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sweetestlamb · 3 years

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Save Me From The Dark

Summary: If I don’t lie to my heart, who will?

Author's Note: The feedback to this story has been overwhelming and beautiful honestly, I've never done anything like this for a non canonical couple but so many of you have told me that this pairing makes sense to you too. They are just two lost souls to me and bringing them together is simply destiny. I saw on the timeline that TB was hard to watch tonight for my Seojun lovers, I thought this might cheer some people up. Sorry for the brevity I’m writing between lesson planning, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Special huge shout out to @ewolfwitchwisegirl who made a header for me, it's so gorgeous and better than anything I could have ever done. This chapter is dedicated to you for inspiring me with this masterpiece!! Everyone who makes a gif set, header or anything because of my story you are loved, thank you. I am honored.

p.s. the burn will still be slow but it’s slowly starting tehe.

"What? Where is she now?" Su-ah's face scrunches up in disdain as Ju-Kyung explains what she missed while in the nurse's office, the shorter girl looks more enraged than she's ever seen besides when that video of her being bullied was posted. Su-ah and Su-jin came over everyday until she finally caved in and let them in, taking turns crying in their laps. She’d been so ashamed to face them only to end the night teary-eyed with snot dripping from her nose, as they took turns wiping her runny nose. It was disgusting, but in that moment she knew that all her fears had been for naught, they were her friends regardless of what she looked like beneath her foundation. They'd been her saving grace and two huge reasons she could walk back through those doors with her head held high. Suho’s constant love and support only helping to make her feel even more invincible. She can feel that same protectiveness wafting off the her friend now, Su-ah is fierce when it comes to the people she cares about. She's just honored to be among that short list.

"She's okay. I covered her and brought her to the roof."

"And then you left her? All by herself?! Come on we have to go back she needs us." She staggers as Su-ah grabs her hand forcefully, spinning her in a circle but she digs her heels into the ground interrupting the motion.

Su-ah looks at her baffled, tugging harder. Her eyes squinted into two thin lines. Immediately she puts up her hands, calming the agitated girl.

"She's not alone."

Su-ah tilts her head cutely in confusion, seeming to consider who exactly could be with their friend and conjuring nothing after a short pause complete with a finger on her bottom lip. She puts the girl out of her misery and gives her the answer, "Han Seojun. He's with her."

She'd been just as bewildered when she saw the name flashing on her phone.

Han Seojun.

Sure they were friends, he was also Suho's best friend so they all hung out a few times but he'd never called her prior and she'd almost forgotten they even possessed the other's number. Making her believe that his reason for calling had to be important, since he’d never done it before so she answered without hesitation.

Before she could utter hello, he was barking at her "Where are you? Is Su-jin with you?" She looked over at the other girl, wind whipping her long raven locks wildly around her beautiful face. The frantic raise and fall of her chest was the only thing marring the picturesque sight. Breaking her from her admiration Seojun repeated his inquiry but there was an unusual quality to his voice the second time, he sounded as if he was pleading. She didn't know what was happening but he sounded as if every second not with Sujin was torture. Before he could repeat it thrice, she answered him.

"We're on the rooftop."

His speed reaching them was impressive, before Su-jin could fully interrogate her about who exactly was coming to the rooftop, he was already bursting through the doors and unafraid despite the wrath on Su-jin’s face, she stared in surprise as he called her princess of all things snarkily, she watched them appraisingly waiting for Sujin to sneer at the cutesy moniker but that reprimand never arrived. Seojun seemed comfortable, too comfortable easily pressing into Sujin's space as if he belonged there, as if he wanted to belong there. She felt like she was intruding watching them prod and snap at each other, so she slipped away no longer worried about her friends safety. She seemed to be in good hands.

She snaps back to reality realizing that Su-ah has been bombarding her with questions, "Han Seojun? Why is he with her? Was he the one bullying her, I'll get Tae-Hoon to kick his ass!" She looks at her friend considering her boyfriend, and then Han Seojun, almost in sync they both shake their head.

"No, forget that. He can't fight someone like Han Seojun, can you tell Suho to beat him up? Do you think he'll do it?"

She chuckles while capturing the other girl's hands, "We don't need anyone to beat him up. He didn't do anything, he helped us actually. He got everyone to go back to class and stop looking."

Now Su-ah looks positively beaming, smiling that bright wide smile that is definitely the reason that Tae-Hoon can't stay away from her.

"Why? Why did he do that? Are they close?" The girl ask coyly, always ready to matchmake.

It's not her place to say, she's just a bystander and honestly she doesn't quite understand what's happening, Seojun is always full of surprises. So she tugs Su-ah away, knowing that if pressed Sujin will retract and push Seojun away on principle, she doesn't know what's happening to the other girl but when it all comes tumbling down it's clear that Seojun won't be far behind.

"I think they're becoming friends. Sujin could use some more friends, don't you think?"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He doesn't know what he was expecting, it was a crazy idea. Absolutely insane. But regardless of the insanity of his words, he meant each and every one of them. Standing this close to the crying girl he could see the swell of her right cheek, the same cheek that had been bleeding the night they met. Ran into each other, might be more accurate.

It wasn't a fever dream or a hallucination. It was all painfully real, she was being hurt and nobody else seemed to know. She hid it well, even he could admit that her ice princess façade never cracking at school. She'd always looked like a perfect little doll in her designer clothes, he had imagined that she had a loving perfect family. He of all people knew that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, yet he took one look at her expensive appearance and thought he had her all figured out.

He wouldn't make that mistake again.

So he knows that his suggestion is crazy but that doesn't ease the anger when she pulls away, turning her back to him before answering.

"No."

His fists tighten in the balls he has by his side but each quiet exhale that causes her small shoulders to lift up and down, unknowingly calms his rage and he finds himself smothering his own fury to offer another suggestion.

With a deep breath he says, "Ask Ju-Kyung if you can sleep over then. You shouldn't be alone."

She also shouldn't go home. Her words echo hauntingly in his ears, he used a belt. Bile coils tight in his throat, it was her father then he was the one hitting her, destroying his own daughter until she couldn't stand to be touched by others. The urge to fight has never been this visceral.

She sighs as if he's bothering her, he already knows what she's going to say before she says it, so he intercepts her stepping around her so they're face to face.

"I dare you to tell me to mind my business." He growls at her, giving her enough space so he's not looming over her much smaller figure but staring hard enough that she knows that he's serious, he's decided to make this his business she better deal with it.

She stares at him, mouth lax after his deep challenge glaring right back after she regains her composure but her eyes shift away, unable to meet his own now and without a word she huffs before stomping away. He watches her leave, knowing that he's reached the point of no return. He's going to follow this through to the very end.

If she tries to run, well he has long legs.

And a motorcycle.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The pain of her raw water soaked skin grounds her, but the swooshing of the faucet does nothing to drown out her thoughts as she rubs vigorously at her palms, scratching at imaginary dirt that will never be lifted from her hands. Making the water piping hot she hisses at the sting of the water on her bruised hand, she has to punish herself. She almost did something infinitely moronic.

"You almost said yes." She whispers to herself in the grimy school mirror, looking back at her own face in disgust. Feeling the flame of hope desperately grasping for air, yearning to awaken under the boys insistence.

She can't explain her reaction to him, they are nothing; less than nothing she wouldn't even consider him a friend.

Yet, he knows more about her than her best friends. Knows her deepest darkest secret and instead of gossiping or avoiding her, he's chasing her down and demanding to help her.

"He's insane. There's nothing to understand, there's no logic to insanity." She reasons with herself in the mirror, choosing not to focus on the fact that she's having a conversation with herself. His crazy is rubbing off on her, when she put her head on his chest it must have leaked on her.

She can remember the heat that always seemed to radiate from him, maybe that was a result of being loved. He was warm. She wanted to reach out and grab....

What? Grab what? She immediately reels her wayward thoughts back in.

What am I thinking?

She needed to stop her train of thought now. That had been a mistake, a lapse in judgement. It wouldn't be happening again. If he was hellbent on following her she couldn't stop him but she knew it wouldn't last, no one was that selfless eventually her pity story wouldn't be enough and he'd realize she wasn't worth the effort.

She tries to convince herself that this is what she wants. Lying to herself has become as natural as lying to others, it’s a means of survival.

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Upon entry to the cafeteria every eye shifts to her or so it seems, time too stops as they all cease their conversations to watch her like she's an animal on display. Her skin prickles from the overwhelming attention before the silence bursts like a bubble and the noise washes over her, people begin to point in her direction whispering not so subtlety to the person next to them.

She almost bolts before she feels a hand on her elbow, her instincts almost make her snatch her arm away but the familiarity of the perfume halts her movement.

"Come on. We've been waiting for you."

Su-ah doesn't give her a chance to decline dragging her over to their table, Ju-Kyung's smiling face greeting them. She's shoved down onto the bench, in between the two like they're trying to shield her. The idea makes her feel warm and uncomfortable so she pushes it to the back of her mind.

She silently eats her food, staring intently at her tray before she finally relaxes as she realizes that no one is talking to her, they aren't demanding to know what happened. She's not ready to talk about it, not yet and they are showing her that that's okay. They will be here for her regardless of not knowing the full story. Under the table she discreetly grabs both of their hands, squeezing them hard. Squeaking in embarrassment when both girls twist and smother her in tight hugs, she pretends to loathe it pushing them both away but they cling to her until she gives in. She's so weak today.

"Oh. Seojun-ah over here!" Ju-Kyung blares in her precious ears, waving rapidly over her shoulder and she feels her stomach dip. Not him again he never ate lunch here and when he did it was with his gang, why was Ju-Kyung calling him here?

Pinching at her vulnerable thigh under the table, she hisses at the other girl "Hey! What are you doing? Don't call him over."

Unfortunately it's too late, she can already feel his aura behind them getting closer. There's barely room on the other side of the bench, then Hyun-Kyu yelps before looking up in their direction, then he swallows and nods as if receiving an order, he presses his glass further up his nose before collecting his lunch and leaving. She watches the interaction confused before turning to look at Ju-Kyung who has an exaggerated look of innocence on her face.

"I guess he was finished eating. It works out though, now Seojun can sit there."

He's slipping into the evacuated space before she can yell at Ju-Kyung for meddling. Huffing she burrows into her food refusing to look up. She’s only been ignoring him for a few seconds before he seems to reach his limit.

"Give me some."

She watches in shock as familiar hands invade her space and grab her tray, pulling it across the table before lifting one of her sausages to his mouth with his fingers, the uncivilized swine. She's reaching out before she can reconsider or think about how they will appear to others she doesn’t share her food damn it, she reaches to cover his hand stopping him from biting and stealing her last sausage.

"What the hell are you doing? Don't touch my food." She scowls at him, grabbing at her food and humming victoriously when she gets it back. Only to stare wide eyed and flabbergasted as he shrugs before devouring the juicy morsel, directly from her fingers, a brief brush of warm wetness on her finger tips. They both freeze, staring at each other. The air between them charged, almost crackling from their locked eyes.

"Seojun! You're the man! You're a natural flirt, eating from her hands!" Appearing from thin air Seojun's gang boisterously chants his name, clapping him on the shoulder and she physically cannot be in this room any longer. She shoves her tray at him, grabbing her backpack before hopping over the bench.

"I'll see you both later." With a tight smile at her friends, she races from the cafeteria unaware of the eyes tracing her every step.

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The rest of the day drags by, she spends it lost in a daydream making sure not to look at the boy behind her. She just wants to get home and lock herself away, this time nothing will get her to open the door. With a sigh of relief, she stands as the teacher dismisses them for the day. Packing up slowly to miss the surplus of students at the door, they are all still looking at her warily spreading rumors about her rudeness and supposed narcissism. Creating explanations for her scene in the bathroom, the majority of them painting her as stuck-up. She doesn't mind it's better than them knowing the truth. Let her be a rich spoiled bitch in their minds better that than a victim.

Like clockwork, Su-ah and Ju-Kyung latch onto her from the left and the right. She lets them pull her out the door and towards the entrance, absently listening to their heated debate of where they should eat today. She sighs out loud, amused but hiding it behind a passive face.

"Why are you even arguing? You know we’re such going to get spicy tteokbokki anyway."

They always do, it's like arguing is their warm up before the noodles because no matter how passionate they both get about the different possibilities they've never eaten anything else together.

Walking out the school gate, they all jump back as a motorcycle suddenly skids into their way blocking them completely. Instantly she's annoyed, breaking their linked arms she storms over to the idiot, shoving at his chest before shouting at him.

"Hey! Are you crazy? Were you trying to kill us?" She slaps at his helmet when he tilts his head at her, the loud knock satisfying as she glares at him.

Then he reaches up like he's staring in a shampoo commercial and tugs the helmet off his head, hair stylishly falling onto his neck. Instead of looking upset at her rough treatment he smirks, leaning over the handle bar right into her face.

"Since when are you scared of my bike? Don't act so fragile princess." She gapes at him affronted by his unapologetic attitude, then further bothered by his second use of that infuriating nickname. She's nobody's fucking princess. As she opens her mouth to tell him this, he turns away from her before talking to Ju-Kyung.

"Take her to your house tonight. Have a sleepover or whatever you all call it. She told me she really wanted to ask you but she was too embarrassed." He points over at her, lying easily through his too white teeth. She wants to punch that smile off his face.

"Hey when did I say anything like that to yo--!!"

But he's on a roll, bulldozing through her interjections with the same ease he used that night on the highway. Pulling something from his pocket and thrusting it at her.

"Give me your number."

What.

"What?"

He looks at her like she's wasting his time, rolling his eyes before repeating slower, the asshole.

"Give me your number."

She scoffs at the brazen order, sneering at him before grabbing her friends. "Let's go."

But never of them are budging, so she pulls harder but still they don't follow and she turns to them both annoyed. "Didn't you hear me let's go."

"Give me the phone."

Her jaw drops as Su-ah reaches out at Seojun, he looks as surprised as she does before he shakes himself from his confusion and hands the girl his phone. Su-ah happily taps away before handing the phone back over.

"There you go." Su-ah smiles easily before tugging them all away now, she wants to fight her hold and run back and take his phone, delete her number and tell him once and for all to leave her alone and stop playing whatever game he’s playing.

"I'm hungry from all that arguing, let's get tteokbokki." Ju-Kyung states happily, leading them towards the shop.

She just goes along quietly, feeling outnumbered and indignant. They were supposed to be her friend. She pouts the entire way.

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Seojun watches the three girls walking away, eyes fixated on the figure in the middle until they turn a corner and disappear from his sight. She'd looked like she wanted to kill him, a woman had never looked at him with that particular expression before. She could be quite scary when she wanted to be.

Hooking his helmet onto the arm bar of his bike he finally looks down at his phone, thankfully still in one piece.

When he sees the number he smiles softly before his eyes shift down and laughter bursts out of his chest, he can't stop the bubbling bouts of joy that fall from his lips.

8298263098

Princess

With another chuckle, he pulls on his helmet before revving the bike to life and peeling out of the school feeling lighter than he has in a long time. He doesn’t question his gut, no he’s not someone who overthinks he jumps first and looks later.

#true beauty #true beauty kdrama #han seojun #kang sujin #Seojin #the couple that should have been #yall see the visuals #the chemistry in every scene #Seojin rights period

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hesther-mcg · 3 years

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blue dragons, part one + chapter eight

➥ pairing: eventual asami x oc

➥ summary: the one where azula trains ursa, and gets the shock of a lifetime; or the one where a picky spirit makes himself known for the first time in ages

➥ rating: angst i suppose

➥ warnings: mentions of past abuse

➥ a/n: mnmxcnvxn this took forever to get out bc life is cray cray, haha srry folks but here we are!! this is quite an interesting chapter in my opinion, i really love the dynamic between ursa and azula and giving azula this opportunity means a lot. also this is an introduction to a certain blue serpentine spirit OoOoOoOoOo

also for clarification purposes, when ursa’s eyes glow, it looks like the avatar state but blue ya know

p1, chap seven p1, chap eight p1, chap nine blue dragons m. list

Frustration itched at every nerve in Ursa’s body, and she let out a huff. She swiped at her bangs that fell in her face as she paced back to the bench on the far side of the training yard. Her glass of watermelon juice was almost empty, and an added weight fell on her already sagging shoulders. She downed the rest of it and returned it to its spot, perhaps a little harshly, and shook her head.

A growl escaped her mouth and she screamed as she shot a large stream of fire at nothing in particular. Unbeknownst to her, Azula lurked in the shadows behind her. She had watched the Crown Princess -only thirteen years of age- train for a short while, her determination admirable and patience thinning. The older woman could see the mistakes that were made, minor in severity and easy to fix with a little guidance.

It had taken a long while for her to acknowledge the likeness between her and her young niece; she hadn’t wanted to and had adamantly denied it. But one day things just clicked, and she realized that Ursa looking like her, and thinking like her, and being as powerful as her wasn’t as bad as she thought.

Because her father was long gone.

What had happened to Zuko would never, in a million years, happen again, and what had happened to Azula surely wouldn’t either. Her older brother had proved himself to be an amazing father, and Izumi never once lived a day thinking she hadn’t made him proud. He never spoke down to her for being a girl, he never got angry because she couldn’t make up for it with bending, and he never used her for his own personal gain.

All of which were things Azula had been subjected to in her childhood, and had ultimately feared her niece would be as well, but was relieved to see otherwise. Their father, and his legacy, was long gone; and only when she accepted that fact could she truly accept her own growth and healing. And only when she accepted those could she accept that Ursa had all of her best qualities, and some of her not so best qualities, and if they were nurtured and guided correctly she could be like no one else.

“My, my, Princess; have you been out here all day?” Azula inquired as she emerged from the shadows and took slow steps to the aforementioned Princess, hands clasped behind her back and head held high just like always.

“Hey, Auntie Zula,” Ursa sighed as she bowed before rising again. “Almost; I’m going over some of the advanced moves I learned, and I’ve almost mastered them all but I can’t seem to get this last one.” She shook her head. “I’m doing exactly what my Master did, and it’s still not right. I know I’m better than this.”

“You are,” the older woman responded without missing a beat. She paced in front of her young niece. “You are better than this, this is but a mere moment in your path to mastering the element. You’re incredibly skilled, Ursa, never forget that. Before too much longer you’ll surpass your Master and they will no longer be able to do you any good. I was going to step in after that, but I can see that now is as good a time as ever.”

“Really?” One would have to be deaf to miss the eagerness laced in her question.

“Of course,” Azula turned sharply in place. “I know exactly what mistakes you’re making; though, it’s not your fault. I hate to tell you this, Princess, but your Master is a doofus.” The younger girl giggled from behind her hand. “Are you a dragon?”

The question caught Ursa off guard. “Huh?”

“Are you a dragon?” She repeated slowly. The look in her eyes was familiar, she had seen it in her father’s, grandmother’s, and great grandfather’s eyes many times before. She’d seen it in the mirror only once or twice; it was a look of true seriousness, one you could only get when, you might not know what you’re doing, but, you know that whatever it is you can do it. She tried her best to mimic it in her own matching eyes.

“Yes. I am a dragon.”

“That’s what I thought.” Azula stated smugly. “Only dragons can teach dragons, Ursa, and since The Great Dragon of the West is no longer with us, I only see it fitting that I take over as your Master. After all,” she raised one hand in front of her, and blue fire floated in her palm. “We do have twin flames.”

The pair shared a smile before Azula extinguished the flame and returned her hand to its rightful place, clasped in the other behind her back. Ursa placed one hand, fingers straight and palm pointed to the side, above the other, which was closed in a fist. She bowed deeply, “thank you for teaching me, Sifu Azula.” She rose back up and turned away from her Master. She faced straight ahead, ready for anything. “What should I do first?”

Lady Azula smiled to herself. “Your punches and kicks were good, but everything has room for improvement. You’re not putting enough power into your jump, and then not putting enough power in the flames. Let’s break it down. Take your stance.”

Ursa positioned herself in the stance she normally chose. Her grandfather had shown it to her, and she figured out that it was the one that worked easiest with her dynamic. Her left foot forward, right foot behind her. Knees slightly bent. Arms out before her, elbows slightly bent as well. Palms open, fingers relaxed. Ready to strike.

“Remember, firebending comes from the breath. Focus on the fire inside of you, and breathe in deeply; allow the air to reach the flames. Let your chi flow freely, the reason our fire burns blue is because it is pure. Your river is unblocked, your chi’s are synced and your power flows through you. Pure, clean, untethered fire. You have the power, be the thing that controls it.”

Deep breaths. Unlocked chi’s. Flowing river. The Princesses eyes had long since closed, and she envisioned all the things her aunt spoke about.

“Reposition,” Azula coaxed quieter, seeing the concentration on Ursa’s face.

The girl’s hands formed fists, clenched tightly, and her left arm straightened itself out. Her right fist drew back and rested right beside her eyes.

“Now, punch.”

It was like time moved in slow motion Her eyes snapped open before narrowing into a squint. Her brows drew together and her face scrunched up. She lunged her right fist forward, stepping into the punch with her right foot; bringing as much power as she could for the opening attack. Her fists lit ablaze, encircled with blue, and she punched a rather large fireball straight ahead. Her grunts were barely audible over the loud swoosh of the flames.

Ursa dealt one strike after the other, slowly making her way forward, sometimes ducking to avoid a blow from an imaginary opponent. “Kick,” Azula commanded loudly.

One last punch before she kicked her right leg in a half circle, flames following closely. They lingered in the air and Ursa spun around and shielded herself from view with more blue fire. “Now jump!”

A moment passed, a moment where the older woman’s breath caught in her lungs. Then, before any particular emotion could truly settle in her bones, Ursa leapt out from the wall of blue flames, a look of ferocity painting her features. She landed on her feet and sprung forward not a moment later; she took one step, two steps, three...

And on her final step she jumped high in the air, and Azula’s voice cut through the noise, “Roar!”

Flames from her feet propelled her upwards, a gust of blue, and the same shot out of her hands. Her face scrunched up as her cry echoed around the training yard, a stream of fire shooting out of her open mouth. Everything was blue, all Azula could see was blue. And all she could feel was heat.

But what really shocked her, what really made her brows scrunch together and her jaw drop, was the Princesses eyes, once a piercing golden brown, were now completely blue. The fire around her swirled and moved until it started to take form. The form of a dragon.

Of course. Of course. It made sense, everything about her fit the role.

“The Spirit of the Dragon…” She whispered in awe. It was a phenomenon that she never thought she would be alive to witness, and she would never tell a soul about the tears that filled her eyes as she watched her great niece display her sheer power.

When the roar died down, and Ursa’s flames shrunk, and she dropped to the ground, her eyes fell shut and her knees gave out. She caught herself with her hands and shook her head. With a couple groans, and a few deep breaths she was back on her feet.

“Holy shit.” A voice broke the silence. Azula turned around only to see her older brother; Zuko’s mouth hung open and his arms were limp at his side.

“That-” the Princess cut herself off to catch her breath. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she chuckled lowly. Her eyes flickered from her great aunt and great grandfather. She didn’t know how to feel about what had just occurred. On one hand, she knew that her family would never think any different of her for anything, they had always told her that nothing could ever make them not love her; but on the other, insecurity and fear seemed like the obvious answer.

What if they thought she was too powerful? What if they feared she would be the demise of the Fire Nation? She didn’t even know what took over her, what if it was something evil? What if, what if, what if-

“Ursa,” Azula broke her train of thought. She snapped back to reality, heart in her stomach, and looked at the older woman. “Do you know what just happened?” Dread pricked at every nerve in her body and she shook her head. Her fingers began to tremble and she clenched her hands into fists to hide it.

