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stargazer-sims · 4 months

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2. The Project

"Hey kid, what's up?"

Caroline shifts her gaze away from her laptop when she hears Victor's voice. He's hopping off the last step just as she turns to look, and once he realizes he's gotten her attention, he gives her an exaggerated wave. He can be such a goofball sometimes, and if he's this energetic at forty-seven, she can't help wondering what he must've been like at her age. She smiles. Nanna Grace must've had an interesting time of it while he was growing up. She probably had to figure out ways to keep him from literally bouncing off the walls.

Victor crosses the short distance from the foot of the stairs to where Caroline is sitting at the kitchen island and settles himself on the stool next to hers. Now that he's close enough, she notices how tousled he is. His silver hair is sticking out in every direction, and it's obvious he'd been sleeping in the rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants he's wearing.

Evidently, he just woke up and couldn't wait to greet her. She loves that about him. He's always happy to see her, even if they've only been apart for a handful of hours.

She has to confess she's happy to see him too. She loves both her parents, but Victor has always been her favourite. They bonded on the very first day they'd met, and Caroline can't imagine a life without him now.

"I'm making some notes," she tells him. "For my Media Studies project. How was work last night?"

"It was good. Surprisingly uneventful, but I'm definitely not complaining about a quiet night shift. How was school? And swim practice?"

"School was... school." She shrugs slightly. "Swim practice was awesome. Jack wants me to be on the relay team this season. He says I'm the fastest, so he wants me to be the last swimmer in the relay, but we still have to figure out the logistics 'cause I can't see when my teammate touches the wall."

"Maybe she can just yell 'go' or something as soon as she touches it," Victor suggests. "That's allowed, right?"

"I don't know," Caroline admits. "Jack and Matilda should know, though. I mean, knowing the rules is part of the coaches' job. I can ask tomorrow."

"Good idea. Did Grandpa Julian pick you up from practice?"

"Yup, and he told me to tell you that Nanna's still waiting for you to let her know when you can paint their kitchen."

"Oh crap!" Victor smacks his palm lightly against his forehead. "I was supposed to get back to her on that weeks ago. I was gonna see if I could recruit your uncle Leo to help me with it, but I totally forgot. I should've written it down."

Caroline laughs. "You know, you should probably write most things down."

"What can I say? Sometimes I'm easily distracted."

"Just sometimes?"

"Have I ever mentioned your sense of humour is just like Yuri's? Anyway, I remember the really important stuff without having to write it down. That should count for something, shouldn't it?"

"Do you remember it'll be Yuri's birthday in a couple weeks?"

It's Victor's turn to laugh. "I've been remembering Yuri's birthday since long before you came along. It's a super important day, and I'd be in big trouble if I forgot that."

"Isn't everybody's birthday a super important day?"

"Well, yeah," Victor agrees. "But when Yuri was born, the doctors all said he probably wouldn't live to see his first one, so it's not just a birthday to him. It's a celebration of being alive."

"Really?" Caroline is intrigued. She hadn't known that about Yuri. "Why would the doctors say that?"

"Because he came way too early and he was really sick. Babies who are born as early as he was don't always make it, even with the medical technology we have. Back then, their chances were even lower than they are these days."

"But he survived."

"He did, and that's absolutely worth celebrating," Victor says. "Incidentally, while we're on the subject of Yuri, have we heard from him since this morning?"

"Actually, he texted me just before you came downstairs. He's coming home early, and he wanted to know if we wanted him to pick up food on the way."

"And you said yes?"

"Yup. I said pizza. Is that okay?"

"Sounds great," Victor says. "Want to help me make a salad and some protein drinks to go with it? And while we're doing that, you can tell me all about your project. Didn't you mention something yesterday about a podcast?"

"Forest and Camellia are doing a podcast. I'm making a documentary."

"That sounds ambitious. What's your documentary going to be about?"

"About my life," she says. "I'm calling it Caroline and Company."

She slides off her stool at almost the same moment Victor gets down from his. While he goes to the fridge to take out some vegetables for their salad, she moves her laptop to the coffee table in the living room. It's not that there's any shortage of counter space, but she doesn't like leaving her computer unattended on something as tall as the kitchen island.

By the time she returns, Victor has lettuce, spinach, tomatoes, a yellow bell pepper, a cucumber and a red onion lined up on the counter. There's a small brick of cheese as well, and some eggs they'd boiled the day before. To Victor, salad isn't a sad bowl of lettuce; it's a culinary work of art, and she's certain he considers himself one of the masters of the fine art of the salad.

Caroline loves cooking with Victor, regardless of what they happen to be making. For as long as she can remember, he's encouraged her to help him in the kitchen. She recalls baking cake and cookies during her first Christmas with him and Yuri, when she had to stand on a step-stool to reach the counter and accidentally spilled milk everywhere. Victor hadn't scolded her for that. He hadn't even seemed particularly bothered. He'd just cleaned up the mess, and when their baking session was done, he'd hugged her tight and praised her for being "the best little baker ever."

Victor assigns her the tasks of shredding the lettuce and grating the cheese. He chops the other vegetables with a speed and precision that scares her a little. She considers herself to be fairly confident with knives, but she has to take her time and make sure she can see what she's cutting. If she did it the way Victor does, she thinks there's a real possibility she might lose the end of a finger.

While they work, she describes the details of her project to him, how she and her classmates have the whole school year to complete their big assignment, and how they're building a website to showcase their work.

"So, you're going to tell your life story in a series of videos," Victor says when she stops talking. "Here... pass me those eggs. Do you want to get started on the smoothies?"

"Sure." She slides the bowl of boiled eggs across the countertop toward him before wandering over to the fridge. "What kind of smoothies do we want? We've got bananas and peaches, and there are some strawberries left."

"You can pick," he says.

She chooses strawberries and a banana and takes them out of the fridge along with a container of yogurt. "It's going to be more than just me in the videos."

"Oh?"

"I want to interview Obā-chan in Kyoto and record our video chat," she elaborates. "I'd like to interview you and Yuri too, and maybe Jack and some of my friends. Also Laila and Dr. Reid-Mayfield, 'cause I feel like we wouldn't even be a family if it wasn't for them."

"I can't speak for anybody else, but you can definitely interview me," Victor says. "I'm sure Yuri will let you interview him too, and I'd be really surprised if Laila said no. Getting Dr. Reid-Mayfield into it might be a hard sell, but it never hurts to ask."

"Cool," Caroline says. "Another idea I had was to let people have the camera and make a video by themselves. You know, 'cause it might be too awkward for some people to talk about me right in front of me. Like, I don't think Forest would enjoy being interviewed on camera, but he might record something if he could just be alone in his room."

Victor pauses in the middle of peeling the shell off an egg and nods. "Yeah, it's definitely easier to get your thoughts out when you're in a room by yourself. I always found it better to make journal entries when there was nobody else around."

"Writing in a journal is different, though. You're not saying your thoughts aloud."

"I didn't say I was writing."

Caroline frowns, but quickly tries to smooth her expression when she remembers that it'll probably lead to her having a pronounced crease between her eyebrows some day, just like Obā-chan. Expression notwithstanding, she's still confused. She glances up from her half-peeled banana to meet her father's eyes. "But, you said you were journalling?"

"Yeah," Victor affirms. "We were. A long time ago, Yuri and I kept a video journal for over a year."

"Really? Did you do it for any special reason?"

"It was supposed to be a travel journal and it was only meant to be my journal originally," he says. "I had this wild plan to go on some big world adventure, and I wanted to capture all my experiences."

"But I guess you didn't actually have a world adventure?"

"I sort of had one. I was already living in Japan with Yuri, so there was that, and then I took a trip to Sulani on my own, but it didn't exactly turn out the way I expected."

"What happened?"

"Aside from nearly drowning during a thunderstorm, you mean?" He finishes shelling the third egg, and then deftly slices each one in half. "I found out how expensive recreational travel is. Plus, I missed Yuri so bad that I vowed I'd never go anywhere without him again. Oh, and while I was away, our landlord evicted us and we had less than a month to move."

"That's... a lot."

"It was overwhelming for both of us. Yuri started using my account around that time to record his own feelings about everything, and our journal kind of evolved from there."

"Do you still have it?" Caroline inquires. The fact that her parents kept a video journal once upon a time is a revelation to her. She never could've guessed they'd done that, and now she's beyond curious to know what they'd been through and how they'd felt and what they'd said.

Victor seems to think about it for a second, but finally says, "The account probably still exists, but even if it doesn't, I'm positive Yuri downloaded the whole thing onto a USB drive at some point."

"Could I... would it be okay if I watched it?"

This time, Victor's silence is longer before he responds. "Let me talk to Yuri about that, all right? You know we never hide anything from you, but that was a really dramatic year in our lives and we talked about some heavy stuff in those videos. I think you can handle it, but we're not going to show it to you unless we're both okay with the idea. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does," she says. "I suppose it's kind of like asking somebody if you can read their diary."

