellfire we just used to turn Pan to ash will only contain the Chernabog. Remember...he's a titan and he earned the title of black god for a reason," Hades responded.

"Then there's no way to kill it?" Neal asked.

"None that we know of. We created Bald Mountain for that reason. As containment," Persephone replied.

"And now it's worse...because he's merged with Frollo," Eli surmised.

"Much worse…" Hades agreed.

"For now though...we should go home. One crisis averted is definitely still a win," Persephone said. They agreed and decided that a trip to Granny's was in order, especially since they had to go there to get the baby and Henry.

~*~

"What the hell was all that?" Landon questioned, as they came out from the place they had been observing from.

"That was magic and the general insanity that defines this town," Greg replied.

"The fairy tale and mythology thing again?" Landon asked with disdain.

"Seeing is believing as they say," Greg replied.

"If I tell my friend about this, he'll laugh and then hang up on me again," Landon said.

"Then don't tell him. The bones should be enough to get him here. Then he can see for himself," Greg purported, as the other man's phone rang.

"Zach...did you get the photos I sent?" the former detective asked.

"Yeah...I got them," he confirmed.

"Great...so are you coming with a team?" Landon questioned.

"Based on what? A picture of some old bones? You know we can't allocate a team for a cold case without DNA confirmation that those bones belong to an actual unsolved murder or missing persons case," Zach responded. Landon sighed in frustration.

"But this is a murder case I have here...I know it!" Landon exclaimed.

"Then send me the bones. I'll get them off to the lab for DNA identification. But you know that without a fresh sample...the chances of getting a match are slim," Zach warned.

"And if I happen to have access to a blood relative to send a fresh sample?" Landon asked.

"Then your chances are a lot better. Send the sample in with the remains and we might know something in a few months, if we're lucky," Zach replied.

"A few months?!" Landon exclaimed.

"At best...you know the FBI lab is backed up and they work the fresh cases first. It's the best I can do," Zach said. Landon sighed and hung up.

"They're not coming?" Greg questioned.

"No...we need to send them the bones and a sample of your DNA. And then it could be a few months or even a year or so before we get anywhere," Landon said.

"That's crap!" Greg raged, as he clenched his fists.

"Look...you've waited this long for justice. What is another year or so? This might not be so bad," Landon purported.

"How the hell do you figure that?" Greg hissed.

"Because it will give us time to video tape the hell out of this place. No one that's not seeing it will believe it. But if we get a real account of what this place is and not just random snippets that could be explained away as CGI technology...then we could blow this place wide open to the world!" Landon said, which made Greg think about that for a moment.

"You'd have the FBI, Homeland, reporters, Hollywood and random people from all over the world crawling in these woods. We could sell these stories to the highest bidder," Landon said.

"I'm want justice for my father...not money," Greg spat.

"You can get both. Think about it...fairy tales are real? Greek Gods aren't just myths? You can name your price and demand anything you want when this finally blows up," Landon tempted. Greg looked at him and then relented.

"You really think we can do this?" he asked. He nodded.

"Done right? Yes...but that takes time, which we apparently have. Firstly though...we need to get your father's remains and your DNA sample shipped to my friend at the bureau," Landon replied, as they started walking toward Granny's and he happened to notice a package on the doorstep of a business.

"How the hell does this place get mail and packages anyway?" he inquired curiously. Greg shrugged.

"They have a post office and there must be some kind of magic that transports the mail in and out," he answered.

"Then that won't be a problem...but you still didn't tell me how you get people in this place if it's invisible," Landon said.

"That's tricky, but not impossible. When the time is right...we'll let the world in," Greg replied.

~*~

"It's so good to see you…" Snow gushed, as she hugged Lancelot. They had enjoyed dinner together as a family at Granny's and then returned home to the castle, only to find that Lancelot had come for a visit.

"It's good to see you both too…" he agreed, as he and David shook hands.

"And congratulations," he added, as he beamed at the baby in her arms. They grinned back.

"Thanks…" Snow said.

"So...what brings you by?" she asked.

"Well...I returned to Camelot to see what the state of my home Kingdom was and I'm afraid I am still banished," he replied. Snow frowned.

"But...what about Guinevere? She loves you," she said.

"I'm afraid she has told me otherwise and remains loyal to Arthur. I betrayed the crown and am banished from Camelot...indefinitely," he replied regrettably.

"I'm so sorry…" Snow said sadly.

"And you're sure? I know she probably feels bound by duty to her Kingdom and there was a time when I felt those pressures. I'm not saying that it wasn't messy, but in the end, true love was worth fighting for," David advised.

"I agree...but I'm afraid she made it quite clear that my love is unrequited," he replied.

"I once told Charming the same thing…" Snow reminded. He sighed.

"I'm afraid it doesn't matter though. The decision of my banishment stands and Guinevere wants to stay with Arthur," he said.

"Well...you may be banned from Camelot, but you have a home here," Snow offered.

"Thank you Snow...I was hoping to offer my services and if I'm completely candid, I thought perhaps there is another King that might find my particular skills of use to him," Lancelot responded. David smiled.

"Oh that is an offer I will not pass up. I need a Knight like you to help me train new Knights and police all this. It's a lot bigger than Storybrooke now," he agreed. Lancelot nodded gratefully.

"I will be glad to serve you both again," he said.

~*~

Arthur looked out over his Kingdom with his usual trepidation. To his people and the outside Kingdoms, things appeared to be perfectly normal and whole in his Kingdom. And it was all thanks to him...their King. He had fulfilled his destiny when he pulled the legendary Excalibur from its resting place inside a stone and became Camelot's Savior.

At least...that was how it was supposed to go. Merlin had foretold the prophecy that he would be King of Camelot and save it from ruin, even as he himself remained trapped in a tree of all things. But in the moment of his ultimate glory when he finally extracted the sword, his hopes and dreams were dashed when it was revealed that Excalibur was broken. It was the cruelest of jokes and over the years, he had grown bitter at his predicament. If the people knew he was ruling them with a broken sword and the illusion of their completeness was false, then his Kingdom would descend into chaos. He had utilized the mists of Avalon to create the illusion of a whole Camelot to his people and outside Kingdoms. And before, they remained quite isolated from outsiders. But now that they were part of the United Realms, they had many Kingdoms that were very close now. And he was worried that this could threaten the illusion. He didn't worry about Guinevere or Percival revealing his secret and even though Lancelot was of some concern, he still had some honor and would not speak of it either unless provoked.

Then there were the Gods. So far, they had not interfered, but he didn't know how long that would last.

"You're worried…" Guinevere mentioned.

"We must quietly continue our research to make Excalibur whole. It is now more vital than ever," he responded.

"Do you think the Gods will reveal our deception to the other Kingdoms?" she questioned.

"I don't know...we can hope for the best and that they leave us be. But we will prepare for the worst," he responded, as they gazed out over their Kingdom together.

~*~

Ravenna gazed out over the United Realms, as the hour grew very late. Another day in the United Realms was done and she was no closer to ruling over all of it. But then she knew her revenge wouldn't come to fruition over night. Hans slipped into her room and waited for her to acknowledge him.

"Did you do what I asked?" she inquired.

"I took inventory of that state of our army…" he confirmed.

"And?" she asked.

"Queen Snow and King David's army is twice the size and rumor has it that they are to be led by King David himself and Lancelot," Hans responded.

"Lancelot...of the Round Table?" she asked.

"Apparently not anymore," he replied. She growled in frustration.

"That little retch gets everything!" she complained.

"Why do you hate her so much?" Hans questioned, but regretted it when she glared at him.

"Do you have any idea what it was like being married to Eli and having to put up with that little brat?" she questioned.

"She was...is everything to him. You know, I didn't want to marry him anymore than he wanted to marry me!" she ranted.

"But father forced the deal and I tried to make the best of it. But he could barely stand to be in the same room as me!" she continued.

"He looked at me with indifference at best. But for her...he just lit up like a lantern in the sky," she lamented.

"She is his child," he reminded.

"I know that, you idiot!" she snapped.

"I tried everything to win his affection and when I could not, I tried to endear myself to the peasants. But they hated me too," she complained.

"Well...maybe because you refer to them as peasants," he admonishd. But she didn't hear him.

"But not Snow White! No...they adored her and fell all over themselves around her. Even the filthy little woodland critters flocked to be in her glorious presence," she raved.

"Careful...or you might turn green like the wicked witch," he quipped. That time she heard him and it earned him another frigid glare.

"You don't get it…" she accused.

"You're right...not that it matters. She's the daughter of Persephone. She might as well be untouchable. Pursing any kind of revenge against her would be to court death," he warned. But she cackled in amusement and the look in her eye could only be described as crazed. It gave him great pause, for he was seriously starting to question her sanity.

"Oh...but I will pursue it, dear brother! Revenge is the only thing that will satiate me and I will not stop until Snow White lay dead at my feet!" she said.

"But I am not stupid...I know it will have to be handled delicately. My revenge may take a very long time to reach fruition...but I will see it through," she added.

"I will find the perfect way to end her. And when I do...not even Hades and Persephone will be able to stop me. Because I have control of the one thing they could not kill…" she said. His brow furrowed and then his eyes widened, as Frollo appeared in the room.

"You called me, my Queen?" Frollo questioned, as his tone clearly indicated that he was not her slave by choice.

"You will maintain your firm handed rule in Paris and not let on that you answer to me to anyone, Chernabog," she ordered.

"Of course, my Queen," he said reluctantly.

"In the meantime, you will use your cauldron and search for a way to give me my revenge on Snow White," she added.

"Yes, My Queen," he answered obediently.

"But how…" Hans uttered in disbelief and she smirked, as she held up a glowing talisman.

"As it turns out...the black god can be controlled, just like the Dark One. Not even Hades and Persephone were aware of it. Only one God knew of this fail safe," she said, as Hermes appeared.

"And in exchange for this information...I expect to be rewarded when you get what you want," he said.

"Of course, dear Hermes...you have earned whatever you desire. By giving me the Promethean flame and thus control of the Chernabog...you will have your own revenge," she said.

"Lord Cronus and Circe will also support our efforts to dethrone Persephone and Hades as well...when the time comes," Hermes added. She smirked.

"Excellent...it may take years to realize, but the end result will be well worth it," Ravenna stated, as she glared out over the ocean at Snow and Charming's castle.

"Enjoy your peace, my ex-step-daughter, because I will eventually destroy your happiness...if it's the last thing I do," she growled.

~*~

Snow gently put the baby down in his bassinet and welcomed her husband's arms around her, as they stared out over their new Kingdom. She was dressed in a lovely, flowing white nightgown and he was dressed only in sleep pants, leaving him shirtless, which she enjoyed very much.

"You know...I know there are still threats out there, but I feel so much more at ease now that Pan is gone. Like this is a new beginning," she mentioned. He kissed her hair.

"I know what you mean…" he agreed, as she turned and slipped her arms around his neck.

"And it's all thanks to you, my love," she gushed, as she kissed him tenderly.

"Well...I can't take all the credit, but I was willing to do whatever it took to make sure Pan couldn't harm our children or our grandson," he replied.

"And you did…" she said, as she gazed at him dreamily.

"You've always been my hero and I know you're their hero too," she said, as she kissed him again.

"I love you so much…" he rasped, as he kissed her forehead. She smiled and her eyes sparkled with love.

"I love you too…" she said, as she slid her hands down his bare torso and her eyes rested on the waistband of his pants. She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him. He stared at her and their lips crashed together, as the passion that had been building between them was unleashed. He slipped her nightgown down her body and stopped so he could drink her in for a moment, before he kissed her again.

"Oh Charming…" she rasped, as his hands on her and his lips kissing down her neck, before he momentarily pulled back.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Can we do this yet? I mean...you just had a baby," he reminded. She smiled.

"And my mother healed me," she reminded back. He smiled and she yelped in surprise, as he swept her into his arms and carried her to their bed where their ever prevalent passion was unleashed. They knew that there was still dangers out there, but they truly felt that peace was on the horizon. They didn't know how long it would last and they knew they would not allow it to make them complacent. They would relish the peaceful times if they were blessed enough to receive them, but they would always be ready to protect and defend the people they loved...

In the next chapter...three years have passed.

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #Swanfire #Rumbelle #AU #HadesxPersephone #Greek Mythology meets fairy tales #romance #adventure #family #dreaming out loud

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just-absolutely-super · 5 years

Text

Notice

Happy Valentine’s Day, here’s an Edwin fanfic I wrote!

Title: Notice

Pairing: Edwin

Rating: K+

Summary: During maintenance, Ed takes the time to study his mechanic. Realizations are made.

FF.net / AO3

Ed has the distinct feeling he will never like automail maintenance.

It's not like he hasn't tried. Those first few months of traveling he would look over the notes Winry wrote him and try to follow her instructions. And he was doing well…until he just stopped maintaining his automail.

Hey, he gets busy okay? Sometimes he just doesn't have time to fiddle with his stupid, metal appendages.

Besides, Winry does a better job anyway. With the way she's ranting and nagging at him and the shape of his arm, he bet she'd disprove of his attempts at maintaining the automail himself.

Which brings him back to the situation at hand, where he is currently lying down on the Rockbell's exam table while Winry fiddles, pokes, and prods his metal appendage.

"Honestly, you can be so unbelievable at times…" she mutters under her breath. She's been saying other stuff, but Ed tuned her out a long time ago. Once she starts fussing about the more intricate mechanics of automail, it all becomes gibberish to him.

Instead of listening to her scolding, he allows his eyes to wander around. He skims over the different tools, shrapnel, and parts that he's sure the Rockbells are using for future installments for other customers. In the corner are crutches and canes Granny would let clients use if they didn't have a temporary prosthetic leg to stand on like Ed does. Cobwebs decorate the corners of the ceiling (he should mention them to Winry when he gets the chance, she's always hated spiders infesting the workshop).

Honestly, there's so much junk down in the workshop, Ed doesn't know how Winry and Granny function down here. But he's no mechanic so maybe it's just something Ed doesn't understand…

"Are you even listening to me?" Winry snaps.

Ed turns and nods, "Yeah, yeah, I should be more careful. Your automail is precious and you worked hard on it so I should take better care of it. Yada, yada, yada, nag, nag, nag—OW! WINRY!"

She pulls back her wrench from his skull and huffs out a "Jerk," before going back to her work. Ed grumbles as she does so.

"Crazy gearhead." He rubs his poor skull and decides to keep his eyes from searching the room in case Winry wants to perform another lecture.

That just leaves him to let his eyes wander over his childhood friend instead…

Due to his position, his eyes first see her attire—particularly the tube top she decides to wear under her coveralls. Ed immediate averts his eyes, face flushed hot. He definitely should not be focusing his eyes on his childhood friend's chest. Not only is it downright weird, but if Winry caught him in the act she'd bludgeon him to death with more than just her wrench.

So he focuses on something more north of that: her hair.

He absentmindedly thinks he likes her hair. It's blonde, like his and Al's, but a brighter shade. Kind of reminds him of lemons. It's longer than his too, but that makes sense given she's been growing it out since she was seven. She's got it tied back in a ponytail and her trademark bandana, except for those two long strands in the front.

He doesn't really understand that. Why would she pull it back like that but keep those two strands? Seems like an easy way to get her hair stuck in machinery—something he's heard Granny stress to Winry when the girl first started working in the shop. And sometimes the dangling hairs tickle as she bends over him to get a better look at his automail. It's kinda annoying if he's being honest.