“That was the Spirit of the Dragon, my dear. A powerful spirit of the very first dragon; it has possessed only few people throughout history, not nearly as much as the Avatar, but hasn’t made itself known in centuries. My, Ursa,” Zuko marveled. “It chose you, how incredible.”

“I’m not-I’m not in trouble?” She stuttered.

“Of course not,” Azula shook her head and made her way to the girl, hands reaching out. They rested on her shoulders and she leaned down so their eyes met. “I know what you’re thinking, and you don’t have to worry. What happened to me will never happen to you, I promise you that. Do you know what the Spirit of the Dragon means exactly?” The girl shook her head before her aunt continued.

“The Spirit of the Dragon, like Zuzu explained before, is a very powerful spirit. It has joined with numerous people over the course of time, merging with them and bestowing knowledge and strength upon them like no other. It can’t just be anybody, however,” she paused and looked over at the bench. She motioned to it with her hand and the three of them traveled to it together, and they made sure that Ursa sat in between them. “The kind of people that the Dragon Spirit chooses are powerful, people who are destined to do great things in this world. The power to stand up to people, for people, and with people is incredible. It might sound simple, but most people can’t say they passed the test. You did.”

“We’ve known since the day you were born that you held incredible powers and an even more important destiny,” the older man took over. “But we never could have imagined this for you.” He chuckled lightly and shook his head.

Azula took that as her cue to continue. “But we’ve never, ever, feared that you would do something wrong, or that you would be too powerful for your own good. And no matter what happens, to you or to us, and no matter what you have to go through, we’ll always be with you.”

Ursa nodded her head and wiped her cheeks of any tears. Her eyes were red and swollen, but her hands no longer trembled and her shoulders only slightly shook as she calmed down.

“Now,” Lady Azula stated, her tone back to the normal smooth and sharp drawl. “Are you a dragon?”

“Yes.” Ursa looked at her and tried with everything she had to convey just how much she meant it.

“Who are you?” The question cut through the air sharply, and a moment later the younger girl's eyes changed colors again, both glowing a bright blue.

“I am Crown Princess Ursa of the Fire Nation, Heir to the Throne; I am the Dragon Princess and I have the power of the first dragon’s spirit!”

➥ tag list: @talas-starlight @ewanssdjarins @appa-gaangnam-style @strawberisapphic @avatarsnips @graciefullygracie

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altumvidetur · 4 years

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Haikyuu!! Fic Recs (BokuAka)

Fic Recs Masterpost

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I’ve decided to split it in a series of posts, starting with my OTPs. This time it’s BokuAka’s turn!

cookies and cream, by norio

Some people might tell Akaashi that he couldn't bake his worries away.

But some people haven't dated Bokuto Koutarou.

dozens of red roses, by norio

“And what’s the boyfriend getting for Bokuto’s birthday?” Kuroo asked, mirthful grin on his face.

“Oh,” Akaashi said, distracted by the magazine. “The next time he visits the dentist, I’ll pay for half what the insurance doesn’t cover.”

The silence dropped around the store like a chilling and killing frost.

i put my hand out, unfolded, into the sunlight, by carafin

In which Bokuto Kotarou is woefully inept at conveying his feelings, and Akaashi Keiji has a sort-of superpower. Sort of.

Next to him, Komi is chewing his cupcake dutifully, albeit with obvious effort. Washio has assumed a completely neutral expression on his face, although Akaashi thinks that his eyes might be watering. Sarukui, having seemingly demolished the entire thing out of sheer willpower alone, looks like he deeply regrets every single choice that has led to this precise moment in his life.

‘It isn’t too bad, huh?’ Bokuto says, grinning. ‘I made them in our school colours, so they’re like, marbled black and white chocolate swirls! Do you guys want more?’

Sarukui looks like he might pass out at the thought alone. Komi pauses mid-chew to shake his head weakly.

‘I’ll have more,’ Akaashi says, to the general astonishment of everyone.

better than spy films, by dalyeau

Akaashi knocks Bokuto out and Bokuto falls in love. Kuroo laughs about it.

Maybe We’re Airborne, Baby, by fathomfive

Realizing he's got it bad for his setter is the easy part. But getting his feelings across might be Bokuto's biggest endeavor yet, not counting his literature final or putting out the flames on that birthday cake he tried to bake for Akaashi last year, or—or a lot of things, actually.

But the point still stands. Reaching out to Akaashi is a leap in the dark, and Bokuto wants it more than he's ever wanted anything. He's an expert at seizing his perfect moment, at bringing victory home against the odds. So he's got this, right? It's gonna go great, right? Right?

(After all, it's what you attempt with your own two hands that matters.)

heavy heart, a love apart, by drifloon

(802): Our sex has gotten so much better since we broke up.

Character Development, by silvercistern

"That’s some kinda gratitude. What happened to my painfully polite little brother? I get the ideal guy to take you to prom, and you act like he's not even here!"

"I doubt I’d let him take me to the hospital if I were bleeding to death."

Keiji needs a date. Bokuto needs dating lessons. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

prepare for rain, by norio

“First you must make a delicious bowl of tea; lay the charcoal so the water boils; arrange the flowers as they are in the field; in the summer suggest coolness, in the winter, warmth; do everything ahead of time; prepare for rain; and give those with whom you find yourself every consideration.”

- Sen no Rikyu

cracks in the pavement will lead you home, by deusreks

Bokuto often thinks about Akaashi, especially when he’s running. It’s like his legs know where they’re supposed to take him. He grows into a habit of running a lot, just to keep that feeling going. Cracks and holes in the pavement aren’t fun to jump over if the final reward isn’t seeing Akaashi’s face.

An alternate universe with a little bit of magic and a lot of growing up.

il mio ragazzo falso, by Karasuno Volleygays

With his grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary looming fast and large, Akaashi finds himself urged to bring a date and not quite to the point where his family knows that said date will not be of the female variety.

At some point, he has to decide which will be the least frightening prospect — braving coming out to his family or endure Operation: Find Keiji A Girlfriend 2k15.

And why is the only person he can think of to drag along to this thing his overly-spirited volleyball captain?

#someonepleasesaveakaashi

right in the head, by Mysecretfanmoments

That was the other thing: when Keiji had said he wanted to make his way home, Bokuto had agreed—as if it didn’t matter where they went. He hadn’t said "we should look for a community" or "there’s probably nothing there anymore".

He’d just asked which way.

((the bokuaka zombie au literally no one asked for))

how to become a birder, by norio

“Since I’m Bokuto,” Bokuto said, giving an unnecessarily meaningful look, “You know what I want, right? It’ll be easy! You take pictures of me, I turn them in, my professor says I’m the smartest genius, I graduate, I go play pro, I win the Olympics.”

The World’s Best Kept Secret, by kythen

The struggles of keeping a relationship a secret (when it really isn't a secret at all).

third wheel, by arsenicjay

"So you and Bokuto, huh?"

Akaashi's attention snaps back to Kuroo and he gives the other boy a blank stare. "What about us?"

Or, Kuroo figures out that Bokuto is interested in Akaashi long before Bokuto does himself and being the kind friend that he is, tries to help them along.

cherished, by gabstar

Bokuto tends to panic when Akaashi expresses discomfort or concern. Akaashi didn't need that. Akaashi was better off handling this alone.

((In which Bokuto's love sick, Akaashi's sick-sick, and together they feel a little better))

Kissing Ace, by Karasuno Volleygays

It happens right after training camp.

Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way. But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.

legs killed the owl, by dalyeau

He's not smiling anymore an hour later, after he's fucked up four perfect spikes that Akaashi tossed carefully for him because he's too distracted by the lean, elegant line of Akaashi's legs, kneepads dark against the white of Fukurodani's gym.

tea-stained polaroids, by dalyeau

“I'm gonna date that,” Bokuto declares solemnly, and Kuroo throws a plastic spoon at his head.

owls, by ThinkingCAPSLOCK

It was no secret that Bokuto genuinely loved owls, considering his locker was full of them, but Akaashi kept his own like of the animal very low key.

How Bokuto found out otherwise, he didn't know.

all lost souls, by norio

Not again, Akaashi thought. But he had never seen this sight before.

run rabbit run, by norio

Rule #1: Don't hurt Akaashi. Rule #2: Don't taint Akaashi. Rule #3: Don't involve Akaashi. Rule #4: Don't damage Akaashi. Rule #5 (optional): Try not to destroy yourself.

gwah, bam and swoosh, by dalyeau

When Bokuto meets Kageyama the first thing he thinks is, No five year old should be able to scowl like that.

Or be that tall.

Then, Shit, his dad is really hot.

Spoiled, by gabstar

Akaashi desperately needs a new mattress and he drags his loyal, loving, and very loud boyfriend with him.

omam verse, by shionsheart

Though some may believe they're monsters, those closest to them know they're just men learning how to love in this world of magic, demons, and faeries.

i’ll return home one day, by awkwardedgeworth

"Bro," He asks Kuroo out of the blue one day when they're toweling their hair dry, "What if Sawamura is halfway across the world and he only comes home seven times a year for around four days each?"

"I would consider every moment a blessing. You got it bad for Akaashi already?"

"I just wish you would introduce us sooner."

Or, wherein Akaashi is a world famous violinist, Kuroo introduces him to future Olympian-to-be Bokuto Koutarou. And Bokuto pines. A lot.

morning owls, by norio

Most of the time, if Bokuto woke up first, he would shake Akaashi awake. Sometimes he would bake sloppy pancakes for breakfast in bed, and sometimes he would sit on Akaashi's waist.

And sometimes he did not.

Insomniac Olympics, by Aetherdrive

Akaashi never thought he could inspire anyone, let alone an artist -- and then he met Bokuto.

counterclockwise, by miiniwa

How they had gone from point a to point b in such a short amount of time, he doesn't know. But as he dwells on it, he realizes that he doesn't exactly mind.

if kisses were fishes, then i’d be an ocean, by norio

Akaashi needs a fake date partner, so he grabs the first person he sees.

the way you look at me, by ThinkingCAPSLOCK

Bokuto sees him every day, every commute, at the final train. The stranger he only knows as Train Guy. Wrapped in coats, mystery, and distance - that is, until Bokuto breaks their familiar silence. He struggles with the hardest part of befriending someone he thinks he already knows: taking a step back to reevaluate all his assumptions.

He finds the easiest part is getting to learn about Train Guy all over again.

#haikyuu!!#bokuaka #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #fic recs #please warn me if any links are broken #and reblog it if you can so more people will see it #otp: we are the protagonists of the world

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anon-but-for-mcyt · 4 years

Text

Todoroki x Fairy quirk reader

Quirk: Fairy- Has fairy wings that are always out and can use these to fly. It can shrink down to just a couple inches tall increasing speed and agility, can collect dust in the air and turn it into “fairy dust” this can help heal minor injuries. Drawbacks include changing size too much and getting stuck in one form for a while and overuse of wings gives bad back pains.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”, He seemed to gaze deep into my eyes searching my soul for any hesitation in my answer.

With a firm nod of my head I instantaneously responded, “Of course I’m sure”, my answer seemed to have pacified him enough as the tenseness in his shoulders seemed to dissipate as I spoke. “Hey I promise the mission is going to go fine, you have nothing to worry about”. Sitting on this couch with him I could feel both the warmth and coldness coming from his hands as he gently traced the base of my wings. He just hummed in acknowledgment, letting his hands fall back to his side as I started standing.

“I have to get going now,” I sighed out as I stood to my fullest height and started fluttering my wings to get them fully stretched out.

“Just, try and stay safe”, He popped out of his seat as he was saying this grabbing hold onto my hands as he did. The sudden mix of both warmth and cold on my skin had my wings still in their movement.

I gave him a swift peck on his lips before leaning into him more, “I always am” and with that, I released my grasp on him and bounded out the door of our office with a slight pep in my walk. My wings practically kept me off the ground as I made my way through the halls of the large building and made my ascent to the roof of the agency building. Once at my destination I felt myself smile calmly as I could see the sun quickly descend in the distance. I quickly started running towards the edge of the roof before pushing off with one faithful leap.

I felt air rush past me for only a moment before my wings started to repeatedly flap to keep my body afloat. As soon as I was stable in the air I compressed my form into one much smaller than mine and soon felt the familiar shift in my body as I shrunk down. Once I reached only a few inches in height I smiled to myself and started to speed off towards the location given before quickly backpedaling. With practiced ease I made my way back towards the office I was not too long ago standing in.

Flying up to the long window I was so accustomed to, I quickly approached it and gave a gentle tap on it knowing Shoto was waiting nearby. As soon as my hand had knocked his head was turning towards me with one of his rare smiles. Knowing all of his attention was on me I brought my hands together to form a heart and held it high above my head for him to see giving him a blinding smile. I could see the crinkle in his eyes as he chuckled at my antics forming the same heart with his hands with a shake of his head.

With a final blow of a kiss, I was now actually on my way towards the location of a villain's lair in which I was to infiltrate. My small form made it so that I should easily be able to obtain information my agency needed to be able to take down this villain gang with ease.

I could feel my wings start to strain as I continued to fly until I reached the building in question. Once I arrived I did a quick fly-by of the building hoping to find any open windows I could potentially fly in through with no such luck. Dejected by the news I perched myself in the branch of a tree nearby, waiting, watching to see if anyone would enter or exit through the front entrance. As the night grew darker and my patience grew thinner, a burly man dressed in all black flanked in between two shorter looking figures made their way up to the entrance. I made my way to the tip of the branch and as soon as their card scanned successfully, noted by the beep of the metal door, I quickly flew over and followed them through the now open door.

As soon as I was inside I flew up to the highest corner of the room, looking to see if anyone had spotted me. A quick glance of the room showed it to be empty except for the retreating figures of the people I had followed in here. Without any other options, I slowly started to trail after the bodies making sure to keep as much to the wall as possible.

They soon reached a bigger room that seemed to be a lab of sorts gathered by all the trinkets spread throughout. As soon as I entered I ducked behind a flower pot sitting on one of the many desks in the room as I could hear another person in this room as we were approaching.

The assumed leader of the three stepped up to talk to the lady dressed in a lab coat, “I assume you have what I’m here for?” He scowled as he talked to her.

Even from my position I could see the lady's composure start to break a little as she started stammering, “I may be a li-little behind schedule but everything is still going as we planned”, as she was talking she turned towards the main computer and started to bring up files with what looked to be blueprints on them.

Looking just as displeased as before he leaned in closer to her before grunting, “Come with me”.

With a steel of her nerves, she hung her head low as she followed him along with the other two out of the room. As soon as the door swung closed confirming their departure and I could no longer hear their footsteps I zipped out from behind the flower pot and allowed myself to grow back to full height.

Once everything was back in proportion I made my way over to the computer and smirked realizing she had left it open. Digging through my suit pocket I grabbed out an unused flash drive and stuck it into the computer copying all of the laid out blueprints onto it. As I was waiting for all the information to load I heard quick footsteps that sounded like they were headed back to the room.

Wasting no time I shrunk back down and dived behind the computer using protruding wires to conceal myself with. The door swooshed open as the person presumably made their way into the room. Risking a quick glance confirmed that it was the same doctor from before who had reentered the room and I knew I was screwed as soon as I saw the flash drive still sticking out of the computer.

I could hear the moment she spotted it without even looking as her heels clicked as she walked closer to my hiding spot and a small, “What the hell” left her mouth as she did.

Using the wire to hide the majority of my body I watched as she went to pull the flash drive out of the computer. With quick thinking, I swished my hand through the hair grabbing as much fairy dust as I could hold in my hand and flew up to the flash drive. I could feel her eyes land on me as soon as I touched down on top of the flash drive and with a quick smile, I blew the fairy dust directly into her eyes. With a high pitch shout, she stumbled back and started vigorously rubbing at her eyes.

I was about to pull out the flash drive myself when my eyes caught on to the screen to see it hadn’t finished loading yet. With a small groan, I turned towards the doctor ready to stall for time and when I did I watched as needles slowly protruded from her fingertips.

A lazy smirk rested on her face as she focused on me once again, “Now stay still for me alright?” as soon as the words left her mouth she dived at me fully intent on stabbing through my body with one of her needles. I zipped out of the way just in time and started flying circles around her, as I did so I grew back to normal and threw a punch at her face, hitting her in the cheek. Her head snapped back and in one fluid motion, she threw herself right back at me going to swipe with all the fury of her needles. Too shocked by her reaction to move I shrunk down once more to avoid being stabbed.

I quickly rushed to the top of the room to get out of her reach and looked over towards the computer to see that everything had finished downloading though my attention on it only seemed to draw hers to it as well as we came to the same conclusion. I need to grab that flash drive!

Using all of my speed I raced over to the tabletop and seeing her right behind me reaching for the drive in a split decision I grew back and quickly with my back facing the desk, grabbed onto the edges of the table with my hands and lifted myself pushing my feet onto her chest and kicking her back with all my force. Before doing so I felt one of her needles slice down my jaw and onto my neck.

I heard her crash into the middle desk in the room as I once more shifted down in size and flew up to the flash drive resting my boots on the side of the computer and pulled in out with one big yank. As soon as I had it securely in my grip I started looking for an exit to the room and noticed an air vent at the top of the room. Not wasting a spare look I booked it directly into the vent ignoring the doctors exclaims to stop as I raced through the vents looking for an exit.

After a while of searching through the vents, I found a port that had bits of light shining through it. Making my way over to it I set down the flash drive and with both my hands started prying the vent open. Eventually, I got it wide enough to where I could fit both myself and the flash drive though. As soon as I was free I was surprised to see the night sky had shifted into the sun, informing everyone of morning's arrival.

With what little energy I had left I made my way back to the agency and as I flew I could feel the drain of using my wings for so long as I was slowed down by the pain in my back quite a bit. By the time I could see the agency in the distance the sun had fully risen and I felt myself sweat drop knowing I stayed out longer than originally planned.

With one final spurt of energy, I forced my wings to flap harder as I made my way up top to the same long window before but this time It was pushed open allowing me free access to the room. The first thing I spotted upon entering was Shoto pacing the floor little sparks of flame trailing after him as he did so.

“You're going to burn a literal hole in the floor if you keep up that pacing”, I cheerfully yelled at him. The minute he heard my voice his head snapped over to my direction and I smiled at him when we made eye contact. In a rush, he was next to me and I soon found myself gathered in his hands as he pressed me against his chest.

“You’re late”, I felt his voice vibrate through his chest as he talked and I couldn’t help but want to lean in closer to be fully surrounded by him and his protective warmth.

I tilted my head back to look at him as I spoke, “I know I’m sorry, steak out took a little longer than expected”, Using all the strength I had left I strained my wings to fly myself out of his hands and up to his face. “But, I was successfully able to retrieve the information needed!” I proudly showed off the flash drive trying not to grimace as pain shot through my back as I was holding it out with both my hands.

One of his hands reached out to gently grab the flash drive from mine while the other came up underneath me giving me a perch to land on. “Even so I can see you overused your wings again, you shouldn’t be flying right now”. The hand I was standing upon was brought closer to his face as I could feel his gaze searching my body, “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Reminded of the cut on my jaw I quickly looked down and let out a quick,” Nope.”

“Oh really?” Humming in agreement I didn't see as his pointer finger came up underneath my chin tenderly lifting my head up to make eye contact once more.

I noticed the minute his eyes latched on to the cut as a soft exhale escaped him, “Shift back and we’ll get that taken care of”

I sheepishly smiled at him and grabbed on to the back of my neck with my now unoccupied hand, “Haha,, yeah about me shifting back,,, I’m kinda stuck like this until I get my energy back” I mumbled out. I could see the miffed look take over his face as my words truly sunk in.

“Well you’re still bleeding and it needs to be taken care of,” as he was talking he started walking over to where we kept the emergency aid kit in the office. Setting his hand down on the shelf next to it giving me the chance to walk off of his hand and sit down on the edge of the desk. My feet swing through the air as I listen to him digging through the kit presumably looking for the smallest bandages in there.

Not having to wait long I heard the snap of the first aid kit lid as he pushed it back to its proper position and focused onto me. I stretched my hand out waiting for him to hand me the band-aid, “I can handle myself from here Sho”

Ignoring my comment he finished unwrapping the bandaid, “If I recall you promised you’d stay safe and since you failed to do that I get to bandage your cut”, his tone was both scolding but loving and I couldn’t argue with him on those terms. I tilted my head up to give him better access as he brought his hands down towards my face and lightly pressed the bandaid over the cut.

“Can we get food after this Sho? I’d like to get back to regular size soon.”

He seemed to think it over before deciding, “I don’t know, you’re just so cute like this,” and with that, I was once again scooped into his hands but this time I was brought up to his face as he started to gently kiss all over my body.

A giggle escaped me as he did, “Sho stop that tickles!” This only seemed to encourage him further as relentlessly kissed me.

After what seemed like forever he finally pulled away leaving me breathless in his hand, “That’s for making me worry”, He smirked at me.

After getting my breathing under control I stood back up and walked over to his face and gently bestowed a kiss upon his lips, “I love you Sho.”

“I love you too Y/N”

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki #bnha fanfic #fairy #fairy reader #gender neautral reader #mha #mha x reader

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aeris-blue · 5 years

Note

Requests, you say? How about Gaster teaching Grillby how to ice skate? That'd be cute ^^ (Whether drabble or drawing, up to you)

Oh my, this is just adorable! Thanks!

“This is a terrible idea,” his glow danced along the blade of the skate he was attempting to tie. His fingers fumbled with the laces as his nerves got the best of him. Gaster sat on the slightly wet cushioned mat and tugged the strings tight enough he could feel the rivets. Of all the odd places Gaster had drug him over the last several months he didn’t think the monster could surprise him anymore but an ice skating rink was not anything he had anticipated.

As odd as it was for the gangly, moderately uncoordinated, skeleton to be so enthusiastic for an activity like this he found it hard to latch onto his energy. The way the humans had stared at him as he’d paid for entry, the way they were still staring, was putting hints of green in his flame that tainted the purity of the white skate.

‘It will be fine,’ Gaster assured him with that cockeyed way of his. At least he was a little on edge too: his good eyelight would flick to someone whispering before focusing on him again. ‘You’re a very talented swordsman and an elegant dancer, this is just combining those things.’

Grillby stared dumbly at his partner the swooshing sound of those already in the rink helped punctuate his deadpan: “Gaster, they are nothing at all the same.”

‘You haven’t even tried it yet,’ he braced his hand against Grillby’s knee and rose with a tremendous wobble to his feet. ‘And at least here there isn’t a giant body of water underneath us.’

Grillby swallowed in fear of the thought, the sound of ice cracking splintered through his mind settling underneath the top layer of his flames. Gaster stepped heavy footed over to the entrance, an eager expression painted on his face.

His breath coiled hot from his mouth only to fog up his glasses in the strange mismatched temperature that air conditioning and heaters in the same area created. With another hefty sigh he pulled his glasses away to clean them against the light jacket he wore over his usual attire. Once they were secured properly he rocked forward off of the wooden bench. His ankles gave a dangerous wobble but he realized that’s why the laces needed to be so tight.

If walking was this difficult he was increasingly nervous what skating was going to be like.

Gaster stepped onto the ice then turned a tight circle to face him, ‘Now the first thing--’ His skates clicked together and he was suddenly jerked to the ground landing on the top of his femur with a wince.

Grillby’s soul stuttered, “Are you okay?” He reached down ready to take the skeleton away from this ridiculous idea and do something in normal shoes, on normal ground but his assistance was batted away.