"It's exactly like that," Victor says. "It's very personal. We recorded it like there was an audience, I guess because there was originally supposed to be one, but once we started posting about something deeper than mermaid lore and sailing lessons, we made it private. The only people who ever saw it after that were Yuri and me, and Yuri might not be comfortable with you seeing it now."

"I understand."

"I'll talk to him about it tonight, and I'll get back to you once we make a decision."

"Okay," Caroline agrees.

"There's something I want you to do in the meantime," he adds, and the tone of his voice has suddenly gone serious.

"What is it?"

"I need you to think carefully about whether you really, truly want to watch our video journal, if we do agree to let you."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like I said. I believe you're mature enough to grasp most of what happened, and I think you're responsible enough to come to us and talk about anything that upsets you or that you maybe don't quite get, but..." He lets the sentence fade, as if he's trying to work out how to say what he wants to say next. "If you watch it, you might learn some stuff about Yuri and me that you'll end up wishing you didn't know, or that you'll wish you'd waited longer to find out. It can be strange, discovering things about your parents. Confusing and unsettling and... weird."

She wants to ask him what she might find out that'd be so strange and upsetting, but she suddenly thinks better of it and closes her mouth around the barely-formed question. If she could learn it from the video journal and he was reluctant about giving her access to that, it's highly unlikely he's just going to tell her. And maybe he's right anyway, she thinks. Maybe she would be better off not knowing.

The older she gets, the more she accepts that her parents aren't superheroes. They're amazing, smart, strong and kind, and they're unquestionably her heroes, but they mess up sometimes and they're just as human as she is. As Grandpa Julian likes to say, 'they put their trousers on one leg at a time'.

But, even with that comprehension, she can't say she's one hundred percent ready to let her childhood perception of them go completely. Her curiosity is burning a hole through her willpower, but she knows she has to temper her curiosity and impulsiveness with reason. Victor taught her that, and his admonition to think before rushing into a situation has saved her from trouble loads of times. Advice that's always proved to be so good can't suddenly have gone bad.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have asked."

"Come here," Victor says. He moves toward her with his arms open, and she doesn't even hesitate for a heartbeat before stepping into his waiting embrace. She wraps her own arms around him and leans her head against his chest.

Inside Victor's hug is the safest place in the world, and it's consoling enough on its own, but that doesn't prevent him from offering her words of reassurance anyway. "It's all right, sweet Caroline. It's okay that you asked. I don't want you to feel bad for wanting to know. It's just... I also don't want you to jump into something you're not ready for."

"I know," she says. "I'll think about it, I promise."

"Good," he says. "You should give some thought to your school project too. I think it's awesome that you want to tell your story, but the process of learning about yourself isn't always easy either."

"Do you think I shouldn't do it? I could probably come up with a new project idea. Mr. Blanchet already has my proposal, but the real deadline isn't till this Friday. I could—"

"No," Victor stops her gently, mid-sentence. "I think you should. In fact, I'm super proud of you for tackling a project like this. It takes a lot of courage."

"But you said it wouldn't be easy."

"Yes, and that's why you're brave for wanting to," he says. "You already know, just because something isn't easy, that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it or that it won't be worth it. It just means you should be careful and you should be prepared."

"To... to find out stuff about myself that I might not like?" she asks cautiously

"Maybe."

"When you and Yuri were keeping your journal, did you learn things about yourself that you didn't like?"

He tightens his arms around her for a second or two, and she gets the sense that he's doing it involuntarily. "I did," he answers quietly, "And it was really hard. I was scared and angry and sad, sometimes all at once, and sometimes I felt like a total failure at... life, basically. It was a struggle to wrap my head around it and even more of a struggle to change, and I cried a lot."

"You still cry a lot, Victor."

Unexpectedly, he bursts out laughing, and this time when he squeezes her it's clearly deliberate. She feels the tension leave his body, and suddenly she relaxes too. She hadn't even been aware of how rigid she was.

Victor kisses the top of her head. "No such thing as a serious moment with you around, is there?"

"Sorry," she says, but she isn't. She hadn't intended to make him laugh, but the sound of his laughter is so much better than what she likes to call his 'grown-up voice', and she's relieved that he's not upset.

"Cheeky little mermaid," he says in fake exasperation, and she feels warm inside at hearing the childhood nickname her grandfather Kenji — her adorable old Ojī-chan — had given her. It's mostly only Yuri and Ojī-chan who call her that, so it somehow feels special when Victor uses it.

"I can be serious," she tells him. "And I really will consider everything you said."

"I know you will. You're smart and I trust you to make good choices," he says. "If you're ever unsure about anything, though, you can talk to me or Yuri about it."

"Thanks," she says.

After one more affectionate squeeze, he lowers his arms and steps back. They slip into a companionable silence after that, finishing up their dinner preparations before Yuri arrives home from his office.

Caroline has no clue what might be going on in Victor's mind, but hers is tangled with the threads of their conversation. Part of her is anxious over the possibility of uncovering some not-so-pleasant truth about herself, but another part is eager to reveal the pieces of her past that are still a mystery to her. It's exciting and terrifying at the same time, and she has the feeling that no matter what might happen. this project is going to mark a defining point in her life. Once she begins, she'll never be able to un-know all the things she'll discover, and she'll never be able to go back to being an innocent, ignorant child again.

But, it's okay, she tells herself. It's like Victor says; growing up is a journey. And if I don't step forward, how will I ever get there?

#ts4 #sims 4 #willow creek #willow creek haunted house #Caroline Okamoto-Nelson #Victor Nelson #carolineandco #stargazersims

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colormepurplex2 · 1 year

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Flowers of Fate | Honey Bells & Rosemary

↳ UnseeliePrince!Yoongi x Human!f.Reader (ft. x UnseelieGuard!Jungkook x SeeliePrince!Jimin x WoodNymph!Namjoon) ⤜ Strangers to Bonded Mates ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 9,928 ⚠️ Adult humor, crass language, talk of adult activities, drinking, mild angst/talk of the loss of a loved one, kidnapping Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to series masterlist

Flying is weird. The sudden up and down, the pressure, and the constant hum of the big engines all put you a little on edge. Long flights are even worse. You’re pretty sure that’s where the adage about cabin fever came from, not middle-of-nowhere isolation, but being stuck in the cabin of an airplane for an extended period of time 40,000ft up somewhere over a vast ocean. It elicits a physical response in you that nearly has you itching to get rid of the tingle beneath your skin. Luckily, Monica made you upgrade to first-class seats, and the flight attendant has kept your wine glass never less than half-full.

Monica stretches beside you, her spiky black hair rumpled from sleep. “How much longer?” she mumbles, squinting in your direction.

You click the flight logs on the screen before you—less than an hour remains. The overhead speaker announces the approach as if the captain is privy to Mo’s inquiry. The voice drones on, rattling off local weather conditions and instructions to return seats and serving trays to their original positions. You don’t have to do much, not having done anything other than listen to music and sip wine the entire flight.

“That answer your question?” you ask, flicking your eyes to her before focusing back on the little plane slowly moving across the screen toward Edinburgh. The last time you visited Scotland, you flew into Glasgow, but all airports seem to be the same to you either way.

A soft grunt comes from her before she straightens up the things around her seat. The complimentary pillow, slippers, and blanket are quickly tucked away into her backpack. “I’ll be keeping these,” she sing-songs softly to herself.

Monica has been your best friend since you were a pre-teen. She’s eccentric, loud, and a bit more chaotic than you can stomach at times, but she’s also consistent in her love and support of you, which is more than you can say for anyone else in your life right now. She’s the only one to consider entertaining your last-minute wish to fly to Scotland in search of…something.

You’re not even sure what, really. You just know you’re looking for a way to feel closer to your late grandpa. It’s almost one year since his passing, and he was the foundation of everything that brought you joy in life. You grew up on his stories, his deep baritone reciting old Scottish ballads and fairytales alike. He encouraged your imagination and filled your head with all sorts of fanciful and magical things.

When you tried to explain it to Monica, she simply smiled, shrugged, and asked when you wanted to leave. That was a week ago. If someone had told you a year ago you’d be flying to Scotland on a whim for no real apparent reason other than a gut feeling, you’d probably have laughed. But, no one’s laughing now, especially not you, as the plane begins its descent and you catch your first glimpse of the rolling greenery out the window.

“The rental car should be ready,” you tell Monica after making it through customs. “We stay the night here in Edinburgh and then travel down to Selkirk tomorrow.”

“You’re talking to me as if you haven’t already gone over this a dozen times already,” Monica sighs, hitching her backpack higher onto her shoulder. “Honestly, babe, take a breath and relax, please. You’re going to give me premature grey hair before this trip is over.”

You can’t help but smile and suppress a chuckle at that. She’s always on your case about being such a ‘by the book’-er as she calls it. You can’t help that it gives you anxiety when things don’t go according to plan or if there’s no plan to begin with. The fact this trip was so last minute doesn’t help the nervous feeling in your belly one bit.