Next, his eyes catch on her earrings—the ones he an Al bought her roughly a year ago.

He still couldn't believe she actually poked holes in her ears to fit them all. What an idiot, who does that?

Though, he has to admit they do look nice on her…

He shakes his head; not quite sure where that thought had come from. He decides to quit staring at her ears and go for the next thing, which are her eyes.

They're a nice color of blue, he thinks to himself. The blue eye color is common—especially in Amestris—but he thinks Winry's is unique.

He remembers Uncle Urey and Auntie Sara having blue eyes—obviously where Winry inherited hers from. Though Urey's reminded Ed more of the sky before a storm, while Sara's reminded him of a fresh body of water.

Winry's eyes remind him the summer sky and he can't describe it but they have a calming effect on him. Sometimes he thinks he could stare at her eyes all day.

In fact he's staring at her eyes right now and that quite literally freaks Ed out. To the point he actually jumps and screams out a yelp.

"Oh, sorry!" Winry quickly apologizes. "Did I pinch a nerve?"

Ed tries to hold down his blush as he says, "N-No, I'm fine. You're good. Continue."

He knows Winry is giving him a look (with those clear summer sky eyes that Ed is very much aware of now) that probably indicates she thinks he's insane, but he can't care now. Thankfully she doesn't ask further questions and continues with her work.

Ed lets out a calming breath and decides to stay far, far away from Winry's eyes. They do nothing but make him think weird, stupid thoughts. So all that leaves for him to examine are her lips.

They're in a thin line at the moment as she concentrates on her work. They're a pale pink color. In the big cities and even at the military headquarters he's seen women have lips of all different shades of pink or red. Ed is aware they're wearing makeup—his mother would put on some kind of lip-gloss if she were to go out to the market—but he doesn't think Winry ever uses the stuff. She's still a young girl, though, so it's not like she has to wear it... But still, Ed can't help but think she looks fine without it.

More than fine, actually. He'd never admit it out loud, but Winry is a very pretty girl.

In fact, Edward would go as far to say that once she gets older and matures, she would be quite beautiful.

Winry suddenly pokes her tongue out and licks her dry lips. Ed subconsciously licks his own. He wonders what her lips taste like…?

…

WHAT.

THE.

HELL?!

WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?!

Absolutely mortified by his own thoughts, Edward averts his eyes from his mechanic and stares wide-eyed and flabbergasted at the ceiling. His face feels like the colonel burned it with his flame alchemy.

'Shit, SHIT! Okay, okay just calm down. Think of something else! Anything else!'

It's futile though as many thoughts suddenly swarm Edward's head.

How could this happen?! How did he not notice before how attractive she is? Maybe he's always known, but these…these feelings that are accompanying this—this reaction he's having! This isn't good, not good at all…

"Ed?"

He can't deal with hormones! Not now, not with Alphonse stuck in a suit of armor and being unable to even feel the rain on his skin! What right does Ed have to find his mechanic pretty when there's a chance if they don't find a Philosopher's Stone, Al might never get a chance at love at all!

"Hey, Ed, you in there?"

This is the worst thing to happen! No, he won't let it happen! He'll just ignore these intrusive thoughts and feelings. Yeah, bury them deep, deep, DEEP underground where they will hopefully stay there until he DIES!

Or until he gets Alphonse's body back, whichever comes first…

"Edward Elric!"

He jumps and comes back into reality. He turns his head to Winry, who is glaring at him in annoyance, but he can also see there's concern in them as well.

"Y-yeah?" he gulps, hoping his face isn't red from the onslaught of emotions running through his mind.

Winry sighs, "I've been trying to get your attention, but you were majorly spaced out. What were you thinking about?"

'You.'

"Just…alchemy stuff," he says instead, avoiding eye contact. "Thinking about where Al and I will go next after here…"

He could tell she didn't believe him by the way her eyes narrow in suspicion. After a few seconds of contemplation, she gives a defeated sight and rolls her eyes.

"Fine, keep your secrets. Anyways," she gives his automail arm a few pats, "your maintenance is done. Try to take better care of it, you hear me?"

He gives her an eye roll of his own and sits up from the exam table, "Yeah, yeah, I'll try my best this time around."

As he reaches for his shirt that hangs on a nearby chair, Winry addresses him again, "It's almost supper. Granny will be making stew tonight."

Ed hums in response as he clothes his torso. His eyes are still focused on his mechanic whose back is turned to him as she cleans up her station. The realizations he made in the last few minutes are still fresh in his mind.

He's noticed his childhood friend is attractive. And if his reaction to it is any indication, he might have actual real feelings for her.

But he can't do anything about it. Not now at least…

But maybe someday…when he can rest easily knowing his little brother isn't just a soul bound to a suit of armor, when the military isn't an issue, and Ed isn't mostly metal himself.

Someday…

"Edward?"

Once again, Winry's voice forces him back to the present, "Yes?"

Winry regards him with worry, "Are you sure you're okay?"

He can't let her know. Not yet, anyway. It's too soon…

So he does what he does best: burry his emotions deep. He puts on a fake smile and hopes she doesn't ask further questions.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind."

She nods sadly and he makes his getaway up the stairs.

Maybe one day he'll acknowledge his feelings.

But he won't allow today to be that day.

#edwin #edward elric #winry rockbell #fma #fanfiction #my writing #saved this from wip hell

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lambroseforlife · 6 years

Text

Sir Rob Information Master Post

This is a post long overdue that many of you wanted from my link compilation post a while back so here it is! A master post that compiles information from the interviews/informative pages that Sir Rob has done in the past about himself and his works. It took me much longer to make than I expected because I stumbled upon more links that revealed more information about him and I wanted to include those to be as thorough as possible. Plus, this was a lot of information to sift through, type up and organize.

Disclaimer: A few of these interviews are from as early as 4-7 years ago so some of the information may be outdated and not completely accurate. Regardless, hopefully our rather elusive and seemingly mysterious author seems LESS elusive and more familiar to you all after reading this post.

NOTE: This post will be updated everytime more information is revealed. If you find any interviews that are not included on here, PM them to me and I will add the information here.

NOTE: (#) = correlates to the number of the source listed on the Link Compilation post

Quick Facts:

Name: Robert Thier (Thier is pronounced as ‘tear’, like the one that runs down your face when you cry) (20)

Birthdate: August 13, 1988 (Age: 29 -when this post was made) (21)

Height: 6′2 (1.88m) (4)

Hair color: Blond (4, 15)

Location: Waldstetten (in between the Drei Kaiserberge), Baden-Württemberg, Southern Germany (20, 27)

Education: Gmünder Parler-Gymnasium, Open University in Milton Keynes, Northern England for History (BA) and English Literature (PhD) (14, 28, 30)

Hobbies: Writing, listening to music (especially classical) or audiobooks, taking long walks in the country, painting, composing music, doing historical research, playing videogames, etc (1, 7, 8, 11, 12)

Skills: Writing cliffhangers (and writing in general), having a wicked sense of humor, fast typing, artist, composer, computer programming, etc (7, 14, 15, 28, 30)

Favorite…

food: German dishes such as Maultaschen and Spätzle (12)

book: Jingo by Terry Pratchett (1)

authors: Terry Pratchett, Roald Dahl, Meg Cabot (2)

genre: humor, fantasy, historical fiction (4)

Least Favorite…

food: cucumber salad or cucumbers (he described it as the most disgusting thing he’s ever eaten) (13, 16)

genre: horror (for both writing and reading since he said it doesn’t manage to make him scared) (4)

Sir Rob on himself:

A picture of Sir Rob above, back in 2011, displaying one of his German novels, Dämonenturm (English translation: Demon Tower). (30)

Sir Rob said that he has a short beard that he forgets to shave when he’s busy writing and that he wears a helmet to protect his skull since he was born with a bone missing from his head. He described himself as a cheerful person personality-wise but when he is writing, he warns people to not approach him “with a ten foot pole” (basically, stay away!) He said he loves classical music from composers like Beethoven and more obscure ones such as Alkan and Scharwenka. When going for long walks in the countryside, he mentioned that he gets stared at by other people because of his helmet and because he wildly gestures while imagining scenes to write for his stories. He stated that his greatest strength is his brain that is crazily stuffed with much information and that his greatest weakness is his memory for everyday events which apparently “has more holes than a Swiss cheese.” (4)

Sir Rob on growing up:

Favorite books growing up: He said there’s too many to name and the names would probably not say much since they’re all in German. (8)

Books that have influenced him the most: His schoolbooks in elementary school since he learned how to read from them. (8)

Dream job when he was a kid: He changed his mind once a week. (8)

When he first became interested in history: “History lessons in school, actually. I must have been the only kid in school who wasn’t snoring during the lesson :-)” Also, he would listen to audio documentaries as a kid and became fascinated by how people made history come alive as a story. (13, 14)

Educational experience: Sir Rob said that for his primary education, he attended the Parler-Gymnasium in the town of Schwäbisch Gmünd until he was in middle school. However, due to various health problems (including the reason he has to wear a helmet), he was not allowed to attend school for secondary education. Thus, he chose to study history and literature at the Open University in Milton Keynes, Northern England, a public distance university that does not require a high school diploma. (30)

Sir Rob on how he got his nickname:

When he was writing one of his novels The Robber Knight, one of his readers mistook the title as ‘The Robert Knight’ and started addressing him as “Sir Rob.” The nickname grew in popularity and ever since then, Sir Rob graciously accepted the title that his fans are quite familiar with from reading his works. (20)

Sir Rob on writing:

The when: Sir Rob started writing when he was really young, around 10 or 11 years old, after reading a poorly written story and decided that he could do it better. He explained that he tried and the attempt didn’t go so well, but ever since then he has kept practicing and says that he’s now “a bit better at writing.” (4, 11, 12)

The why: He decided to start writing after he kept getting pelted with ideas in his head which wouldn’t go away until he put them down on paper. (3, 8)

The how: In preparation for writing, he has mountains of disorganized notes that he uses. Sir Rob said that he writes using both logic and intuition, using intuition first then checking for logic in his work. When writing every chapter, he goes with the flow but overall for the story, he usually has a general outline of the plot. However if he gets sudden inspiration, he’s also open to making changes. (3, 8, 13)

The what (inspires him to write): He said he doesn’t really need an inspiration since he’s always had a need to express himself be it through drawing, composing music or writing. Nowadays, he focuses mostly on writing but his drive has never gone away. (7)

The where: His ideas for his stories come to him out of nowhere and he has no idea why they keep popping up in his brain. (1)

Favorite place to write: In his writing dungeon aka the cellar, a cool place for him so his brain won’t overheat. (12)

What he loves the most about writing and what made him fall in love with it: Being able to play around with crazy ideas. (11)

Authors that have influenced Sir Rob’s writing style: He listed the top four as Terry Pratchett, Meg Cabot, Roald Dahl and Jane Austen. Even though it’s a varied collection of works, the one thing that they all have in common is humor, something he has tried to incorporate into his own writing. (24)

Easiest part of writing a book: Getting an idea for the story. (8)

Hardest part of writing a book: Having the stamina needed to finish it since he gets new ideas trying to distract him. (8)

Hardest part to write in a book: Lengthy descriptions since it is difficult for him to keep them from getting boring. (9)

The first story he’s ever written: He couldn’t remember the name since it was many years ago but did remember that it was inspired by Ralf Isau’s Neschan-Trilogy. (11)

What he learned from writing books: How to type faster. He said he taught himself how to type with 10 fingers in order to write his stories quicker. (8)

How much he feels he has improved on his writing: Immensely, especially after starting out on Wattpad due to the feedback he has received on his works. (11)

When asked what caused him to switch from writing books in German to English and whether he intends to ever write in German again: He said he switched languages since Wattpad was primarily an English-speaking platform back then. He always had a liking for English so he thought to himself “Why not try to write a book in English?” It worked out very well for him and currently, he has no plans to switch back to writing in German. (7)

How being a historian affects the way Sir Rob writes his stories: He said that it has made him a stickler for accuracy and that he does a lot of research for his stories even if they are contemporary ones. He wants to make sure that his characters behave realistically and he added that the research makes writing even more interesting because of learning new things. (24)

Whether it’s easier for him to write from a historical POV or a different time period: He said he finds it the easiest to write fantasy, science fiction or dystopian stories where he can make up everything and that he doesn’t feel a difference between historical and contemporary stories since they’re both from the real world, just set at different times. (13)

Writing from a female character’s POV: At first it was hard for him but after reading many stories from a female’s perspective, he said it became much easier for him. (3)

Why he tends to write from female characters POVs: “I like to write about underdog characters who have to prove themselves and struggle against difficult circumstances, and during most of history, with sexism rife everywhere, women were definitely in such a position. That’s why they hold such an attraction for me as main characters. Plus, playing with the differences between the male and female psyche is great fun! :)” (14)

Strong female character role models: Granny Weatherwax from Terry Pratchett’s Discworld book series, Keladry of Mindelan from Tamora Pierce’s Protector of the Small book series. (3)

On creating romance interests: He said he finds it easy to make them interesting but difficult to make them different from each other. (4)

When asked if he’s ever been afflicted with “Mary Sue Syndrome” (creating an idealized and seemingly perfect fictional character): He stated that he doesn’t think he’s ever had that problem. (4)

How he incorporates humor smoothly into his more serious works without disrupting the stories’ flow: He said he doesn’t do it consciously and that it most likely developed naturally from his reading habits since he’s only been able to stand books that have a pinch of humor in them and from that, it influenced his writing style. (7)

How he chooses names for his characters: Depends on the genre. When writing historical or contemporary stories where the names have to be real, he shared that he picks them out of name databases. For fantasy or science fiction stories, he lets his imagination run very, very, very wild. (11)

Whether he considers the meaning of the name when naming characters:He stated that he considers the way the name sounds more than the meaning. He says the name aloud while imagining the name of the character in his head and if it fits, he takes the name. (8)

When asked if he hides any secrets in his books that only a few people will find: “Not yet. But I plan to put some in the not-too-distant future. Happy searching! :)” (NOTE: This is from an interview that took place sometime during Silence is Golden was being written) (10)

When asked if he tries to be more original or deliver to readers what they want: He explained that he tries to start out with something people want in order to catch their attention then develops it into something new and unexpected. In his opinion, that’s the best of both worlds. (10)

If he could be the original author of any book, what it would be and why: Maybe the author of one or two of the worst books so he could write parodies about them without being sued. As to what those books are, he said he would keep their titles a secret. (10)

Most fun book to write so far: (NOTE: His answer changed over time) While writing Storm and Silence: Whatever book he is writing at the moment. While writing Silence is Golden: Warning! Fairy Tales since every chapter has had brand new ideas. (2, 9)

Funniest scenes that he considers himself to have written: The robbery scene in The Robber Knight, the bathroom scene from Storm and Silence and the torture scene in Chapter 21 of Silence is Golden. (7, 11)

Whether the funny scenes in his stories are made up or come from personal experience: “I make it up. I make it all up, absolutely. My life is not that funny ;)” (7)

Funniest character ever written: A lot to choose from for him, but ultimately it’s a tie between Fye, a little girl from The Robber Knight series and Coal Black, from WARNING! Fairy Tales. (7)