‘That’s normal.’

“Well excuse me if I wanna skip the first step then,” he crackled despite himself.

A puff of warm air hovered lazily around Gaster’s teeth in a haughty huff, ‘This is good though. I can show you how to get up! Watch closely.’ He curled his knees up to his chest then lifted his shoulders before the rest of him followed suit, his skates threatened to betray him but he righted himself fully.

Gaster stuck his hands out in a sarcastic jazz hands before he tucked them in his pockets to warm them back up. It didn’t seem to take long as next thing Grillby knew the hands were around his and gently pressing him towards the ice. With a crooked step Grillby found his dominant foot against the ice and a mere second later so was his other foot.

Alright, he did it. Good. His grip on Gaster’s hands was way more intense then he had intended and the poor monster was trying very hard to disguise his discomfort.

That was his cue to let go. Unfurl his fingers. Maybe awkwardly apologize? But no. He was still clinging to Gaster’s hands as if they were the only thing keeping him upright. Luckily Gaster didn’t seem to mind.

A pair of hand bullets appeared between them, ‘Now the trick to this is keeping your wait on the pads of your feet and your knees bent.’

“Like dodging,” he muttered repositioning himself.

‘Sort of,’ Gaster hummed while the bullets signed.

Grillby did his best to follow instructions, but he didn’t exactly feel graceful as he stomped his feet behind Gaster as they moved hand in hand around the rink. Each step was uncertain but he was growing less paranoid as they made their laps taking comfort in the other monster’s presence.

Eventually he built up the confidence to bend his knees the way Gaster did, to gently push of the ice and move forward. It wasn’t pretty by any means but he was able to loosen his death grip on the boney fingers he held.

The sound of the blades against the ice was soft, precise, timed in a way that could be its’ own music. Swish. Swish. His flames began to in an imitation of the song stoking into their usual oranges. He could almost--

He shut his eyes lightly, only focusing on the sound of shredding ice: back and forth. Maybe, maybe this was fun, well, enjoyable at least. Gaster repositioned his grip on Grillby’s hand and squeezed lightly as a display of comfort. The cool of the ice rushing to greet him wasn’t enough to put a chill in his core or make him feel stiff, the awkward feeling of the skates was almost completely gone when you were hovering inches from the ice, it was all so different but not in a bad way.

He opened his eyes confused not to meet the thin black clad figure that had been leading him. That didn’t make sense he was holding-- Grillby watched as the hand bullet dissipated upon being released. His flames snapped as he slid into the wall to stop. A few of the children around the rink chuckled at the sight but he didn’t know how else to do it.

With his features fixed in a playful scowl he turned around to glare daggers at Gaster who was waving with a mischievous grin. “Gaster!” He bellowed across the rink.

The skeleton’s shoulders jerked up in a display of shock before he took off in the opposite direction. Grillby’s grip on the wall tightened indecisively, he was enjoying himself more than he thought he would but he still lacked anything resembling skill or grace.

Gaster mocked him from across the room actually managing some simple leaps and spins as he swayed lazily from side to side making a point to yawn as wide as he could muster. Fine. Fine. He let go of the wall and charged like a bullet fired from a pistol.

The other monster had been so shocked, so completely dumbfounded by the sudden movement, that he’d nearly forgotten he needed to get out of the way. At the last moment he hopped to the side leaving Grillby to smack once again into the barricade around the rink. ‘Goodness you can be fast if you want to,’ Gaster mused before he skirted teasingly away.

Grillby took a breath and, in much more of a controlled manner, skated after him. They danced an awkward dance that left Gaster always out of his reach, just enough to give him hope before the fabric would sway away from his fingertips.

He’d reach further and further out trying desperately to grab anything he could only to just barely miss. It would be frustrating if it wasn’t for that skeletal smile, that soft hiccup of grinding mechanical noises that came with his laughter, or even just the sight of him moving in such a fluid movement.

Gaster was usually so shallow and reserved in his steps; allowing only his hands to flutter about however they desired. Here he was extending his arms in crisp clean movements, his legs were making strong lines as he suddenly changed direction. It was so different than his usual self that always stepped on his toes when they danced or cursed at his limbs when he had to get in the truck. Gaster always glowed so bright, he was smart, and cunning, but graceful wasn’t a word he thought of until seeing him like this.

Finally, Grillby reached out and snagged the monster’s hand as he attempted to perform a tight spiral to dodge. Somewhere between Grillby’s over extended arm and Gaster’s already started momentum he found himself nearly tossed to the ground in good company sliding on his back across the ice still firmly grasping Gaster’s hand.

They laid there on the ice a bit dazed as they wondered how they got there before Gaster started to laugh, and without any attempt to hold back. The people that skated around them gave them odd looks as Gaster tried, and failed, to contain his laugh but they didn’t matter. Grillby squeezed his hand tight and laughed right along with him until the skater in charge of safety informed them they needed to get up.

‘Do you remember how?’ Gaster asked with shaky hands as he breathed out the last of his laugh.

“It’s the first thing right?”

#anchestor #request #grillster #ice skating #tumblr!#why do you refuse to do the keep reading line!#why?#thank you for this prompt!#my brain has been stuck on angst lately #this was so cute #and made me smile #miiiiight need to edit later

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ad-drew · 5 years

Text

The Shaman Society | An Excerpt, Part 13

I’m back again with another excerpt of my WIP! I had taken a step away from this for a while to refresh myself and my perspective on things, and fortunately after coming back to it I’ve found I’m still happy with how it looks. Of course I know there’s still a lot of room for improvement. This time we take a look at another action packed scene where Rei is (seemingly) victorious.

Tagging: @mania-junkie-writes, @seamusings, @haline-penthorn

If you want to be added to my humble tag list, just send me a message and I’ll be happy to do so.

As brought up before, I am always looking for beta readers. If this caught your interest and you’d like to do me the honor of considering to beta read, you can check out this post for more information.

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Rei rolled through the mud and leaped forward, over the toppled trunk. Swooshing spikes greeted her. Instinct brought her scythe around in time to deflect part of the blow, but the force cracked into her chest all the same. She lifted airborne. A wave of lashing branches and prickling pine rushed around her, as she plummeted through rain-soaked foliage. She hit the ground with a wet plop, air rushing from her lungs.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she said, pushing herself upright with breathless wheezing. Sharp throbbing burned through her muscles. “Still hits like a fucking truck.”

“You can’t fight him head on!” said Asami’s echoing voice. “You have to be smarter!”

“Thanks, big help.” Rei clambered to her feet, as a flash of red appeared through the trees. Branches snapped away in the oni’s path.

Fight smarter? How? The only other thing she knew how to do was fire a spirit wave, and Doru would see it coming from a mile away if she tried charging it in the dark. And with all this tree cover, probably wouldn’t even hit him. She could try hit and run tactics; the cover was good for that. Only way she’d get a clean hit in, anyway.

“Look out!”

Rei snapped out of her thoughts in time to see the spiked kanabō crashing through a curtain of branches in front of her. Shit, okay, not the time to think! She darted out of the way, behind another tree. When she was out of sight, she catapulted herself into the trees, bounding from one to another, keeping to the shadows. Lumbering footsteps boomed somewhere below her. As long as he couldn’t find her, he couldn’t attack her.

She leaped to another tree, and another, working her way behind the sound of crunching undergrowth. A flash of red skin and white hair caught her eye below. Steady, now. Quiet… Doru’s back turned to her, and she lunged. A wet veil of pine brushed past her face, as she reeled back her scythe. Blue, fiery energy erupted around the blade. She swung. Charged metal sank into flesh.

Doru stumbled forward, a pained grumble bellowing from his throat. He paused, glancing at the curved scythe blade pierced through the side of his shoulder. His grin returned. “That’s better.”

Rei’s jaw slackened, as she watched to oni clamp his clawed fingers around the blade. She tried to tug her weapon free, but it didn’t budge. Another pull, digging her heels into the mud. Her boots slipped, and she dropped to her ass. Shit.

The oni swung around so fast, the scythe handle wrenched clean out of Rei’s slick grasp. She made a desperate stumble to get out of the way, but fuck if the mud wasn’t sucking her into the damn ground. Broad knuckles hammered into the side of her face, cracking her head to the side with an explosion of sound and colors. Instinct drove her to throw herself upright. She spun wild through the air, half a second before metal spikes crashed into the ground. With a wet squelch, she landed face-first in the mud.

Shit, get up! Rei bit her tongue and heaved herself upright. Thunder pounded through her skull. Keep moving. Gotta keep moving. The world whirled around in circles, but she could still make out the blurred frame of Doru lumbering towards her. Son of a bitch. She couldn’t take another hit like that.

Rei scrambled into the trees. Even dazed, she was faster than him. Had to keep out of his reach, had to keep up the chase. Landing on one of the branches above, she crumpled against the sturdy trunk of a tree. Easier said than done. Only thing keeping her going now was spirit energy and pure adrenaline.

The least she could do was call back her one weapon. Closing her eyes, she concentrated and stretched out a hand. Within several seconds, blue light flashed in her palm, taking the form of her scythe. She closed a fist around the shaft. Alright, time to go back on the attack. Any second now. Soon as her head stopped pounding.

A cracking shudder tore through the tree, yanking her back on alert. So much for the breather. With a springing leap backwards, Rei tumbled towards the ground. The rapid shift gurgled her insides, but she clamped her jaw tight, and focused. Had to keep it together. She landed in a crouch, watching as the tree toppled sideways. Another series of wooden snaps exploded through the forest, ending in an earth-shaking boom when it hit the ground.

Doru burst through the foliage, swinging his kanabō overhead. Once again, Rei darted out of the way. Another swing, another miss. She met his eyes; he glowered, kept coming. She slinked out of sight into the trees, drawing a howling roar from the oni.

Was he getting frustrated? Impatient? Good. She could use that. Moving deeper into the darkened forest, she called out, “What’s the matter? Can’t catch me? Come on! I’m a novice, got no idea what the fuck I’m doing. Should be easy!”

“You’re nothing!” A red blur crashed out of the brush, prompting Rei to further retreat. “You hide! You run! You disappoint!”

“Story of my life, disappointing people,” she said, peering around the side of a tree. A flash of metal spikes disappeared through a bush. “But I make due. Always have. You think you’re tough? Should try dealing with my principal. Now he’s a real nightmare.”

Another roar, another crashing of trees. “Worthless!”

“Aw, buddy. I know you’re having a rough time, but don’t put yourself down like that. I hear it’s pretty bad for your whole sense of self-worth.”

The sound of splintering wood ruptured through the forest. Rei squinted into the rain for a better look. Doru howled, smashing his club into tree after tree. Branches snapped, bushes flattened. If he kept this up, he’d tear the whole forest apart. He was distracted. Good.

Rei crept forward, keeping to the oni’s blind spot. She pulled back her scythe, keeping it low, buried in undergrowth. Doru was so busy with his tantrum, he didn’t notice the brightening blue glow shining through the trees and bushes. Just kept smashing away, like an upset child whose parents hadn’t bought him the new toy he wanted. Twenty feet away, with a clear shot through the trees, she stopped and focused her power.

Hissing energy pooled into blade, igniting with dancing wisps of almost-fire. Power surged through her body. Her fingers vibrated. That secondary being embraced her once again, fueling her weapon with the might of a miniature sun. Fuck, did it feel good.

“Hey, shitstick!”

Doru paused his club halfway to a fallen log and looked over his shoulder. At the sight of her gleaming soul killer, his brow arched in surprise. “Wha—”

The rest of his voice drowned behind a shrieking wall of pure ki. Rain evaporated in a burst of steam, as the spirit wave scorched across the muddy ground. Doru managed a dumbfounded gape and raised one arm to shield himself, before disappearing within the blistering light. The dark, muscled shape of his silhouette flashed briefly inside the blur, and then was gone.

A cacophonous boom cracked through the trees, sending a rushing sphere of rainwater scattering outward, swallowing a lingering cloud of mist. Bits of charred wood and leaves flickered with tiny dancing flames, before swiftly squelched by the return of steady rainfall. Rei toppled against a tree trunk. She stared, mouth frozen in a half-smirk at the sight of empty, scorched ground. No oni. No Doru.

Giddy, chortling laughter coughed out her mouth. Hopping back to her feet, she raised a fist and screamed, “That’s fucking right! You yōkai don’t mess with me! You got that? I’ll fucking kill every last one of you!”

#the shaman society #wip #writeblr #writing #amwriting #excerpt

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malfoydormiensnunquamtitillandus · 6 years

Text

Granger’s Sister part I (reader x Draco Malfoy)

Not Requested: A few people at Hogwarts knew about Hermione’s family in the Muggle World. Even fewer knew about her older sister. A complete muggle, you kept silent and lived as a muggle with your family until Hermione asked you to go visit her at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The wind was blowing through your hair, making it flutter madly, bursting out like flames from under the helmet. It was fortunately not long enough to be getting into your mouth. Unfortunately, Hagrid's was. You tried fighting it for a while, at first, but forfeited in the end.

Had someone told you before that in a few hours you would be sitting in the back of a flying motorcycle, flying towards a magic school, you would have laughed and punched them in the face for taking the piss out of you. But there you were... being driven by a giant and you were clearly not dreaming, because all of that hair felt too damn real.

"Half-giant, actually. My ol' dad was a normal guy – by the age o' 6, I could pick'im up an' hang'im in the coat hanger. Oh, how he'd laugh when I did that." You smiled. Hagrid seemed like one of the kindest of people you had ever met. The embodiment of a gentle giant. Oups, half-giant. He had told you all about Hogwarts and how great Dumbledore was and you couldn't see his eyes, but judging by the tone of his voice, they were certainly glowing. He told you about the Dark Forest and the Black Lake and all the creatures that lurked about the school grounds and the mere thought of some of them made your skin crawl.

Oh, also, Werewolves were an actual thing. How crazy was that?!

"Well, I should have gone first, because nothing about my life can top that. I mean, my parents are dentists, I'm going to graduate soon..." You laughed. "And my sister a witch." He turned to you and smiled.

"Hermione, y'know... she's abou' the brightest witch of her generation." There was obvious admiration and affection in his voice and your heart warmed up a bit at his words. You had always been mad-proud of Herminie - even before you found out she was a witch.

"She has always been the best in everything she did - such a perfectionist. She has this incredible memory and I admire her so much for how motivated she is. It looks like she inherited all the motivation of our family and I... despite having been born first... was left with nothing." You sighed and Hagrid's face became a bit stiff – he was clearly not good at comforting people. "I mean... nothing except the good looks." You laughed, giving him a sly wink. Hagrid laughed at your cheek and patted your shoulder. "Wow, wow, hands on the steering wheel, please." You were already a tad envious on your sister.

It was not long after, that you caught a glimpse of a tower poking up from the clouds and then, bit by bit, Hogwarts began to unfold in front of your eyes. You were mesmerized. You had never seen anything as majestic. The grounds of the castle were swarming with black-dressed students, walking hurriedly towards class and every bit of the campus exuded magic. You fit like a fish in the middle of a forest. Hagrid must have noticed you holding your breath, or the sparkle in your eyes because soon, his voice pierced through the swooshing sound of the wind – that was blowing slower by the minute. You were getting close to landing.

"Beautiful, ain' it?" You nodded slowly, mouth agape, too overwhelmed to articulate a verbal answer. "Hold on tight, we're landing." You tried to wrap your arms around him as much as possible and closed your eyes, hanging onto his coat tightly. With a thud that made your stomach jump up into your chest, followed by various moaning sounds coming from the motorcycle, you had finally arrived. You jumped off the bike and spun around, taking everything in.

"Careful! Don't get too close to the Whomping Willow." Hagrid warned, pulling you by the collar of your denim jacket as if you were a mere puppy.

"Wow, Hagrid... this is beyond imagination. And they were worried that I would talk about this in the muggle world?! No one would be able to even begin to imagine such beauty." You held your breath the entire way to Hagrid's hut, where you were to leave your luggage - that Hagrid was carrying for you.

"Ye' remind me of yer sister the first time she got'ere." Hagrid replied with a smile that felt somewhat nostalgic. "I remember it like it was yesterday." You smiled back and patted his arm. Your sister only had 1 or 2 years left at Hogwarts and you could understand by her letters that her friends and her were very close to Hagrid.

"Don't get yourself down by thinking too far into the future, Hagrid." You smiled encouragingly. "You know, living in the future can be as destructive as living in the past. Just enjoy the moment while it lasts." Your eyes fell upon a rustic looking hut, right by the edge of the forest you'd just flown above. Hagrid extended a hand, presenting the hut humbly. "It is absolutely lovely, Hagrid. It's just as magical as the castle – fits these grounds like a glove."

"Why thank yeh'!" By the redness of his cheeks, you could tell that it meant a whole deal to him. You complimented his humongous pumpkins and unique home décor and played a bit with Fang before he egged you on to explore a bit of the castle's ground. "The forest's out of boundaries, eh?" You nodded excitedly.

"You may not believe me, but gigantic spiders and werewolves are not something I'm dreaming to meet here." You answered and made your way, running up the hill right towards the castle. "Dumbledore will find ye' when the time's right!" Hagrid yelled from the hut's door and you waved in response.

Oh, how you wished you got to live there too... you finally understood why Hermione always spoke of the place as if it was out of this world. For all you knew, it actually was. You walked around the castle for a bit, until you found your way inside an interior garden, where you finally sat on a bench to catch your breath. If you breathed enough of the magic air, you hoped you'd suddenly turn magical too and you got to stay. The life you'd have left behind was nothing worth pondering upon – you'd have given it in for that any second.

"Are you lost?" A voice interrupted you, just as you were about to summon the devil and sell your soul if he let you stay. Instead, you turned around and your eyes fell upon the figure of a tall, blonde-haired boy, watching you with a pair of magnificent grey eyes. You stared at him for a moment, your eyes travelling up and down, before you finally spoke.

"Hi." You smirked. "I wasn't lost before you showed up. Now I'm lost into your eyes." Your smile widened at the cheekiness of your dumb pick up line – wait, did they have them in the wizard world too? Judging by his lost, confused look and red cheeks, you supposed not. "I mean, I have no clue where I am, but I have no particular place to be, so I guess that I can't really get lost." You added, making the boy frown thoughtfully, his cheeks still flushed

"You are not a student at this school." He explained, making his previous question clearer.

"Ah, great sense of observation... so those gorgeous eyes are not only for show." He smiled and looked away, biting his lip and making you escape a laugh. He really was handsome, now that you had gotten a better look at him. The damn school just kept getting better and better. "I am visiting." You finally gave him a serious answer.

"Visiting?" He asked, now more confused than ever and his attention was all yours once more.

"Visiting." You emphasized as his eyes scanned you from head to toe. You were, indeed, easy to spot. You wore a white, summery dress that contrasted the oversized denim jacket and platform leather boots. Your long, dark hair was loose and had some nice waves in it and you had made yourself a daisy headband while you sat by the lake earlier.

"I didn't know that casual visits were allowed here."

"Neither did I, but Dumbledore agreed to it and here I am. And here you are... thank you Lord." You smiled and finally stood from the bench. You made your way towards him confidently and stopped one foot away from him, reaching your hand in front of you and introducing yourself - by your name only. "Hm, you are not a Gryffindor." You hummed and he blushed slightly as you ran your fingers over the embroidered snake on his robe.

"Oh, Salazar no..." He exclaimed in disgust, rolling his eyes despitefully. "Slytherin." He declared proudly, picking your interest. He could be cocky, you liked that... in the right amount.

"Hm... don't mind if I do slither in." You narrowed the distance between the two of you and pulled open his robe, wrapping it around both of you. "It's chilly here." Your bodies were now touching, your faces only inches apart as you looked up at him, smiling devilishly. You had no idea when you'd gotten that bold, but you were only going to be there for a short time and you were never going to see him again, so you had nothing to lose.

"You can have it." He said, sliding out of the robe and stepping away from you, leaving you behind wide-eyed.

"Oh, I don't mind sharing, c'mon." You laughed and invited him back, sliding your hands into the sleeves and opening up the robe.

"I'm fine, I was actually hot anyways." He replied almost immediately, taking a step back. You smirked and bit your lip.

"If you ask me, you still are." You winked as his face became inhumanly red.

"C-class is starting, I must go." He excused himself and left you there speechless, but smiling to yourself.

***

"Cute." You thought watching him leave. "He's hot, what was he so shy about? Maybe I came on too strong." You pondered, pulling his robe closer to you. It smelled incredible and you were a sucker for a man that smelled good. "Damn, he never told me his name." It was not often that you went straight for a guy like that, but your time there was short and it was not often that you met someone who struck you in the way that he had done.

"Sister?" A familiar voice called from the doorstep and you raised your eyes to meet Hermione's.

"Herminie!" You exclaimed excitedly, meeting her halfway and hugging her tightly. Your little sister was the apple of your eye. You loved her dearly, for she was so worthy of all the love in the universe, so she more-than-deserved yours.

"Ugh, still calling me that?" She hissed through gritted teeth.

"Always." You answered kissing her head.

"How was your trip?" Her hand slipped under your arm and pulled you towards the castle.

"Right now, even taking a piss would feel exciting, so how do you think flying in a motorcycle felt?!" You exclaimed looking at her with sparkly eyes. "I still fear that I might be in a coma and imagining everything, but I still have some of Hagrid's hair on my clothes, so I guess it's real." Hermione laughed, leaning on your shoulder. "The thing that saves me is knowing that my dry brain could never come up with something this incredible."

"You smell... wait, thinking of it, where'd you get a robe from?" She asked analyzing you carefully. "And a Slytherin one to top it off. Ugh." She jeered.

"It was a welcome gift." You smiled innocently, but Hermione still knew you too well.

"Did you steal it?" Her eyes were burning holes into your soul and you burst out laughing.

"What an awful accusation. I was actually telling the truth." You answered trying to feign offended, but she knew you like the palm of her hand.

"Making someone give it to you is not receiving a present..." Hermione laughed and picked up her pace.

"Wow..." An unknown voice broke the sound of your steps as your eyes fell on a group of guys. For a second there, looking on the right, you feared that your brain might have been overheated, because you were suddenly seeing double.

"Sister, these are, in order from left to right: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George." You looked at everyone, trying your best to remember their names... then, overwhelmed by the mass of people, trying hard to remember your own. "Everyone, this is my sister." You waved and you swore that half of those guys were drooling. You weren't some supernatural beauty, but you guessed you did stand out a bit.

"Oh, what is it? Is it a secret meeting of the 'worst things that ever happened to Hogwarts'?" A weirdly familiar voice rang from behind you right as Hermione arranged the robe's hood on your head. "And look... naturally, Granger's the head of it." Your head shot up when you heard your name, but then looked at Hermione to see that she was now shaking slightly.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Ron spat angrily. You instantly liked him.

"Uhhh, or else? Did they make poorness contagious now?" The other guy answered, making Ron turn almost as red as his hair.

"Just go away, Malfoy." Hermione spoke, her voice shaking a bit.

"Don't tell me what to do, you filthy mud-blood." Hermione turned towards you, embarrassed, trying to keep her composure, but you noticed that she was getting teary eyed. That was when you'd had it - what was a mud-blood anyways?

"Who in the bloody hell do you think you are, you piece of..." Your words got stuck in your throat when you turned around and your eyes met those of the guy from earlier. Your eyebrows shot up incredulously and a wide, mean grin appeared on your face. The little sheep was a bully?! By the look of it, he was choking on his words as well, because he was speechless again.