“You’re right. Sorry, I just don’t want anything to go wrong while we’re here.” One of your shoulders lifts in a half-shrug because it’s the best excuse you can come up with, and it definitely has plenty of merit to it, you think.

Monica claps a hand on your shoulder and knocks her head affectionately against yours. Her long dangling earrings tickle against your cheek as she jiggles you lightly. “What could go wrong?”

The smile you plaster on seems to do the trick, and she releases you and skips ahead toward the rental counter. What could go wrong? Plenty. Plenty, but you’re determined to do as Mo suggested and try to relax a little. If your grandpa knew you were worrying so much, he’d laugh and tell you to take a whiff of whiskey and ‘keep yer heid’. That thought does bring a genuine smile to your face.

The key for the rental is already nestled in Monica’s hand by the time you make it to the rental desk. “You want to drive?” you ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow. Monica is many things, but a confident driver isn’t one of them.

She snorts prettily—or as prettily as someone can snort. Monica really is a precious gem, regardless of what she does. Her pixie-cut black hair compliments the dark emerald color of her eyes, framed with equally dark lashes. She’s petite but makes up for her more diminutive stature with a fiery attitude. “Hell no. I was just holding them for you. Here.” She grabs your hand and presses the key into it. “If you get me to the hotel soon, I’ll even give you a nice tip, chauffeur.”

You laugh, shaking your head at her antics. She always was good at making you feel lighter. “Yes, ma’am,” you respond in your best impression of a humbled servant, bowing slightly at the waist and gesturing wide with your free hand.

“Come then, darling, get a move on.” She claps her hands together and prances off toward the exit and the car corral for the rental office.

Spring is in full force, filling the air with a pleasant bouquet of earthy fragrances. It’s warm enough to be comfortable outside with just a light jacket during the day, making packing easy for you, at least. Monica was hoping for sweltering weather fit for a bikini, but she begrudgingly packed jeans and thin, long sleeves instead.

The drive to the hotel isn’t long. It’s just enough time to enjoy the cozy qualities of Edinburgh proper. It’s a bustling city sprawl with an old-world feel you’d never find somewhere like Los Angeles or Chicago. The architecture is breathtaking like you’ve somehow traveled back in time while keeping all the modern amenities of the 21st century. The streets are awash in a fresh sheen of rainwater, the sky overhead darkening with the promise to deposit more soon. For now, though, there is only a slight haze of mist clinging to the horizon.

Parking in a small lot, you follow Monica out of the car but pause and take a moment to admire the beautiful garden lining the front and the side of the hotel. Bright tulips and daffodils sprout in contrast to the brilliant greens and browns of the shrubbery and ivy climbing the side of the building.

The thick, wooden doors of the entrance are studded and banded with iron straps and clavos. Monica shoulders open one of the large doors, and the hinges creak slightly with age. A smiling young man with unruly blond hair and blue eyes behind a set of thin-framed glasses greets you both as you walk in.

The check-in process is easy, with no hassle. “Thank you,” you say to the front desk clerk when he hands you two keys to your shared room.

The room has a beautiful view of a back garden with flowering cherry blossom trees. The pink blooms look fuschia-colored in the waning daylight as the sun begins to sink below the horizon.

“It’s beautiful,” Monica comments from beside you. Her warm breath fogs over the window, and she laughs, tracing a heart with yours and her initials in it. She snaps a quick picture to upload later before playfully musing, “Maybe by the end of this trip, I can replace your initials with those of a kilt-clad hunk, huh?”

You roll your eyes, shoving her shoulder playfully. “And leave the poor guy here with his heart in a million pieces? Typical Monica Jeffers, heartbreaker extraordinaire.”

She dramatically clutches at her chest. “You wound me. I only break the hearts of weak men. It’s not my fault if they can’t handle me. If they break that easily, then they obviously weren’t worth it to begin with and I’m better off.”

“Need I remind you of Melvin?” you ask. She grimaces. “Kit?” Another sour face. “Patricia?”

“Okay, okay!” She throws up a hand, stopping you from going further. “To be fair, Patricia was a bitch, and she’s the one that broke my heart.”

“Only after she found out you were sleeping with her twin brother,” you mutter under your breath.

“We weren’t exclusive!” Monica squawks, waving a finger in the air. “She very specifically told me it was okay to see other people. Granted, she might have mentioned that her brother was off-limits, but I’m still a bit hazy on that detail and not sure she actually ever said that. But, I digress. You’ve seen Patrick; I would have been a complete idiot not to accept his advances.” She sighs dreamily. “He was so pretty. Even prettier than Patricia, but don’t tell her I said that.” She gives you a pointed look.

“Mo, you know she blocked me right after she blocked you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Monica pouts. “I know. Fuck. I really did mess that one up, didn’t I? You think she’ll ever unblock me—want to talk to me again one day?”

You should have known bringing up Patricia might put Monica in a bit of a mood. “Maybe,” you offer, not sure what else to say on the matter. The fallout between Monica and Patricia wasn’t pretty. It’s also reasonably fresh, just a few weeks old at this point. It was one of the factors Monica had listed out on her pros list when you had asked her why she said yes to coming with you—time away from Patricia, so she can hopefully simmer down.

“Oh well, I’m here now, ready to find me a nice burly, bearded man or a— what do they call them? Oh, right, a bonnie lass.” She waggles her eyebrows at you and shimmies her shoulders.

“You’re impossible,” you laugh, thankful the mood is becoming lighter. “Come on. We should get changed and head down for dinner. There is a meal included in our voucher for tonight and breakfast in the morning before we head out.”

The rest of the afternoon and evening flow by in a smooth current of delicious food and Monica’s ever-incessant prowling for eye candy and selfies. You laugh more than you have in a long time. It feels good. By the time you’re rolling out of bed the following day, you’re in a fantastic mood.

“Stop humming,” Monica grumbles before sipping her coffee. “You’re entirely too cheerful for this early in the morning. I’m pretty sure I have permanent jet lag.”

“It’s because you slept on the plane and didn’t sleep last night,” you comment, suppressing a teasing smile. “That’s rule number one for flip-flopping your schedule when you fly like that. It helps avoid the topsy-turvy, icky feeling.” It’s something your grandpa brought up often when he talked about going back to visit Scotland.

“You can’t expect someone to not sleep on a plane when they fly as far as we have and then turn around and actually sleep the whole night when their body insists it’s daytime. That’s absurd.” Monica pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers and then scrubs her hand over her eyes. “Just wake me when we get there.” She slumps a little in the seat, pulling her slouchy beanie down over her eyes and wrapping her arms around her middle. A few moments later, you hear the telltale soft huffs of deep, peaceful breathing.

The Scottish countryside passes in a beautiful smear of greens mixed with vibrant pinks and yellows. You follow the road along beside stretching farms and fields of grazing sheep and goats. The drive is quiet, filled with just Monica’s mumbled sleepy sounds and the soft music you have playing through the car's Bluetooth.

Tomorrow is the big Beltane celebration at the Bowhill House outside Selkirk. You can’t help the smile that curls your lips when you think about it. That’s where the fabled plains and forest of Carterhaugh are, the same ones from the ballad of Tamlane your grandpa used to recite—your favorite one.

There is a fluttery feeling that you can feel on a soul-deep level, something that tells you this is precisely where you’re supposed to be. A part of you likes to think it’s your grandpa giving you a slight nudge of reassurance. As much as it hurts for him not to be here, you know he’d want this for you even without him along for the adventure.

Research online shows that the Bowhill estate is nestled along the sprawl of forest, and the plain—now turned fields—sit to the south. The festivities will extend all throughout the estate. Giving you plenty of opportunity to explore both the fields and the forest if you so desire, which you very much do.

In Selkirk, there is a small shop that your grandpa often mentioned when talking about his time in Scotland. You tried to look it up and make sure it was still operational. But the only thing you could find was a blurb about it in a travel blog from almost a decade ago. The shop, An Bhláth, from what you could discern, is a small apothecary-like establishment where you and Monica should be able to get proper adornments for the celebrations. That’s one thing that’s very important about Beltane, making sure you’re appropriately protected or blessed with herbs and charms. Another thing your grandpa spoke at length about.

Beltane celebrates the peak of spring and the coming of summer. It’s a time for beseeching fertility in both human and earthen aspects. People rejoice over growth and progression, prosperity and bounty. It’s also a time when the magical veil between worlds disappears—allowing magick to saturate the earth and fae beings to walk among mortals; or so the stories say.

Most of your grandpa’s stories and ballads revolved around fae folk and the times when the veil would drop to allow them to dance among the circle's stones, cavort with mortals, and indulge in their often trickster ways. Whereas these tales may have started as a means to scare people into avoiding mysterious things, it only fuels your desire to get that much closer to Carterhaugh and its supposed enchanted forest.