Favorite book genre and how it was developed: Comical fantasy closely followed by historical fiction. In the recent years, he’s concentrated on writing historical fiction and put the most effort into trying to make the genre more accessible to the general audience of readers. He said that since most people think of historical fiction as “stuffy, old-fashioned stories”, he wanted to make the genre more open to younger readers by making it more fun. He added that history gives an unlimited supply of interesting, crazy and funny ideas. (9, 25)

Favorite book he has written: He stated he has the disposition that whichever book he is currently writing is his favorite. (9)

Favorite character from his books: (NOTE: His answer changed over time in different interviews) While writing Storm and Silence: Lilly Linton from Storm and Silence –he said he has a thing for “underdogs with a bite”. While writing Silence is Golden: A tie between Fye from The Robber Knight and Coal Black from WARNING! Fairy Tales since he says he thinks bloodthirsty little girls are cool. (10, 11)

Which character he’s written resembles him the most (NOTE: okay, this one was a bit confusing for me to figure out): In one interview he said none of them since most of his main characters are females and he doesn’t imagine himself as a girl (contrary to what people may think). He also added that most of his characters are influenced by his sense of humor but other than that, they dont resemble him. However, on multiple occasions from other interviews, he said that he resembles his villains (NOTE: I’m guessing that this is a half-joking, half-serious answer?) (4, 8, 25)

On any rough patches experienced while writing: Said he can’t remember any rough patches. He added he has never suffered from writer’s block either and he hopes that it stays that way. (7, 8)

Who makes Sir Rob’s book covers and what programs are used: He makes them himself and says he uses all kinds of programs such as Bryce, paint.net, Gimp, Photoshop. (8)

Whether Sir Rob has an editor: Yes. (6)

Whether publishing his first book changed his process of writing: He said not really. (10)

Opinion on self-publishing: Has the advantage of more freedom but the disadvantages of less exposure and more work. (3)

eBooks vs printed books: Both have valid places for readers. (3)

Best accomplishment: His latest book, every time he finishes writing one. (3)

Most shocking achievement: Being able to turn his writing professional. Sir Rob didn’t think it was possible for him to do so before discovering Wattpad. (7)

Whether he has ideas for other books: “Ideas? Oh yes, I have those! In fact, I have way too many. I’ve got so many book ideas stored away in notebooks and folders spread in a creative chaos all over my desk that I could probably write for ten years non-stop without having to come up with a single new idea.” (13)

Advice to new writers: To start writing and to write about something that they love so that they wont give up. Also, write about what they love in a way that so people will find it interesting. He said that’s what he tried with history and it worked for him. (2, 7, 8)

Advice to writers that want to write storylines as interesting as the ones that Sir Rob writes: “Create characters that make you laugh, cry or faint just at the idea of locking them into a fictional room together. If you manage to do that, odds are you have a good recipe for a story.” (23)

Desired impact on readers: Sir Rob aims to write stories that will make people laugh and reread many times. He said he loves when people tell him that his stories have helped them through tough times as his favorite books have done the same for him. He also wants to encourage his readers to think for themselves and be strong through his stories. (3, 4)

Whether he reads his books reviews and how he deals with the good/bad ones: He said he does and that for the bad ones, if they make valid points he tries to implement the constructive criticism in future books and if they don’t, then he ignores them. (10)

When asked if it amazes him how dedicated and engaged his readers are with his words and if there’s anything he would like to say to them (Note: this is a list of quotes): “Yes, definitely. I regularly read the comments of my readers to get feedback on my stories, and it is spiffing how I get new information on improved translations, local history, and many other subjects that help me improve my books. Also, some of the comments are nearly more funny than my own writing. So thank you all for your wonderful support! :)” (7) “You’re awesome! Your feedback and support have helped me to improve enormously as a writer. Thank you! :)” (8) “Thank you so much for your unerring support! You’re awesome! :)” (11)

Sir Rob on Wattpad:

Why Wattpad: Sir Rob chose Wattpad as his writing platform after trying other ways to get his work out: self publishing and sending manuscripts to publishers only to be turned down. Then he found Wattpad after a Google search and chose it as his main writing platform to publish his stories. (2)

Favorite authors on Wattpad: ironkite, Maya_2011 (4, 9)

A name for readers/fans: He usually addresses them as “my dear Lords, Ladies and Gentleman.” (4)

What it’s like being on Wattpad, where the majority of readers are teenagers or kids: An interesting experience for him, especially trying to get people’s attention. (4)

When asked what he would like to say to give a speech for his fans and all of the Wattpad community: “ ‘That I’m really, really, really not good at giving speeches. So I’ll just continue writing and hope you enjoy it.’ **bows, and hurries off the podium blushing**” (4)

When asked about his plans after winning the Wattys: Continuing to write more books since it’s his favorite hobby and dream job. (5)

Proudest moment on Wattpad: Winning the People’s Choice Award and Story of the Year award for Storm and Silence all thanks to his fans. (2)

On his success on Wattpad: Definitely unexpected on his part and he still is dumbfounded sometimes as to how many people like his stories. Every time he sees how many readers and fans he has, he thinks “Oh my God, did that really happen?” He found it hard to get recognition as a writer outside of Wattpad but because of the platform, it made it possible for him. (7, 12)

On whether he considers himself a Wattpad celebrity: “No I wouldn’t really describe myself as a celebrity. After all, no one has really tried stalking me yet ;-)” (8)

The best things about Wattpad: His awesome fans, the support of his awesome fans, the awesome community that helps out when he needs it, the fact that Wattpad is free and anyone can read and write on there as much as they want to and “…well, just damn everything! :-)” (4)

The worst things about Wattpad: Spam from sites trying to sell medical equipment and the occasions when Wattpad goes offline. (4)

Any bumps on Wattpad: None really except for the one time when he went on Wattpad and saw he had suddenly lost all of his followers which caused him to panic. However, it turned out to be a small bug in the system and was fixed the next day. (7)

Advice to aspiring fans that are writing their own books on Wattpad and wish to be as successful in the future: “Don’t give up! Patience is definitely a virtue on Wattpad. It took me nearly two years to get a breakthrough, so keep hanging in there and don’t give up on your dreams!” (7)

Sir Rob on his works:

Storm and Silence Saga:

Inspiration for Storm and Silence: Sir Rob said it was hard for him to pinpoint exactly when he got the idea but believes it began sometime during his university studies of Imperialism and Suffragism. During one of his courses, he had to read about Victorian era adventure novels as well as the Suffragist and Chartist movement in the 19th century. The Chartists were a movement during the Victorian Era that fought for better conditions for factory workers and voting rights. During one of their demonstrations, over 300 people were killed by the police. Sir Rob thought, “God, if this is what happened to men who were fighting for their right to vote, how much worse must it have been for women?” During that time, there were no feminist organizations fighting for women’s rights and it was up to brave individuals. It was this type of scenario where a lone underdog fights for her freedom that inspired him to write Storm and Silence. He then added as an afterthought, “Thus I was convinced that school is good for something after all ;-)” (7, 13, 23)

Inspiration for Lillian Linton: In one of the interviews, he stated, “I don’t really know where she came from. She just- Wham!- appeared out of nothing and threatened to hit me with her parasol if I didn’t write a book about her.” In another interview, he elaborated that she developed as a mix of his favorite female fictional characters and a few historical leading feminists and suffragists. (13, 24)

Inspiration for Rikkard Ambrose: He was partly inspired by fictional characters such as Mr Darcy, Ebenezer Scrooge (from Charles Dickens) and Uncle Scrooge (from Carl Barks/ Don Rosa), partly by different historical figures such as Victorian entrepreneurs and adventurers from the British Empire, and partly by Sir Rob’s imagination. (10, 13, 23)

If both main characters were inspired from anyone Sir Rob knows personally: No, he said he has never taken inspiration or characters from people that he knows. Most of the people that he does know in real life are much more harmless and he added that he also doesn’t personally know anyone to be as rich and arrogant as Mr Ambrose is. (13, 19, 23)

Why he chose to write Lilly as a Victorian feminist and Mr Ambrose as someone that opposes it entirely: During the Victorian age, feminism wasn’t as widespread but it was when the suffragist movement began. The era was known to be a time of both social upheaval and social rigidity simultaneously. Sir Rob said he likes underdog characters, so writing about a girl rebelling during those restrictive circumstances appealed to him and thus, Lilly was created. As for Mr Ambrose, he’s supposed to represent the prevalent position during the 19th century. Sir Rob explained that he found many historical novels depict their characters with more modernized attitudes than the time period that they are in, so he wanted to avoid that in order to make a more believable story. In addition, having the two main characters have opposing attitudes allows more opportunities for sparks between them, something Sir Rob said that he enjoys to no end. A “hero” that’s a ruthless, chauvinistic, stingy Victorian industrialist-financier contrasted well enough to his strong, determined and quirky heroine. (17, 23, 24)

What drew Sir Rob to write about the period of the suffragist movement:It was the first historically accurate time period that a female feminist character could be depicted as fighting for her rights. Yes, there were singular female figures earlier such as Joan of Arc, but many famous women tended to be distinguished in fields associated with the stereotypical gender role. Sir Rob said that what fascinated him about the Victorian Era was that it was an era of great change, as women began to speak out against their injustices in bigger numbers for the first time. (24)

The amount of research done for Storm and Silence: A lot. An example includes the numbers and letters on the files that Lilly had to fetch at work refer to real historical events and technological inventions that took place during the Victorian era. (13)

How he was able to create an atmospheric and detailed London setting: Mostly through much long and boring research in older books and archives with occasionally checking the internet. (17)

Where Sir Rob learned Victorian English: From reading lots of Sherlock Holmes, Charles Dickens and Rudyard Kipling. (14)

Some of the challenges faced while writing Storm and Silence: Getting the two stubborn main leads to comply and grow closer to each other. He also said that doing a subject on English history while being Germany made it tough to give historically accurate descriptions of some of the areas in 19thcentury London, but ultimately, it was worth it. (24)

A reason for the first person narrative from Lilly in the Storm and Silence series: One of the most intriguing things about the story and Mr Ambrose is his stubborn silence. (23)

How the plot for Storm and Silence transpired mentally and why post it on Wattpad: The same way it transpired on paper and he chose Wattpad since he already posted other books there prior to Storm and Silence. (7)

If the storm was planned from the start in Storm and Silence? “Yes, indeed. That was part of the reason I chose the title.” (9)

When asked about his reaction and thoughts to Storm and Silencewinning Story of the Year back in 2015: “Yess! Yes, yes, yes, yes!!!!”, so definitely unexpected on his part. (7)

What Lilly did with the wedding ring from In the Eye of the Storm: Sir Rob said that he didn’t think about it too much at the time and then added that Mr Ambrose, being Mr Ambrose, probably demanded it back and pawned it. (19)

What was the process of development of the main characters for Silence is Golden: There wasn’t really one as he explained that he just gets an idea and starts writing. “You can call it randomness or literary genius, depending on how generous you feel ;)” (10)

What is Mr Ambrose’s age: Early to mid 20s. (14)

Whether Mr Ambrose would prefer savoury or sweet food to eat: Neither, he would rather have something cheap, nourishing and hard to chew. (14)

Whether Mr Ambrose’s personality was always the way that it currently is or if something caused him to turn out like that: “I don’t think anyone could be like this from birth – or his parents would probably strangle him before his second birthday. ;) No, there are very good reasons why Mr. Ambrose grew up to be the man he is…” (19)

When asked if Sir Rob himself would rather work for Mr Ambrose for a week or be shouted at by Patsy for two weeks: The latter since he could stuff his fingers in his ears. (13)

If Wattpad will receive more of Mr Ambrose’s POV chapters in the near future: Sir Rob said that he doesn’t plan to publish any more of his POVS on there at the moment. (10)

How many chapters are planned for the entire series: In regards to the complete number of chapters of all books in the series, he doesn’t know. (10)

The Robber Knight Saga:

A reason for the narrative in third person and switches between the two main characters, Reuben and Ayla, in The Robber Knight series: Unlike the main male protagonist from Storm and Silence, the most interesting aspect about Reuben is “the mischievous, evil ideas sprouting in his head.” (23)

Advice from fans: Sir Rob explained that he used fan feedback when writing some of the scenes in the story. An equine expert told him what horse hoof trails could tell and for one of the battle scenes, a Canadian reader advised him that the characters should dip the arrows in pork fat as it would make them burn better as fire arrows, something that the reader herself had experimented. (29)

Inspiration for The Robber Knight’s Love: Too many to count. They range from Sir Walter Scott’s novel Ivanhoe to historical non-fiction books to Goethe’s German play Götz von Berlichingen. (6)

Whether Sir Rob made the book cover for The Robber Knight’s Love:Yes. (6)

If he could be any character in The Robber Knight’s Love , who would he choose to be: One of the villains since he feels like “they always get to do the fun stuff. ;)” (6)

Why he chose to create a Historical Fiction book: Sir Rob said that he has always been interested in history. To him, it’s the ideal material for stories since he sees history as the combination of funny, interesting and crazy things that humans have done. (6)

If there was anything he could have changed about the The Robber Knight’s Love, what would it have been and why: He said he doesn’t want to change anything and if he did, he already would have changed it. (6)

Black Diaries:

What kind of book is Black Diaries: A mystery-romance-action-satire that deals with both martial and marital arts, assassinations, dark humor and steamy scenes. (18)

The inspiration behind it: Sir Rob wasn’t too sure of it himself. He said the original inspiration was Jane Austen’s “A Letter from a Young Lady” but in addition lists classical British comedy, hot romance novels and dark mysteries as other sources. (18)

Sir Rob on Miscellaneous Topics:

A picture above of Sir Rob posing with his frequently mentioned helmet. (29)

Whether he has to wear his helmet for the rest of his life: Yes, unless he has an operation. (14)

Any musical instruments he plays: The piano a bit and the guitar. (14)

If he ever plans to share his music or paintings: “I’m keeping them back for an occasion. Who knows, maybe I’ll one day provide the music to my own movie ;-)” (14)

If Sir Rob could have a movie deal for his works, who he would want in his cast: “Ghosts, mostly. I’m a huge fan of old movies, and most of my favorite actors are long dead ;) But if I had to choose a few living ones, I’d say Rowan Atkinson, John Cleese and David Suchet.” (25)

If he has seen his fans in real life: Not yet. (12)

When asked if he will ever do a signing event and if he ever plans to travel to see them: He said he hopes to but says his health problems prevent him from traveling far which makes it difficult to see fans who live far away from Germany. (10)

Where he would want to travel: Anywhere that has many medieval and antique ruins. (14)

When asked if he would prefer to live during the Medieval Times: No, he would feel lost since there were no typewriters or computers back then. (3)

When asked by multiple people if he was single and if they would marry him: He said he was and “as to the marriage proposal- I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I’m already hopelessly in love with various of my fictional characters ;)” (10, 19)

Sir Rob’s opinion on Feminism and the male perspective on it: “If by Feminism you mean women’s fight for gender equality, I’m 100% for it. Everyone should have the same chances, regardless of sex, ethnicity, or, as in my own particular case, disability. And I also think all men should be 100% behind gender equality: just imagine that you’re on a sinking ship—if there’s no gender equality, the women can get off first, and all the silly, gentlemanly males will drown ;-)” (23)

When asked if he believes in witchcraft and other supernatural creatures: He said definitely not. While he believes that they make for interesting stories, he identifies as a naturalist from a philosphical perspective. (NOTE: Naturalism is the belief that only natural forces/laws exist in the world and that supernatural and spiritual forces do not.) He said that he believes in only what can be proven and that everyone should think for themselves. He recommended looking at the writings of Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris or Christopher Hitchens for arguments against supernatural sources. (4)

The most pressing issue of his generation: The decreased influence of naturalism. (4)

Favorite under-appreciated novel: The Squire’s Tale by Gerald Morris which retells the Arthurian Saga in a humorous manner. (10)

The most complicated character he has seen: Lu-Tze from Terry Pratchett’s Thief of Time. (4)

If given the power to create a new species, how would they be like: A lot nicer than human beings, a lot more logical and without an appendix. (4)

If he could time travel: He would travel back in time to some primitive time period so he could conquer the world. (4)

If he could switch bodies with someone: “Then I would probably look a lot more handsome. ;-)” (4)

If he could eat or destroy anything: He would eat Beethoven’s 9th symphony since he’s always wondered what music would taste like. (4)

What he likes the most about his homeland, Germany: The food. (9)

Five characters he would switch bodies with: Marvin the Paranoid Android (from The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy), Sir Gawain (from the Arthurian legends), the Borg (from Star Trek), Batman and Lex Luthor (both from DC Comics). (4)

Yes/no to Hawaiian pizza/pineapple on pizza: Yes but only with tuna fish. (13)

If he could be anyone in the world for one day (past or present), who he would be: A billionaire on his deathbed so he could leave the money to his real self that he would revert back to the next day. (13)

If he would rather have the power to turn everything into pizza or have every song he listens to be the Macarena: The former as long as he could choose the type of pizza. (13)

If the world was ending and he could only save one animal species (excluding humans) which one he would save: Worms, since he has heard that they are very important for agriculture from informed sources. (13)

Video Interview Transcript (where Sir Rob answers questions from Twitter) (16):

Daniel E Dalgliesh: Am I going to die?