You would have been amused by the irony of the situation, if you didn't remember that he had just insulted your sister.

"Wait... you seem familiar. Have we met before or do you just look like my next boyfriend?" You spoke loudly, making everyone look at the both of you dumbfounded. Hermione's eyes widened when she figured that it was his robe that you were wearing. "Did you come looking for me?" You flirted, walking closer to him.

"N-no." He stuttered, making your eyes turn a bit meaner.

"Changed your mind about sharing the robe?" You inquired, walking closer to him and opening up the robe. He shook his head in response, making you bite your lip. "Oh... cat's got your tongue?" You were, once more, inches away from his face, your fingers tracing his smooth, ivory skin.

"K-keep it. I'll-I'll just buy new ones." He forced an answer, trying not to look as intimidated as he was in front of the others.

"Thank you, love." You replied getting closer and brushing your lips against his cheek before placing a soft kiss on it. A second later, the same fingers that had caressed his skin were now clenched tightly around his jaw, your long, red nails pressing down into his skin. "Listen, boy toy. As cute as you might be, don't you dare bother my Hermione again." You hissed angrily, looking straight into his eyes.

"Or-or else?" He stuttered, despite trying to push back. You laughed and let go of his face.

"Listen, puppet. You don't know half the things I'd to for her, so don't push me. Alright?" You smiled as you pulled his head down and pushing it back up into a nod. "Good boy."

"Don't touch me." He snapped, pulling his wand out.

"Babe, take that thing out of my face before I shove it up your ass." You growled grabbing his wand wand pulling him closer to you. "Just go." You whispered, leaning towards him, your lips millimeters apart and blowing him a kiss. You let go and walked back towards Hermione, putting your arm around her neck and hugging her, leaving a dumbstruck Draco behind. "Bye love, see you around!" You yelled looking back at him and winking.

#Draco Malfoy #Imagine #scenario #hermione granger #sister #flirt #hogwarts #harry potter #Dean thomas #Seamus finnigan #ron weasley #fred and george #weasley #Granger #reader #draco x reader

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hookedonapirate · 6 years

Text

Handprints On My Soul

Summary: Leaving home and a career as a roller coaster engineer on a whim with his six year old daughter was one of the last things Killian Jones wanted to do. But after falling in love with someone he’d met online to find out he’d been catfished, it seemed like the best idea. It seems even more appealing when Emma Swan, musician and bartender at a charming Irish Pub, enters his life… even if his brother and daughter have to be the ones to help him realize it.

Rated: M for a dash of salty language and a pinch of smut.

Trigger warnings: Mentions of death resulting from labor and mentions of abandonment and emotional and physical abuse. Deals with catfishing/scamming over the internet.

AO3 FFN

A/N: Oh gosh, after four months of working on this little story, I am thrilled to be able to present it to you. In the beginning, I struggled coming up with something that would meet the word-count requirements, so there are some people I would like to thank who helped me, inspired me and allowed me to burden them with this thing while offering an endless amount of support.

First of all, I wanted to give a shout out to all of the moderators of @captainswanbigbang for putting this project together and for always being responsive and helpful throughout the process. And thank you for blessing me with a fabulous artist @shipsxahoy who I really enjoyed working with. Thank you so much, Bianca, for the perfect artwork to accompany this story, including the fic banner above. Please check out the other piece she made for the story and be sure to reblog!

Gifset

I also have to thank @irishswanff for this prompt that helped me get this story rolling, taking on a life of its own. I can’t say too much about the the actual prompt though, because bits and pieces of it are slowly revealed throughout the story. Then there is @resident-of-storybrooke who came up with Killian’s former occupation when I was struggling to. A shout out to @distant-rose who’s as sweet as a cupcake and looked it over, offering a bit of her cultural knowledge and setting me straight on some things. She is the reason Killian’s daughter has an Irish accent, although she is also the reason I had cut out most of my original smut scene ;-)

Last but not least, I have to thank my wonderful beta-reader and dear friend @rouhn for all of her suggestions, for always getting me to see things from a different angle, for her encouragement and allowing me to bounce ideas off of her and for always being my biggest cheerleader and support. Thank you so much for sticking with me Lydia!

I am open to all reviews, even if you don't like the story! Thank you all for reading and for your support and encouragement!

The raindrops pitter-patter on the windshield as the wiper blades swoosh left and right in a continuous motion, permitting visibility of the road ahead. The day is on the cusp of morning and afternoon, and the sky has grown grey and murky, unleashing a monotonous downpour over the streets of Storybrooke. Killian hadn’t seen a drop of rain since his arrival, so it hadn’t occurred to him to bring rain jackets before he’d left that morning.

He’s not even sure exactly why he’s here; he basically picked this place randomly on the map; or at least, his brother did.

After Killian’s heart shattered into a million pieces yet again, he needed to flee from Ohio. Actually, the reasons are more complicated than that—Killian Jones didn’t typically flee at the drop of a hat. His education consisted of mathematics, mechanical engineering and physics; he’s a man of science—a man with a vision and a plan. In high school, his whole future was mapped out before him, down to every last intricate detail—the university he chose to attend, the degrees he required to achieve, the job he dreamed of attaining and the type of woman he desired to marry.

And everything went according to plan, until he took a trip to Ireland and met Milah. Of course, having a wife and starting a family completed the puzzle, but everything he’s worked for, every dream, every drop of sweat, every tear and every part of his carefully crafted plan rose in flames when Milah died from giving birth to their daughter, leaving an empty hole in his life and his heart.

From that point on, he had to live from day to day, figuring things out as he went. When he moved back to the States with his daughter, his older brother helped him as much as possible, and perhaps that complicated things. Liam wanted to do anything to help Killian pick up the pieces of his life, and for once, Killian placed his faith in something he couldn’t design, construct or control. He couldn’t implement safety features or predict the outcome based on statistics or experiments or the laws of physics. He’d poured the fate of his (and his daughter’s) future into something he couldn’t spend months or years carefully envisaging.

He put his faith in a dating site.

Liam said it would be good for Killian to do something in which he’d no idea what the outcome would be. His brother insisted on it, begged him until he relented. Liam wanted him to be happy and hated the fact that Killian had to raise his baby girl on his own, but in Killian’s eyes, raising Raven alone wasn’t a curse or a burden. It was and still is a blessing.

Nevertheless, Killian conceded to his brother’s insistence and created a profile. Within days, he started chatting with someone he discovered had a lot of things in common with him. Little did he know what a disaster that would be.

It’s a shame, really, because he actually thought he could marry this woman. But, boy was he wrong. He was a bloody idiot for trusting someone he’d met on a dating site.

As Killian rolls through the deep puddles scattered among the road, he seeks out a decent place to eat and remembers his brother recommending a small Irish pub and their famous stew when he sees the establishment up ahead. It’s a quaint bar nestled in between a couple of shops and accompanied by a few tables and chairs perched underneath a charming red awning embellished with gold letters reading The Hanged Queen. Killian wonders when exactly his brother has ever been to this town, but now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t recall.

Nevertheless, his belly’s growling, and he has a wee lassie to feed, so he parks in front of the small pub to his right and cuts off the engine. Turning around, he smiles at his daughter, who’s sleeping soundly and breathing with her mouth slightly opened.

Raven is six years old with porcelain skin and dark, thick tendrils of hair on her head like her mother. When he’d held Raven in his arms for the first time, he made a vow to her; he would make sure to always shower her with love and give her everything she needed. It’s been more difficult than it should’ve been, but he enjoys his role as Papa all the same.

Since he’s currently staying in a small inn until he can find a permanent place to live, his lunch options include this pub or one of Storybrooke’s finest restaurants, including Granny’s Diner, due to the lack of fast food chains in this town. Honestly, he can go for a hot bowl of stew right now, but he can’t bear to wake up his daughter nor does he wish to leave her alone in the car.

Settling on a decision, Killian unfastens his seatbelt, removes his jacket in the cramped space of his seat and scrambles out, lifting the coat over his head to use it as a shield. The rain is relentless, unforgiving, as he hurries around to his daughter’s side, opening the door and unbuckling her from the seat. She begins to stir, disturbed by the noise of the rain as he leans in and lifts the hood of her beige jacket, pulling it over her head. Carefully scooping her up in his arms, he can hear a quiet whine from her mouth as he pulls his jacket over Raven to add more protection from the rain.

“Shh shh, little love. Just getting us some food,” he whispers, making sure her face is burrowed in the crook of his neck and secured under her hood. Kicking the door shut, he feels a shiver skating down his spine as the rain rolls off of him in sheets. He cradles his daughter, holding her closely as he races inside the pub, not caring that he’s getting completely drenched as long as his daughter stays dry.

Killian sucks in the warm air as he enters the pub, wiping a wet brow with his free hand and rubbing his feet against the welcome mat, letting it sponge up the water from his boots. He pulls down his daughter’s hood and kisses her head, panting lightly through the dark locks of hair as he recovers from the small sprint and the brisk air he’d endured.

Taking a wary look around, he’s surprised by the interior of the establishment; it’s a bar but somehow has a cozy feel, with walls painted in a warm red, chestnut table settings, family photos scattered over the walls and soft music pouring from the jukebox on the other side of the room. The smells permeating from the kitchen are undeniably enticing, and Killian is amazed the place isn’t buzzing with patrons at this time of the day, even if it is a bar. It couldn’t possibly compare to the ones in Dublin, but a comforting bowl of Irish stew sounds amazing at the moment.

There’s one other person in the entire joint—a young woman—who’s sitting at the bar. The first thing he notices about her is the pair of red, knee-high leather boots she’s wearing over her skinny blue jeans; her top leg is crossed over the bottom one, slowly bobbing up and down to the rhythm of the music. Quickly tearing his gaze away, he looks behind the bar, seeing no one working.

Killian glances at the woman again, taking in her entire figure. She’s wearing a white turtleneck sweater, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. He can spot a pair of red, thick-framed glasses, but he can’t see her eyes or her face because she’s turned away from him. He’s pretty sure she hasn’t noticed his presence yet because her face is buried in a book, completely lost in it.

“Excuse me, lass,” he says timidly, catching her attention. Her lips are pressed together firmly as though she’s still consumed in her book and he’s merely a rude intrusion, pulling her back to reality. He can’t blame her though. He’s spent many countless hours using the pages of a book to steal him away from his troubles. “What does a lad have to do to acquire some service around here?” he questions in vexation.

“Depends,” she replies with a shrug. “What do you wish to barter with?” When she turns her head, seeing the young girl in his arms, her features instantly soften, and Killian’s heartbeat staggers, catching the emerald sparkle behind her spectacles. In normal circumstances, he’d be enamored by the sight of a beautiful woman, but considering what he’s been through, he chooses to ignore any changes in his breathing or his pulse from looking at her. He can’t think about having any other lass in his life right now. The only one he needs is his true love, and she’s currently in his embrace with her arms curled around his neck and her dark hair sprawled across his chest.

“I come bearing American dollars,” he clarifies, dragging his hand through his wet, matted hair. “Or does this place take Euros? I have those too.”

She flashes a sarcastic smirk and removes her glasses, setting them down on the counter along with her book as she stands. When she maneuvers around the bar, tossing him a glance, he can’t help but notice how perfectly her face is framed by the long, wavy bangs of hair or how much greener her eyes are without those glasses.

“Judging by the accent, I’m guessing England?” she asks, towing Killian from his deep musings as she grabs a terry bar towel, throwing it over her shoulder.

“That’s where I was born, but I haven’t been there since I was a young lad. The Euros are from Ireland—I lived in Dublin for a few years. Have you ever been?”

“I’ve only visited,” she replies, sauntering over and planting her feet behind the bar, the palms of her hands bracing against the edge of the counter. “I have relatives there whom I didn’t even know about until recently.”

Killian wants to comment or inquire further, but he’s too overwhelmed with shock; he wasn’t expecting her to work here. “Ah, so somebody does tend the bar. I’m relieved it’s not self-service,” he teases lightly.

She dazzles him with a sardonic smirk. “Well just so you’re aware, I don’t serve alcohol to minors,” she throws back. “Regina would kill me if she lost her liquor license because of me.”

Killian gives into a faint chuckle as he hoists Raven up in his arms, securing her more tightly to keep her from sliding. Peering down at his daughter, he sees her eyes blinking open as she nestles her head deeper into the little nook of her Papa, which she always uses as a pillow whenever he’s carrying her around. “No worries. The wee lassie has already drunk her share of rum today.” He means it to be playful, but the blonde’s staring at him with a blank, unfathomable expression, and he’s not so sure if she thinks he’s being serious or not. “It was a joke, lass.”

Her features transform and a smile is curving her lips again as she emits a light laugh, a dimple denting each cheek. “Right, I knew that.”

Killian chuckles as she deposits a menu in front of him and he doesn’t even need to catch a glimpse of it before knowing exactly what he wants to order. “We’ll just take some of your Irish stew.”

“Very good choice. Although, it’s not mine; Regina’s the one who works the magic in the kitchen. I just stand behind the counter, serve drinks and look pretty,” she remarks whimsically, fluttering her eyelashes.

Killian nods and tosses a grin; he can’t exactly argue with her statement. “And read Hemingway when no patrons arrive to bug you about the service of the joint,” he adds playfully, handing her money for the food.

“Exactly,” she laughs, accepting the cash and securing it in the till. “I’ll go put your order in so you can take your young one home. It looks like she’s tuckered out. In fact, why don’t you two go wait in the car and I’ll bring it out to you once it’s done.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden—”

“Nonsense,” the woman cuts him off with a small wave before wandering away from the bar, “it’s not a problem. Besides, your arms must be tired of holding her.” She disappears into the back and returns with a wool blanket. “Here, you both must be freezing; I would offer you a raincoat but it looks like the sun’s starting to peek out,” she points out, looking towards the front of the bar where the light is streaming through the windows.

Arching a brow, he’s rather surprised by her kindness as she approaches and spreads out the blanket before wrapping the two of them into a cocoon. Killian’s breath catches from the close proximity as he watches her tuck the end of the material under one of his hands to secure it in place.

“Thank you. I do appreciate that,” he says graciously as he glances up, catching her gaze. His heart races as he captures a close up of her face, but before he can admire the exquisite features, she’s turning and heading for the door.

“It’s not a problem,” she assures, grabbing the handle and hauling it open for them.

Composing himself quickly, he strides to the offered door and pauses when he reaches it, turning his head as she keeps it propped open for him. “Your service isn’t so bad after all,” he compliments with a dim smile. “although, I do have to say you’re mistaken about one thing…”

The woman knits her brows in confusion before presuming what he could be referring to. “Oh? Is she not yours?” she asks, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

“She is mine…” he quickly affirms, his voice low and gentle, “but I never grow tired of holding her.”

He catches a glimpse of the warm, apologetic smile crossing her face before he peels his gaze away, proceeding out the door.

When he reaches the outside, it’s still raining but it’s barely an unsteady drizzle, and the sun’s shining brightly, reflecting off every raindrop as it falls. The blanket is keeping him warm as he opens the car door to the backseat and ducks inside, gently peeling his daughter off of him and securing her in the seat. The outside of the jacket is drenched from the rain, so he tosses it in the seat next to her for now. Raven’s long lashes flitter open, showing the gorgeous, bright blue irises hidden beneath her sleepy eyelids.

“Did you have a nice nap, apart from all the moving around and nasty rain?”

She nods, smiling up at him. “Yes, Papa. I didn’t mind it,” she replies, her Irish accent thick with sleep.

He smiles, dropping a delicate kiss on her forehead. “I’m glad.” Tearing himself away, he shuts the door before making his way to the driver side. Once he is in his seat, he immediately starts the car, cranking up the heat before fastening his seatbelt.

“Papa?”

“The food will be out in a minute, Sweetheart,” he promises, turning around to flash a small smile; he knows she must be hungry after her nap. “Then we’ll be on our way home.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I was going to ask about.”

His brow rises curiously. “What is it then, little love?”

“I’m not little, ” she corrects with a scowl. “I’m young. ”

“My apologies,” he titters, mentally reminding himself to break that habit. He hates when his brother calls him little as well. “What did you want to ask me, younglove? he tries again, and that’s when a grin crawls across her lips. It’s also when he knows he’s in deep trouble because her smile and eyes are tainted with mischief.

“Do you like her?”

And there it is.

Her words are laced with an innocence which is the polar opposite of the expression on her face and causes his cheeks to flush. He should’ve known it was only at a matter of time before she asked him that. When Raven was younger, she asked him why she didn’t have a Mum; like all children, she wanted a Mum and a Papa. Since he explained what happened to Milah in a way Raven would understand (one of the most difficult things he’s ever done), his daughter has always been his tenacious little matchmaker trying to help her Papa find love so she can have a Mum.

Killian can try to play dumb and pretend to not know what she’s talking about, but he knows his daughter’s far too savvy for that. “I just met her, but I think she’s nice for letting us borrow her blanket, wasn’t she?”

Raven bobs her head up and down. “She’s very nice… but you didn’t answer my question, silly,” she teases, and there’s a playful chime in her tone as he braces himself for what’s to come, and at the same time, looks at her sternly for calling him silly. “Do you like her?”

Killian’s face is flaring with red as he scratches behind his ear, not sure how to respond. When his little songbird concocts something in her head, there’s typically no way to reverse it. She’s a stubborn one, much like her uncle Liam. “I could say no, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t believe me if I did; am I right?”

He swears her smile only grows wider, if that’s possible. “Yup. Wanna know why?”

“Why’s that?” he asks, but he’s uncertain he wants to know the answer, because, while he tells himself that it’s impossible for him to toy with the possibility of being affected by someone he’s just met, he knows his daughter is quite perceptive for her age. He knows she can detect a fib from a mile away.

“Cause you got all nervous when you talked to her. You’re even nervous now.”

Killian raises a brow, curious as to how she’d come up with this conclusion. Is he that transparent? “And how can you be so sure?”

“‘Cause, you’re blushing and scratching behind your ear. You always do that when you’re nervous.”

“If I’m nervous, it’s only because my six-year old daughter’s bombarding me with questions, like I’m being interviewed for a job.” Honestly, the last thing he wants to think about is having another woman in his life, but he won’t tell his daughter that. He only hopes she doesn’t have to go through anything like what he’s been through. He hopes that she will never be deceived by anyone; he wishes he can be at every turn to protect her and make sure nothing bad ever happens to her.

“You know I’m right, Papa.”

Before Killian has a chance to retort, the door of the pub swings open and the blonde dashes outside with a paper bag in her hand. He and his daughter are silently watching her round the car before she approaches the driver’s door, and he turns in his seat, rolling down the window.

“Thanks, love,” he says appreciatively, gracing her with a smile as she hands him the bag of food.

“It’s no problem.”

“Here, let me give you a tip,” Killian insists as he begins to turn around in his seat, noticing that his daughter has her eyes closed. He stifles the laugh rising in his throat at his little rapscallion and her mischief-making ways as he reaches for his jacket to grab his wallet. He’s abruptly stopped by the gentle hand gripping his arm and he loses a breath from the contact as his eyes dart over to the blonde, who’s gazing at him warmly. He tries not to let her touch affect him, but he’s finding it increasingly difficult to do so.

“No need. Just doing my job,” she murmurs, searching his eyes with hers.

He’s taken by surprise that she’s declining his offer as he tries to peel his gaze away, but her emerald depths have pulled him in like the waves of the ocean on a windy day.

“Please. I insist.”

She’s the first one to break the stare as she relinquishes his arm and shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she insists with a smile. “You can use the money to buy your daughter some ice cream or something.”

“Ice cream? I want ice cream, Papa!”

Killian laughs, observing Raven’s face and the excitement dancing in her big ocean blues. “After lunch, Sweetheart,” he promises before averting his gaze to the bartender.

“I see she woke from her nap at the opportune time,” she teases playfully, her eyes peeking inside towards the backseat.

“Aye, she did,” he chuckles.

“Hello, bar lady,” his daughter greets brightly from her seat.

“Hi there,” the bartender replies with a wave before whispering to Killian, “Now I know she’s definitely yours; she has your eyes and the exact same smile too.”

His cheeks are flushing as he turns his head to peer at his daughter, who’s holding a big, devilish grin on her angelic face. “That she does,” he agrees smugly.

“Well, I have to go back inside now before Regina realizes I’m gone and wonders where I wandered off to. Hope you both enjoy the food.”

“At least let me give you back the blanket,” he proposes remembering it’s still wrapped around him as he cranes his neck to face her, but before he can, she’s already walking away.

With a small wave, she again refuses one of his offers. “Don’t worry about it. You can bring it back some other time.” She doesn’t give him a chance to give a response, seeing as she’s already on the other side of the car, heading towards the sidewalk and waving them goodbye.

“Wait! I didn’t catch your…” Killian begins as he watches her disappear inside the pub, the door shutting behind her, “…name.” He’s not sure what happened or why she raced off inside—it’s not even raining anymore. Emitting a sigh, he peers down into the bag before setting it in the passenger seat. “What do you say we go back to our room, love?”

“Okay, Papa. Don’t worry; I’m sure you will see her again.”

Killian nods as he roars up the engine and pulls away from the curb, thinking it’s better this way. It’s better that he doesn’t know her name. It’s better they stay strangers. Although he’s not sure exactly how long that’ll last considering how small this town is.

Crossing a bridge, he’s staring at the road ahead of him, looking forward to eating the Irish stew in the cozy room at the inn when his daughter yells out, “Papa, it’s a rainbow!”

As his eyes wander over the bridge, he catches the brilliant colors cascading across the water, and it’s clearly a sight to see, but the mechanical engineer in him can’t help but envision a Zip Line running across the creek. The idea’s enticing, and perhaps one day he can make it a reality, but for now he just needs to focus on procuring an apartment since he guesses this town is a suitable place to live.

Emma finishes her shift for the evening, craving something the bar doesn’t have; a grilled cheese sandwich and onion rings. She sends a text, making sure Granny’s is an acceptable dinner option to bring home. After receiving a confirmation of approval, she calls ahead and places her order before leaving to pick it up.

Expelling a weary sigh, Emma leans against the front counter, her eyes wandering around the diner as she waits for her food.

It’s the typical crowd of customers, apart from two people sitting across the room at one of the tables. The father’s back is facing her, but Emma can see the side of his daughter’s face as she chews her fish sticks, and she immediately recognizes them from two weeks ago when they came into the pub. The man is gorgeous with soft-looking, dark hair and a nice build, and he also has those amazing blue eyes. Who could possibly forget a man like that or an adorable young girl who gets her looks from her father? And how charming are their accents? The dad with his sexy British lilt and the daughter with her thick, recognizable Irish one are enough to make her melt.

The two of them share a laugh and it’s evident in their body language that they’re enjoying each other’s company. They appear to be a happy little family, but Emma has to wonder where the mother is—perhaps in Ireland? (She’d noticed the lack of a wedding band in the pub.) Not that Emma cares. She doesn’t. She already has a man in her life—her ten year old son. He’s all she needs.

Nevertheless, it’s sweet how the man across the room looks at his daughter and seems to care for her. It’s a rare thing, at least where she’s from, but maybe that’s because she’s been burned by men who pretend to care about her until they discover she has a son. She’s sick of low-life scums who only want one thing, and will do anything to obtain it, even if that means pretending to be someone they’re not. She’s grown utterly exhausted of frauds, so she relinquished the idea of being with a man in any shape or form. She’s concluded it’s impossible to end up burned by someone when she doesn’t give them a match to light the flame.

“He’s cute isn’t he? Even from this angle.”