As a little girl, nothing interested you more than trying to catch a peek into the mystical world of faeries. You would leave out sprinkles of sugar and pretty sequins in hopes of luring a Sprite or a house Brownie to sit on your windowsill. Despite your need for organization and penchant for logical reasoning, there’s just something about the whimsy of your grandpa’s stories that had always managed to break through your astute exterior and release the fanciful curiosity that’s still inside from when you were a girl.

It’s just over an hour later that you see Selkirk rise up along the horizon. Brick and stone-faced buildings line the streets, and the slow bustle of pedestrian traffic flows on the sidewalks and side streets. Swaths of colorful flowers gather along windows and down grassy furrowways between buildings and roads—streamers of flag pennants in blues, greens, and purples crisscross doorways and arched entryways. The festive Beltane decorations extend everywhere you look.

The Inn you booked is small and quaint, having an authentic old-world feel with its cobbled front and wooden shutters. There is a giant, burnished brass knocker in the shape of a trinity knot in the middle of the door and wide-plated straps banding over the top and bottom of the distressed wood.

“We’re here,” you say to Monica, pulling into one of the small parking places in front of the Inn.

She tugs her cap up and peers out the window, squinting against the bleary light that penetrates the cloud cover in the sky. “Are you sure you didn’t drive us to some sort of Renaissance fair? It’s like something out of a Tolkien book.”

You laugh. “You’ve read Tolkien?”

Monica gives you a mildly withering look, her brows drawing low over her eyes. “Of course I haven’t. But, I’ve heard you talk about it enough that I might as well have read them by proxy.”

“Right.” You shake your head. “Sure. That’s exactly how that works. Come on, let’s get checked in.”

Most of the bags in the trunk are Monica’s. You’re sure she packed half of her closet. Her need to have the perfect outfit ready trumps sensibility sometimes. If there’s nothing else you’ve come to expect from Monica, it’s her posting outfits of the day on her Instagram every morning without fail.

“Do you think they have baggage services? Like a bellboy or something?” she asks, grunting as she lugs her third bag out of the trunk.

“No, but you have me,” you chide before grabbing the handle on one of her larger bags. You shoulder your own backpack and drop the strap of your small duffle over your other shoulder. “You packed enough to clothe the whole city of Selkirk.”

Monica barks a laugh. “You say that until I need to find the right dress to impress the hunky Scot with a quarter-popping ass in that bakery over there.”

You glance over your shoulder at her. She’s stopped mid-tug on her bags, eyes fixed off to the left. You let your eyes follow hers until you see the aforementioned ‘hunky Scot’. There is a small bakery beside the Inn, and a large man with thick arms, a trimmed beard, and a black apron tied around his waist busies himself with cleaning the glass front of the display case that you can barely see around his bulk. You catch his side profile as he moves, the wiry hair of his beard catching the overhead light highlights the gold and red tones that match the wavy ones on his head.

“Five minutes,” you say, turning back toward the Inn.

“Five minutes?” Monica parrots distractedly.

“How long it’ll take you to break his heart.”

Monica sighs behind you because she knows it’s true. “Is that a no?” she asks hesitantly.

You twist the knob on the door to the Inn and push it open. “Of course it’s not a no, Mo. You’re free to do as you please. I want you to enjoy yourself while we’re here. Even if it means breaking a few hearts.”

She gives you a large grin and makes an adorable squeaking sound of happiness. “Perfect! I know just the outfit. Hurry, I don’t want to miss him. I wonder if he owns the shop,” she babbles the entire time you check in at the front desk. The sweet, older lady—Lorna, according to her brass-colored name tag—at the counter smiles politely at Monica and even offers her the gentleman’s name, Malcolm, confirming he owns the bakery, too.

Monica is excitedly beside herself as you make it to your shared room. She immediately begins to rifle through her bags to collect the pieces for the perfect outfit once you’re inside.

“Can you bring me back a pastry or muffin?” you prompt, slowly unpacking your own bags.

“What? Oh, yeah. Of course! As long as Malcolm—” she does a dramatic swoon when she says his name “—doesn’t ask me to go home with him.” Her back snaps ramrod straight, and her shoulders creep up in a hunch. She slowly turns to look at you, raising an eyebrow. “Would that be okay…if he did ask?”

You hadn’t thought about the possibility; that Monica might find someone to spend a night with or that you’d be separated at any point during your trip. But you realize that’s a definite possibility now, and as you have already stated, you don’t want to hold her back from having fun.

“Yeah,” you agree with a nod. “I think that’s okay. As long as you let me know and send me his address or a photo of his house and car or something like that, y’know?”

“Girl code!” Monica proclaims loudly. “I swear!”

Malcolm does, indeed, invite Monica back to his place. You receive a text message from her a few hours after she leaves for the bakery dressed in a sexy-but-not-too-sexy plaid print skirt and white blouse paired with nude pumps and a knee-length, clay-colored cashmere cardigan. The text also states that Malcolm promises to provide pastries for breakfast in the morning and a carafe of his unique herbal tea blend.

You’re happy for Monica and content to enjoy your quiet night in. The soft babble of a brook can be heard just outside, through the open window of your room. It’s peaceful. You spend several hours just sitting by the open window, imagining the festivities to come. It’s a magical moment all its own, just you and the small window view to the world beyond that grows slowly darker as the sun sinks in the sky. You’re so at peace when you finally settle down to sleep. The nerves and anxiousness you thought you’d feel the night before Beltane are nonexistent. You sleep amazingly.

🌸🌸🌸

The sun has barely crested over the horizon when you make it downstairs to the lobby of the Inn. Monica texted this morning to let you know that she was going in with Malcolm to open his bakery first thing in the morning and that warm, fresh pastries and tea would be waiting for you.

The plan is to have breakfast and then head to try and find An Bhláth. Lorna is still sitting behind the front desk as you cross the lobby. She waves and bids you a bright and fruitful Beltane. The bakery is brightly lit, and you can see Monica sitting at a small cafe table chatting away with Malcolm, who has his elbows resting over the counter, sparkling eyes locked on your best friend.

You chose a comfortable pair of jeans cuffed above brown ankle boots and a loose-fitting emerald-colored knit blouse as your attire for the day; still undecided if you’ll change before the festivities begin. Though, you’re leaning more toward spending more time enjoying the rich culture around you than worrying about your outfit. You hope Monica holds the same sentiment after she’s had a chance to change out of last night's outfit, at least.

A tiny bell tinkles overhead when you push open the door to the bakery. It smells like warm bread and sweet treats with an undercurrent of earthy, spiced tea inside. Your stomach gives an appreciative rumble when your eyes land on the spread of fluffy and glazed pastries in the display case.

Monica jumps up from her seat and throws her arms around your neck. “Oh my, holy shit, I think Malcolm is the man of my dreams,” she whispers fiercely into your ear before releasing you and promptly introducing you.

“Chuffed tae meet ye,” Malcolm offers in a thick Scottish brogue, a broad smile on his face. He clears his throat, enunciating his following words carefully while giving Monica a wink. “Mo has told me all about you.” His eyes flick between you and her. “Wis that guid?”

She taps her hand on the counter before him and snorts a laugh. “That was perfect! Mal’s been working on his American accent. It’s pretty good right?” Her eyes go soft when she looks at him. “I like the way you talk either way. But, your natural accent was something extra special last night when you—“

“Whoa, I don’t need to know about how his accent sounded last night,” you laugh, waving a hand in the air toward her. “I was promised pastries and tea. That seems like a safer conversation to have.”

Malcolm guffaws, his broad shoulders shaking and straining the fabric of his white dress shirt. You can see the leather belt fastening his purple and green tartan patterned kilt around his waist just above the counter. Your first glimpse at classic Scottish celebratory wear. “Ye’r right. Ye can have anythin’ ‘ere.” He gestures to the glass display case. “Cuppa is over there,” he adds, nodding toward a steaming silver carafe on the other side of the pastry case.

Monica excuses herself to run back to your shared room at the Inn to change and get ready for the day. Malcolm presses a loud kiss on her cheek as he opens the door for her. She blushes and hurries out of sight. A few people walk by, waving to Malcolm. One elderly lady peeks her head in and asks about Malcolm’s shop hours today. You’re surprised to find out he’s not open, not really, at least, he clarifies when the lady throws a look in your direction. She mumbles something about needing fresh bread for her Beltane supper before letting the door fall closed again.

“Sorry to have caused any issues with your shop. I had no idea you weren’t opening today. Monica made it sound like you were going to be,” you try to explain, dusting flaky pastry from your fingers onto a napkin.

“Dinna fash yer heid aboot it,” he replies as he busies himself behind the counter. “I was coming in for personal reasons, gathering some supplies for the festival at Bowhill House tonight.” How he effortlessly flows between his natural Scottish and his practiced American makes you smile.

“Your American is really quite good,” you comment before latching on to the last thing he said. “Bowhill House? You’re catering for them?”