Sir Rob: “Well, you do not need to fear for your life quite yet, Your Lordship. As the main villain, you are a central figure to the story. And if you should perish in the end, it will be [waves hands] in a gloriously dramatic manner which will immortalize you forever in the annals of literature.”

Fan: Have you ever been in love?

Sir Rob: [grins] “You mean besides with my own writing? No seriously, there may have been a crush or two back in school but the last few years of my life, I’ve more or less spent in a hermit cell working to improve my literary skills. There hasn’t been really anybody to fall in love with.”

Fan: Have you ever gotten recognized in public by a fan? If so, what was it like?

Sir Rob: “Not yet I’m afraid. It’s not really surprising considering that most of my fans are native English speakers and I live in Germany, where native English speakers are rather scarce.”

Uncle Bufford: Will Edmund ever grow a pair and ask me for Ella’s hand in marriage rather than continue with their illicit meetings in the garden?

Sir Rob: [nods and clicks tongue] “Yes, I think one day he will, unless of course Lilly beats him to it. She can be quite forthright as we all know.”

Fan: What’s the craziest DM you’ve ever received from a fan?

Sir Rob: [sighs] “Hmm, I think the award for craziest fan message- or messages really, will have to go to the three dozen or so messages I received, not counting comments and notes on my message board which ask whether I was really a girl and my name was Roberta despite the beard [rubs beard and smiles] I wear on most of my profile pictures. Apparently, [gestures with hands] male writers are so rare these days that we have become a sort of supernatural species that we just don’t really believe in.”

Any message for your fans?

Sir Rob: “Thanks so much to everyone for tweeting their questions. I’ve really enjoyed this opportunity of getting in touch with you. You are the best fandom any writer could want. [waves] Bye!”

Sources:

ALL of the information in this post comes from the Compilation Links post I made a few months back. The direct link for that is provided at the bottom of this post, below this paragraph at the “Source: lambroseforlife” (right above the tags), just click/tap on it to open that post. I made this post with the purpose of it serving as a cohesive picture of how Sir Rob is like as a person since the information from these interviews was disorganized and scattered all over the place. Most of the content in this post is paraphrased for efficiency and there is a bunch of extra information from the links not included on here. Therefore, I HIGHLY recommend you check the Compilation Links post out and read the sources provided yourself. Plus, I personally believe it’s better to directly read what Sir Rob has said. Kudos to you if you made it all the way here to the end, I hope you enjoyed reading this post!

#storm and silence #sir rob #rob thier #knowledgeispoweristimeismoney #informativepost #took me almost 3 mo to complete this #still waiting for him to drop that lit mixtape one day #i also wanna know what videogames he plays #kinda confused why he wants stalkers #i guess i count as one #even tho he shared all this info publicly

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shadowdianne · 6 years

Note

Henry can’t take it anymore and tells his moms they’re obviously in love with each other.

Thanks for the prompt ;) I hope you like it!

“You kept saving the other while pretending youweren’t.”

The words made the two woman halt and stare atthe teen that was leaning on the doorframe, fingers dark with dots of inkRegina had the impulse to ask him to clean them up before catching herself,knowing the slowly looming over her boy that was eyeing her wasn’t the same boyshe had once called “Little Prince”. Looking at Emma briefly as Henry sighedand took a step inside the living room, Regina saw the way the younger womanswallowed, a faint look of panic glowing on the back of her eyes.

Her first impulse was to apologize knowing shehad raised her voice at Emma. Something, she admitted to herself just as Henryshot her a look that felt like the perfect combination of something she proudlythought as hers and Emma’s own expression, that had become the norm ever sinceEmma had called in the middle of the night telling her how she couldn’t keepwith the façade any longer.

She had taken off her ring a month after thatcall.

Now, glancing at her own fingers, Reginashuddered slightly as her magic threatened to erupt in a why that hadn’thappened ever since she had first started to learn the art. Raising her headwhen Henry cleared his throat, Regina briefly wondered why she felt chastisedfrom her own son.

“I’m…” She begun, voice losing its strength asEmma shook her head at her side, green eyes boring themselves on the teen’sskull.

“Henry.” The words held an edge that Reginafrowned at before the teen tilted his head and pointed upstairs, the light ofhis room casting a slight shimmer on the woodwork of the stairs.

“Every time you fight I need to record it. Didyou know that?”

The words were full of tiredness and not forthe first time Regina needed to quench her desire to envelope Henry in a hugand told him she would gladly take the title of Author for him. She had knownfor far too long what entailed to be holding or seeing others hold a title thatshouldn’t be weighted like they tended to be. The magic, the destiny or fatethat decided for them had been twisted far too many times and so Regina wincedslightly at the idea of making her son, their son, be a witness ofconversations that shouldn’t be happening in the first place.

Because, she thought while staring at Emma, atthe why her throat trembled as the woman swallowed again, at the lines aroundher eyes, at the way she hold herself -reminiscent of both the woman she wasjust after appearing on her front door and the one she forced herself tobecome- and at the way white and gold seemed to just come out of her, her magicjust pulsing through her, she thought on why it should matter to her why Emmakept on trying to push everyone away from her. On trying to seclude herself,not caring once or picking up Regina’s offers to help her with her magic, theshadows her new apartment seemed to hold every time someone mentioned thatother house, that marriage, that man. That life that wasn’t truly Emma’sanymore.

Why she, she thought as Henry sighed deeplyagain, needed to raise her voice and argue, why should she care.

“I’m sorry Henry.” She finally answered, smallgrimace on her face, enough to be a smile, a repent one. “We were just talkingand got slightly carried away.”

It was a poor attempt of placating somethingshe didn’t truly know what it was and considering how the boy shot her awarning look Regina realized that it hadn’t truly worked. Fingers itching, sheclosed her hands into fists as Emma stood, warning gaze on her face.

“I’ve been writing nonstop since mom divorced.”He kept on talking, his voice changing slightly, dropping before steadingitself again. Another call of how time was truly passing. “You knew that? Everytime I turn I keep on finding the quill in front of me.”

This time he didn’t even let Regina try to talkand so he kept talking, raising both of his arms in sheer frustration.

“Which is stupid because the only thing thatkeeps this going is you two. The magic! Everything! And everything should beeasier if you saw it!”

“Henry.” Regina could feel the tremble on hervoice, a warning that she suddenly understood where it had come from for Emma.A tiptoeing truth she had tried her hardest not to think about.

The teen tugged the hem of his t-shirt and rosehis shoulders, pointing at the two of them before shaking his head. Everythingabout him spoke of unspent energy and Regina pressed the tip of her tongueagainst her front teeth. Wondering if the magic she felt crackling behind hereyes was something Emma was also sensing.

The blonde, however, seemed to be more investedon the words Henry was saying that the power that still seem to come throughher.

“No.” Henry replied forcefully, seeming for amoment that same kid that had ventured inside the mines because he wasn’t beingheard. “You love her, you both love each other and you keep on pretending youdon’t because…”

“Henry, stop.”

Emma’s tone had an edge that made Regina expelwhatever air was left on her lungs after she had found herself speechless byHenry’s words. An edge, Regina found herself thinking, that spoke of the blonde’stime as a Dark One, of a moment where everything had felt like starting tocrumble, burn into ashes when Emma had walked into Granny’s with nothing butcoldness on her eyes.

“But it’s true.”

Regina wanted to believe it was. Wanted tobelieve that the unwavering trust on love Henry had was something she couldshare. She, however, knew better. She needed to know better. She had seen Emmamarrying Hook after all, hadn’t she? She had seen…

It was Emma’s trembling voice what woke her up fromher reverie and, for the first time, she realized that she hadn’t stood up thecouch the two of them had been seated at, the two of them glancing from it at theirson like two children being scolded.

“I think is time for me to go.”

They could leave it like this, Regina pondered;with Emma leaving and pretend Henry’s words hadn’t existed.

Or they could ask each other.

Running a hand through her hair, feeling theozone scent of her magic float quickly behind her fingers, she shook her head;a warning Henry’s eyes caught as they widened out in something that could beshock.

“What if it’s true?”

The question floated between the three of them;voice too brittle as it crawled up the walls, hovering between Emma and herselfas the blonde’s breath hitched.

“Regina?”

And Regina, shaking but nodding, repeated thequestion.

“What if it’s true?”

#swan queen #prompt #anon

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helveticabrown · 7 years

Text

Hair of the Chernabog - Swan Queen fic

Title: Hair of the Chernabog

Pairing: Emma Swan/Regina Mills

Rating: T

Words: 2,523

Summary: After a big night of fun, Emma's left with two mysteries. One: why is Regina so pissed at her? And two: how does Regina not have the hangover to end all hangovers?

Emma was awoken by the sound of Henry’s elephantine feet clomping around somewhere above her. In the last few months, he’d seriously shot up, and the shrimpy little kid she’d met a few years ago had been replaced by an awkward, gangly teenager who wasn’t quite at home with how he and his body fit into the world. The result had been a transformation from quiet and stealthy to loud, graceless and occasionally obtrusive. Like right now. He was still the best kid in the world, even if she did kind of want to strangle him so she could keep sleeping.

She cracked an eyelid and winced as the light hit her eyes, quickly closing them and burying her head in the crook of her elbow. Her head was throbbing, and her tongue felt like she’d been licking carpet, and not in a good way. She dimly registered that she was not in her own bed; instead, she was curled up on the sofa in Regina’s living room.

The loud footsteps receded for a moment and she tried to pretend that she wasn’t awake for a little bit longer, in the hopes that her hangover would get bored and move on. That plan was ruined by the resident teenage elephant loudly walking into the room. Emma felt the vibration of each footfall as an ice-pick driving into her skull.

“Mom thought you might need some aspirin.”

Emma groaned. “What I need is to be allowed to die in peace.”

“What you need is to stop lying on my sofa like a decaying corpse.”

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She hadn’t noticed Regina coming into the room and for a moment she thought about ignoring her. Eventually, though, she succumbed to the temptation to open an eye, only to find Regina standing, hands on hips, glaring at her.

“Not my fault your cider is deadly,” Emma mumbled. She would have liked to have thought up a slightly more assured comeback, but considering she probably still had more alcohol than blood in her veins at this point, that would have to do.

Regina wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a sack of apples left in the sun too long. Go home and have a shower.”

Emma squinted at Regina uncomprehendingly. Her memories of the previous evening were, admittedly, rather fuzzy at this point. However, from what little she could put together, she was almost certain that Regina had drunk at least as much as she had. And yet, Regina looked far too put together for someone who probably would have drunk the entire crew of the Jolly Roger under the table last night.

“How are you even alive right now?” It seemed particularly unfair that Regina did not seem to be suffering even just a little bit.

“Perhaps, unlike certain people, I actually know my limits,” Regina said, her tone harsh in a way Emma couldn’t remember hearing directed towards her in a long time.

Emma looked beseechingly at Henry in the hopes that she might find at least a little sympathy from someone. He shrugged, as if to say she was on her own, but handed her the aspirin anyway.

She sighed and dragged herself off the sofa, grumbling the whole way.

Emma slid into a booth at Granny’s, one as far away from the windows and any form of light, natural or otherwise, as she could find.

“I’ll have a bacon sandwich with extra bacon and no bread.”

The waitress – Joan according to her name tag – gave her a vapid, slightly puzzled smile. “But that’s not on the menu?”

Emma sighed. She missed Ruby; she would never have questioned the order of a hung-over sheriff. Granny’s had seriously gone downhill since Ruby had left Storybrooke to follow her passion for hydroponics.

Emma peered balefully at Joan over the top of her sunglasses. “Listen. I don’t normally believe in abusing my position, but today…” Emma flashed her badge. “Today I will make an exception. I need bacon and I don’t care if you have to kill one of the three little pigs to get it.”

Joan was still standing beside her table with a vacant look on her face. “But it’s not on the…”

Emma snatched the notepad and pencil from Joan’s hands before she could finish. She didn’t have the patience for this today. She scribbled down her order and thrust the notepad back into Joan’s hands.

“Just give this to Granny. She’ll understand.”

Her order came out quickly; Granny obviously recognised the risk a hungover Sheriff posed to her customers and wait-staff. Stomach safely lined with bacon, Emma decided to get on with the very important job of puzzling out why Regina suddenly seemed angry at her.

It made no sense. As far as she could tell, she and Regina had been getting on like a house on fire last night. She’d even managed to convince Regina to sing karaoke at The Rabbit Hole. That much she definitely knew; Mulan – the traitor – had uploaded the footage on YouTube and shared it on Facebook.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Regina was angry about Emma’s involvement in her public embarrassment. Not that it had been particularly embarrassing; Regina’s singing voice, even after the better part of a bottle of wine was exactly as good as Emma had expected it to be.

Emma shook her head and instantly regretted it. No, the timeline didn’t fit. Mulan’s post had only gone up half an hour ago and Regina had been shirty with her the moment she’d woken up. Emma had long ago learned to rely on gut instinct and in that moment her gut was telling her two things. One, perhaps that much bacon had, in fact, been a bad idea and two, there was a mystery here, a mystery far deeper and more profound than the karaoke machine at The Rabbit Hole only having Kylie Minogue songs.

The day was full of mysteries and there were at least two she was determined to get to the bottom of: why Regina was angry and how she’d managed to beat a hangover that Emma was sadly very much still in the throes of.