Emma is yanked from her thoughts and narrows her eyes at her friend, Ruby, who’s joined her at the counter, wearing a buoyant grin on her face. “Who is?” Emma asks, feigning cluelessness; she knows exactly who Ruby’s referring to.

The waitress rolls her eyes as Granny emerges from the kitchen with two plates of food. “Order’s up, Ruby. What have I told you about standing around and chatting with your friends?” her grandmother chides as she winks at Emma.

The brunette turns around, tossing a snarky smirk. “That I should do it more often?”

“Nice try, Ruby. We have a full diner to run so I need your A game.”

“Yes, boss,” Ruby answers in a patronizing tone, sliding the plates onto her tray. Granny disappears into the kitchen as Ruby offers an impish smile. “You know exactly who I’m referring to; the new guy with his daughter… or should I say DILF?”

Emma arches a brow at her friend. “DILF?”

“Yeah; Dad I’d like to fu—”

“Okay, I got it,” Emma cuts her off, blushing as Ruby shrugs.

“Well, quit pretending to be oblivious and I won’t have to say what you’re thinking out loud for everyone to hear.”

“You mean what you’re thinking?”

Again, Ruby rolls her eyes. “Come on, Emma, we both know you’re thinking the exact same thing. You have trust issues, but that doesn’t mean your vagina’s dead,” the waitress asserts, leaving Emma with her jaw on the floor.

Ruby’s definitely wrong. Emma’s not thinking about this man in that way. She looks at him and sees a kind, loving father who would go to the ends of the world for his daughter. She does not picture him getting a babysitter for the night so they can spend one passion-filled night together. She’s definitely not thinking about that.

Granny returns to the counter with a to-go bag, and Emma turns around to pay for her order while glancing over at the British man and his enchanting daughter. Emma wishes she had a father growing up, but instead she zigzagged between foster homes with never as much as a father-figure in her life who didn’t hurt her physically or emotionally. Even her son grew up without a father, but that’s an entirely different story. Emma thinks she’d be a different person with a male role model in her life. She thinks maybe she wouldn’t be so closed off—so broken.

The dad leans into his daughter, pressing a kiss to her forehead as Emma regards them with admiration. The view is a beautiful sight to behold and planting an idea in her mind. Peeling her eyes away, she looks at Granny again, who’s waiting patiently at the register with a concerned expression on her face.

“Everything alright, Buttercup?”

“Yeah.” Emma gnaws on her bottom lip as she takes out the cash she’d made from her tips that day, to pay for her and her son’s meals. When she pulls out the bundle of dollar bills, she starts counting them and pauses when she reaches the amount that will cover the bill. Handing it over to Granny, she peers down at the remaining cash in her hand. Maybe she’s in a giving mood or maybe witnessing this man with his daughter and how he treats her—as though she’s the queen of his world—is what triggers the strings pulling at her heart, but either way, she makes a decision.

Emma peers up at Granny, who’s counting the change back to her. “Actually, can you…?” The words cause Granny to stop what she’s doing and glance up at Emma questionably. “Can you keep the change and add on that man’s bill—the dark-haired man over there with his daughter?” she asks, nodding in his direction while trying to be as subtle as possible. “I’d like to pay for their dinner.”

A telling smile tugs at Granny’s lips as she peels her gaze from Emma, eyeing the man in question. “Sure thing. I’ll let Ruby know.”

“I’m sure she’d love to hear that,” Emma laughs while regretting her decision; she’s afraid that she’ll never hear the end of it, or that Ruby will rat her out.

“I think you’re right,” the elderly woman agrees.

“Just make sure she knows it’s anonymous.”

“Sure thing.”

Granny tells her how much Killian’s tab is so far, so Emma hands her enough money to cover it, plus dessert, or at least an estimate of what she thinks it will be. Emma has memorized Granny’s menu like the back of her hand, so she figures forty plus a twenty percent tip will be enough.

“That’s awfully generous of you, Emma.”

She shrugs, grabs a pen from the counter and flips the receipt over. “The guy’s new in town, and he looks like he could use some generosity.” Tapping her chin with the tip of the pen cap, she stares at the blank slip of paper, pondering what to write before scripting it down and passing it to Granny. “Make sure Ruby gives him this?”

“Of course, Buttercup.”

“Thank you.” Emma claims her to-go bag and quickly glances across the diner to catch one last glimpse of the man and his daughter before fleeing through the door to avoid being seen by them.

As she drives home, she can’t help but laugh, thinking about what Ruby’d called him. She can’t deny the guy’s not bad to look at, and now she’s certain that every time she sees him, she’ll be agreeing with Ruby in her mind, yep, definitely a DILF.

Killian is enjoying a delightful dinner with his daughter as they celebrate the fact that he’d made a deposit on their new apartment. He’s also started his new job as a design engineer at Gold Technologies, and Raven has started her classes, has made many friends and is happy with her teachers. Overall, things are flowing smoothly.

Raven has finished all of her fish sticks and fries, so he orders a slice of Granny’s homemade apple pie to share. When Ruby hands him the check along with a small silver tray and walks away, Killian takes one last sip of his water before retrieving his wallet to pay for the bill. He takes the slip of paper from the tray and brings it in front of him, scanning it over. His eyebrows wrinkle in confusion when he discovers he’s not looking at the bill, but a receipt—his receipt. This must be a mistake, he thinks before spotting the arrow at the bottom, pointing to the right edge of the paper. Flipping it over, he sees the note on the back.

I hope you don’t mind me spying, but I saw you out with your date and couldn’t help but notice what a great dad you are. From someone who grew up without a parent, it’s refreshing to witness such a special bond between father and child. Hope you and your date have a lovely evening.

Dinner’s on me tonight.

Killian is stunned and also intrigued by the note as he blinks a few times to make sure he’s reading it correctly. Lifting his eyes, he looks around the room to see if anyone is looking in his and Raven’s direction, but of course whoever this kind person is has already left; he’s certain of it. “Excuse me, lass,” Killian calls out as the waitress approaches the table. “Ruby is it?”

“Yeah, what else can I do for you?” she asks with a cheeky grin.

Killian’s eyes dart between the receipt and Ruby. “Can you tell me who paid for our dinner?” He’s not exactly sure why he’s asking; he barely knows anyone in this town.

Ruby shakes her head as she clears the plates from their table. “I’m sorry, I can’t give that information away.”

He gives her a small smile before looking at the receipt once more. “Okay thanks.”

The waitress leans over the table, speaking in a whisper, “I can give you a hint though.”

Killian arches a brow, enthralled as he glances up at her. “You can?”

“Well since you’re cute, I will,” she says with a smirk, making Killian blush. “The woman who paid for your meal will be at The Hanged Queen this Friday night. And she’ll be singing on stage.”

So the kind person is a woman and she’s a musician? Hmmm… Killian’s interest is highly piqued. “Is that so?”

“Of course it is, I wouldn’t lie,” the brunette assures, and she almost appears to be offended by his words. “She’s in a band.”

He mulls over her words carefully. What if there are backup singers and she’s one of them. “How will I know it’s her?”

Ruby laughs. “Because she’s the only singer.” She leaves him to dwell on his thoughts as Raven gives him a pointed look.

He has to stifle a laugh because he knows his sweet little songbird is reading his thoughts. Killian reaches out and swipes her long hair behind her shoulder so it doesn’t fall in the pie as he slides the small plate over to her. “Eat your dessert, Princess.”

“Yes, Papa,” Raven sighs and does what she’s told, picking up a clean fork, cutting a piece off and taking a bite as Killian does the same. He wants to meet this mysterious woman who’s paid for his meal. He doesn’t like being a charity case, but his curiosity has gotten the best of him, and he wants to meet her so he can return the favor somehow.

Killian leaves the diner with his daughter, toying with the idea of going to the pub on Friday, where not only the bartender will be, but the woman who generously paid for his bill.

He’ll have to find a babysitter and doesn’t know anyone in this town. He doesn’t know if he can trust anyone to watch his baby girl. There’s the owner of the diner who goes by ‘Granny’ and lives across the hall from him; she seems trustworthy enough, but she’s still a stranger.

Maybe he shouldn’t go. Maybe it’s a bad idea. Maybe he’s not ready to go searching for things he doesn’t actually need. The last time he did that, it got him in trouble.

Killian sighs. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for him to journey out and meet some new people. He needs to return the blanket to the bartender whose name he has yet to learn.

He drives home, thinking about what he might wear; he’s not sure. But most importantly, he has to find someone trustworthy enough to watch his Raven.

When Friday arrives, Killian can’t believe he’s talked himself into this, or maybe Raven persuaded him into it; he’d seen the pleading look in her eyes, lips formed into a pout, and he didn’t have the heart to resist her. She wants her papa to “go out and have some fun”, and convinced him to let Granny babysit her, assuring him she’ll act nothing short of an angel. It turned out, Granny happily agreed, raising Killian’s suspicions at how enthusiasticly she accepted the job. The whole thing became suspicious, as though it’d been planned. Raven assured him she wouldn’t make a fuss in the mornings when he tries to usher her around and prepare her for school, and that she’ll allow him braid her hair as he enjoys to do. She’s a crafty little lass. She may or may not have gotten that trait from him.

Either way, he’s in his good pair of denims and a black V-neck, wearing a light amount of cologne and his hair is neatly combed as he steps into the establishment, carrying the folded blanket in his hand that the bartender lent him while in this bar almost three weeks ago. At least, he thinks it’s the bar he’d been in the other week. It doesn’t seem like the same place, however. There are so many people this time, a stage he’s sure wasn’t there before and loud music playing by a band on said stage, instead of the jukebox. He takes stock of the employees standing behind the bar counter, not seeing the blonde there, only a skinny brunette standing next to a man with light brown hair, a beard and his hand around her hip as they both watch the performance on stage. Honestly, Killian is disappointed, but he has to convince himself she is not the reason he’s here.

Anticipation is coiling in his stomach as his eyes sift through the crowd, reaching the stage as he hopes to find the woman who’d left the note the other night. His eager gaze falls upon the lass who’s making the enchanting sounds, and she’s not only singing but also playing the guitar. He’s no musician, but he doesn’t have to be to know she’s playing it well.

His vision is unclear because of the dim lights and, even with the lighting on stage, he can’t make out her face, but he can hear her sing and he can hear the notes she’s strumming as she sits on her stool. Her voice sounds like an angel—delicate and sweet—and the tune emitted from the guitar is soft and light. Her music’s a wonderful melody to his ears as he shuffles through the crowd to contrive a better look. When he shortens the distance, capturing a close-up of the musician, the outlines of her face and the familiar smile, he realizes she’s the bartender!

He has to admit, as unexpected as the revelation is, he’s glad this woman is her. If only he can keep this information from Raven, which he knows will be a difficult task because she can read him like an open book. She’s his daughter after all.

Killian continues to maneuver through the audience, never taking his eyes off of her. She’s breathtaking on the platform, her long golden curls flowing over one shoulder like a cascade at sunrise as she strums the guitar and belts out the lyrics in a heavenly way; it makes his spine tingle. Before he’d arrived in Storybrooke, blondes weren’t his type, or at least not to his knowledge. However, this golden-haired goddess is undoubtedly a temptation

As he nears the stage, the woman happens to look his way, and her eyes begin dancing, lips curving into a simper when she spots him. Maybe it’s the beat of the music, the way she’s beaming at him over the crowd or the way her fingers take a brief pause from the strings of her guitar, using the opportunity to wave at him, but his adrenaline is pumping and his heart is racing.

Killian’s lips crack into a wide grin and he waves back with the blanket in his hand, showing it to her. She laughs silently before falling back into her routine as she moves her fingers across the strings of her guitar. Killian is actually relieved and glad he came tonight, and he can’t wait for her to finish the number.

He’s watching the beautiful blonde and getting caught up in the music and her alluring smile when he remembers that she is the one who’d left him the note. She is the one who paid for his and his daughter’s meal, and just like that, he feels a cloud of warmth surrounding his heart. Just like that, the friendly exchange of smiles and stolen glances turn into yearning gazes.

When the song ends and the man from behind the bar gets up on stage, grabbing and lifting her hand in the air, encouraging boisterous cheers from the audience, Killian’s stomach becomes swarmed with butterflies of excitement.

Until the man on stage announces her name.

“Ladies and gentlemen… give it up for the beautiful and the talented, Emma Swan!”

Killian freezes in his spot, his face turning white. He can’t believe it. Hearing that name is like hearing nails on a chalkboard; it makes his ears bleed, and all of the other noises fade out in the distance.

Emma had become excited when she saw the British man enter the bar; her heart flip-flopped when she caught him watching her on stage. He seemed surprised to see her there. He seemed perplexed.

She has to wonder if he came to see the woman he knows as the bartender or if he came in for an evening out. Either way, she can’t deny the delight swarming in her belly.

When she finishes the song, she looks over at him, a wide grin overtaking her face as the crowd cheers for her. Robin is on stage announcing her name before it dawns on her that the stranger she’d met in this bar a few weeks ago, now knows her name. Well, perhaps it’s time for her to learn his as well. Emma turns around and heads to the back of the stage, putting her guitar away before taking a sip of water from her bottle. She screws the cap back on when she’s finished and sets it down before scurrying off the stage.

Making her way through the crowd, a smile is permanently fixed upon her lips as she scours the entire room for him. She gets bombarded by Ruby and Regina, who hug and congratulate her on an amazing performance, but her eyes continue to seek him out. When she reaches the entrance of the bar and turns back, getting another good look around, her face falls in disappointment.

He is gone.

He sits at the airport, fidgeting fervently in his chair, unable to stay still. He can hardly contain himself. His stomach is full of knots and his heart’s thumping wildly in his chest. Today is an important day for Killian. He’s finally going to meet his online girlfriend in person. The pair had been talking via private message on Facebook and Instagram for about a year now. It all started when she contacted him after seeing his profile on ‘EHarmony’. Killian curiously responded, and they hit it off immediately. She’s funny, witty and beautiful. Her eyes are a dazzling blue and her hair’s a chestnut brown, flowing around her face in long, loose curls on her profile picture.

It’s insane that they hadn’t met over the year, but she lives in Texas, unable to afford a flight that would take her to his home in Ohio. So he’d sent her the money to do so. Now that they both had free time, his beautiful girlfriend will be standing in front of him as soon as she gets off the plane. He would’ve never imagined doing something like this over a year ago, but his brother convinced him to take a chance for once in his life. He’s glad he did.

When Killian’s phone vibrates, he quickly checks it, thinking maybe she couldn’t wait to message him as soon as the pilot permitted the passengers to take their phones off airplane mode, but he sees the message is from Liam. His brother is watching Raven and sent a picture of them making goofy faces at the camera. Killian chuckles and puts his phone back into his pocket, tightening his grip on the bouquet of roses he’s holding in his other hand. He takes a deep breath and fixes his tie, feeling as though he’ll break a sweat if he doesn’t compose himself. Maybe he’s dressed a little too formal for meeting her at the airport, but it doesn’t matter; he will be meeting the (second) love of his life (the first one being his daughter) in approximately —Killian checks the screen to see what time she will be here—any moment.

Finally, he sees the passengers from her flight start dispersing into baggage claim to wait for their luggage at the carousel. Killian stands and starts adjusting every piece of clothing he thinks is out of place before staring at the terminal she’ll be emerging from. What will he tell her when he sees her? Marry me? No, he doesn’t have a ring for her. Besides, that would be moving way too fast. He hasn’t even met her in person yet.

Killian waits, swallowing thickly, and the anticipation is building so high he thinks he might burst. Five minutes turn into thirty, and with every passenger who appears, the smile he’s worn for days becomes weaker until it’s a disappointed frown.

She never appears.

Killian ends up throwing the bouquet of flowers into the trashcan before leaving. It turns out, no passenger arriving at the Cleveland airport went by her name. He tries to contact her after that, thinking there’s some sort of misunderstanding or explanation, but it turns out all of her social media profiles have been taken down.

It turns out he’s been swindled.

Killian goes home that night with his tail between his legs. He’s so embarrassed and humiliated, he can’t look his brother in the eye when he walks through the door.

“How did it go?” Liam asks with a hint of enthusiasm in his voice.

Killian doesn’t have it in him to tell his brother the truth. He doesn’t have the strength to tell his brother this was entirely his fault. If Liam hadn’t been so insistent on goading him into creating a dating profile, this never would’ve happened in the first place. Killian would’ve been content living his life like he’d been once he was able to cope with Milah’s death.

Killian doesn’t say anything to his brother; instead he glances at him with a gutted expression as he shakes his head, hoping the gesture will express everything he can’t say in words.

It seems to work, because Liam’s features fall, his eyes filling with apology and regret. “I’m so sorry, brother.”

Killian still doesn’t say anything; he only saunters to the dark hallway, and makes his way to his daughter’s bedroom, feeling like someone has thrown a punch at him, knocking the wind out of his body. All the color is draining from his face; he feels sick and hurt and as though he’d been standing on solid ground until someone pulled a carpet from underneath his feet.

He feels small and stupid, and begins to question everything; every single line he’s ever written to anyone on the internet. Every response and every little conversation seems so far away.

Funny enough, when he enters Raven’s room and sees his little angel lying in her bed, sleeping peacefully in the moonlight through her window, he feels much calmer. He’s able to become more at ease when he thinks about it; when he thinks about the consequences of his actions.

Raven’s eyes snap open and she gasps, looking frightened. “Papa!”

“I’m right here, love,” Killian assures his baby girl as he scurries over to her bed and climbs in beside her. He’s scooping her up in her his arms and kissing her forehead when he realizes that there’s only one thing in life that matters to him the most, and that one thing is lying in his arms, burrowing her face in the crook of his neck and whimpering from the nightmare she has woken up from.

As she draws energy from him and the way he’s there for her and comforts her, nothing else matters—he knows that is a lie, but for Raven, he cannot think about the incident or about how he still hopes there’s a reasonable explanation or a message which comforts him. Although, from now on, he will question everyone he ever talks to over the internet or the phone, because who knows who’s sitting on the other side of the line, or who’s hiding behind the monitor or phone display?

Killian rushes home, bursting through his door and slamming it shut before he whips around, leaning his forehead against it. The anger is building inside of him, and it feels like all the air has escaped his lungs. Pounding his fist on the door, he closes his eyes, trying to breathe—trying to subdue his temper—but it doesn’t work. All of the rage and emotions that have been simmered deep inside of him are rapidly flooding back, washing over him like a strong current suffocating him and carrying him out to sea, drowning him slowly and painfully.

He can’t believe the bartender’s name is Emma Swan.

He can’t believe she has the same name as the person who’d catfished him!

He knows without a doubt now that coming to Storybrooke was planned; he knows this town was not some random place picked out from a map. Liam must’ve known an Emma Swan would be here, because there’s no way this is some huge coincidence. To verify his suspicions, he gets on his Mac Book and searches for ‘Emma Swan’ and sees her Facebook page at the top. Sure enough, when he clicks on the link and looks underneath her profile picture, he sees the words ‘owner/bartender at The Hanged Queen’, ‘singer/songwriter/musician’ directly underneath, and the page also mentions where she lives—Storybrooke, Maine. Killian curses under his breath, staring at her profile. He knew his brother had never been here or tasted the pub food from The Hanged Queen. He knew the wanker concocted all of this for whatever reason, and Killian is more than willing to call him out on it.

Without any logical thinking involved, he pulls out his cellphone and calls his brother.

“It’s about time you called. How do you like Stor—?”

“You planned this didn’t you?!” Killian demands, cutting his brother off.

There’s a brief, unsettling pause before Liam answers in a sarcastic tone. “Well, hello to you too, little brother.”

Killian grits his teeth. “Don’t you ‘little brother’ me, you git!” he snaps brutally. “Please tell me you didn’t persuade me to come to this town so I would run into her.”

“Who’s her?” Liam asks in a tone Killian believes to be fake confusion.

Tightly clenching his jaw, he squeezes the phone in his hand. “You know exactly who ‘her’ is. Don’t play dumb with me. Believe me, I’m not in the mood. I just found out how easy it is to find Emma Swan on the internet.”

His brother lets out a heavy sigh in defeat. “Look Killian, I only suggested you drive to Storybrooke so you would have a chance to meet someone you might possibly have a connection with.”

“I did have a connection with someone—someone who doesn’t actually exist!”

“Look brother, I know you did, but guess what? There are other fish in the sea. And this Emma Swan is real. She’s not some made-up person out to trick you.”

Killian feels like he’s been stabbed in the back; he cannot believe his brother’s actually trying to justify his actions. “Why her? Why would you do this to me?”

“I don’t know, Killian. I just saw how heartbroken you were. It was my fault that you got screwed over in the first place, so I felt obligated to fix it,” Liam explains, and Killian can hear the regret in his voice, but he doesn’t buy it. Why would his brother think this would fix everything?

“You call this fixing it?! I don’t believe this! How can you expect me to want to be with someone who reminds me of the very person who deceived me? How do you expect to me forget that she has the same name? How do you expect me to just forget about everything that happened and move on?!”

“Killian—”

“No! You tricked me into coming here just like I was tricked into falling in love with Emma Swan and getting ripped the bloody hell off!”

“Killian, will you just calm down? Let’s just talk about this, hmmm?” Liam’s voice is calm, but it doesn’t put Killian any more at ease. In fact it makes him angrier.

“I don’t have anything else to say to you!” With that said, Killian hangs up the phone; he’s furious, the anger inside of him bubbling under his skin. He can’t believe his brother is so surprised that he’s less than enthusiastic about this! He can’t believe his brother did this to him!

On Monday, Killian yawns before taking a sip of coffee at his desk. He hadn’t slept a wink all weekend. He couldn’t; not after that night. He’d been so perturbed that the bartender/musician’s name was Emma Swan, he couldn’t bear to see her. He couldn’t face the woman who reminded him of the person who’d spent months deceiving him—the person who tricked him into buying her a plane ticket because he thought she was the one, but it turned out Emma Swan didn’t exist; not the one he thought he knew.

This Emma Swan from Storybrooke is not her. She’s not the one he’d envisioned. He knew Emma’s personality, her likes, her dislikes and he knew everything about her. He’s seen pictures of her and her family, or people he thought were her and her family, but it was all a lie. It was all some fantastic charade that someone did for kicks and for money. That person probably wasn’t even a woman at all.

Killian hates that this imaginary person still has an effect on him. He hates that he’d been so deceived and so blinded by love. Never again will he let another person worm their way into his heart. Never again. He’s better off without them.

His phone chirps for the millionth time since he’d hung up on Liam and he stares at his brother’s contact photo, but he doesn’t answer it. He sets it down on his desk, and it’s not until he picks up his daughter and ignores his brother’s call again when he realizes this has upset his daughter.

“Why are you avoiding Uncle Liam, Papa?”

Killian lets out a heavy sigh as he drives through Storybrooke, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m not, I just don’t feel like talking to him right now.” He’s informed Raven what had happened with his fake online girlfriend, filtering out the gory details, but she doesn’t know the woman who broke his heart went by the moniker 'Emma Swan’. He’s glad because when someone wrongs Killian, she holds grudges like nobody else. She’s unforgiving when it comes to people being mean to her Papa. That’s why he’d kept Liam’s name out of the entire conversation. As furious as Killian is, he doesn’t want Raven to be mad at her Uncle Liam; he doesn’t wish for her to miss out on bonding time with his brother.

“Why not, Papa?”

Killian doesn’t have the right answer to supply her with, and when he looks in the rearview mirror, she’s wearing a sad, heart-breaking expression on her face, and it guts him deeply… so he relents. As soon as they arrive home, he calls his brother.