“Thank you. My dream is to be a voice actor. The shop is my ma’s wish, not mine,” he explains, maintaining the accent perfectly. “I am. Well, I am one of the caterers. Rhubarb crumble and bannock are my specialties.” He lofts a tray up from behind the pastry case. It’s filled with small bite-sized tarts with bright red centers. “Though, the bannock, I will be making over an open fire once I get to Bowhill.”

Bannock is right near the top of your list of things to try while you’re here. The fact that Malcolm will be making traditional bannock over an open fire makes you beyond happy. You can’t wait to try it, and you tell him as much as you finish off your pastry and spiced tea.

Monica reappears a few minutes later, dressed to the nines. She’s wearing a beautiful moss green-colored bodycon dress and black tights. A light jacket sits on her shoulders, and she has a crossbody clutch nestled under her arm.

You thank Malcolm for breakfast, and Monica ensures him you both will be finding him at Bowhill to try his bannock. She whispers something in his ear that makes you think she’s promised to try more than just his bannock later.

“He’s cute,” you comment, walking arm in arm with Monica along the sidewalk leading toward the address Malcolm gave you for An Bhláth. You were overjoyed to find out the place actually still exists, and the owner, Aoibheann, is the same one your grandpa spoke of when talking about the small herb and spice shop. He called it an alchemy parlor. But from what Malcolm told you, Aoibheann sells dried teas, flowers, and other small trinkets like crystals. She’s famous for her May Day flower crowns, though, which is what you intend to go for.

“He’s perfect,” she sighs. “Too perfect. I don’t think I’m going to see him again.”

“Mo,” you stop short, tugging her to a stop beside you. “What the hell?”

She purses her lips, avoiding your gaze. “Don’t give me that look. I don’t want to get attached. It’s for the better.”

“I don’t think you should hold yourself back if it feels right. Love—” she makes a face when you say that word “—doesn’t have a strict formula to follow. It’s always changing. It can vary, and what it means to people can be different. If you like Malcolm, enjoy it, embrace it, and don’t run from happiness, even if it’s only fleeting. Trust me, doing that will never get you anywhere.”

Monica squeezes your arm with hers. “I know,” she says softly. You know she’s thinking about your terrible lack of romantic life. You can’t help that no one ever seems to understand you.

“Just don’t close yourself off, is all I’m saying. You’ll see Malcolm again tonight, stuff your mouth with his bannock, and if nothing else happens, then that’s how it is.”

She laughs, the sound trailing off as you both continue walking. The small tea and spice shop comes into view a little while later. The sign for An Bhláth hangs by chains from an iron post above the door. The wood is weathered and dark with age, but the letters look freshly painted in pretty pastel pinks and yellows.

The door creaks and rattles softly as you push it open. Inside the shop is all manner of canisters and clear jars containing what looks like dried flowers, tea, and spices. An earthy and subtly peppery fragrance fills the air, accompanied by a pleasant warmth that has Monica shucking off her jacket and draping it over her arm.

“We’re nae meant to be gone to the fountain for another hour, Jasper. Come back in a bawherr,” a rattling voice comes from an open doorway that you assume leads to the back of the shop. The accent is subtle, but there is a roughness that belies age.

“Sorry,” you call out, “not Jasper. We’re here in hopes of making some Beltane flower crowns for tonight. I was told An Bhláth is the best place for that.”

“Och!” There is a loud thump from the back, and then a short, grey-haired woman ambles from the back, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. “Pardon me. I thought ye were my boy stopping to pester me some more. Goddess above knows I dinnae get around as easily as I once dae. Boy needs to learn some patience.” She stops on the other side of the front counter, finally bringing her gaze up to meet yours. Despite the wrinkles and apparent age her body holds, her eyes are a bright and clear sky blue. “Flower crowns for Beltane, hm? Ye came to the right place. I’m Aoibheann, more than happy to help ye lassies.”

You smile back at Monica, who is hunched down near a cabinet of little glass bottles. “Are these real?” she asks, fingering a pale green bottle the size of her thumb.

Aoibheann chuckles. “As real as ye want them to be, lass. Magick dinnae work the same for a’body.”

Monica snorts, and you can practically hear her eye roll. “Magic. Right.” She straightens up and steps away from the cabinet. “Flower crowns. Do you have any pink roses? They compliment my complexion the best.”

The old lady harrumphs softly. “Ye dinnae want pink roses. Nae unless yer okay wi’ bein’ scooped up by the green folk. Na, ye’ll be wanting these,” she says with a crooked smile, hooking her cane on the lip of the counter and stooping down. Aoibheann hefts a tattered box up onto the counter. You can see sprigs of green and colorful blooms of orange and purple flowers peeking out of the top.

“Green folk?” Monica asks. “You mean like fairies and stuff?”

“Dinnae look so skeptical,” Aoibheann chides gently. “If ye’r attending Beltane, ye’ll be wanting some protection. Ye ken nae believe in magick, but they surely dae.”

You wrap a hand around one of Monica’s, squeezing it. She glances at you, and her face immediately smoothes out from the scowl that is bunching her features. “For me?” you ask her softly, nodding your head toward the box on the counter and Aoibheann waiting patiently with her hands braced to either side of it.

You know Monica is a skeptic, and you don’t blame her at all. But that feeling is back, the one that niggles in the pit of your belly that says this is the right thing to do. The crowns aren’t even made, and you already feel closer, just looking at these bundles of flowers, to your grandpa than you have in the last year.

“I did say I was up for anything,” she finally relents, squeezing your hand in return. “Let’s make these crowns, but there better be some sort of pink flower in there.”

That makes Aoibheann chuckle again. “Dinnae fash, lassie,” she says, digging a hand into the box and producing two stems of clustered pink flowers. One is long and bell-shaped, and the other has more petite pink-to-white gradient petals. “Foxglove and verbena are essentials.”

“Oh, how pretty!” Monica’s mood instantly brightens. She swoops forward and begins to help Aoibheann pick out flowers, herbs, and stems of greenery from the box.

Weaving the flower crowns is fun. Aoibheann ushered you and Monica to a table nestled in a small alcove near the back of the shop. She set to explaining the different plants and herbs in the box and which ones were best to use. The two ash wood circlet bases she pulled from another box are soon covered in tufts of rosemary, blossoms of foxglove, verbena, daisies, and clover. You sit back and admire your work as Monica gushes over how the bright greens and pretty pastel pinks compliment her outfit and complexion.

“There is one other flower that is very important, perhaps the most important o’ them all. Tis the honey bell, ‘n it wards off any ‘n all fae. As long as yer circle o’honey bell remains unbroken, no fae will be able tae charm ye or touch ye,” Aoibheann explains with a quiet yet stern tone. “Promise me, lassies. Ye will nae break yer circles.” She places a hand on one of yours and Monica’s, eyes flicking between the two of you until you both nod in understanding. “Good, let’s get them added.”

Aoibheann ambles over to a cabinet, reaching up to the highest shelf and dragging down a metal box. It’s aged and dark from layers of patina. It makes a hollow thunking noise when Aoibheann sets it on the table between you and Monica. She closes her eyes momentarily, her lips moving with silent words. There is a soft click, and then the lid pops open.

“They’re pretty,” Monica remarks, taking in the bright yellow flowers inside. “They survive being inside this metal box?”

“Iron,” Aoibheann says, tapping the side of the box. “Protects them as they will protect ye.” With slow and precise instructions from Aoibheann, you and Monica weave a perfect ring of the small, yellow, bell-shaped flowers into your Beltane crowns. “Perfect,” the old woman confirms with a smile once you’re done. “Best be off with ye now. Jasper should be back by soon, and we’ll be heading on to Bowhill. Ye lassies enjoy yerselves. Goddess willing, we’ll see each other while enjoying her eternal flame tonight.”

Thanking Aoibheann again, you and Monica pay for the crowns and make your way back onto the street with them safely tucked away in a silk pouch Aoibheann insisted that you have. You pull the long bag strap over your head, letting it hang down toward your opposite hip.

“We’re driving to Bowhill, right?” Monica asks.

She gives you a fearful look that makes you laugh. “Of course, we’re driving. It’s at least an hour's walk from the Inn. I wouldn’t put you through that.” You herd her down the street for a late, light lunch. “I want to get there early so we can watch some of the preparations, though.”

🌸🌸🌸

Just a few hours later, you find yourself with your jaw hanging open as you stare out the window, crawling along at a snail's pace down the winding drive that leads to the Bowhill House.

“Oh, Mo, it’s more than I could have ever imagined. Are you seeing this?”

Monica suppresses a laugh. “Nah, my eyes are closed,” she teases. “Of course I see this. It’s…a lot.”

That is an understatement. It’s far more than a lot. The car creeps down the drive, and on either side, there are hundreds—perhaps thousands—of white awnings and bustling people. The stalls of food and wares extend further than you can see from your seat in the car.