She decided that it was time to put her detective skills to full use. She’d start by canvassing the witnesses to the previous evening, then interviewing friends and family. Finally, she’d turn her attention to the lady in question; she’d learned from bitter experience that Regina was an incredibly slippery customer and that it was best not to confront her until she had a little more evidence in hand.

It was three o’clock and she was still feeling beyond awful. All of her investigations had come to nothing. Even Mulan hadn’t been able to offer anything more, beyond teasing her about hangover and then how desperately smitten she’d seemed with Regina all night. That certainly wasn’t news to Emma; her feelings for Regina had long since overshot friendly and were well on their way to being hopelessly in love. But maybe that was it. Maybe that was what Regina had picked up on.

There was a time when she would have just headed home and gone to sleep rather than facing things and right now, every inch of her aching, hungover body was screaming at her to do just that. But she and Regina had let too many misunderstandings, too many resentments, simmer and burn between them over the years and now, when it had finally felt like they were in a good place, Emma couldn’t stand to leave this one to reduce them to ruins.

“What do you want, Emma?” The faint hope that she’d been imagining Regina’s anger evaporated when Regina answered the door. She stood there, arms folded, and eyes hard in a way Emma couldn’t remember seeing in a long time.

“I was kind of hoping you could teach me whatever spell you used to get rid of your hangover.” Emma trailed after Regina into the house, wincing as a spear of pain lanced its way through her eye. “I mean, I’m up for just about anything at this point. I’d even consider selling my soul to Rumplestiltskin if that was what it took.”

Regina didn’t say anything, just continued to regard her unsympathetically.

“Also, I was kind of wondering why you seem so pissed at me.”

Regina’s eyebrows shot up at that. “You don’t remember?”

She shook her head.

“Fine.”

Regina waved her hand, shoving a vial of something murky and unappealing at her a moment later. “Drink it,” she said. She pressed her lips together, a picture of irritation, and then added, “And you can keep your soul.”

Emma eyed it suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Hair of the Chernabog. Best hangover cure in all of the Enchanted Forest,” Regina said, her voice still brisk.

Emma hoped that the name was some kind of play on words, although judging by the look of it, the ingredients were probably at least as awful as she imagined. “I guess I did say I’d try anything.”

She pulled a face as the potion hit her tongue. It was oily and faintly rancid-tasting and she was beginning to believe that the cure was far, far worse than the disease. But Regina, standing in front of her looking impeccable, albeit impeccably irritated, was the proof that this vile liquid was actually as miraculous as it was promised to be. She swallowed, trying not to gag, difficult though it was with her already roiling stomach.

She managed to hold it down and within moments she felt clarity return, the insistent pounding of her head fading into a dull ache and then nothing at all. And with that clarity came memories of the previous evening, flooding back in vivid colour.

She replayed the events of the previous evening in her mind, searching for a clue, for anything that might help her understand why Regina was suddenly so cold and distant.

Regina stood watching her, arms folded. “Do you remember?”

She wracked her brains, desperate for an answer, but she kept coming up blank. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

“You can’t apologise for something you don’t even remember,” Regina said, her voice flat.

“What did I do?”

Regina stared at her for long moments, leaving her stewing, before relenting. “It’s not what you did, it’s what you said.”

Emma frowned, still unable to remember. But Regina hadn’t finished. “I told you how grateful I was for your friendship. And you said–”

“–I don’t want to be your friend.” She closed her eyes. And there it was, a fragment of memory, foggy and indistinct, dangling above the precipice of drunken slumber.

She opened her eyes again and Regina’s lips were a hard, angry line, stark and resolute. But her eyes were telling a different story, wounded and uncertain, the muscles at the corners of them twitching, a tiny clue to the turmoil within.

She understood, and now that she did she was unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up.

“I don’t see what’s funny,” Regina snapped. “Never, even when we were enemies, did I think you could be this cruel. I guess I was wrong.”

The raw hurt in Regina’s voice was sobering enough to help her get her laughter under control. There hadn’t been any genuine humour in it; instead, it had been born of a kind of horrified disbelief that a misunderstanding that small could snowball into something so devastating.

“What I said was true, but not quite in the way you understood it to mean.”

Regina stared at her uncomprehendingly and Emma realised that even stone-cold sober she was kind of lousy at this. “What I’m trying to say is that was only half the story. There was more I wanted to say, but apparently I can’t hold my liquor quite as well as I thought I could.”

“That point is hardly in dispute,” Regina said. “Though I still don’t see where the rest of this clumsy excuse for an explanation is going.”

Emma sighed. It seemed like she was making a huge mess of this and she was reminded of the reason she usually didn’t attempt serious confessions without the aid of enough alcohol to sink a battleship. “I’m trying.”

“You are. Very trying indeed.”

Emma snorted. “You can do better than that.”

“I know,” Regina said, her voice soft, and the thought of Regina without a razor-sharp comeback primed on her lips was, to Emma, the saddest thing of all, because that had always been the one comforting constant in their relationship.

She took a deep breath, determined to get everything out this time. She wished she’d rehearsed what she wanted to say, but she’d never been good at making speeches or even writing them.

“There are things you make me feel. Not friendly feelings, more like soft, gooey, ice-cream left in the sun kind of feelings. And there are things I want with you, things that…”

As comprehension began to dawn on Regina’s face, Emma faltered. She hadn’t really thought through what might happen if Regina didn’t have a place in her life for a messy, melty ice-cream puddle like herself. Even still, she steeled herself to continue.

“…there are things that I’ve always hoped, but never really believed were possible. And maybe they’re not. But I guess what I’m saying is I like you.” And then, in a whisper, “Maybe more than like you.”

As Emma finally ran out of steam, there was an ‘oh’ from Regina, barely more than a startled exhalation.

There was a moment when all of Emma’s worst fears were realised, a moment when Regina stood, unspeaking, almost expressionless, as if frozen in time. Emma smiled tightly, and unable to look at Regina any longer, she said, “I’m sorry, Regina. I won’t bother you anymore,” and turned to leave.

“Wait.” Regina’s command rang out clear as a bell and then there was a hand at her shoulder, compelling her to turn around.

She opened her mouth, about to ask what Regina wanted, only to find herself silenced by the press of Regina’s fingers against her lips.

She stood, her heart beating like a dubstep track, as Regina watched her with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No more words,” Regina whispered–a little unnecessarily Emma thought given she was almost certainly incapable of speech at this point–before trailing her fingers down to cup Emma’s jaw. And then there was the press of Regina’s lips, gentle and expressive, against her own and the closest approximation to speech Emma could manage was to moan into Regina’s mouth. And really, Emma thought, words were definitely over-rated when there was this, when there was the sweetness of Regina’s lips and the silk of her hair and the softness of her body pressed against her own.

She lost herself in a place where words, thoughts even, held no power until finally, they both came up for air. Her heart still pounding and her breath coming quick, she felt herself melt at the sight of Regina, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed.

“You were saying?” Regina breathed. And Emma shook her head, leaned in and kissed her again.

#swan queen #swan queen fic #swan queen fanfic #in the spirit of finishing things here's something that's been moldering away in my drafts for two years half-written #there was probably a very good reason for that #but anyway it's done and out in the world now

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redheadedwhat · 7 years

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Visitation - Final Chapter

This is the fourth and final chapter of ‘Visitation’! Thank you to everyone who has read/liked/reblogged/etc! This is the first thing I have written in awhile and it was always meant to be a short story, but there may be a few related one-shots down the line if people seem interested. Much thanks to @kijilinn and @ladylorelitany once again! Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Title: Visitation

Pairing: Negan x OFC

Rating: SWF (Cursing, Negan Language, Mentions of death, sexual language)

Tallulah visited Negan a handful of times over the next few weeks until her pregnancy had progressed to the point where she could no longer safely get down the stairs. She spent most of her visits catching up and giving him some much needed human contact, but they all ended the same way: with her badgering him to admit that the baby was his and him shutting down completely. Her last visit was different, though. Maybe it was her maternal instincts kicking in or the fact that she had pretty much made peace with the thought of dying, but she didn’t want to fight with him anymore. That visit was short and sweet, just consisting of her taking his hand and thanking him for all the good things that he had done for her and forgiving him for everything else. For once Negan was speechless. He just stared at her as she reached through the bars to give him a kiss before leaving without another word. The next few weeks she was mostly bed bound, preparing to bring her child into the world before she left it. She was ready for death.

Except she didn’t die. She went through an agonizing labor, wondering the whole time when her body would finally give out so they could just cut the kid out of her already, but she successfully gave birth the old fashioned way, just like great granny Molly McDermott, but without the sweet relief of a pint of Guinness to help her along.

She had not prepared for this. Now she had to deal with Negan all over again. Once she had healed up enough to go visit him she made her way down to his basement cell.

“Tallulah, what the fuck?” Negan shot up off of his cot the moment he saw her. “You disappeared for fucking weeks! You acted all fucking weird the last time I saw you and then nothing!”

“Well, I was kinda busy gestating and birthing human life,” Tallulah replied dryly. She could see he had been worried, but he had a shitty way of showing it. “Besides, I had written a letter to be delivered to you, but that was when I thought I was going to die. I didn’t have one written for if I lived.”

Negan looked at her as if she was speaking a different language. Perhaps some alien language that made your brain explode inside your skull. He was angry and confused, yet somewhat relieved all at the same time.

“You thought you were going to fucking die?” he finally shouted. “You thought having this kid would fucking kill you and you fucking did it anyway?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” she asked, somewhat exasperated. “Besides, I believe the children are our future. We need to teach them well and let them lead the way.”

Negan pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down or at least will away his migraine. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“Yup,” she nodded. “I decided long ago not to walk in anyone’s shadow. If I fail, if I succeed at least i’ll live as I believe.”

“Wait a minute,” Negan looked at her skeptically, noting her little smirk and the devious look in her eyes. “That’s a fucking Whitney Houston song!”

Tallulah broke down laughing. “Your face!” she pointed at him and continued to laugh as he grumbled and shook his head at her.

“I show you a little concern and you make a fucking joke?” Negan finally let himself smile a bit. “I guess that means everything is fucking fine.”

“The baby and I are both fine, Negan.” she smiled at him, wiping her eyes after they teared up from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry you were concerned, I would have come to see you sooner, but you know how difficult it can be for me to get down the stairs. You couldn’t have been imprisoned on the ground floor?”

“I’ll try harder next time,” he deadpanned. Now that he knew both she and the child were alive and well he couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t have the baby with her. As much as he tried to ignore it he found himself asking, “So where’s the kid?”

“I left him with a babysitter,” Tallulah answered simply. “There’s no way I would trust myself to carry him on the stairs at this stage.”

“Him?” Negan perked up a bit. “It’s a boy?”

“Yes. He’s a boy,” she smiled at that. He wasn’t claiming the child as his own, but at least he didn’t seem totally disinterested. “Would you like to meet him? He’s just upstairs.”

Feeling a bit choked up all of the sudden Negan simply nodded and watched almost nervously as Tallulah called up the stairs for someone to come down. The feeling quickly faded as he saw Rick and Michonne come down, both armed, but with their guns holstered, and the former carrying an infant.

“You let Rick hold the fucking kid, Tallulah? Really?” Negan grumbled. He knew Rick wouldn’t hurt a baby out of spite, but he didn’t like how trusting Tallulah was of the man.

“He has baby experience,” she shrugged, taking the little bundle from Rick’s arms. “Besides, you didn’t think they were going to let me get away with a totally unsupervised visit, did you?”

She had a point there. He had been wondering where the guards were. After the first few visits they had scaled it back a bit, but Negan was never allowed to see Tallulah alone.

“Here he is,” Tallulah announced softly as she brought the child closer to the bars, pulling his little blue blanket away from his face to give Negan a better look. “He kinda looks like you,” she said hopefully. Honestly, the baby just kind of looked like a baby. The little bit of hair he did have was dark, but otherwise he just looked little and squishy like most other newborns. Tallulah had almost been hoping that the kid would have been the spitting image of Negan so he couldn’t argue his paternity. When she noticed Negan still hadn’t spoken she decided to launch into her arguments once again.

“I know he doesn’t look exactly like you, but-“

“He’s mine,” Negan interrupted with a quiet voice. “Of course he’s fucking mine. I always fucking knew that.”

Tallulah wasn’t sure if she was relieved that he was finally admitting it or pissed off that he argued with her that whole time for no reason. Either way, she wasn’t going to get into it right now. She didn’t want to get into a shouting match while holding a newborn and Negan looked like he was about to pass out.

“Can he hold him?” She asked Rick, motioning to the cell with her head. “You can lock me in there with him, I really need to sit soon and it’s just about feeding time anyway.”

Rick was not happy with this request, but he wasn’t surprised. She’d asked him once or twice since the baby was born, but he’d never given her a definitive answer. He’d grown to like Tallulah and trusted that she wasn’t going to do anything to help Negan escape, but he still didn’t trust Negan. He didn’t think the man would take his own wife and baby hostage to try to leverage his freedom, but he still didn’t like the idea.

Rick heaved a put-upon sigh, but finally gave her a short nod. Michonne moved into position, pointing her gun at Negan while Rick moved to unlock the cell door. “If you mess this up you’re never getting any visitation ever again,” he warned the man. “And Michonne will shoot you.”

Negan stepped back, keeping his hands up as Tallulah entered the cell carrying their child. When she was finally locked in with him he let himself relax. “Take a fucking load off,” he said, motioning to his cot.

Tallulah gladly sat down, Negan joining her a moment later, staring at the baby all the while.

“You ever hold a baby before?” She asked, noticing that he looked practically sick at the thought of being in charge of the tiny child, even for a moment.

“Not fucking really,” he answered, “I pretty much avoided babies at all costs. I don’t want to be responsible for fucking breaking them. They’re too fragile and shit.”

Tallulah was not surprised, but she wasn’t going to let him off that easy. She was going to see to it that Negan held that baby by the end of the day. If it spits up or poops on him, well that’s a bonus. She’d just have to wait until after she fed him when Negan was too distracted by her boobs to argue much.

“So he got a fucking name?” Negan asked after a few moments of silence. “Or have you just been calling him ‘the baby’?”

“His name is Caleb Anthony,” Tallulah replied, lightly stroking his chubby cheek with her finger. “I haven’t decided about his last name, but it’s not like I need to fill out paperwork for him or anything.”

“I don’t get a fucking say?” Negan asked, “What about Negan Jr.?”

“We could have discussed it before he was born, but you spent that time denying that you were the father so I went ahead and thought of a name on my own,” she told him pointedly. “Maybe we can give him your last name.”

Before they could continue the conversation Caleb began to fuss. He didn’t really care about his parents naming negations, he just wanted to eat. Tallulah pulled down the front of her top and got the baby latched pretty easily as Negan watched curiously.

“See? Of course that’s my fucking kid. Goes right for the boobs, just like his old fucking man,” he laughed.

Tallulah rolled her eyes at him. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to breastfeed without Negan making some sort of comment.

“I hope you’re keeping your eyes off her fucking tits over there, Rick,” Negan called out, not bothering to look up from her chest. “Is it weird that this is giving me an erection?”

“Yes.” Tallulah answered him immediately. “Yes, it is.”