Listening to the music from the jukebox, Emma cleans up the bar with a rag, adrift in her thoughts as she’s swaying her hips to the beat. The British man stubbornly refuses to vanish from her mind, and she can’t stop wondering why he’d left Friday night. An undeniable spark had ignited between them—something she hasn’t felt in a long time with anyone. Ruby had told her she exposed Emma’s whereabouts the night she’d paid for his dinner, so maybe the gesture or note offended him somehow? She doesn’t know, but Emma can’t shake the unsettling feeling in her gut, and can’t help but believe he’s upset for reasons she can’t comprehend. She guesses it’s a good thing because she doesn’t want to become involved with anyone.

What bothers her, however, is the fact that he’d entered the bar with the blanket in his hands, showing it to her, and yet he left with it too. Not that she cares about the stupid blanket, but it’s the fact that he’d suddenly left. She guesses some sort of an emergency took place. Maybe he’d gotten a call from his daughter’s babysitter; maybe something happened to her. Emma’s heart aches at the thought. She’s upset, to be honest, but she hopes his daughter is okay.

Emma attempts to evade all thoughts and maintain focus on her task while scrubbing down the bar counter. And when she begins singing along with the lyrics, continuing to move her hips, it’s finally working and she gets completely lost in the music.

“You can dance, too? That’s quite impressive, love.”

Emma practically jumps out of her skin at the sound of the British accent over the music. Spinning around, she sees the man who’s been invading her thoughts since she’d seen him and his daughter for the first time, and he’s holding a smug smile on his face, as though he’s proud of scaring the living bejesus out of her. She presses her hand to her racing heart, trying to slow her rapid breathing.

“I like a lass with many talents.”

Emma intakes a short breath, trying to ignore the comment, especially the word he used—like. “You scared the hell out of me,” she rasps out, her eyes meeting his deep blue ones. She wants to be mad at him for frightening her, but God, he’s gorgeous. She wants to kiss that cocky smile right off his lips.

He holds up his hands in surrender, clutching the blanket she’d lent him. “Apologies, love. I come in peace.”

Emma manages a small laugh as she steps up to him, accepting the offered blanket. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to bring it back.”

The man shrugs, his smile growing softer. “You also didn’t have to loan it to me, or foot my bill last week either.”

Emma’s dubious, wondering if he’s only saying that to be nice, and didn’t appreciate the gestures, or if he’s actually thankful for them. “About the note… I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t mean to offend you—”

His features drop, as if he’s not sure why she would say such a thing. “You didn’t, love.”

Emma arches a brow in bewilderment. “I didn’t?”

He shakes his head and chuckles. “Not at all… in fact, I thought the note was lovely.”

Emma sighs in relief as the man scratches behind his ear, his smile transforming into a coy simper. She throws the rag over her shoulder and their eyes never break away, but he seems to become more nervous, the apple of his cheeks flushing with a light shade of pink.

“Although… I am hoping you’ll let me pay you back by buying you dinner?” he asks, his voice cracked with apprehension.

Emma’s heart flutters due to the question and the soft glint in his eyes, and she’s not sure how to respond. “I didn’t do it expecting you to pay me back.”

He tilts his head and steps closer, shortening the distance between them so they’re merely a few inches away from each other. “I know, but perhaps I want to,” he murmurs with a smirk, and she’s pretty sure he’s flirting with her.

Emma folds her arms, uncertain about whether she should agree to dinner or not. She still has some unanswered questions. “Before I agree to that, tell me why you left Friday night. Why did you arrive with the blanket and leave after my song ended?”

Guilt is washing over his features as his smile fades, and there’s a certain look in his eyes she can’t quite place her finger on, but she guesses it’s something of betrayal or abandonment. She knows because she witnesses the same look when she stares at her reflection in the mirror every day. “Because, I—it’s kind of a long story… but you remind me of someone… or at least your name does. So when it was announced on stage, I panicked and fled.”

Well, this is an interesting turn of events. Her brow lifts in bemusement. “You had a girlfriend named Emma?”

“Something like that. Only not simply Emma—Emma Swan.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t know what else to say to that. She’s never heard or known of anyone with the same name.

“Let’s just say she didn’t turn out to be who I thought,” he explains, his voice weak as he stares at the floor between them, “but my brother, Liam, has reminded me that just because one person betrayed me, it doesn’t mean everyone is a fraud.”

Emma nods in agreement. “Yeah, Ruby tells me that all the time.”

His eyes dart to hers, staring at her in shock. “Ah, so I take it, you know what it’s like to be deceived?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Emma replies, but she doesn’t want to disclose of all of the tragic details of her past relationships to this handsome-looking stranger, so she changes the subject. “Does your brother live here too?” She shakes her head as soon as she asks the question. “Probably not; I’d remember a name like that.”

“He lives in Ohio, where I came from,” he clarifies with a chuckle.

“And you left there?” she asks curiously.

“Aye, it was the best thing to do at the time. Like I said—long story.”

“Well, maybe you could tell me sometime? I enjoy long stories, as you already know,” she says with a springy laugh.

His lips break out into an easy smile, and the gloominess of the conversation instantly disappears. “That I do. So, does that mean you’ll let me take you out on a date?”

She holds up her hands, her smile never fading. “Whoa whoa whoa, who said anything about a date?” she asks in a breezy tone.

He chortles, and she can sense his nervousness as he takes her hand in his. She gasps at the unexpected contact as he smooths his thumb over her knuckles. “Look, Emma, it sounds like we’ve both been burned in the past, and normally I’m not one for taking chances, but… I’d be willing to if you are.”

Emma looks into his eyes, seeing the genuine admiration there, and she can’t find it in herself to turn him down. “On one condition,” she offers in a challenging tone.

He lifts a brow, his eyes lighting up with intrigue. “You name it.”

“I get to pick where we go.”

“You’ve got a deal,” he replies with a wide smirk.

Emma purses her lips, ruminating their options before deciding that maybe they could do something that involves their kids too; the annual carnival Storybrooke holds every year is fast approaching. “How about this?—Storybrooke is having the town carnival starting this weekend. Maybe we could go? Of course, if we do I’d have to bring my son. He’d be sad if I went without him, so you could bring your daughter too?”

His eyes are buzzing with surprise, and she’s not certain if it’s a good thing or a bad one. “You have a son?” Judging by the tone of his voice, she’s guessing good?

Emma nods, and she’s hoping this essential information doesn’t scare him off. Although she doubts it will, considering he has a daughter, which is why she’d felt confident enough to suggest something that would involve her having to tell him about her son. “I do. His name is Henry; he’s ten.”

He appears apprehensive again as he scratches behind his ear, which she guesses is a habit of his; something he does when he’s nervous. “So, you’re… I mean… I don’t have to worry about any angry fathers coming after me, do I?”

Emma laughs and shakes her head. “No. If you did, that would be a miracle. Henry’s father doesn’t know he exists, and I plan on keeping it that way. There are no other men in my life; only my son.” This seems to put the man much more at ease as he expels a sigh of relief. Now it’s Emma’s turn to be nervous as she toys with his fingers, peering down at them and pondering the question she wants to ask him. “So, is this Emma Swan… is she the mother?” She glances up at him skittish about what his response will be, and to her relief he shakes his head, although he seems perturbed by the question, like she’s hit a nerve.

“No… uh Raven’s mother… she died,” he replies quietly.

There’s a pang of regret twisting the inside her stomach as her features fall, words laced with apology. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, love. It happened a long time ago. Raven never got the chance to meet her.”

A small, audible gasp leaves her lips, her heart squeezing. “Oh my god, I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you.”

He gives a soft shrug, his mouth curved into a feeble smile, trying to conceal the emotions he buries deep inside. “I’ve learned to cope, but it still stings occasionally.” His eyes are dark, and Emma senses the pain enshrouding him and can’t bear to cause anymore turmoil, although she’s hoping it’s not some charade, and he’s not only saying these things for his own personal agenda. But the look on his face is unmistakably real, and either he’s being truthful or he’s a terrific actor. Seeing as he’s a single father with a daughter to look after, she doubts it’s the latter. Personal agendas tend to get tossed to the wayside when kids are in the picture. Unless Raven’s not actually his daughter, and he’s feeding her some bogus story so she’ll take pity on him. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s used those tactics on her.

Emma needs to stop. Not all men are frauds, Ruby’s words run through mind. “Well, you know what—how about you pick the date?” she suggests, gently squeezing his hand.

His smile fades in return. “That’s okay, love. I don’t wish for you to take pity on me.”

Her response is quick, leaving no room for doubt. “Then, it’s a good thing I’m not.” Emma’s voice and features are firm to assure him she’s being sincere.

Her words seem to appease him, his lips cracking into a small grin. “Well actually, I think the carnival is perfect. May Raven and I pick you and your lad up at six on Saturday?”

“Sounds like a date,” she seals their plans with the accompaniment of a warm laugh before grabbing a pen and a napkin, scribbling down her address and handing it to him.

His eyes light up with excitement and his cheeks turn red as he looks at it briefly before slipping it into his back pocket. He encases her hand in both of his, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “Alright, we will look forward to it then. For now, I’ll let you return to your dancing and singing while you clean,” he says with a hearty chuckle.

Emma blushes and laughs. “Okay.” She’s not sure how to say goodbye; she’s not used to being asked out in her bar by men she actually likes. Although, even if she uses the basic, customary “goodbye, (insert person’s name)” she doesn’t know his name yet. She has agreed to go on a date with a guy whose name she doesn’t know.

The man seems to be as unsure as she is when he awkwardly releases her hands and slowly backs away engaging her with one last lingering stare before turning around and making his way towards the door.

“Wait!” Her call causes him to stop and turn around, arching an expectant brow. The shade of blue in his eyes mixed with a look of hope and possibly longing, even from across the bar, makes her fumble for words. “I—I just—it occurred to me… you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

A slow satisfied smile crawls across his lips. “I thought you’d never ask. The name’s Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Phew,” Emma lets out a mocking sigh of relief, “I’ve never dated a Killian Jones, so that’s good to know.”

He laughs. “Aye, it is, love.”

Killian is conclusively smitten as he leaves the bar with a hopeless grin, looking forward to their date. Truthfully, he’d surprised himself when he asked her out, but after the long conversation with Liam, he recognized not all of the Emma Swans in the world are out to swindle him. And when she mentioned she also needed to be persuaded from not thinking everyone was a fraud, he was even more drawn to her.

When Saturday approaches, his stomach is full of butterflies and he nervously runs his hand through his hair because he can’t settle down, much like his daughter, who’s buzzing around the apartment like a bee and probably even more excited than he is. Once they are dressed for the occasion and ready to go, they leave the apartment, navigating to Emma’s house. Raven’s wearing a purple dress and matching sandals with her hair divided in two braids on either side of her head and Killian’s wearing a navy blue Henley and jeans. The weather in this town is quite unpredictable but it’s a comfortable temperature and forecasted to be pleasant for the rest of the evening.

Upon arrival, he escorts his daughter from the car to Emma’s front door, unable to keep his hands from twitching; he’s so nervous. Emma takes his breath away when she answers the door; she’s wearing a gorgeous pink dress, and the skirt of it sways when she moves. She invites them in for a moment while she and her son finish getting ready. Killian and Raven walk through the enclosed porch and he takes a moment to look around the old Victorian home.

The four of them barrel out the door with plenty of time to spare, and with Raven and Emma together, Killian swears he has the two most beautiful women on either side of him. Emma’s lad is quite the fetching fellow as well. He’s polite, and at first he acts shy around Raven, but once they near the docks where all of the excitement is, Killian and Emma have to repeatedly tell them to slow down as they try dashing off. Not that he’s complaining. With their children waddling ahead, Killian is left with Emma by his side, striking up casual conversation, his hand frequently brushing hers. Both of them want to be closer but neither is brave enough to make the first move.

The early autumn air is warm and thick with sounds of chatter and laughter and the alluring smells of popcorn and elephant ears as they reach the carnival, meeting up with Regina, Robin, and his son Roland. Killian is amazed by how they transformed the docks into the magnificent, enchanting place full of festivities, although it’s not as cool without roller coasters.

“Hey Killian, would you like to ride that?”

He looks up to where Emma’s pointing, seeing the ferris wheel high in the sky.

“You two should definitely go. We’ll take the children on some kiddie rides; what do you say?” Regina asks, and the children start jumping up and down in excitement.

“I’m okay with that if you are,” Emma says to Killian. “Regina and Robin are trustworthy, I promise. They babysit Henry all the time.”

Killian doesn’t doubt he can trust them with his Raven if Emma says it’s okay to; he’s simply worried what might happen if he and Emma are left alone sitting all cozy next to each other on the ferris wheel. “I’m okay with that,” he replies nonchalantly.

“Yay!” Raven, Roland and Henry begin charging ahead of Robin and Regina, and Emma and Killian laugh at their children.

“Be good, kid!” Emma calls after her son.

“Listen to Robin and Regina!” Killian tells his daughter, but he doubts she can hear him.

“Don’t worry about a thing. Just have some fun you two,” Regina says, throwing them a smirk and a wink before she and Robin go chasing after the little ones.

“Do you think they’re excited about the rides, or about venturing off without their parents?” Emma asks him as they join the ferris wheel line.

“Probably both,” Killian chuckles, although he’s fairly certain Raven is excited because he will be alone with Emma, and she’s expressed her approval several times before the date.

It’s been a while since he’s been on one of these things, and yet he’s still less nervous than Emma as they slowly ascend towards the sky with the view of Storybrooke below. The sun casts a brilliant view as it starts setting above the water, although, it’s not as captivating as the woman sitting next to him.

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you, love?” he asks, even as he already knows the answer.

“No, of course not. Why would I suggest riding this thing if I were?” she asks, carefully peeking over the side of the carriage.

“I have my theories,” he boasts playfully.

Emma looks over at him raising her brow while holding onto the bar in front of them. “Oh? Please tell,” she encourages with a laugh.

Killian shrugs. “Perhaps you found out that I used to be a roller coaster engineer and that’s why you suggested the Carnival as a viable option for a first date. And you pointed out the ferris wheel because you wanted me to think you were daring and bold, and some of the other rides may have proved that more, but this one was the safest option, because judging by the way you’re looking down at the ground like you fear you might fall and meet the pavement, you’re indeed afraid of heights. But like I said, it’s only a theory.”

Emma gapes at him and he can’t establish whether she’s impressed or just plain pissed. “For one thing, Mr. Jones, I am not a stalker. Two, I thought the Carnival would be something fun we could do with our children, and three …” she pauses, her cheeks flushed with pink, and he can tell she’s all sorts of flustered, “I am not afraid of heights,” Emma protests as the carriage comes to an abrupt halt and starts rocking in place. She lets out a suppressed squeal and grabs on to his arm, clutching him tightly.

Killian chuckles, tickled pink by how adorable she is as he takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers. “I never said you were a stalker. I only know that in a small town, rumors about the newcomers spread quickly. Especially when you work in the heart of Storybrooke.”

Emma peers up at him, flashing a sarcastic smirk as she gently squeezes his hand. “I’ve not heard anything,” she states playfully, and he knows she’s fibbing. “Okay, maybe a few things. But to tell you the truth, I didn’t know that you used to be a roller coaster engineer until after I asked you to come to the Carnival.”

He lifts an eyebrow, intrigued by her confession. “Ah, so I’m mostly correct then?”

Emma chortles. “Okay, yes you’re right. I’m terrified of heights, but I couldn’t let you know my weaknesses on our first date now could I?”

He shrugs casually, cocking his head to the side. “I wouldn��t have thought any less of you, love. I’m afraid of things too—things you would think were silly.”

“Oh really?” she inquires, elevating a curious brow. “Well since you know one of mine, you have to tell me one of yours.”

An uneasy smile is curving his lips, and he hesitates before coming to a conclusion—being up in the air in a strange town and sitting next to a gorgeous blonde has put him in a rather impulsive mood. “I’m afraid of talking to people on the internet.”

Emma tilts her head, not sure how to digest his confession. “Okay… well, that’s not so strange. The internet’s a mysterious place.”

He studies her to assess whether she thinks that’s a valid reason for such a phobia or if she’s merely being polite when in reality she thinks he’s gone completely insane. “You find it a little strange though, right?”

Emma shrugs and purses her lips. “Maybe, but I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Killian glances over her features again, deeply appreciating her beauty, inside and out. “I do, actually. Remember that long story I mentioned in the bar?”

“Yeah,” she replies softly, her eyes lighting up with intrigue, and there’s something pure and genuine about this woman. She’s not judgmental or closed-minded and he finds her personality to be rather refreshing.

“That’s where you will find the rather exhausting explanation… that is if you are willing and determined to hear it one day. But perhaps the first date’s not fitting for the occasion.”

“Perhaps not, but I am interested,” she confesses, her eyes meeting his so suddenly, he loses a breath. “I’m interested in knowing more about you,” she whispers before moving in closer, her gaze fleeting to his lips.

Killian’s stomach does somersaults as he eyes her perfectly glossed, pink mouth, his curiosity piquing; he wonders what she tastes like. “I was thinking the same about you,” he murmurs. “I want to know more about the owner slash bartender and singer slash songwriter slash musician.”

Emma lifts her eyes to his, arching a brow in bemusement. “And I’m the stalker?”

Grinning widely, he leans in closer until her lips are a hair’s breadth away from his. “I never said you were,” he breathes, sweeping in and gently capturing her mouth. To his relief, she lets him catch her.

Emma’s lips are soft and sweet as he breathes her in, releasing her hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulder to draw her in closer. Every inch of his skin is tingling as they deepen the kiss, his fingertips dancing along her jaw before cupping the smooth, delicate edge and pulling her against him. Her fingers card through his hair, lightly tugging on a fistful of locks as her tongue insistently brushes along his. He answers with a soft groan and a playful nip at her bottom lip.

A million volts of electricity are coursing through his blood, and he craves more. He craves her. He needs her. It’s been six years since he’s had this with someone—the romantic physical intimacy from an actual person rather than through an electronic device—and even a kiss is mind-rattling, life-altering and heals his soul more than he can comprehend.

Two months later…

His palms are sweating profusely, gripping the bouquet of roses so tightly, he fears he might damage the stems. Déjà vu has dug its painful claws into him, and he can’t shake the feeling. He knows it’s silly because Storybrooke is Emma’s hometown, and of course she’ll come back, but he still has that small shred of doubt anchored in the pit of his stomach. He can’t help but think she might not appear. She has family in Ireland, and could’ve easily decided to stay.

When she’d informed him she had to leave with her son after receiving unexpected news about a great aunt on her deathbed, Killian assured Emma he’d be fine. They hadn’t even been seeing each other very long, so it wasn’t his place to interfere with her plans, however unforeseen they were.

They’ve been on several dates loaded with meaningful conversations about their pasts, their childhoods, their careers and their children. She’s divulged how she started singing and playing guitar at the age of ten and how music carried her through some pretty rough times. She’s explained how she grew up in the system and was abused by one of her foster parents, and how her ex was a con-artist who lied to her, impregnated her and fled. Killian listened with kind, sympathetic ears and recounted his own tragic backstory. And every Friday he visits the pub with Raven to watch Emma perform, and sometimes they take their children out for ice cream together.

Killian is still apprehensive, but Emma’s slowly helping him conquer his fears. He was even video chatting with her on the computer during her absence, which was a huge step for him. He doesn’t even have to remind himself that Emma’s not that person who deceived him because he knows in his heart exactly who she is; she’s his Swan.

Killian exhales deeply as he waits, but remains confident. He’s wearing a grin, and the moment he sees the cascade of golden hair and the pool of forest green eyes, he’s not surprised; more like enchanted.

“Killian!” Henry shouts, spotting him through the crowd.

Killian waves as the young lad weaves through the passengers and almost topples him over with the hug he smothers him with.

Emma reaches them, smiling vibrantly, and it’s infectious, initiating the buoyant grin overtaking his face. “I’m glad you came back, Swan,” he breathes, attempting to hide all the emotions washing over him from seeing her again, his eyes never breaking their heated stare.

“Did you doubt I would?”

Apology is flashing in his eyes, and he scratches behind his ear, his lips twitching. “Honestly, I was a tad nervous, but my paranoia is my own issue,” he reveals earnestly as he takes her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, hoping she won’t take offense to his words. “Deep down I knew you’d come back to me, love.”

The way her smile never fades eliminates all his fears, and he can’t believe he was actually worried, even for one second. “God, I’ve missed you,” she confesses, drawing him into a warm hug. “Thank you for showing up.”

“Did you doubt I would?”

“Not for a second,” she giggles, making his heart skip.

He sighs in deep relief, squeezing her tightly. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” His words are cracked as he strokes her hair and kisses the crown of her head, getting caught up in her warmth. He’s so lost in her embrace, he almost forgets about the roses in his hand.

When they pull apart, he presents them to her, and she dazzles him with a bright smile, accepting them graciously.

“They’re beautiful, thank you,” she says, smelling them and soaking in the scent appreciatively. “I have something for you too,” Emma informs him, and he lifts a brow in curiosity.

After retrieving her luggage, she reveals a case of microbrewed beer that’s been packed in her suitcase. “I got these directly from Darkey Kelly's—the heart of Dublin, matey,” she attempts with an Irish accent.

Killian chuckles, his heart soaring at the proffered beer and how adorable she is. “I should’ve known,” he teases, and Emma playfully rolls her eyes. “Thank you, love.”

“You’re very welcome. I also got you this…” She pulls out a dark blue wool sweater, displaying it in her fingertips.

Doing the math in his head, Killian perceives how many Euros she must’ve spent on these brilliant gifts, and he’s floored, his jaw falling agape. He swears he’s fallen in love with her all over again. In fact, if they were not in public or in front of Emma’s son, he would have grabbed and kissed the bloody hell of her then and there.

They anxiously leave the airport with Henry, but their reunion is far from over.

That night, whispered, broken curses and ragged breaths permeate the bedroom as Killian drives into Emma’s warm depths, deliciously dragging along her walls in a flawless rhythm.

“So beautiful…” he murmurs, his lips caressing the shell of her ear.

With several powerful thrusts, she shatters into a million pieces, Emma’s orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave, her hands fisted in his hair as she falls.

Killian seals her lips with his, swallowing her soft cries of pleasure as he follows closely behind, pouring all his warmth into her with a soft growl, giving himself to her completely. When his movements come to an abrupt halt, he hums in satisfaction and collapses, tucking his face into her neck, trying to catch his breath.

Awash with rapture, she closes her eyes, wearing a blissful smile as Killian sighs in content, holding her in his arms. One hand is cradled in hers with their fingers entwined and pressed to her chest, both of them basking in the glow of making love for the first time as they fall asleep.

One year later…

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“Are you having second thoughts, love?” he asks Emma, his voice laced with concern.

“No, I just…”

“Just relax. It will be painless and over before you know it,” he soothes, giving her hip a reassuring squeeze from behind.

Emma exhales a few long breaths. “Okay.”

“Ready?” he asks and she nods.

“I’m ready, Papa,” Raven bravely assures.

“It will be okay Mom. We’re all here with you,” Henry reminds her calmly.

“I promise she’s sturdy and secure,” Killian adds, hoping to fuel the encouragement.

“I have no doubt in the capabilities of your hands,” Emma remarks, a relaxed expression washing over her face as she turns her head, offering a smirk.