Garlands of flowers and silken streams are strung from every pole and stand, painting the entire scene in swaths of every color imaginable. You can see people laughing and dancing between moments of preparation work. The faint bellow of a bagpipe mixed with the whine of an accordion and the peel of a flute can be heard coming from somewhere out in the mix of festivities.

A man in a black livery directs traffic at the end of the drive. He ushers you into a spot before continuing to point the cars that followed behind you to others.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” you say before opening the door and climbing out of the rental. Monica slides out on the other side, and her door clicking shut pulls your attention from the large, sprawling manor to your friend. “It’s even more beautiful than the pictures I saw online.”

“It really is something,” she agrees. Her eyes drift from yours to the estate behind you. It’s something right out of a Regency novel. The brick-facing and stone crenellations are dark compared to the cream-colored window accents and front arches. You feel like you’re transported back in time and are about to be welcomed by some handsome Scottish man of an elite peerage.

Monica comes around the side of the car and slips her arm into yours. “Let’s go have some fun!” She begins to pull you toward the festivities being set up on the front lawn, but you pull her up short.

“Wait, our crowns. We can’t forget them.” You pull your arm from hers and turn back to the car. In the backseat, you grab the silk bag and gently remove the flowered crowns from the inside. Dropping the bag back on the seat, you turn and push the door closed with your hip. “Here,” you say, holding out Monica's to her.

“Right. Our protection pieces,” she murmurs, giving you a placating smile. “At least they’re cute.” You each help one another secure the crowns on your heads. Thankfully, Monica packed a small stash of bobby pins for this trip. “Smile!” Monica procures her phone and lofts it up to snap a photo of you two with your crowns on. “Hashtag flower power!” She immediately uploads the photo to Instagram. If she is willing to indulge your whims with Beltane, you can at least return the same sentiment with her need to document said whims in her own fashion.

Ironically enough, one of the first people you encounter is Malcolm. He’s hauling an armload of wood toward one of the roaring fire pits.

“Lookin’ bonnie,” he calls, flashing Monica a mischievous smile and wink. “Bannock should be ready within the hour.”

There is a clear rosiness coloring Monica’s cheeks as she giggles and waves at him in passing. “If you want to know what it looks like, I’ll tell you,” she offers in a low whisper to you. Her emerald eyes twinkle with mischief as she bites her bottom lip.

“Yeah, no, I’ll pass on that information.” You can’t help but laugh. The tension you hadn’t realized you were holding in begins to bleed away. It’s going to be a perfect night. You can feel it.

Over the next few hours, you somehow end up dancing around a Maypole—much to your own surprise as you protested profusely at first—and have now acquired a braided sash of purple and white silk. Monica lets you take the lead as you both traipse through the fanfare. She may have been a bit reluctant or skeptical initially, but she quickly and easily falls into the joyous atmosphere just as much as you do.

There are several dozen Beltane bonfires littered throughout the grounds. Grizzled older men and wizened older women recite ballads and poems while flocks of children dance around and perform small acts to go with the stories. Groups of teenagers egg each other on, daring each other to jump over the bonfires as is the ancient tradition.

Somewhere between a dance around a Maypole and helping a gaggle of women hand out May baskets and small bottles of Beltane dew to the elderly vendors, Monica disappears in search of Malcolm and a drink.

The celebration is everything you imagined and more. Your grandpa’s stories have come to life all around you, and it’s an exhilarating experience. You’re not sure the last time you smiled and laughed so much your cheeks ached.

Finally, you’re able to break away from the dancing. Your stomach rumbles, and you decide to find Monica and then some food. You follow the smell of grilled meats and baked bread until you come to the roasting pits. Along the way, you hand off your lace and silk sash to a roses-cheeked little girl with honey bell and foxglove flowers braided into her hair. She stares up at you in awe before scampering off and squealing with glee.

Continuing on, you’re starting to regret letting Monica go off on her own in such a large and unknown area. A few minutes later, though, relief floods you as you spot Monica perched comfortably in Malcolm’s lap beside a bonfire. Her cheek rests against his chest, and red splotches are scattered over her neck, a telltale sign she’s been drinking.

“Babe!” Monica lurches up from Malcolm’s lap, startling him, as she reaches for you. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you! Oh gosh, where have you been?” She throws an arm around your shoulders and sags against you. The distinct smell of wine wafts from her parted lips.

“Find some good wine, Mo?”

Malcolm stands up and tries to help you with Monica, but your friend grumbles and swats his hands away. “Not now, Mal, we’ll fuck later. Sheesh. It’s like he’s in love with me or something. Oh damn. Do you love me, Malcolm?”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he gives you a bewildered look. “Okay, let’s get you some water and sit you down somewhere.”

“She would nae take water from me earlier. Maybe ye can get her to drink some.” Malcolm sighs before turning to dig through an ice chest near his setup. “I offered her food, but she dinnae want to eat without ye, and we could nae find ye. She assured me ye’d come to find us eventually.”

That definitely sounds like Monica. You shuffle over to the seat Malcolm was in earlier with Monica in his lap. “Down we go. Gentle. There, much better.” Monica pouts up at you from where she’s slumped over in the lawn chair.

“I’m hungry,” she slurs.

“Malcolm, do you mind watching her for a little bit while I grab some food for us?” you ask as he comes back over with a bottle of water.

“Of course, dinnae fash. I’ll do anything ye need me to.”

“Mo, I’m going to go get some food. Let Malcolm give you some water, please.” You crouch down next to the lawn chair to look Monica in the eyes. They’re glazed over, and a soft smile curls her lips.

“Malcolm. Do you mean the hot one with the big dick? He can give me whatever he wants,” she sighs dreamily. “You should have seen him last night, babe. It was—”

“Hold that thought,” you cut her off with a finger to her lips. “I’ll be right back, and then you can tell me all about it.” Or not. Hopefully, she’ll be sobering up a bit after you get some water and food into her. “I’ll be right back,” you tell Malcolm. He crouches down on Monica’s other side and tries to get her attention.

As you stand up to head toward where you can see the meat grills a few stalls down, Monica throws up a hand and tries to pull you back down to her. “Wait!” Her hand whacks you in the ear, and her fingers tangle in your hair. “Ack! Oh no, I’m stuck!” she yells, yanking her hand from your hair in a shower of purple and pink flower petals.

“Oh, jeez, Mo.” You step away from her and pat at your hair, feeling for the crown on your head. It still feels intact, but the sprinkling of flower petals on the ground makes you frown. “Just keep your hands here,” you grab them both and put them in her lap. “I’ll be right back.” Malcolm gives you an apologetic look as you take another step. You give him a subtle shake of your chin to let him know it’s not his fault. Monica is her own person, and sometimes that person likes to drink a bottle or two of wine even though she knows she shouldn’t.

Before she can grab at you again, you move further away and watch as Malcolm brings up a large hand and cups Monica’s cheek. She sways in the chair and giggles at him. You hear his deep voice speaking softly and sweetly as he assures her you’ll be back and encourages her to drink water. You sigh and shake your head, surprised when a few yellow flower petals slip from your hair and land on your shoulders. Brushing them away, you continue toward the grill pit.

The smell of smoked and seasoned grilled meats fills your lungs and makes your mouth water. The minor incident and Monica’s drunkenness quickly fade as you survey the plethora of food. There is a servicing table to one side, covered in a bounty of cutlery, plates, and napkins.

You approach the table and reach for a plate. Your hand bumps into another one going for the same plate. “Oh, wow, sorry!” a bright, pleasant voice says beside you.

Jerking your hand back to your chest at the oddly cold touch, you startle. Wide eyes flick up, and you can’t help but gape a little. The man standing beside you is devastatingly handsome. Perfectly styled black hair frames his smooth forehead and slightly covers his ears. Large, brown eyes with a beautiful circle of green through the irises meet yours above a charmingly boyish smile and blushed cheeks.

“Wow. No. I mean. I’m the sorry one. I obviously wasn’t paying attention to my actions or surroundings.” You take a step away from the serving table and point with your hand not still pressed to your chest at the stack of plates. “Please, you first.”

Those unique, marbled eyes survey you. They slowly drift from your face down to your chest before trailing all the way down to the brown boots on your feet. “You can get in a lot of trouble by not paying attention to your surroundings.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you’re not sure if he’s just teasing or being serious.

In the silence following his statement, you let your own eyes flick over him. He’s wearing a matching shirt, trousers, and jacket. All such a pure white that they stand out even in the dim light from the grills and twinkle lights strung up over the tables. His coat is light and transparent, with ribbons of white lace and silk fluttering around the hem. A crescent-shaped silver necklace sits in the hollow of his throat. The delicate pendant shakes as he begins to laugh.

“What?” you question, thinking maybe you missed him saying something more.

“You’re cute,” he says. “What’s your name?”

The abrupt question furrows your brow, but you still find your mouth opening to answer him. Though, instead of your name, you offer, “That’s a dangerous question to ask at Beltane. Don’t you know the stories?”