“Nah,” Negan laughed, still not looking up from her chest. “It seems like a natural fucking response. I helped make that kid with my fucking warrior sperm,” he reasoned. “Now my busty woman is feeding my kid. It’s like proof of my fucking virility or some shit. It’s primal.”

“Please never mention your ‘warrior sperm’ ever again,” Tallulah was trying not to laugh, but couldn’t help but smile a bit. It was nice to see him acting like the old Negan, even if only for a short while.

“Thank you for setting up these visits, Lulu,” he was a bit quieter now, not wanting anyone else to hear him being almost gentle. “And for convincing Rick to go along with it. You think you could try setting up some fucking conjugal visits?” There it was. As quickly as the glimpse of kindness came it was gone and Negan was back to talking about his dick.

“Absolutely fucking not,” she answered. “I’m never having sex again. My vagina has closed up shop. Do you see the size of this baby?” she motioned to the child still suckling at her breast. “You keep your ‘warrior sperm’ far away from me.”

“We’ll see,” Negan chuckled, never one to back down from a challenge especially when sex was on the line. “We’ll fucking see.”

-------

I am so happy that people have been enjoying this story! If you’d like more from Negan and Tallulah let me know! I have a few ideas for other things (both in this universe and stuff that’s unrelated) but nothing fully formed right now. Anyone that wants to help me brainstorm, send me a message!

As always please feel free to send questions/comments/critiques and thanks for the millionth time for sticking around!

Special thanks to @blueco16 and @mwesterfeld1985 for being the first two people to ask to be tagged on something I’ve written, ever! I appreciate it so much.

@negans-network

#negan x ofc #negan x reader #negan's thirst squad #negan's network #negan fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead negan #twd negan #the walking dead

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quowreadspact · 7 years

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Gathered Pages: 2

Oh, an interlude in the middle of an arc. Alrighty then.

Famulus: The Familiar

Chapter One: Preface and Introduction

Yay some concrete information on the rituals !

The word familiar comes from the Latin famulus, meaning servant. It came to refer to household and family, and over time, transitioning to the French familier, it came to mean ‘intimate, on a family footing’. In all of these meanings, description, ritual and word are linked. The familiar becomes family, the bond is intimate, and there is an implication of servitude.

Having Barb be a familiar sounds awful in light of this. I don’t think its a good idea and I’m glad Blake agrees, even if it would make for an interesting story.

Case Study for Chapter Two: Annabelle and Tromos, Steed of Enyo

Ok, this case study is supposed to explain what a familiar is and its limitations.

We begin in a penthouse...

Annabelle has made no such concessions, and everything in the space matches, with a motif of wrought iron, crisp linen and very solid oak fixtures for the furniture. Chains are visible, hanging from the bedframe, and there are various instruments of war mounted on racks and walls, both typical spears and swords, shields, and the less typical meteor hammer, Eastern weapons and a wicked mancatcher that sits just above the chair she has chosen to sit in for our interview. Viewed under the Sight, every one of these objects vibrate with power.

She sounds like a lovely girl. Peaceful I’m sure.

As she sits in her chair, Tromos lies under her feet, his head just under one of Annabelle’s bare feet, which moves periodically to stroke him. The familiar wears the guise of a great black battle-scarred tibetan mastiff, with three different spiked collars ringing its neck.

Another familiar that is a dog? Why does granny not like dog familiars? Hopefully that gets explained in this chapter. Unless she just has a dog and the familiar shows up later. Wait no Tromos is in the name of this chapter so yeah he is the familiar.

Tromos, Steed of Enyo (T): You may call me Tromos, we can do without the title to hurry this along. I was the steed of a goddess of war and ruin. The gods I served, fought beside, and fought against have grown weaker in recent years. While my gods withered and grew small, their worshipers few, I turned to creating dreams of utter terror, and I have survived the centuries.

I guess Enyo is a warrior goddess. Fits with Annabelle’s aesthetic. Very well matched. The image of a talking dog is funny thought.

I turned Tromos against the one who set him on me, then I turned him on the co-conspirators, and I directed him to a handful of the people who tried to take advantage of my diminished faculties. We came to like each other.

T: She has something of the poise of the gods I used to serve. She was ruthless in dealing with her enemies, which is good. When she showed that she could become Lord by her own merit, I accepted the deal.

Yup, they go together well. Blake is going to have to get very creative to get a familiar like that. Hm.

When I need strength against something I can’t chain down or impale with a spear, I borrow power from my familiar. He herds the spirits so I might bind them into objects. Through my connection to him, everything I do and touch conveys a trace of fear to others.

S: What does Tromos get out of the bargain?

T: Were I to ask you if you could take four years without having to eat, if you did not feel like it? Four years where you did not suffer any if you did not sleep? That is what this is to me. I am anchored in this world. So long as I am bound to her, I will not degrade, I will not hunger. Any power I take can make me stronger, and so long as she does not fritter it away, which she will not, I will be in a better place than I was before.

Seems like a good deal for both of them. But they were both already in much better situations than Blake. He doesn’t have much of a way to prove stability. Some Other has to be impressed with his tenacity though.

A: It opened up a whole world for me. Dream, fear, a bit of the divine. I’ve taken a more old-school path, Valkyrie-wise, with a little bit of worship in there.

S: No regrets, then?

A: None worth speaking of. I mean, I probably won’t ever marry. Or have friends. Anyone who interacts with me too much has bad dreams. But I’m at peace with that.

Oh that is a bit of a drawback. But she doesn’t care. Even if hse does lose the benefits a partner brings. And that is all we get about familiars. Damn.

Now on to implements. They used a stone as a base.

The Declarative. What does the stone convey to others, in terms of what it is and what it says about you? In every case, every obvious aspect about the object itself will say something about the wielder. If the stone is rough, it may convey the wielder is rough. An ornate object might convey the wielder has a certain prestige. When you read the second chapter and imagined the type of individual who might wield a stone as an implement, did you think of a cave man or thug? Someone earthy? Someone crude? Someone stupid? Certainly possible, if the stone is so heavy it cannot be readily carried, and the practitioner still chose it. This is the implement’s declarative aspect. From the manner that the object must be transported or carried, displayed or hidden, we can determine certain things about a practitioner.

The Authoritative. What does the stone convey to others when it is used? In chapter three, we discussed the effect of the implement on the practice. This is a related element, but our concern is on others, and others will find the stone and any workings utilizing the stone to be blunt, direct, unrefined, and hard to ignore once it comes to bear.

Socio-cultural. What groups use this implement? Why? What is their focus? From here, we draw statistics from communities around the world where implements are used. We don’t have hard data on who might have used the stone as an implement or where, as it isn’t in common or uncommon use.

Theres a lot to consider here. If Blake chooses a pocketknife, it might make convey too much crudeness or roughness. But on the other hand, if he makes it ornate he could negate that. I still think it fits pretty well though. Now theres a list of different common implements.

Authoritative – The Wand is short and readily hidden. It is adroit, easily flourished, stylish and not without some small versatility. It lends itself to creativity and movement, but is phallic and direct in demeanor, implying conviction and a more aggressive nature when brandished in seriousness.

Socio-Cultural – The Wand is predominantly used in London, with a surveyed sixty-three percent of practitioners carrying wands there. In the practitioner schools in the United Kingdom, wands are provided to the students by default, for their convenience, easy portability, and a prevailing sentiment that the wand is the strongest implement of choice for practitioner dealings against hostile practitioners.

Wow, a wand being “phallic” is something to consider? Interesting. Really, it is. I’m worried whatever implement Blake picks will have some symbolism he misses. Like the phallicness. Also, ha wands in London. Cause Harry Potter.

Declarative. Few implements are so obvious as the sword in their declarative purpose. Phallic in every respect, direct, obvious, impossible to hide, it is a declaration of war while drawn and implies a readiness for battle while kept on one’s person.

(That was about swords) ah, so phallicness is a common metric. And related to masculinity. Unrelated to it being masculine, but a sword seems like a pretty shitty implement. Not very versatile.

Nearly nine percent of male practitioners under the age of eighteen pick the sword, only to find it serves less of a purpose as they reach adulthood. Some have suggested that this is linked to the same trend where youths are introduced to the practice and largely abandon it later in life.

Now that is interesting. I guess because Blake really is stuck with being a practitioner I didn’t consider that others could abandon it. It is such a difficult fucked up world. I don’t see how many would want it.

The chalice is explicitly female, in shape (note the profile of the chalice itself), in the link to water and wine, and the passive, receptive nature of the piece. The chalice is not the province of women alone any more than the sword belongs to men alone, but a man wielding a chalice might be viewed in a light very similar to a woman holding a sword, especially by the more traditional.

And here is a female implement. I could see Rose with this, if only because she is forced to be more passive. If she wasn’t in a mirror though, I suspect she would be active like Blake. Maybe not as much so, but more.

Take time to consider how the other fifteen iconic implements might be viewed and exercised in a declarative, authoritative or socio-cultural light: Tome, Ring, Chakram, Plate, Staff, Coin, Emblem, Chain, Skull, Knife, Standard, Lens, Mask, Lantern, Trumpet, and Coffer.

So maybe he should go with a traditional implement? Of those, a knife is here. just not a pocket knife. A lantern would also make sense, Blake reveals stuff. Or is trying to. I think the lantern would fit Rose too. Though a tome or a lens would fit Rose better imo... or a chain.

She has blood, family and the woman as her personal totems, a drinking vessel crafted of her brother’s freely given skull as her implement, and no familiar.

She bought the building her apartment is in, made her claim, fought for the property, and won it. After weeks of effort and days of challenges, she has a place of power.

For so many practitioners, the question is simple: ‘now what’?

Now on to demesnes. Haven’t heard personal totems mentioned. I suppose Blake would share blood and family. Not in the same way though. I hope to hear more about personal totems.

Fionna is more or less at ease, thanks in large part to the time she took to herself. She focuses on the details. She sees how the very air in her demesne cooperates. It tastes cleaner, it does not bar her movement, but buoys her. The ground accommodates her footfalls. She tries to manipulate the environment, by combinations of touch, word, and will, and finds it easy. The aesthetics are the easiest part of it to change, and she takes her time altering her surroundings.

Fionna makes wall and floor into flesh, the place of power becoming a womb of sorts. All things in her place of power are moist, and the ticking of a clock becomes the dull, distant thud of a heart. Veins on every surface throb in time with the sound.

That is disgusting. But I mean, other than turning it into a womb a demesnes sounds amazing. A wonderful place to recuperate.

The area is very easy to influence, and this can prove problematic, if one has other power sources in play. The biggest and most obvious issue is when the familiar enters the picture. As an extension of the practitioner, they have a claim to some of the place of power. If the practitioner and familiar are in accord, the issue is a minor one. If they are not, it can be a source of friction that compromises the demesne. In any event, the familiar’s nature, background, mentality and power will affect the demesne.

In other cases, the practitioner may be drawing personal power from another source. To use a metaphor, this may add a dollop of color to the paintbrush, leaving streaks on the demesne as the practitioner paints. If they draw power from death and decay, they might find these elements alter the surroundings.

A typical solution is to focus this power. If the familiar cannot be reconciled with, the practitioner can focus this other power into an area. The familiar can be given a dedicated space, so that their power does not bleed throughout the remainder of the demesne. These hypothetical powers of death and decay could be focused into a single ornament or object decorating the area.

VERY important information. I REALLY hope Blake or Rose reads this. No idea who their familiar will be, but I doubt it’ll be easy to deal with.

I want a demesne :(

When Fionna leaves her domain, she finds more time than expected has passed.

This is a typical thing. Intentionally or instinctively, a practitioner often manipulates time within their realm. When they leave, however, time hurries to catch up with them. The end result is often not intuitive, and can lead to some confusion. Adapting to this eventuality is a part of learning to use one’s place of power.

Whilst outside of her place of power, Fionna finds the connection to the location remains strong, wherever she is. She can deposit power there and rest assured it is untouched. She can also use the location to transmute power, turning personal power into karmic assets, draw from one kind of power to better influence a connection.

That is scary. Time distortion is bad for Blake. He can’t miss council meetings for example, and if he has stuff to do around that time he can’t afford to lose track of time. Again, really hope he has read this. Back to familiars now...

Vic is clearly nervous. He fidgets, and in the minute before the interview begins, downs a beer, gets up to get another, and nearly downs the second. His clothes have stains that indicate they haven’t been washed in some time, and his beard growth and the state of his hair suggest the same. His hygiene and condition excepted, the only remarkable trait about him is his height.

Lacey, by contrast, is motionless, staring at the interviewer. She wears only a sleeveless t-shirt and underwear as she sits beside Vic on the couch. Her hand never leaves her weapon. An engraved gun.

The house is very similar to the couple that own it. As they haven’t taken much care of themselves, they’ve let the house languor. The front yard is overgrown, mess litters every surface inside, and bottles are predominant in that clutter. There are children’s toys, but no sound or sign of a child in the house.

Interviewer U. Roike (R): You’re sure this is alright? You don’t look very at ease.

Lacey (L): We’re never at ease. You have that?

R: Yes. I’ll give it to you when the interview is done.

L: Fine. Then get us started.

R: You’re the practitioner. Vic is the Familiar?

Ha, Lacey is my name. Don’t worry, I’m much less on edge than this Lacey is.

Anyways this seems like a very strange familiar. Very very human. Is he really short or really tall? Dwarf or giant or?

V: Am I? I was.

R: You were human when you met Lacey.

V: Yes.

R: Alright. You were telling me how you two met.

V: She was there. At a party. I said hi, she said hi back. The longest we’ve been apart since is when we slept. Phone calls, meetings before school, meeting between classes, meeting after school. Parties. She was there for the games.

R: You were successful?

V: Yes. I mean, not like I was going to be going to the top school in the country on a sports scholarship, but there was a damn good chance a college was going to invite me to play for them, you know?

R: You use the past tense.

V: It’s an old story, isn’t it? Stupid kid starts using performance enhancers, only it goes bad. Side effects take over. Except they weren’t drugs. Not steroids or any of that. Lacey had another way. Warpaint, a few words. Some of the other guys on the team got into it.

L: My mom always called it riding.

R: Possession.

L: Controlled possession. A spirit of something fierce, to make him move a little faster, make him a little stronger, give him that edge he needs to spook the other guys for a second when he looks them in the eye. Surface deep stuff. Stuff that can be explained away by placebo effect and some cosmetic stuff for the team.

R: What happened? It went wrong?

V: We’re not sure what happened. The stars aligned wrong, or it was a full moon, or whatever it was got a foothold somewhere along the way. I put on the war paint and I wasn’t me anymore. I came to, and I was violently ill, soaked in blood. Someone else’s. Adam Chelt. Kid we’d picked on in school. While I was out of it, I’d gone after him. Ate my fill of him, threw up, ate more, woke up while throwing up. I slip in and out, now. The wind blows the wrong way, and I’m not me. Even when the wind isn’t blowing, though, I’m not the me I used to be. I breathe different. React different when stressed. I don’t get sick, barely eat.

L: It’s a nature spirit. A predatory one. The hawk, the wolf, the fox, the wild cat, all bundled up into one thing. I baited it, I leashed it, and I contained it. There was no way it should have become as strong as it was. No way the boundary between Vic and the spirit should have broken down like it did. But they’re one and the same, now.

Oh. That is what he is. That is so fucked up.. Poor Vic. Dumb Lacey. I guess being a familiar helped him.