When both of them are separated and strapped into their harnesses with their children in front of them and hanging on for dear life, he steals one fleeting glance at his girlfriend and her son as she flashes a tentative smile. Killian beams in return and throws a wink before giving the conductor the go-ahead, and they’re being pushed off the tower and flying over the water.

The wind rushes past his ears, and mind-numbing adrenaline has him high as a kite, the leap out across the creek stealing all breath from his lungs. He’s weightless, small against the gigantic, cloudless sky with his daughter secured in front of him, and his other true love zipping across the cable next to them with her son. Every insecurity, every worry and thought that kept him up at night staring at the ceiling vanishes before his eyes. He now has the courage to do what he’s been fully prepared to do for months.

When they’re back on solid ground again, Emma’s cheeks are red and she’s flustered, trying to catch her breath, but she has a wide, vibrant smile blooming across her face.

Killian is thinking what a vision she is as he emits a small chuckle. “You did it, love. You conquered your fear of heights,” he points out exuberantly.

“I did, and it was terrifying,” she breathes, “but also exhilarating.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, love” Killian’s heart is racing as he grins, encasing her hands with his while trying to keep his own from trembling. “And I hope you don’t mind me asking you to do one more thing that may be equally as terrifying and exhilarating, if not more.”

Emma arches a brow as their children observe in contained suspense. “What’s next? You want to climb Mount Everest?” she razzes, chuffing in amusement.

Killian responds by drawing in a deep, wobbly breath before descending to one knee and pulling out a diamond ring from his pocket.

Emma’s eyes widen as she realizes what he’s about to do.

“Will you marry me, Emma Swan?”

“Yes!” she replies without hesitation. “Yes, I will marry you!” she laughs, and Killian’s heart explodes with joy as he slides the ring on her finger before standing and picking her up, spinning her around in his arms.

Their children are jumping up and down in excitement.

“Yay! We finally get to be a family!” Raven chants buoyantly, clapping her hands.

Killian sets his new fiancé on her feet and picks up his daughter, sprinkling her cheek with kisses. When he averts his gaze to Emma, she’s ruffling her hand through Henry’s hair and kissing the top of his head.

“We already are, love.”

“Indeed we are,” Emma agrees with a bright smile.

Killian closes the distance between them, kissing her softly.

“Eww!” their kids whine, faces contorted in disgust.

Killian chuckles against Emma’s lips. It’s moments like these—scratch that—every moment makes him grateful that his brother persuaded him into doing something bold; something that turned the worst mistake he’s ever made into one of the best things that has ever happened to him. He’ll never tell him that though.

#cslb #cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #captain swan little bang #handprints on my soul #my fic

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uci-fanfic-requests · 7 years

Note

how about a yearly medical exam for the uci escorts?? like rokkaku has to see if his grunts are prepared to take missions and stuff so he puts them through a hardcore exercise coarse and see how well they do. thankyouverymuch~~

Admin Notes: Once a year, Rokkaku-san subjects the escorts to a horrible exercise routine that they can only be describe as… oni kyokan! It’s a joke, it’s a joke, I swear; please don’t mind me! -Admin Hirahara

It was the first day of spring. The manor was cleaned, the air was fresh, the flowers were blooming, Ayako was whistling… and the escorts could not have felt worse. Besides being a beautiful day where nature was practically smiling upon the Underworld Capital, it also happened to be the day of Rokkaku’s notorious… training regimen.

Every year, Rokkaku liked to do this thing, where he wanted to make sure the escorts were ready for their tasks for the following year. And no regular medical checkup would work. No sir, not if they could just regenerate to perfect health. So he would have them complete a physical exam that would take, well, the entire day. And it wasn’t just physically exhausting. Being up at the early hours of 6am was already bad, but with all the things they’d go through today, it wasn’t a surprise that pretty much everyone was nervous.

Tanizaki, for one, felt much less worried. He happened to train every day (even extra sometimes), and he did rather well on these every year. Rokkaku-san had always said training is key, so he took it to heart. Kirishima, as well, felt like he could actually handle it this year. Kirika had promised to make them a big celebration dinner (if they came out of this alive), so he was motivated, to say the least.

Everyone else, though, felt like dying. Tagami did not enjoy this day, and had attempted to hide in the library before Saitou found him and dragged him outside. Matsumoto never did well in these sort of things, so it was no wonder he hardly went on missions. Saeki and Kinoshita would do their best but, it wasn’t like they were built for harsh training. And Hirahara… well, he was just excited, but his energy would die out soon enough.

“It’s not that bad, this year,” Rokkaku pointed out, looking at a sheet of paper that consisted of his carefully written out coarse. “Since we had the accident in the Jounetsu Jigokulast year, I had to take it out.” A sigh of relief washed over the escorts. “This year, you’ll be going to the Living World to climb up Noboribetsu’s Hell Valley, entering throughToukatsu Jigoku, decending to Shugou Jigoku to fight the guardian there, and coming back to Gokuto. Sound good?”

Although it was supposed to be “simple”, it was an insane amount of walking (really, running) for one day, and they’d still have to finish off with a battle. Still, they couldn’t really refuse a direct order, and if anything, this could be seen as a mission. On the start signal, the escorts were off, first to hurry to the World of the Living.

Somewhere, in Hell Valley, they lost Matsumoto. No one had been keeping track of him, he’d fallen pretty behind, and by the time they existed the orange hills, they did not see him anymore. Tagami willingly stayed behind to find him, but there was a huge chance he did it so he could take a nap. Down two in the group, the five continued onward, promising to do their best.

The distance between the exit of Hell Valley and the entrance to the first layer of hell wasn’t that far apart. Kirishima was the first to descend, followed by everyone else. He didn’t get very far, though, because the ground was burning when he touched it.

“Tsk,” he clicked his tongue. They’d have to reach the third layer, so what other choice did they have but to cross the burning floor. Around them, the souls of the damned were fighting each other, a hellish scene even for the escorts. Still, this was something they could more or less get used to. Tanizaki didn’t waste time, sprinting across the hot flames on the ground.

“If you move fast, you won’t feel it,” he declared, hurrying away. Kirishima and Hirahara ran after him, leaving Kinoshita and Saeki to ponder if there was a way to… avoid that amount of pain. Lucky for the escorts, there really weren’t any real guardians in the first layer of hell. After all, it was their job to deliver punishment to souls.

The third layer, however, proved to be challenging. The guardians, beastly birds who gobbled up the innards of the damned, weren’t exactly picky on who they chose to be their meal. And this was learned when Hirahara was picked up by one of them and carried off.

Tanizaki and Kirishima went after him, hoping both to slay the bird, and also rescue their friend. He landed at the top of a tree with blades for branches, threatening to drop the escort down through the canopy. Hirahara, who was not okay with this, stabbed the demon in the eye with his shovel. Even though he drew a considerable amount of flesh, though, the demon didn’t seem to care. it had one job, anyways.

“We have to get Hirahara down first,” Kirishima said. “But we can’t climb up the tree because of the razors.”

“I got this,” Tanizaki huffed, lifting his kanabo over his shoulder before swinging it hard into the tree trunk. With a mighty boom, the thing shook, ready to collapse. The guardian atop, startled, didn’t have the chance to fly away before the tree fell. The bird was crushed, releasing it’s hold on Hirahara.

“Hey, we did it!” Hirahara smiled, looking at the dead guardian. “This was… easier than last year.” It wasn’t long before Kinoshita and Saeki finally made it to the other three, out of breath but for the most part, unharmed.

“Oh, you already beat one,” Kinoshita noted, smiling. “I thought it was going to be like that year we swam through the sea of fire…”

“No, this time was… surprisingly easy,” Kirishima nodded. “Don’t tell Rokkaku-san, though, or he’ll make it harder for next year.” That was a silent agreement among the five. However, just as they were planning to go back to Gokuto, a flurry of screeches could be heard from above. To their distress, many guardians littered the skies, attracted by the innards of their fallen brethren.

“Oh…” Saeki was at a loss for words. “I… I forgot these things were attracted to blood…” He carefully took out one of his revolvers, making sure not to startle any of the guardians. The escorts wouldn’t be able to get anywhere with the demon birds there. They had no choice but to wipe them out.

The plan was to wait for the birds to descend, so they could hit it without the danger of the trees, but when they did begin to swarm, it was hard to fend them all off at once. A few times, one of the escorts were nearly picked off.

“There’s just way to many of them!” Kinoshita yelled. “We have to make a run for the exit”

“Incoming!” A shout could be heard, followed by the swoosh of a pickax being hurled. It landed right in the middle of one of the bird’s forehead, causing it to drop dead immediately. Tagami, followed by a very fearful Matsumoto, hurried over, pulling his weapon out of the corpse.

“Troublesome…” He muttered, noticing that there was way more than just one guardian left. “We’re running,” he decided, turning back around and grabbing Matsumoto’s wrist before taking off. The rest of the escorts followed suit, not wanting to stay and battle the flock.

—

“Oh, you’re back,” Rokkaku said, seeing the escorts in a pile in front of the doorway. Each was exhausted, bruised, and covered in blood, ready to forget the training day ever happened. “You’re back sooner than I expected.” He wrote some things down on his piece of paper, and smiled. “You all did good this year. We’ll conduct the post-exam after you all eat.”

And those were the best words the escorts had heard him say all day.

#Underworld Capital Incident #gokuto jihen #獄都事変 #anonymous #rokkaku (Underworld Capital Incident)#kirishima (underworld capital incident)#tanizaki (Underworld Capital Incident)#saeki (underworld capital incident)#kinoshita (underworld capital incident)#hirahara (Underworld Capital Incident)#tagami (Underworld Capital Incident)#matsumoto (underworld capital incident)#UCI fanfic requests #requests #Admin Hirahara

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jackieseman · 5 years

Text

Every Rose Has Its Thorn

Genre: Romance, Fiction

-Contains explicit language-

Chapter One: Blissful Pain

~~~

So...here I am. Just sitting in my room, typing away at my computer. Pouring my heart and emotion into the keyboard, the speed of my typing increasing along with my heartbeat. It would be appropriate to say that tears are pouring out of my icy, blue eyes and down my face, struggling to keep the sobs in my throat.

My spelling becomes sloppy, vision becomes ever so blurry. I bang my hands against my desk, my brown locks clouding my vision even more, and cry even harder. This can’t be happening...

Once again, I put all of my trust into a person who didn’t reciprocate it back. I guess that’s just how I am--stupid, vulnerable, and most of all, too damn gullible for my own good.

Memories flash through my mind of all the precious moments we had together. Those I wouldn’t trade for the world. Now, I would do anything to trade those memories for a painless night. One that didn’t involve me losing the love of my life, but CLEARLY life doesn’t work like that. I need a lot more than a fucking tub of ice cream to ease the pain stabbing through my chest.

Still filled with the undeniable rage in my veins, I look at the rose in the vase next to my bed on my nightstand. He got that for me on our two year anniversary...not even a week ago.

I grabbed a lighter from my desk drawer, left here by one of my friends. I snatch the rose from my vase and walk hastily down my steps out into my yard to my fire pit. I lit the innocent rose on fire, and tossed it in. I watched through pain-stricken tears as it crinkled and dried up, eventually disintegrating against the flame. Making sure it’s completely out, I slunk back into my house, into my room.

Tears starting to ease up, I look at the masterpiece I have created so far, which is pretty much a letter I wrote to him, knowing that he’ll never receive it. It’s a type of therapy I enjoy whenever I am upset, but upset doesn’t even come close to describing how I feel right now.

I’m shattered. Broken.

Completely and utterly hopeless.

~~~

Day breaks through my blinds, forcing my eyelids open. My body was drained from all the emotional stress and meltdowns that happened the previous night. Without a doubt, you may call me an absolute wreck.

I hear the whistling of birds through my window, wishing they’d shut the hell up. Normally, I’d go out on my porch outside my room and bask in the warmth and glow the sunlight had to offer. Today was NOT a normal day, obviously.

So by now, you want me to explain what the hell is going on. Fine. I’ll tell you everything:

The love of my life left me yesterday. Shocker.

I mean, what a CLICHE.

Alright, enough funny business.

His name is Santiago. An extremely gorgeous man, oh yes he is. I met him a while ago, clearly with no intentions of ever being in a relationship, but beggars can’t be choosers, am I right? Yeah, didn’t think so.

He is the kindest soul I’ve ever met, wouldn’t hurt a fly. So talented with his voice, extremely hilarious, and every conversation you have with him is anything but boring.

His dark, luscious, hazel eyes are what drew me in, and the way his skin glowed on a perfectly tanned spectrum. He has this wavy, thick, brown hair that swooshes in the wind as if it was trained to look THAT amazing. The way he smiled, pearly whites and all, was so comforting and looking at him smile feels like you’re right at home with him. His perfectly toned body...I won’t even talk about.

HERE’S the thing:

He lied and cheated on me with my best friend, and left me for her.

Yeah, it’s fucked up. I’m not even going to START that conversation. All you need to know, is that she won’t ever be hearing from me ever again.

I hear knocking on my bedroom door and I know exactly who it is.

“Stefanie, please open up,” Angel, my roommate, says sympathetically. She’s my other best friend, but clearly she has more common sense and morals in her life than the other bitch.

“Leave me to die, please. I would very much appreci-”

Just then, the door that I locked last night pops right open with ease. I shot right up in surprise.

“What the hell?” I retort, raising my arms in disbelief. “It’s locked for a REASON.”

“Yeah, and you staying in here by yourself all day isn’t a good reason. That’s why I keep extra bobby pins with me,” she smirks, with a wink.

“I wouldn’t have to resort to isolation if it weren’t for Christina...” I space, looking out the window, thinking of how Santiago is probably with her right now, telling her the exact same bull he told me. My expression must’ve explained it all, because Angel’s faced relaxed into a soft frown.

Life truly wasn't playing a fair game anymore.

“Fuck her. She’s irrelevant in your life now, as well as mine. Nobody should have to endure the pain you’re experiencing right now.”

I smile warmly at Angel. “Thank you. I love you so much.” She really was the greatest best friend anybody could ever have.

She walks over chuckling and wraps me in one of her comforting bear hugs, which has us both laughing and sprawled out on my bed.

“Let’s have a girls day, Stefanie,” she chimes, giddily.

“I assume I have no other choice?”

“You assume correctly, Mami.”

I giggled at the nickname she branded me with when we first met each other, which was in middle school. Crazy how time flies...

“Get yo’ ass up and get ready! We’re leaving in thirty minutes, makeup on or off!” she barks and playfully slaps my butt, leaving the room, laughing.

“Maybe we can find myself a NEW MAN!” I joke, which received tons of laughter from her.