“It’s only dangerous if you think I’m a faerie.” He raises a skeptical brow, his lips pulling into that charming smile again. “How about this? I’m JK. There. Now you have nothing to fear since you have my name.”

“JK.” You hum, mulling it over and letting the name roll off your tongue. “Sorry, JK, I still don’t think I should give you my name.”

“I’ll just call you Beautiful, then.” He props a hip against the table's edge, and his eyes snap up to the top of your head. “That’s a nice flower crown, Beautiful. Did you make it yourself?” He reaches forward and brushes a finger through your hair before you can step back. More flower petals cascade down. “Looks like you had an accident. Some of your flowers have come loose. Are those foxglove and rosemary? Interesting choices.”

“Oh,” you raise a hand and pat at the crown, stepping further away from the stranger. As you feel around the circle, you’re distinctly aware of large swaths of missing petals and greenery. A chill slithers down your spine, and goosebumps pop up along your arms. “Damn. I-uh, I should go fix it. Thank you.”

Looking around at your surroundings, you can’t help but notice the person nearest to you, aside from the man still leaning against the table, is now several stalls away. The grill pits are still blazing, but all the people who were tending the meat skewers are now eerily absent.

“I would say I’m sorry about this. But, I can’t lie.” The low-spoken words from the handsome stranger register a moment before you feel his grip on your arm. Your startled scream gets caught behind his other hand, clamping over your mouth.

Your feet kick in the air as the man hauls you away from the serving table and into the shadows beyond the light of the festivities. The thundering of your heartbeat pounds away in your ears as your breathing becomes erratic and tears escape the corners of your eyes. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Panic turns everything hazy, muffling all sounds and sensations. You’re aware of the terrain changing and trees engulfing you from all sides, but nothing registers until you’re unceremoniously shoved forward.

A ring of purple and pink flowers is the last thing you see before you’re tumbling headlong into a small, clear pond. Water shoots up your nose and fills your mouth as you plummet like a rock, not stopping until your hands come into contact with the muddy bottom. It’s disorienting, having dropped in head first. You flail for a moment, trying to right yourself. Finally, getting your feet in the right direction, you kick off from the bottom and use wide sweeping motions with your arms to propel yourself to the surface.

You break with a strangled garble, coughing the cold water from your lungs. “Fucking hell!” you scream, looking around frantically, trying to find the nearest edge to swim to. Paddling over to a small outcropping, you latch onto the rock and try pulling yourself from the water. Just as you get one knee up on the rock, a hand grips your arm and hauls you clear from the water.

“Now, I am sorry for that. I was aiming for the thatch of clover, not the loch. Good to see you can swim, though,” JK says as if he hasn’t just kidnapped you away from the Beltane celebration and thrown you into a pond.

“Don’t touch me,” you snarl and jerk free from his hold on your arms. “You need to take me back to Bowhill House immediately, or I swear I’ll scream!”

“Screaming probably isn’t the best idea, not unless you want to alert the kelpies that live in that cave over there,” he says, nodding to a small opening in the rock face on the other side of the pond.

You scoff. “Kelpies. Right. Okay, fairy boy, I’ve had enough games for the night. Please, just point me in the right direction to make it back to Bowhill House, and I promise I won’t alert the authorities or anything.”

“No can do, Beautiful. At least, not for another six moons. The doorway was weak enough when we came through. There’s no way you’d make it back all in one piece with dawn so close now.” JK turns and begins down a small dirt path leading away from the pond. “Best you just come with me for now.”

A frown turns your lips down over your teeth that you’re now clenching to keep from chattering. You’re soaked, and a chill slowly seeps beneath your wet clothes. “I most certainly will not be going anywhere with you. Are you fucking insane?! You threw me into a pond!”

Those brown and green eyes meet yours over his shoulder. He shrugs. “It’s a loch. But, suit yourself, then. The kelpie that inhabits that cave should be coming out in three…two….”

Before he says one, you hear a mournful whinny from behind you. A wet gurgle and a plop follow, and then the sound of something scrabbling against the rock. You look back at the water and see two long, slender arms protruding from the mouth of the cave. Water sleuths along the arms, dripping from pale white equine-looking hooves. Letting loose a scream, you scramble away from the water’s edge and bump solidly into JK’s body. “Holy shit!”

He chuckles low in your ear, “…one. Never been a fan of kelpies, but they do good to keep unwanted visitors out of our loch. Now, if you stop panicking, we really should leave before he fully emerges. The last thing I want to do tonight is cut his head off.”

You’re still trembling and trying to wrap your head around what you saw as you allow JK to usher you down the dirt path. Knee-high grass sways gently to either side of the trail. Right now, he seems like the lesser of two evils. But that could be simply because he at least looks normal enough. The thing that was crawling out of the cave, however…you shudder with the mental image.

“What was that?”

“Do you have water in your ears? I’m pretty sure I said it was a kelpie at least three times.”

You don’t care for the attitude coming from this man. “Is this part of some fucked up Beltane tradition around here? It’s really not nice to scare people like this. You’ve had your laughs and your fun. Now, I just want to return to Bowhill House, find my friend, and leave.”

“I guess you need to hear many things more than once. We can’t go back through the gateway until what you might know as Samhain. Which is roughly six moons from now.”

“Six moons? Is that some sort of riddle? Look, this is cool and all, but I insist you let me go. Point me in the right direction, and I’ll make it back myself.”

The laugh that comes from JK has what little color remains in your face draining away. JK flexes his fingers around your arm, adjusting his grip as he continues to haul you down the path. “Look around you, Beautiful. Use that pretty brain of yours to do some deductive reasoning. You’re not in Selkirk anymore. You’re certainly not in Scotland anymore. You’re not even in your own realm, for that matter.”

You wet your suddenly dry lips, trying to work moisture back into your mouth to tell him he’s wrong. There’s no mistaking the differences around you, though. The moon and stars overhead look the same at first glance, but the longer you look, the more apparent it becomes that the stars are all slightly dimmer, and the moon has a bluish-grey ring around it. Odd sounds chirp from the darkness, unlike anything you’ve ever heard before, even in Scotland. The grass surrounding you seems to move on its own, despite there being no wind you can feel. The long wheat and moss-colored stalks move as if to avoid being brushed against by you or JK.

Shoving the thought of what he just said away–you simply don’t have the energy to think about deciphering his bullshit right now–you focus on getting answers that might be less cryptic. A large copse of trees looms ahead. “Are we going in there?” you whisper. Hugging your arms around yourself as best you can, you try to keep from shivering outright. The wet sweater and jeans you have on cling to you, sapping whatever warmth you have left.

“We are,” JK confirms just before pulling you past the first towering tree. The atmosphere under the boughs drastically differs from the grassland where the loch was. Humidity and warmth immediately creep in, making you feel even more sluggish as you drip beside JK.

Roots seem to reach up to snag at your feet, the dirt path wholly lost under the crisscross pattern of twining wood. “Can you slow down?” you huff. The ground is so uneven it’s hard to keep your balance. JK doesn’t seem to have an issue, stepping lightly from root to root without so much as a wobble.

“Nope.” The word is accompanied by JK pivoting and sweeping down. His shoulder notches against your stomach, and the next thing you know, your world tilts wildly as he flips you over his shoulder.

The squeak of protest that leaves you is embarrassingly loud and piercing in your own ears. “Put me down!” You beat your fists against his back and flail as much as possible. In your valiant effort to dislodge yourself from over his shoulder, you manage to knock free the remnants of your flower crown. “Oh, no!” You try to grab for the falling circle, but it tumbles between the dark roots and disappears; so much for its supposed protective powers.

You’re so busy ranting and cursing at JK that you miss the roots being replaced with lush grass and tiny purple flowers but promptly cut off your latest tirade of profanities when he starts up a wooden set of steps leading to a porch.

“Open the door,” he calls out as he stomps up the last few steps. You try to swivel around on his shoulder to get a better look at your surroundings. It doesn’t help that it’s nearly pitch black outside, the only light coming from the smattering of stars barely penetrating the overhead foliage.

A blast of warm air hits the backs of your thighs as you hear hinges creaking as a door opens. “What the hell?” a deep yet soft voice asks.

“More like who the hell?” comes another voice from further away. “Who do you have there, Jun—“ The voice cuts off as you feel the man carrying you throw up a hand. You presume to keep whoever was speaking from saying his actual name. You file that away for later…Ju-something. “This, my dear Yoons,” he emphasizes the name, “is a human that I’ve named Beautiful.” He grips your hips and pulls you off his shoulder, dropping you in a wet heap at the feet of a beautiful man with silver hair, brilliant green eyes, protruding canines, and pointed ears. “She’s going to be your mate.”