L: The thing with familiars, it’s like, you’ve got a cord between you and the familiar. A tether, or a channel with stuff flowing both ways. And you’ve locked it in. You always know where the familiar is, and they know where you are. It’s a hard thing to break. Your familiar won’t die like they otherwise might, but they might borrow a chunk from you to keep themselves going, if they want. Part of any connection between things is proximity. Not many situations where a master is going to get separated from their familiar. So we did the bond, sealed it, whole shebang. That bond’s a leash, tying him to me and vice versa. But if you keep a grip on things, that leash isn’t going to stretch any. The distance between us is set. No way he was going off to prison if I didn’t. We’re one unit, right?

V: One unit.

[note: at this point, Victor leaves to get another beer.]

L: Once we had the bond, the system couldn’t get hooks into him. It tried. People pointed fingers at me, but since we weren’t going to be going to the same prison, that didn’t get much traction. There was a pregnancy scare. I imagine the world was contriving to put me in some shitty hick town just outside the prison, regular visits. I dunno. Once I fixed that, things settled down. Probation. We moved in together. So it worked, I guess.

Helped him a lot. A familiar bond is much more concrete and strong than I thought.

L: Yeah, no, I get it. Thing is, it isn’t just us two. You’ve got the spirit in there. You want to know who wears the pants? It’s the spirit. It’s the spirit that makes Vic restless, so he can’t be in a car or a city without feeling like he’s in the wrong place. Spirit that’s made it so he can’t touch metal without it hurting him somehow. Knives go out of their way to cut him, scuffed patches on metal catch at his skin to make him bleed, cars won’t start if he’s inside. So we’re here. Middle of fuck all nowhere. Fifteen minute drive to the nearest shitty convenience store where I can buy cigarettes, beer, and bread.

R: In terms of power, do you draw power from him?

L: Nah. No, I tried. Tried to siphon as much as I could, every way I thought I could. See if I couldn’t weaken the spirit so he could beat it.

V: Like radiation, shrinking a tumor before surgery.

L: He was always clever like that. Yeah. Like radiation. Except radiation’s bad for you, right? We pushed, the spirit pushed back, and the spirit won in the end. That’s when we had to move out of the city. It got a foothold in there, and he’s restless all the time, now. So I back him up. He takes power from me. Because he is losing his Self, in a way. Capital S. Takes a chunk out of me, but I try to back him up, so he stays Vic and doesn’t become something halfway between Vic and the spirit.

V: Or the spirit eats me. Because that’s what predators do. They tear chunks out of their prey and they eat them.

That is so messed up. But I’m sure way worse stuff happens in this world. So much worse. I enjoyed this chapter very much. Glad to see more info about the rituals. I still think Blake will do implement first. So I’m excited to see what he chooses, and if Rose will choose anything.

#text #gathered pages 2

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shipping-goggles · 7 years

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“Some Sort of Neighborly” (5/11) | Once Upon a Time

Title: Some Sort of Neighborly - (5/11) Fandom: Once Upon a Time Rating: M Genre: Romance/Humor Words: 5,691/19,336 Completed: 01/16/2017 Summary: Modern!AU Captain Swan. They're not neighbors, not exactly, and they're not friends either. It's pretty hard to find reasons to bump into the woman who lives next door to your best friend, especially after your only interaction with her has been waking up on her couch one Saturday morning. Sequel to Rude Awakening.

A massive thank you to everyone who expressed their excitement at this story coming back! It means so much more to me than I can say <3

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Some Sort of Neighborly

Chapter 5

Killian’s eyes snap into focus just in time for him to dodge the flick aimed squarely between his brows.

“Oh good, you’re still conscious,” Robin says, his voice bored, unconcerned with how Killian’s evasive maneuver nearly causes him to stumble on the front steps of the apartment building.

“What the buggering fuck was that for?”

“I knew you weren’t listening to me. I said we need to stop by Emma’s to pick up Roland.”

A distinct lurch passes through his abdomen, and he forces his face to stay passive. “Why does that bear need for an announcement? Is this a full-scale extraction or can you just pop in and grab him without being a prick?”

“Jesus, okay. Sorry.” Robin narrows his eyes, digging through his pockets for the building key card, but Killian can’t bring himself to feel guilty. “Just thought you’d jump at a legitimate excuse to see her.”

“I haven’t the slightest why,” Killian says flatly, but instead of the rush of adrenaline he’s grown accustomed to when it comes to discussing his friend’s neighbor, trepidation settles in his bones like a solid weight.

“Clearly,” Robin mutters, and Killian doesn’t even have it in him to argue further because, if the last two weeks have been any indication, it really is the truth.

And all it takes is the memory of an innocuous little engagement ring for him to accept that he really is the only one to blame.

He’d spent the first few days after that disastrous afternoon faulting Robin and his awful timing – for knocking on Emma’s door right as he’d turned to her and her completely ashen face, the image of the ring on her finger plastered across his vision and pounding his heartbeat into his skull. He’d tried to say something then, he really had, but the window of opportunity had blinked away as soon as she’d hurried to the door and retrieved his guitar from his very disgruntled-looking friend.

He’d barely gotten out three words on his way out – Swan, I’m sorry— – before she’d shut him down.

It’s fine, Killian, she’d said, but in the few seconds she’d been turned around, she’d schooled her expression into a perfect blend of embarrassment and sheepishness he’d instantly known was a sham. It’s not like it was a secret or anything. He remembers still trying, though, stumbling through half-formed apologies that she’d deflected in a heartbeat, but the thing that sticks with him most is the way her smile had looked as she’d finally closed the door – tense, guarded, and more closed-off than the day he’d first blinked up at her from her couch.

It had taken until the Wednesday afterwards when he’d cancelled on dinner at Robin’s, citing an excuse as flimsy as Emma’s sick defense, that he’d finally admitted to himself that he was avoiding her after that horrifying faux pas.

Bloody hell. If it’d been anything but an engagement ring, he would have bounced back like a champion – the sight of Emma lip-locked with another man might have bothered him, but at least it wouldn’t have been muddled with the image of her holding up the ring but with chestnut hair instead of blonde.

He thinks of Milah in the first time in weeks. And, to his surprise, it doesn’t come with an overwhelming urge to break out the drink and drown himself in bitterness.

But, he soon realizes: that’s the problem.

“So do you want to wait out here?” Robin’s voice startles him into taking in the door to apartment 3B, suddenly right in front of him, and Killian realizes he’s zoned out through two flights of stairs. “Or are you going to be a big boy and come inside to say hello?”

“I say hello to Emma all the time,” he says, aware that he sounds like a petulant child to the point that even Robin knows it, throwing him a look as he raps his knuckles against the wood.

“Not to Emma. Her friend is one of the teachers at Roland’s school, and she volunteered to take him home so I could help you fix your heater.”

This is a mildly interesting revelation, but he’s more surprised by the sandy-haired man who opens the door instead of one of the few people he actually knows in Emma’s life enough to expect. He has no right, no fucking right to be jealous, but, perhaps in part due to the circumstances of the last time he’d seen her, the bubble of curiosity turns into suspicion before he can help it.

“One of you must be Robin,” the man says with an easy smile. “Mary Margaret said we’d be expecting you.”

“Guilty as charged.” Robin clasps his hand in a firm handshake before the stranger turns to Killian.

“Killian,” he says, trying his best not to sound sullen as he takes the proffered handshake.

“I’m David, Mary Margaret’s fiancé, Emma’s friend,” David explains as he gestures them inside, which of course makes Killian feel immensely ridiculous. “Hope you don’t mind that your son had a few more sitters than expected.”

It’s then that Killian notices just how many people are crammed into Emma’s tiny sitting room. Roland he spots right away, feet swinging over the edge of the couch on the far wall, crayon in hand while happily chattering away to the short-haired brunette sitting next to him. Ruby catches his eye in the loveseat, grins over the arm of the blonde man wrapped around her shoulders, and he’s suddenly wary of exactly how much she knows about the last time he’d visited this apartment.

It’s Emma he’s most worried about, though – and, true to that, she looks almost started to see him over the kitchen counter, halfway through the motion of settling a mug into the dish rack.

Her long hair swept off of her shoulders, lashes quivering as she blinks, taking him in, she’s certainly a sight for sore, wanting eyes. But then, in a flash, she rearranges her expression, her parted lips lending themselves to a tentative smile, and it stings that he knows that isn’t how her smiles – hard-earned, sometimes reluctant, but brilliant all the same – should feel.

They shouldn’t feel as empty as his chest does from seeing this one now.

“Daddy!” Roland’s delighted cry jolts him back into the room, though Killian doesn’t miss the way Emma seems to jerk to attention as well, even as he turns to watch a mousey-haired blur slam into Robin’s legs.

“Hey, buddy.” His friend crouches down, equipped, as always, with that same dopey grin he’d seemingly acquired the second he entered fatherhood. “Hope you were good today for Miss Blanchard.” Roland squeals in response to the tickle attack hello, his favorite way of greeting.

“Oh, please,” says a bright voice, and Killian blinks up at the petite brunette sidling across the room, weaving a careful path between the furniture; it takes him a second to realize that’s due to the tiny baby bump she has tucked beneath her palms. “I find it hard to believe Roland’s ever misbehaved in his life.” When she reaches them at the foyer, she shares a smile with Robin, then ambushes him with a warm hand outstretched. “Hi! I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Er.” Killian has to resist the urge to scratch behind his ear – that silly nervous tic he’s never quite been able to purge – even as he covers her fingers with his own. These are possibly some of the worst circumstances in which he might be fortunate enough to meet so many of Emma’s friends (read: while he’s caught off-guard and under the scrutiny of every single one of them, not to mention his oldest), and, without his permission, his gaze flits back to the kitchen before it regains focus. “Right,” he says hesitantly. “I—”

“But my ice cream, Daddy!”

Back on the ground, Roland seems to be having trouble using his inside voice (which is a term Killian isn’t proud to say he’s become far too familiar with over the years), despite Robin’s best efforts. “What ice cream?”

“Oh!” The woman he assumes, if only by common sense, is Mary Margaret tugs her hand away as she recoils, grimacing. “I’m so sorry, Robin; I should have checked if it was okay with you.” She appears to glance at her fiancé hovering nearby for support before she speaks again, sounding exceptionally guilty. “We weren’t sure when you were going to get here, and I didn’t want Roland to get hungry, so…”

“If I leave, it’ll melt!” Roland tugs his father by the wrist, back towards the couch and his crayons. Robin shakes his head at his son, but his smile is kind and reassuring.

“Please, don’t worry about it,” he tells Mary Margaret, then to Roland: “Come now, Roland. Let’s not be rude when Miss Blanchard’s already been so accommodating.”

Mary Margaret shakes her head with an earnestness that Killian suspects might make her some kind of Disney princess. “It’s no trouble at all,” she insists. “You’re welcome to stay and finish your ice cream, if you’d like.”

“Why don’t you just stay for dinner?” Ruby’s voice interrupts from the couch, and his head snaps up in response almost as quickly, nearly giving him whiplash.

To say he knows Ruby would be a vast overstatement, as he’s pretty sure recognizing her from Granny’s doesn’t count, but, somehow, the red smirk stretching her mouth wide (and reminding him distinctly of the Cheshire cat) doesn’t seem too out-of-place, albeit worrisome all the same. Neither does Emma’s reaction, to be honest, which resembles something akin to consternation – certainly reasonable, given the eagerness of her friends to so freely loan out her apartment, but he suspects that’s not the only reason when their gazes meet yet again.

“No, no,” Robin says, trying valiantly to restrain his son’s excited agreement. “We shouldn’t intrude.” Killian clears his throat, intending to add his own protest to that, but he doesn’t get very far.

“It isn’t a big deal,” Ruby presses. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots another glare from the kitchen. “We were just about to call in an order for pick-up, actually.”

“Really, we’d love you have you,” Mary Margaret agrees. “You too, Killian,” she adds, nodding at him with a smile.

In return, he can only blink haplessly at her, then over her shoulder to where Emma stands, then down at his friend. Robin spares him a half-shrug, and there isn’t a doubt in Killian’s mind that he thinks he’s doing him a favor when he says, “I guess there’s no reason we can’t.”

And, well, so it goes.

Dinner at Emma’s: that’s a thought he’d have probably enjoyed a bit more had he not just spent the last two weeks avoiding her.

At least, barring the obvious, they settle in with a lot less awkwardness than he feels. Roland resumes his place on the couch, ice cream in hand despite warnings of a ruined appetite, and after Killian formally meets the rest of the crowded room – Mary Margaret, of course, along with Ruby, smug as ever, and her boyfriend Victor – he’s relieved to say that they’re comprised of enough people who enjoy arguing with each other so much that his discomfort nearly fades into background noise the moment they decide to place their order and the room descends into chaos.

(Nearly, needless to say, being the key word here, once the topic turns to desserts and whether or not Granny’s apple pie bakes are worth the extra wait.

“We don’t need apple pie,” insists Mary Margaret, in what Killian assumes is either a pregnancy-related drive for healthy eating habits, or lingering guilt for giving Roland ice cream before dinner, until she speaks again. “I hear Robin makes a mean chocolate chip cookie.”

“What?” Robin asks, like a deer caught in headlights, before Killian grasps her meaning.

“The bake sale,” he murmurs.

“I had a few of the ones you gave Emma,” Mary Margaret explains, to a lovely scowl from the woman in question. “Now I wish I’d stopped by to buy the lot.”

“Oh.” Robin seems vaguely pleased, as though the idiot hadn’t had a thousand parents tell him the same exact thing. “I had a lot of help, though. Emma lent her afternoon to help. As did Killian.”

Ruby sits up in her shared seat with Victor. “Oh? And when exactly was this?”

“It was just a few cookies,” Emma mutters – the first thing he’s heard her say all day, and he isn’t sure if that’s the reason something in his chest jerks, or if it’s because he’s suddenly remembering the burn of a freshly-baked snickerdoodle in his hand, and the even hotter burn of her slight hand wrapped around his wrist as she brought it to her mouth.

“All afternoon?” David says skeptically. Killian keeps his mouth firmly zipped shut, but he does watch Emma throw a withering look over at her friend, her hands clasping together in her lap like she’s trying to restrain herself from going over and killing him.

“Seems like an awfully long time to traumatize this poor guy with your bickering,” Ruby adds, cocking her head towards a blissfully unaware Roland on the opposite couch.

“Bickering?”

“She means flirting,” Victor says in a deadpan.

“They’re talking about you, mate,” Killian says quickly, and gives Robin a nudge with his shoulder, despite the fact that he’s positive they really aren’t. “I’d forgotten how much worse you and Regina are when you hate each other.”

Robin reddens, spluttering. “What the hell are you on about?”

“Oh, right. You seem to be mending those bridges pretty thoroughly, aren’t you?”

“There’s no— there’s nothing going on between me and Regina.” A blatant lie, but Killian isn’t sure how much of the truth he wants to know, to be honest.

“You shouldn’t doubt the bond a good cookie-baking adventure can form,” Mary Margaret tells Robin seriously, her eyes twinkling with sugary wisdom.

“Ugh, we don’t need this story again,” Ruby groans. “Between your love story and this ice cream, I’m going to get a cavity.”