Boy, I really had no idea what this day had in store for me.

~~~

Author’s Note:

Sooooo this is the first chapter! I know that not every first chapter is as interesting or action filled as others may be, but I hope you enjoyed reading it at least. There will be more to come! I already have so many ideas for this story and others! Please leave feedback if you would like, I’m always looking for critique and constructive criticism to help me as a writer :)

#author #writing #story #new story #romance #fiction #heartbreak #stories

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deliciouscollectorsandwich-stuff · 5 years

Quote

"You have but two final destinies: Heaven and hell. Know that satan will try to remove the reality of the existence of his kingdom, hell, from you. He will deceive you so that you will sin and remove yourselves from the Spirit of light. And when you remove yourselves from the Spirit of light, you remove yourselves from eternal life in the Kingdom of your Father, the most high God in Heaven. - Our Lady of the Roses The following explanation, of life in hell was found among the papers left by a nun who died in a convent in Germany. In my youth, I had a friend, Anne, who lived near my house. That is to say, we were mutually attached as companions and co-workers in the same office. After Anne married, I never saw her again. We never had what can be called a real friendship, but rather an amiable relationship. For this reason, when she married well and moved to a better neighborhood far from my home, I didn’t really miss her that much. In mid-September of 1937 I was vacationing at Lake Garda when my mother wrote me this bit of gossip: “Imagine, Anne N. died. She lost her life in an automobile accident. She was buried yesterday in M. cemetery.” I was shocked by the news. I knew that Anne had never been very religious. Was she prepared when God called her suddenly from this life? The next morning I assisted at Mass in the chapel of the convent boarding house where I was rooming. I prayed fervently for the eternal rest of her soul and offered my Holy Communion for that intention. Throughout the day I was unsettled, and that night I slept fitfully. Once, I awoke suddenly, hearing something that sounded like my door being opened. Startled, I turned on the light, noting that the time on the clock on my nightstand showed ten minutes after midnight. The house was quiet and I saw nothing unusual. The only sound was from the waves of Lake Garda breaking monotonously on the garden wall. There was no wind. Nonetheless, I thought I heard something else after the rattling of the door, a swooshing sound like something being dropped. It reminded me of when my former office manager was in a bad mood and dropped some problem papers on my desk for me to resolve. Should I get up and look around? I wondered. But since all remained quiet, it didn’t seem worthwhile. It was probably just my imagination, somewhat overwrought by the news of the death of my friend. I rolled over, prayed several Our Fathers for the Poor Souls in Purgatory, and returned to sleep. I then dreamed that I arose at six to go to morning Mass in the house chapel. Upon opening the door of my room, I stepped on a parcel containing the pages of a letter. I picked it up and recognized Anne’s handwriting. I cried out in fright. My fingers trembled, and my mind was so shaken I couldn’t even think to say an Our Father. I felt like I was suffocating, and needed open air to breathe. I hastily finished arranging myself, put the letter in my purse, and rushed from the house. Once outside, I followed a winding path up through the hills, past the olive and laurel trees and the neighboring farms, and then on beyond the famous Gardesana highway. The day was breaking with the brilliant light of the morning sun. On other days, I would stop every hundred steps or so to marvel at the magnificent view of the lake and beautiful Garda Island. The sparkling blue tones of the water delighted me, and like a child gazing with awe at her grandfather, I would gaze with admiration upon the ashen-colored Mount Baldo that rose some 7,200 feet above the opposite shore of the lake. On this morning, however, I was oblivious to everything around me. After walking a quarter of an hour, I sank mechanically to the ground on the riverbank between two cypress trees where only the day before I had been happily reading a novel, Lady Teresa. For the first time I looked at the cypress trees conscious of them as symbols of death, something I had taken no notice of before, since these trees are quite common here in the south. I took the letter from my purse. There was no signature, but it was, beyond any doubt, the handwriting of Anne. There was no mistaking the large, flowing S or the French T she made that used to irritate Mr. G. at the office. It was not, however, written in her usual style of speaking, which was so amiable and charming, like her, with those blue eyes and elegant nose. Only when we discussed religious topics did she become sarcastic and take on the rude tone and agitated cadence of the letter I now began to read. Here, word for word, is the Letter from Beyond of Anne V. as I read it in the dream. Letter from Beyond Claire! Do not pray for me. I am damned. Do not think that I am telling you this and certain circumstances and details about my condemnation as a sign of friendship. Here we no longer love anyone. I do it on the command of “that power that never desires Evil and always does Good.” In truth, I would like to see you here where I will remain forever. (1) (1) St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, Suppl., Q. 98, art. 4: "Therefore, they [the damned] will wish all the good were damned." Do not be surprised that I should say this. We all think the same way here. Our will is hardened in evil - in what you call “evil.” Even when we do something “good,” as I do now in opening your eyes about Hell, it is not with any good intention.(2) (2) In response to the Question whether every act of the will in the damned is evil, St. Thomas distinguishes the deliberate will and the natural will: “Their natural will is theirs not of themselves but of the Author of nature, Who gave nature this inclination which we call the natural will. Wherefore since nature remains in them, it follows that the natural will in them can be good. “But their deliberate will is theirs of themselves, inasmuch as it is in their power to be inclined by their affections to this or that. This will is in them always evil: and this because they are completely turned away from the last end of a right will, nor can a will be good except it be directed to that same end. Hence even though they will some good, they do not will it well so that one is not able to call their will good on that account.” Ibid., Q. 98, a. 1. Do you remember when we worked together for four years in M. You were 23 and had already worked in the office for a half year when I arrived. You helped me out many times, and frequently gave me good advice while you were training me. But what is meant by that term “good”? At the time I praised your “charity.” How ridiculous! You helped me to please your own vanity, as I suspected at the time. Here we don’t acknowledge good in anyone! You knew me in my youth, but I will fill in certain details. According to my parents’ plans, I never should have existed. The disgrace of my conception was due to their carelessness. When I was born, my two sisters were already 14 and 15 years of age. How I wish that I had never been born! I wish I could annihilate myself at this moment and escape these torments! There could be no pleasure greater than to be able to end my existence, to do away with myself like a piece of cloth reduced to ashes, leaving no remnant behind.(3) But I must exist. I must be as I have made myself, bearing the total blame for how I have ended. (3) Ibid., Q 98, a. 3, r. ib. Ad. 3: "Although ‘not to be’ is very evil in so far as it removes being, it is very good in so far as it removes unhappiness, which is the greatest if evils, and thus it is preferred ‘not to be.’" Before my parents married, they had moved away from their country villages to the city and drifted away from the Church, making friends with others who had fallen away from the practice of the faith. They met at a dance, and six months later they were “obliged” to get married. During the wedding ceremony a few drops of holy water fell on them, just enough to draw my mother to Sunday Mass a few times a year. She never taught me to pray correctly. She wore herself out over material concerns, even when our situation was not difficult. It is only with deep repugnance and unspeakable disgust that I write words such as pray, Mass, holy water, and church. I profoundly detest those who go to church, along with everyone and everything in general. For us, everything is a torture. Everything we came to understand at death, every recollection of life and of what we knew, is like a burning flame that torments us. (4) (4) Ibid., Q 98, a. 7, r.: "Accordingly, in the damned there will be actual consideration of the things they knew heretofore as matters of sorrow, but not as a cause of pleasure. For they will consider both the evil they have done, and for which they were damned, and the delightful goods they have lost, and on both counts they will suffer torments." All of these memories only show us the horrible sight of the graces we rejected. How this tortures us now! We do not eat, we do not sleep, we do not walk with human legs as you know. Enchained in spirit, we reprobates stare with terror at our misspent lives, howling and gnashing our teeth, tormented and filled with hatred. Do you hear me? Here we drink hatred as if it were water. We all hate one another. (5) And more than anything else, we hate God. I will try to make you understand how this is. The blessed in Heaven must necessarily love Him, for they constantly behold Him in His awe-inspiring beauty. That makes them indescribably happy. We know this, and that knowledge fills us with fury. (6) (5) Ibid., Q. 98, a. 4, r.: "Even as in the blessed in heaven there will be most perfect charity, so in the damned there will be the most perfect hate.” (6) Ibid., Q. 98, a. 9, r.: “The damned, before the judgment day, will see the blessed in glory, in such a way as to know, not what that glory is like, but only that they are in a state of glory that surpasses all thought. This will trouble them, both because they will, through envy, grieve for their happiness, and because they have forfeited that glory." On earth, men know God through Creation and Revelation and are able to love Him, but they are not forced to do so. The believer – I say this seething with fury – who contemplates and meditates upon Christ extended on the Cross will love Him. But when God approaches as Avenger and Judge, the soul who rejected Him will hate Him, as we hate Him. (7) That soul hates Him with all the strength of its perverse will. It hates Him eternally, by virtue of its deliberate resolution to reject God with which it ended its earthly life. This perverse act of the will can never be revoked, nor would we ever want to do so. (7) Ibid., Q. 98, a. 8, sf 1, iba 5, r: "The damned do not hate God except because He punishes and forbids what is agreeable to their evil will [the evil that they still desire to do]: and consequently they will think of Him only as punishing and forbidding." I am forced to add that even now God is still merciful to us. I say “forced” because even though I willingly write this letter, I cannot lie as I would like to. Much of what I put on this paper I write against my will. I also have to choke down the torrent of insults I would like to spew out against you and everything. God is merciful even to us here in that He did not allow us to do all the evil we wanted to do while on earth. Had He permitted us to do so, we would have added greatly to our guilt and chastisement. He allowed some of us to die early – as is my case – or permitted attenuating circumstances in others. Even now He shows us mercy, for He does not oblige us to draw near to Him. He placed us in this distant place of Hell, thus diminishing our torment.(8) Every step closer to God would increase my suffering more than every step you might take toward a fire. (8) Ibid., Part I, Q. 21, a. 4, ad. 1: "Even in the damnation of the reprobate mercy is seen, which, though it does not totally remit, it somewhat alleviates, in punishing short of what is deserved." In another note, the holy Doctor of the Church says that this is the case above all with those who in this world were merciful to others (Q. 99, a. 5, ad. 1). You were astonished one day when I told you in passing what my father said to me some days prior to my First Communion. “Be sure you get a beautiful dress, little Anne,” he said. “The rest is all a sham.” I was almost ashamed then for having shocked you so much, but now I laugh about it. The best part of this sham was that Communion was only allowed at 12 years of age. By then, I had already tasted enough of the pleasures of the world, so I didn’t take Communion seriously. The new custom of allowing children to receive Holy Communion at seven years of age infuriates us. We strive in every possible way to frustrate this, to make people believe that a child is too young to properly comprehend what Communion is or to think that children must commit serious sins before they can receive. The “white” host [that is, the Sacred Host] will then be less damaging than if He were received with faith, hope, and love, the fruits of Baptism – I spit upon all this! – which are still alive in a heart of a child. Do you recall that I already had this same point of view on earth? I return now to my father. He fought a lot with my mother. I didn’t often speak of this to you because I was ashamed of it. But what is shame? Something ridiculous! It makes no difference to us here. After a while, my parents no longer slept in the same room. I slept with my mother, and my father slept in the adjoining room, which he would enter at all hours of the night. He drank heavily and spent everything we had. My sisters were employed but needed their money to live, or so they said. So my Mother went to work. In the last year of her bitter life, my father often beat her when she refused to give him money. With me, however, he was always very kind. I told you all about this one day and you were scandalized at my capricious attitude - but what was there about me that didn’t scandalize you? – such as when I returned new pairs of shoes twice in one day because the style of the heel wasn’t modern enough for me. On the night my father died from a stroke, something happened that I never told you because I didn’t want to hear your interpretation. Today, however, you ought to know it. The fact is memorable, for it is the first time that my true cruel spirit revealed itself. I was asleep in my mother’s bedroom. She was sleeping deeply, as I could tell from her regular breathing. Suddenly, I heard someone say my name. An unfamiliar voice murmured, “What would happen if your father were to die?” I no longer loved my father after he had begun to mistreat my mother. Properly speaking, I no longer loved anyone. I only had some attachments to certain persons who were kind to me. Love without a natural motive rarely exists except in souls that live in the state of grace, which I did not. “I’m sure he’s not dying,” I replied to the mysterious interlocutor. After a brief interval, I heard the same question. Without troubling myself as to its source, I sullenly replied, “It doesn’t matter. He’s not dying.” For the third time the question came: “What would happen were your father to die?” In a flash certain scenes passed quickly through my mind: my father coming home drunk, his scolding and fighting with my mother, how he often embarrassed us in front of our neighbors and acquaintances. I cried out obstinately: “All right, then, it’s what he deserves. Let him die!” Afterward, everything became still. The following morning, when my mother went upstairs to straighten father’s room, she found the door locked. Around noon they forced it open. Father was lying half-dressed on his bed – dead, a corpse. He probably took a chill while hunting for beer in the cellar. He had already been sick for a long time. [Could it be that God had depended upon the will of a child, to whom this man had shown some goodness, to grant him more time and an opportunity to convert?] Marta K. and you made me enroll in a sodality for young women. I never told you how absurd I found the instructions of the two directors, although the games were amusing enough. As you know, I quickly came to play a preponderant role in them, which flattered me. I also found the excursions pleasant. I even allowed myself at times to be taken to Confession and receive Holy Communion. I really had nothing to confess, for I never paid heed to answering for my thoughts and sentiments. And I was still not ready for worse things. One day you admonished me: “Anne, you will be lost if you don’t pray more.” In truth I prayed very little, and always reluctantly and with annoyance. You were indisputably right. All those who burn in Hell either did not pray or did not pray enough. Prayer is the first step toward God. It is always decisive, especially prayer to that one who is the Mother of God, whose name it is not licit to pronounce. Devotion to her draws innumerable souls away from the devil, souls who by their sins would otherwise have fallen into his hands. I continue, but with fury, being obliged to do so. Praying is the easiest thing one can do on earth. God rightly linked salvation to this simplest of actions. To those who persevere in prayer, God grants, little by little, so much light and strength that even a drowning sinner can be raised up and saved, even if he is immersed in mud up to his chest. In fact, in the last years of my life I no longer prayed at all, and thus deprived myself of the graces without which no one can be saved. Here we no longer receive any grace. Even if we were to receive it, we would reject it with disdain. All the vacillations of earthly life come to an end in the beyond. In earthly life, man can pass from a state of sin to the state of grace. From grace he can fall into sin. I often fell from weakness, rarely from malice. But with death, this fluctuating “yes” and “no,” this rising and falling, comes to an end. With death, every individual enters into his final state, fixed and unalterable. As one advances in age, the rises and falls become fewer. It is true that until death one can either convert or turn ones back upon God. In death, however, man makes his decision with the last tremors of his will, mechanically, the same way he did throughout his life. A good or bad habit becomes second nature, and this is what moves a person one way or another in his final moments. So it was with me. For years I had lived apart from God. Consequently, when I received that final call of grace, I decided against Him. It was fatal not because I had sinned so much, but rather because I had refused so often to amend my life. You repeatedly admonished me to listen to sermons and read pious books, but I always made excuses for myself, citing a lack of time. What more could I have done to increase my inner uncertainty? By the time I reached this critical point, which was shortly before I left the sodality for young women, it would have been difficult for me to follow any other path. I felt insecure and unhappy. I had erected a huge wall that stood in the way of my conversion, although you apparently didn’t realize it. You must have thought I could convert quite easily when you said to me once: “Anne, make a good confession and everything will be all right.” I suspected that what you said was true, but the world, the flesh, and the devil already had me securely in their clutches. I never believed in the action of the devil, but now I attest that the devil exercises a powerful influence over persons such as I was then.(9) Only many prayers on the part of others and myself, together with sacrifices and sufferings, would have managed to wrench me away from him. And then only slowly. (9) Devils and demons are the names given to the evil spirits that exercise this influence. For proof of their existence two texts from Holy Scriptures suffice: “Be sober and watch, because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, goes about seeking whom he may devour" (I Peter 5:8). "Put you on the armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the deceits of the devil. For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood; but against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places" (Ephes. 6:11-12). There are very few persons who are physically possessed by the devil, but many who are possessed interiorly. The devil cannot take the free will from those who give themselves over to his influence. Yet as a chastisement for one’s almost total apostasy from God, He permits that person to be dominated by “evil.” I hate the devil, and yet I like him because he and his helpers, the angels that fell with him at the beginning of time, strive to make you lose your souls. There are myriads of demons. Uncountable numbers of them wander through the world like swarms of flies, their presence not even suspected. Condemned souls like us are not the ones who tempt you; this is left to the fallen spirits. (10) Our torments increase every time they bring another soul to Hell, but we still want to see everyone condemned. Hatred is capable of anything! (11) (10) Summa Theologica, Suppl., Q. 98, a. 6, ad. 2: "Men who are damned are not occupied in drawing others to damnation, as the demons are." (11) Ibid., Q. 98, a. 4, ad. 3: “Although an increase in the number of the damned results in an increase of each one's punishment, so much the more will their hatred and envy increase that they will prefer to be more tormented with many, rather than less tormented alone." Even though I tried to avoid Him, God sought me out. I prepared the way for grace by the works of natural charity I often did, following the natural inclination of my nature. At times, too, God attracted me to a church. When I took care of my sick mother even after a hard day of work at the office, which was no small sacrifice for me, I strongly felt these attractions to the grace of God. Once, in the hospital chapel where you used to take me during our free time at mid-day, I was so moved that I found myself just one step away from conversion. I wept. The pleasures of the world, however, shortly swept me up in a torrent and drowned out this grace. The thorns choked out the wheat. Making the rationalization that religion is sentimentalism, the argument I heard at the office, I cast away this grace also, like so many others. Once you reprimanded me because instead of genuflecting in church, I made only a slight inclination of my head. You thought it was laziness, not suspecting that I already no longer believed in the presence of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. I believe it now, although only naturally, as one believes in a storm, by perceiving its signs and effects. In the meantime, I had found for myself a religion. The general opinion in the office, that after death a soul would return to this world as another being, with an endless succession of dying and returning again, pleased me. With this, I shut out the distressing problem of the hereafter to the point that I imagined it no longer troubled me. Why didn’t you remind me of the parable of the rich man and poor Lazarus, in which the narrator sent one to Hell and the other to Paradise after they died? But what good would this reminder have done? I would have just considered it just more of your pious advice. Little by little I arranged a god, one privileged enough to be called a god, and at the same time distant enough that I didn’t have to deal with him. I made him confusing enough to allow me to transform him, at will and without need to change religions, into a pantheistic god, or even to permit me to become a proud Deist. This “god” had neither a heaven to console me nor a hell to frighten me. I left him in peace. This is what my adoration of him consisted of. One easily believes in what one loves. With the passing of years, I became sufficiently convinced of my religion. I lived at ease with it, without its causing me any inconvenience. Only one thing would have been able to bring me to my senses: a profound and prolonged suffering. But this suffering never came. Do you now understand that saying, “Whom God loves, He chastises”? One summer day in July the sodality of young women organized an outing. Yes, I liked those outings, but not the pious beatas who went on them! I had recently placed an image very different from the one of Our Lady of Grace on the altar of my heart. It was that fine manly figure of Max N. from the nearby office. We had already conversed several times. On this occasion, he invited me out on the same Sunday that the sodality outing was planned. Another woman whom he had been dating was in the hospital. He had noticed, of course, that I had my eyes on him, but I had never thought of marrying him. He was wealthy, but too friendly with all the young ladies, in my opinion. Up until then I had wanted a man who would belong exclusively to me, and I would be his alone. Thus, I had always kept a certain distance between us. (This is true. There was something noble about Anne, notwithstanding her religious indifference. It astonishes me that “sincere” persons like her can also fall into Hell if they are insincere enough to flee from facing God.) Max began to shower me with attentions from the day of that outing. Our conversation, of course, was certainly different from that of your pious women. The next day in the office, you reprimanded me for not having gone with you. I then told you about my Sunday diversion. Your first question was: “Did you go to Mass?” How ridiculous! How could I have gone to Mass when we had agreed to leave at six in the morning? Do you remember that I heatedly added, “The good God is not so mean-spirited as your little priests!” Now I am forced to confess to you that, His infinite goodness notwithstanding, God takes everything much more seriously than any priest. After this first outing with Max, I only attended one more of your sodality meetings. I was attracted to some of the Christmas solemnities, but I had already dissociated myself from you interiorly. What interested me were movies, dances, and excursions. At times Max and I argued, but I knew how to keep him interested in me. After being released from the hospital, my rival was furious with me, and I found her quite disagreeable. Her anger worked in my favor, though, for my discreet calm impressed Max and ultimately led him to choose me over her. I knew just how to belittle her. I would speak calmly, seeming to be entirely objective, but spewing venom from within. Insinuations and actions like this can rapidly lead one to Hell. They are diabolical, in the true sense of the word. Why am I telling you this? To show you how I came to separate myself definitively from God. To remove myself so far, it was not even necessary to be entirely familiar with Max. I knew that if I lowered myself to that too soon, he would think less of me. So I restrained myself and refused. In truth, I was ready to do anything I thought useful to reach my aim. I would stop at nothing to win Max. Gradually we fell in love, for both of us possessed certain admirable qualities that we could mutually appreciate. I was talented and had become a good conversationalist, so I eventually had Max in my hands, secure that he belonged only to me, at least in those last months before our wedding. This is what constituted my apostasy from God: making a mere creature into my god. The way this can be more fully realized is between two persons of opposite sex, if they have only a material love. For this becomes the allure, the sting, and the venom. The “adoration” I rendered to Max became an ardent religion for me. At this stage of my life I would still at times hypocritically run off during the office lunch hour to go to church, to listen to the silly priests, to say the Rosary, and other such foolishness. You strove, with more or less intelligence, to encourage such practices, but apparently without suspecting that, in final analysis, I no longer believed in any of these things. I only sought to set my conscience at ease – I still needed that – in order to justify my apostasy. In the depth of my soul I lived in revolt against God. You did not perceive that. You always thought I was still Catholic. I wanted to be seen as such, and I even went so far as to make contributions to the church, thinking that a little “insurance” couldn’t hurt me. As sure as you were with your answers, they always bounced off me. I was sure that you could not be right. This strained our relationship, and when my marriage put some distance between us, the pain of our separation was slight. Before my wedding, I went to Confession and Holy Communion one more time, but it was a mere formality. My husband thought the same as I. We carried out that formality just like any other. You would call that “unworthy.” But after that “unworthy” Communion I had greater peace of mind. It was the last one of my life. Our married life was generally harmonious. We shared the same opinion on just about everything. That included our opinion regarding children: We didn’t want the burden. Deep down, my husband wanted one child, but naturally no more. I was able to remove even this notion from his head. I preferred fine clothing and furniture, tea with the ladies, automobile excursions, and other such amusements. And so a year of earthly pleasure passed from our wedding day until my sudden death. Every Sunday we went for a drive or visited my husband’s relatives - I was ashamed of my mother then. My husband’s relatives, like us, swam well on the surface of life. Inside, however, I never felt truly happy. Something always gnawed at my soul. I hoped that death, which was certainly far off in the future, would put an end to this. When I was a child, I once heard in a sermon that God rewards the good one does. If He does not reward one in the next life, He will do it on earth. Without my expecting it, I received an inheritance [from my Aunt L]. At the same time my husband received a considerable raise in his salary. With this, we were able to furnish our new house quite well. Any attachment to religion I might have had was almost gone, like the last glimmer of light on the far horizon. The bars and cafes of the city and the restaurants where we ate on our travels did not draw us any closer to God. Everyone who frequented them lived as we did, concerned about externals, and not matters of the soul. Once in our travels we visited a famous cathedral, but just to appreciate the artistic value of its masterpieces. I knew how to neutralize the religious air of the Middle Ages that it radiated, and I seized every opportunity for ridicule. I made fun of the lay brother who served as our guide; I criticized the pious monks for their business of making and selling liqueur; I disparaged the eternal pealing of the bells calling the people to the churches as solicitations only for money. Thus I rejected every grace that came knocking at my door. In particular, I let my sarcasm flow profusely at every depiction of Hell in the books, the cemeteries, and other places, where one could find devils roasting souls in red or yellow fires while their long-tailed associates kept arriving with more victims. Hell might be poorly drawn, Claire, but it can never be exaggerated. Above all, I always scoffed at the fire of Hell. Do you recall our conversation about the fire of Hell when I jokingly put a lit match under your nose and asked, “Does it smell like this?” You quickly blew out the match, but here no one extinguishes the fire. Let me tell you something else - the fire that the Bible speaks about is not just the torment of conscience. Fire means fire. That is just what He meant when he said, “Depart from Me, ye accursed, into the everlasting fire.” Quite literally. “How can the spirit be affected by material fire?” you ask. How, then, can your soul suffer on earth when you put your finger in the fire? Your soul itself does not burn, but what the man as a whole suffers! In like manner, here we are imprisoned in a fire in our being and our faculties. Our souls are deprived of their natural movements. We can neither think nor want what we used to desire.(12) Do not even try to comprehend a mystery that goes against the laws of material nature: the fire of Hell burns without consuming. Our greatest torment consists in knowing with certainty that we will never see God. How greatly we are tortured by that which we were indifferent to while on earth! When the knife lies on the table, it leaves you cold. You see its sharp edge, but you don’t feel it. But the moment it enters your flesh, you scream with pain. Before, we only saw the loss of God; now we feel it. (13) (12) Ibid., Suppl., Q. 70, a. 3, r.: "Accordingly we must unite all the aforesaid modes together, in order to understand perfectly how the soul suffers from a corporeal fire: so as to say that the fire of its nature is able to have an incorporeal spirit united to it as a thing placed is united to a place; that as the instrument of Divine Justice it is enabled to detain it enchained as it were, and in this respect this fire is really hurtful to the spirit, and thus the soul seeing the fire as something hurtful to it is tormented by the fire." (13) St. Augustine said, “The separation from God is a torment as great as God." Cf. Houdry, Bibliotheca concionatorum (Venice, 1786), vol 2, “Infernus,” No. 4, p. 427. All the souls do not suffer equally. The more frivolous, malicious, and resolute one was in sin, the more the loss of God weighs upon the soul and the more tortured he feels for the abused creature. Catholics who are damned suffer more than those of other beliefs because, in general, they received more lights and graces without taking advantage of them. The ones who knew more suffer more than those who had less knowledge. Those who sinned out of malice suffer more than those who fell from weakness. No one, however, suffers more than he deserves. Would that this were not true, so that I might have more reason to hate! You once told me that no one goes to Hell without knowing it. This was revealed to some saint. I laughed at that, but the thought was entrenched in my mind. If this were the case, then there would be enough time for me to convert – that is how I thought in my heart. What you said was true. Before my sudden end, I had no idea of what Hell really is. No human being does. But I had no doubt about this: should I die, I would enter into eternity in a state of revolt against God, and I would suffer the consequences. As I already have told you, I did not change my course but continued along the same path, impelled by habit, just as people act with greater deliberation and regularity as they grow older. Now, I will tell you how my death occurred. One week ago – I speak to you in the terms by which you measure time, for judging by the pain I have endured, I could already have been burning in Hell for ten years. Therefore, on a Sunday one week ago, my husband and I went for a drive. It was the last one for me. The day was radiant and beautiful. I felt well and at ease, as I rarely did. An ominous presentiment, however, came over me as we drove. On the way home that evening my husband and I were unexpectedly blinded by the lights of a car rapidly approaching from the opposite direction. My husband lost control of our car. “Jesus!” I shouted, not as a prayer, but as a scream. I felt a crushing pain – a trifle in comparison with my present torment. Then I lost consciousness. How strange! On that very morning, the idea had come to me unexpectedly that I could, after all, go to Mass again. It entered my mind almost like a supplication. My “No!” – strong and determined – nipped the thought in the bud. I must finish with this once and for all, I thought, and I assumed all the consequences. And now I endure them. You know what happened after my death. The grief of my husband and my mother, my body laid out and the burial. You know all this down to the last detail, as do I through a natural intuition we have here. We have only a confused knowledge of what transpires in the world, but we know something of what concerned us. Thus I know also your whereabouts. (14) (14) S. Th. Suppl., Q. 98, a 7,: “Accordingly, in the damned there will be actual consideration of the things they knew heretofore as matters of sorrow, but not as a cause of pleasure.” At the moment of my death I awoke from a darkness. I found myself suddenly enveloped by a blinding light. It was at the same place where my body lay. It seemed almost like a theater, when the lights suddenly go out, the curtain noisily opens, and a tragically illuminated scene appears: the scene of my life. I saw my soul as in a mirror. I saw the graces I had trampled underfoot from the time I was young until that final “No!” given to God. I felt like an assassin brought to trial before its inanimate victim. Repent? Never! (15) Did I feel shame for my actions? Not at all! (15) Ibid., Q. 98, a. 2, r.: "Accordingly the wicked will not repent of their sins directly [that is, out of hatred of sin], because consent in the malice of sin will remain in them; but they will repent indirectly, inasmuch as they will suffer from the punishment inflicted on them for sin.” Notwithstanding, it was impossible for me to remain in the presence of the God I had denied and rejected. Only one thing remained for me: flight. Thus, just as Cain fled from the body of Abel, so my soul sought to flee far from this terrible sight. That was my private judgment. The invisible Judge spoke: “Depart from Me!” and my soul swiftly fell, like a sulfurous shadow, into the place of eternal torment! (16) (16) It is certain that Hell is a determined place. But where this place is situated, no one knows. That the punishment of Hell is eternal is a dogma, certainly the most terrible of all, rooted in Sacred Scripture: "Then he shall say to them also that shall be on his left hand: Depart from me, you cursed, into everlasting fire which was prepared for the devil and his angels…And these shall go into everlasting punishment; but the just, into life everlasting" (Matt. 25:41, 46). See also II Thess. 1:9, Jude 1:13; Apoc. 14:11, 20:10. All are irrefutable texts, in which the word “everlasting” cannot be misunderstood or interpreted as “a long time.” If it were inappropriate to illustrate this dogma, then Our Lord Himself would not have done so in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. He described Hell in the same way that it was done here – he showed that it existed and what one must do not to fall into it. The purpose of the parable was not to excite the senses, but the same one that occasioned this publication. The aim of this booklet finds expression in these words, “Let us think of Hell while we are still living, so that we will not fall into it after we die.” This counsel is but the paraphrasing of Psalm 54: “ Descendat in infernum viventes, videlicet, ne descendant morientes,” which is found in a statement (erroneously) attributed to St. Bernard (Migne, Patr. Lat., vol. 184, Col. 314 b). Some closing words from Claire Thus ended the letter from Anne about Hell. The last letters were so twisted as to be almost illegible. When I finished reading the last word, the entire letter turned to ashes. What was I hearing? After those harsh notes of the lines I imagined I was reading, what came to my ears was the sweet reality of bells ringing. I awoke suddenly to find myself still in bed. The early morning light was entering the room. From the parish Church came the sound of the bells ringing the Angelus. Had it only been a dream? I never felt such consolation in praying the Angelic Salutation as I did after this dream. I said the three Hail Marys. And as I prayed them, this thought came to me very clearly: One must always stay close to Our Lord’s Blessed Mother and venerate her filially if one does not want to suffer the same fate related to me here - albeit in a dream - by a soul that will never see God. Still frightened and shaking from that night’s revelation, I got up, dressed myself hastily, and rushed to the convent chapel. My heart was beating violently and unevenly. The houseguests kneeling closest to me looked at me with concern. Perhaps they thought that I was breathless and flushed from running down the stairs. A kindly lady from Budapest, frail as a child and nearsighted, suffering greatly but lofty of spirit and fervent in the service of God, spoke to me that afternoon in the garden. “My dear child,” she said, “Our Lord does not want to be served in such haste.” But then she perceived that it was something else that had excited me and made me so overwrought. She added kindly: “Let nothing distress you. You know the advice of Saint Teresa - let nothing alarm you. All things pass. He who possesses God lacks nothing. God alone suffices.” While she humbly consoled me with these words, without any sermonizing tone, she seemed to be reading my soul. “God alone suffices.” Yes, God must suffice for me – in this life and in the next. I want to possess Him there one day for all eternity however numerous may be the sacrifices I have to make here in order to triumph. I do not want to fall into Hell. “There is blindness much worse than loss of physical sight, the blindness of heart. So many are heading for the flames blindly. Man seeks to destroy the evidence of Hell, but he will learn the truth soon enough. Hell exists and Heaven exists. The sins of the flesh send more souls to hell." - Jesus

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