It’s likely he’ll get hell for all of this later, but for now, Killian only casts a furtive glance over to where Emma sits – and he can’t suppress the swell of delight that ripples through him at the fact that she seems to be watching him, too, a hint of an appreciative smile playing at the edge of her pink mouth. But then she seems to catch herself, and just like her eyes on his face, it’s gone in a flash.)

When it comes time to pick up their order, however, he stems the flow of squabbling before it can even begin. Although he doesn’t think it’s gotten quite cold enough for anyone to be complaining about a walk around the corner and back, he hadn’t needed to step foot in Emma’s apartment for more than a minute to know that even a tiny reprieve of fresh air could do him some good.

He’s in for a long night, to be sure, and there’s no doubt he needs to get his woes tampered down away from it all while he has the chance.

(If he also needs some time to gather all of his strength to will his eyes from pointedly drifting, well, no one needs to know that either.)

What he doesn’t expect is for David to offer to accompany him.

It’s a nice enough gesture, given the sheer volume of food in their order (Ruby had insisted everything would be on the house, courtesy of blatant nepotism), but the frown he spots on Emma’s face has his caution prickling before they even leave the building. Though David had seemed pretty friendly, and Killian thinks he’d have to be to be engaged to someone as nice as Mary Margaret, sure enough, he appears to sober up the moment they set foot out on the street.

Killian isn’t sure whether the silence is meant to be gruff or companionable.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, playing with a loose piece of lint as they set a brisk pace down the sidewalk towards Granny’s. Best to at least attempt grasping onto the latter. “Thanks for inviting us to stay for dinner.”

“Of course.”

Killian glances over out of the corner of his eye, though the other man doesn’t even seem to notice. He frowns, trying again. “I suppose I should be offering my belated congratulations to you and Mary Margaret.”

David’s brows furrow. “Sorry?”

“You’re, er, engaged, right?”

“Oh.” His head gives a little shake, as if to clear it. “Right. Thanks.”

“Do you… have a date set for the wedding yet?”

“Sometime next spring,” David says, then turns to him with a strange expression. “She’ll probably invite you, by the way.”

It takes him a split-second longer than it should for him to realize he’s not talking about Emma. “Mary Margaret?” He snorts, shaking his head. “She barely knows me. It’s quite all right.”

“Not a prerequisite,” David tells him with a shrug. “She’d probably invite half the city if she knew their names.”

Their names. His heart skittering before he can even begin to process why, Killian’s mind flickers back to the apartment, when she’d offered her hand in an introduction that had been prematurely aborted. He knew there was a reason his name had sounded so strange on her tongue. “I… that might make venue-hunting a tad difficult.”

David chuckles. “You’re telling me. It’s already a disaster.”

It’s the kind of opening he’d wanted, but he doesn’t take it. He swears Mary Margaret had called him Killian, and he doubts she’d heard his mumbled greeting to David from the doorway – but if she’d already known his name, doesn’t that mean she’d had to have heard it somewhere before?

Or, more specifically, from someone before?

“Hey,” David says suddenly. “Can I ask you something a little weird?”

The question alone would have been enough of an ominous start, so the unreadable look that still clouds his face is just the icing on the cake. Killian clears his throat. “I’m afraid even my remarkable prowess at wedding planning can’t help your fiancée’s affinity for strangers, mate,” he starts to say, but he barely gets two words out before David rushes on, as if adamant to get it all out before he hears an outright refusal.

“Do you have feelings for Emma?”

“God damn, what is taking them so long?” Ruby sighs, her feet dangling over the top of the sofa as she flips through the television channels upside-down. Steadfastly ignoring the look of adoration Victor is sending in his girlfriend’s direction, Emma glances at the clock and is inclined to agree. It’s never taken her more than five minutes to get to Granny’s – in the winter, when she’s cold and craving chicken noodle soup like nobody’s business, she sometimes makes it there and back in the same amount of time – but it’s been nearly twenty minutes since Killian left with David (the apple bake motion had been vetoed, so no chance of a delay on that front), and she tries not to think about how that thought makes her nervous for a whole different slew of reasons.

It just crosses her mind that maybe she should have gone with Killian instead – not for anything but to avoid being cooped up with a pair a lovebirds, a father trying to calm his fussy kid, and a hungry pregnant woman, of course, because what other reason might there be? – when her door bursts open, heralding the most welcoming sight her grumbling belly has ever seen. And not in the metaphorical way, either.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Mary Margaret exclaims, rising to assist her husband with the towering stack of paper bags in his arms. It’s mostly knee-jerk instinct that forces Emma after her, born of an aversion to being unhelpful in her own apartment, so she doesn’t quite realize what she’s doing until she’s already at the doorway.

That, of course, means she has almost no time at all to steel herself.

Killian’s cheeks are tinged pink, his fingers cold when they brush against hers, relinquishing half of his own load of delicious-smelling food. It has to be the scent of grease that makes her stomach knot in on itself before she can even take a step back.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, but takes him a moment longer than it should to meet her gaze, a steady smile on his face.

She tries to smile back. The corners of her mouth feel stiff. “Hold-up at Granny’s?” she asks quietly, ignoring the way the room is bursting to life behind her. She swears, she’s never had this many people over at once before, and it’s weird, and different, but not in a bad way – especially when she’s trying to have a private conversation (though the thought of singling out Killian while her friends bustle around them makes her insides flip with apprehension).

“Something like that,” he agrees. Her internal alarm registers a faint ping, but then Ruby’s wrapping an arm around her shoulders and dragging her to the kitchen, singing something about parmesan truffle fries, and the thought flies right out of her mind.

Nothing’s wrong, she tells herself. It’s not an unfamiliar thought to accompany the circumstances, but it’s an uneasy lie all the same. Nothing’s wrong.

Because, really, what is there for her to complain about? There had once been a time when the idea of being surrounded by friends and food – and in an apartment all her own, no less – would have been completely foreign to her, and if she’s struggling to assign that label to the man who had somehow guessed all of that without even trying, the man she hasn’t been able to put out of her thoughts since… that last time, well, that’s on her.

She’d been completely genuine with him: the truth has been out there for longer than she’d care to admit, and she’s had more than enough time to deal with it, often vocally, often with equally riled-up agreement.

So why does she feel like it’s something she needs to hide?

(Maybe she’s the one who’s hiding, honestly – as if the highest walls in the world could stop her from thinking about it, could stop her heart from wrenching in her chest no matter how stupid all of this is in the first place.)

(She’s reached for that empty spot on her left ring finger more times than she can count over the past few days, and it doesn’t help that every time she grasps at air, Killian’s stricken, though no less undeniably contrite, face flashes like fire through her mind.)

(Could anyone blame her if she admitted she didn’t want to see it again?)

Everyone’s gathered in her living room, despite her perfectly functional dining room table and the breakfast bar David had painstakingly installed last year – but it’s all the better that they’re turned away from where she escapes to the kitchen under the guise of getting another drink. Mary Margaret had unearthed the old game system they’d stashed under the television, and nothing says noise violation like watching her friends simultaneously intake and burn off their dinner calories with a cutthroat round of Mario Kart, to which Roland was invited but refused in favor of coloring (to universal relief).

Emma lingers, pretending to survey the contents of her mug cabinet. While she does wonder if it’d be too early for another hot chocolate, to hell with Victor and his stupid medical degree reminding her that the sugar would only set her nerves even more on edge, she has to admit she’s running out of excuses to occupy her gaze, since her conscience has apparently chosen today to be an especially persistent glutton for punishment. As it is, she already knows too much about how Killian looks when he’s picking apart a grilled cheese sandwich and being, weirdly, a lot quieter than normal.

“Need help?”

Especially against the backdrop of shouting, the voice is barely a murmur, but she jumps anyway. It takes her a second too long for her to turn, swallowing her heartbeat, along with whatever else it might have dredged up.

“I’m not that short.”

Leaning against the counter, Killian reaches behind his ear, his mouth tilting at the edges in an annoyingly coy not-quite-smile. “I suppose I shouldn’t be impressed that you have a dedicated cabinet for your poison of choice.” He shuffles the two steps between them and grabs a black mug on one of the topmost shelves, despite the perfectly good selection within easier grasp.

She snorts. “I have a step stool, too.” But she takes the proffered cup anyway.

It doesn’t take a genius to suspect where this is heading, and, sure enough, her hopes are quashed the second he glances over his shoulder at her packed living room. He’s stilled a good distance away, so it’s how he lowers his voice even further that makes it clear he’s trying to be discreet.

“Do you have a moment?”

“Is this really the time?”

“Swan,” he begins, “about—”

“Killian, you already—”

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, cutting her off before she can finish the protest.

She exhales, long and slow, and she’s surprised to discover it isn’t born of exasperation. “I know.” For the first time since he stepped foot in her apartment today, she lets herself study his face properly – and while this apology certainly holds every bit of sincerity he’d offered her before, there’s a firm edge to the way he sets his jaw that she much prefers to the reeling expression in her memories. She catches herself before she can reach with her right hand for her left.

“I’m aware, but still,” he says. He holds her unwavering gaze. “I’m sorry. What happened last time… it was an inexcusable invasion of your privacy, and I shouldn’t have been nosing about your personal life without your permission.”

“It was an accident,” she corrects him. “I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

He shakes his head. “That doesn’t negate the consequences any more than if I had meant it.”

“There are no—” She bites her lip. “It happened a long time ago, Killian. It’s in the past – just like what happened two weeks ago.” That video, along with all the others, the pictures, and every last digital trace of the mistakes three years behind her, have been safely locked back away in the hard drive buried at the bottom of her closet. It was idiotic for her to have dug it up in the first place.

Over in the living room, Victor’s laugh drowns out David’s yelling about the unfairness of blue shells, but Killian remains silent, watching her with a look on his face that she knows, her spirits sinking, means trouble.

He doesn’t believe her.

She huffs out a sharp exhale. “Look,” she says emphatically, grasping the mug he’d retrieved with both of her hands, squaring her shoulders to face him head-on. “I’m going to be blunt. I know both of us feel weird, and we’d have to be stupid not to know why. Can’t we just…” A grimace tugs at her mouth; it sounds silly without even speaking it aloud, but she doesn’t know what else to do. “Can’t we just pretend all that didn’t happen? Go back to how things were before?”

He raises a single dark eyebrow, which is, at least, familiar territory. “And how was that, love?”

“You tell me.” There’s a suspicious twinkle in his eye, one that belies the glimmer of determination still fixed in his features, and, unbidden, his words come to mind: Maybe it’s better not having anyone to care too much about. She remembers the heat of his thigh nearly pressed against her bare leg, the unnerving sharpness with which his gaze – far too understanding for comfort – had searched her face. She’d much rather call them friends and be done with it.

“I’m afraid,” he says finally, after a long moment of consideration, “that I can’t do that, Swan.”

Something twists in her chest, faint but ridiculous all the same. “Why not?”

He takes a deep breath, though she has the feeling he already knows what he’s about to say. “I’d much rather apologize and move on from what happened than act like it didn’t.” For no good reason at all, she feels like squirming under his blue stare, even as it softens into something she doesn’t want to identify. “Forward instead of backward – that’s the direction life should proceed, no?”

He’s right, of course; hadn’t she only just said it was in the past? Still, she finds herself sighing. “Killian, why are you telling me this?”

A pause – but not a hesitation.

“Because I want to know you, Swan.” He says it slowly, his tongue wrapping around each word with so much conviction, she doesn’t think she could find a lie in his words if she tried. Despite that, it’s the way he smiles, clear and brighter than daylight, that forces her to swallow. “I want to know you, and I don’t want to go behind your back to do it.”

For what feels like a long time, it’s all she can do to just return his gaze. There’s a gentle fluttering stuck in her throat, like the sound of footsteps she’s become far too accustomed to over the years, but this time, she stays right where she is. It takes her longer than it should for her to realize that he’s waiting for an answer.

“Good,” she whispers.

It’s a quiet admission, one she isn’t sure he hears – at least, until he exhales, his smile curving wide and pleased and so genuine, she feels her mouth twist in return before she can help it.

It’s just as real, too.

Good.

“Oi, lovebirds!” Emma startles, watches him tear his eyes from hers with similar surprise. Only a few feet away, it seems Ruby’s draped herself over the back of the sofa nearest the kitchen, waggling her controller in their direction. She supposes she should be thankful that, behind her, only two faces have turned at the sound of her voice, as Victor appears to be commemorating his utter defeat by burying his nose in his phone, while Mary Margaret has her gaze pointedly fixed on the far wall, as if determined to give them privacy.

Except – that seems to be a moot consideration, given the attention Ruby’s drawn to their absence, and while Robin she can understand, she’s not sure what to make of David fixing Killian under some strange kind of scrutiny, as well. Though she certainly won’t complain about it, either, when that’s one less person she has to worry about as she tries to rearrange her expression.

“What?” she says in the most impassive voice she can muster. From beside her comes a snort that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle.

“Are you rotating in or not?” Ruby asks, then turning to Killian: “Your buddy here could really use the help.”

“At least I didn’t come in dead last,” Robin hedges from the other couch, which prompts a miffed cough from Victor.

“The item system is imbalanced.”

“Sore losers are imbalanced,” Ruby tells him sweetly.

Emma shakes her head as she turns away from the living room. There’s a small but distinct irritation gnawing at the edges of her thoughts, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on the prospect of uninterrupted conversations – or, worse, actually wishing for them when they don’t have any business in this crowded apartment.

But, at the very least, she’s glad for how easily her words for him come now, and that’s what reassures her, more than anything, that the answer she’d given him (I want to know you.) wasn’t a mistake. “You think you can save eighth place?”

He cocks his head. “Competitive, are we, love?”

“Only when I know I can kick your ass,” she tells him, shrugging, though there’s no question that her grin from before Ruby’s interruption is making an involuntary appearance on her face, too.

The way his turns lopsided, mischievous – swooping low in her belly, a fucking distraction – suddenly has her not so confident that’s a sure thing after all.

She sets her empty mug onto the counter, vaguely wishing she’d had that hot chocolate while she had the chance, if only to gear her up for what’s sure to be a trying match (one way or another). But then, just as she passes by him, so quietly she’s sure the words are meant just for her, he murmurs, “You underestimate my abilities at excelling from behind.”

The laugh, cruder and louder than she means it, bursts from her lips so unexpectedly, she’s sure three more pairs of eyes swivel in her direction before she can smother it with her hand. A serene smile on his face, Killian beats her out of the kitchen before she can respond to that, though she isn’t sure if there’s a comeback in existence that could salvage her dignity at this point.

I don’t want to go behind your back to do it.

Even as she feels the heat color her cheeks, she’s only too relieved that his transit to the living room has provided their friends a sufficient enough distraction to give that instinctive, goddamn irrelevant thought the secrecy it deserves. She watches him squeeze in between Robin and David, roll his eyes at something Ruby says – she’s not really paying enough attention to hear it, not when she’s still biting the inside of her cheek hard to keep her chagrin at bay.

(At home in her apartment indeed.)

(Except, for a mad second, it looks so right that she can’t even think to complain, like a puzzle piece fitting neatly into a place she hadn’t even realized was empty, until it wasn’t.)

On the couch from which she’s still trying to tear her gaze, Killian looks up and catches her eye, and it takes nearly everything she has to keep herself from grinning back.

Honestly?

Fuck.

#cs ff #cs mc ff #captain swan #once upon a time #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #writing #some sort of neighborly

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