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to series masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2023-05-06 ColorMePurplex2

#bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #bts fantasy au #bts fanfiction #yoonig fanfic #jungkook fanfic #namjoon fanfic #jimin fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts magic au #bts fae au #bangtanwhq

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shiftingwithmars · 6 months

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Henry:So this is my mom Emma and my Dad Neal. Oh and that’s my other mom Regina, as well as my almost stepdad Robin Hood and my stepdad Captain Hook. Oh and that’s my grandparents Snow White and Prince Charming. That’s my other Granddad Rumplestiltskin. Oh yeah and he killed my grandmother Milah who also dated Hook. That’s my evil great-grandfather Peter Pan. Oh and Regina is also my Great-Step-Grandmother. That’s my uncle Neal who is younger than me. That’s my step-grandmother Belle. Don’t ask why she’s with Grandpa Rumple, I don’t know either.

#ouat #once upon a time

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five-rivers · 2 years

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Ancestral 6

No one especially wanted to be awake - sleeping was a great way to avoid feelings - but, equally, no one wanted to miss anything, and they were all on edge, so it wasn’t difficult for Danny to wake them up.

The remaining Royal Family of Avlynys, descendants of Queen Gwensyvyr the Great, scions of the House of Dyrys, members of one of the oldest noble lines in the so-called global west, gathered around the dining room table in their pajamas or rumpled travel clothes. Iris and George - who were twins, like Prince Theodore and Princess Isabella had been twins - were wearing matching monogrammed bathrobes. Irene, their mother, Matthew’s wife, had only a short nightgown on, and kept her arms crossed firmly over her chest as she moved. Eugene’s eyeliner had smeared over half of his face, and a packet of airline peanuts was sticking out his front pocket. Leo didn’t have a shirt, but was making up for that by dragging his comforter downstairs. Jazz was wearing a full set of button down pajamas - and Danny was glad he hadn’t had a chance to change, because his set was the same, and that would just be embarrassing. Jack hadn’t changed out of his jumpsuit. The circles under Maddie’s eyes made her look like she’d just gotten out of a fight.

Very regal of them. Really.

They shuffled into place around the table, as if every motion pained them. The ghosts flowed around them, making room, filling in gaps. The ghost with braids stayed by Danny, standing to the side of his chair. Vivian went to stand near her brothers.

“So, what did you need to tell us, Matthew?” asked Maddie.

Next to Danny, Jazz visibly winced. Maddie and Matthew hadn’t always gotten along, but they’d hoped that, given the circumstances, things wouldn’t immediately dissolve.

Matthew sighed. “The Assembly has been debating our next steps. Considering what’s happened…”

“What has happened?” asked Eugene. His eyes flicked around the table. “We didn’t get a good explanation at any point. Have any of you?”

There was a murmur of negation.

“There–” started Matthew. He looked down at his hands and closed his eyes. “At the planning session for the Moon Masque, Grandfather - King Alfred - started to…” He trailed off. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t think I can be detached about this. We thought he was having a heart attack. Then Grandma fell over and… We called 112, and while they were trying to do CPR, Mom started to- started to- it was like an allergic reaction, she just–”

“Matthew,” said Joanna, “don’t. You don’t have to- to describe it.”

Matthew nodded. “At that point, we thought it might be poison or- or some fast-acting disease, so we were all taken to the medical wing - haven’t actually brushed my teeth since they gave me that charcoal drink… And about a dozen shots…”

No one said anything, but they leaned forward to listen as Matthew’s voice grew quieter and quieter.

“They said Mom and Uncle Theo just… swelled up and stopped breathing. Like it was anaphylaxis. But it wasn’t as if we were around anything we weren’t around every day. And Grandma is completely unrelated to Grandpa, so.” He stopped, biting his lip. “They sent us to the hospital once they ran out of things they could do. They gave William so much epinephrine…Or maybe that was the normal amount, I don’t know.” He scrubbed his face.

“What about Vivian?” asked Lewis. “Have you found her, yet?”

“No,” said Matthew. “The call that the Home Guard couldn’t find her came in about the same time… It was about the same time William- that your father was… His heart just gave out. Then Martin, he held on the longest, but…” Matthew shook his head.

Vivian was crying again. Heck, everyone was crying again, including Danny.

“Then it was just me, Dad, and the in-laws. And Dad started to… He’s still at the hospital, for his heart. And…” Matthew blinked, as if only now remembering something. “And where’s Sophia?”

“Mom’s upstairs,” said Lewis. “She didn’t want to come down. Vivian wasn’t at the planning meeting?”

“No,” said Matthew.

“She said she was going to go,” said Lewis.

“You need to tell the Home Guard that. Do you have the non-emergency number?”

Lewis pulled out his phone in response and started typing on it in lieu of an answer.

“The doctors are running tests for everything, but they haven’t found anything, yet. They still might. It hasn’t been long. But, for now, that’s it. That’s all I know.”

That wasn’t a lot to go on. Danny looked up at the ghosts. They hadn’t seemed particularly excited at any part of the story, which would seem to imply that it was accurate enough and didn’t contain any new information for them.

“After I was released, I went back to Kyr Argyn - that whole wing is blocked off, by the way - and I’ve been with the Assembly since then. Trying to figure out… trying to figure out where to go from here.”

“And what did they decide?” asked Maddie, significantly more softly that the first question she’d asked Matthew.

Matthew flexed his hands before laying them flat on the table. “They declared a state of emergency.”

“Of course,” said Maddie.

“And… They want me to take the throne immediately, so we have a full government. To… deal with whatever this is.”

The ghosts exploded. Figuratively. Not literally. They stayed human in shape. But the news agitated them, and they gestured wildly to one another.

Meanwhile, Joanna was the first of the living to respond to the news. “But you can’t! The trials–!”

“Couldn’t be held until the next full moon, regardless. We don’t have time. And I don’t see you volunteering for the job, Joanna.”

“Honey,” said Lady Irene. “Are you sure?”

Matthew nodded. “Someone needs to do it.”

“But the spirits,” tried Joanna, “they won’t–”

“I don’t think the spirits are watching, Jo, and even if they are, they don’t care.” He pulled the cracked green eye pin from his lapel and tossed it on the table. “It might as well be an omen.”

“If you’re finally moving past the superstitions, we could all just… not,” said Maddie. “Avlynys doesn’t need a monarchy.”

“But they’ve made it quite clear that they want one. The Assembly isn’t chosen by lot, Maddie. They’re the voice of the people.”

“Did you even bring up the option?”

“Of course I did. Believe it or not, I am also a human being living in the modern world. They want our family to maintain its traditional role. And they want me to be crowned tomorrow. Are you all prepared to be witnesses?”

“Vivian’s dead,” said Danny to Jazz the moment he got her alone.

“What?” said Jazz. “But- You- She’s just missing.”

“Her ghost is here,” said Danny. “I guess- I guess most of the ghosts here are too weak to manifest fully, but… She’s here.”

“She’s… here,” repeated Jazz. She sat down on her borrowed bed. “She’s dead?”

Danny nodded. Jazz closed her eyes for a long moment, then seemed to pull herself back together with an expenditure of will.

“Does she know where she was? Where her body is? Even if she doesn’t know where, exactly, maybe she could describe it?”

Danny looked at Vivian. She opened her mouth, closed it, and gave Danny an apologetic and miserable look.

“Maybe,” said Danny.

“Maybe?”

“They can’t talk. None of the ghosts here can.”

“There’s more ghosts here than Vivian?” asked Jazz. “William? Isabella? Grandma and Grandpa?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” said Danny. “There’s just… There’s a lot of them.”

Jazz rubbed her eyes. “Maybe you ought to start from the beginning.”

They didn’t enter through the front doors. Even before cars, Kyr Argyn had an area to discreetly offload nobles from carriages, and the whole area had been secured, so it wasn’t as if anyone was there to see them ‘sneak in through the back.’

They weren’t the only ones coming through this way. The Assembly, formally the Assembly of One Hundred, was in full attendance. The Assembly was, as far as Danny knew, unique in how its members were chosen.

Every citizen of Avlynys had a sponsorship. They could give their sponsorship to any other citizen of Avlynys, or keep it for themselves. Four times a year, sponsorships were tallied, and the one hundred citizens with the most sponsorships became the Assembly, and the number of sponsorships they had at the last tally was their voting power. Geography wasn’t taken into account.

The government of Avlynys maintained a website that kept active track of sponsorships, and a citizen could change who they were sponsoring at any time. Danny understood that it made for some interesting politics. He also understood that, previously, in an effort to have as many people as possible represented, the requirement had instead been a certain threshold of sponsorships, but that had somehow managed to be even more chaotic.

In any case, Kyr Argyn was busy, even outside of the more public hallways, and the family was most definitely not traveling down the more public hallways.

This part of the palace was sort of a museum that wrapped around the doorless back of the Assembly Hall and radiated outwards into the rooms that sprang from it. There were Avlynyse artworks here that dated back to Roman rule. It was open to public viewing, on sparse but regular occasions, but the rest of the time the hall and its artifacts were the domain of those who worked in Kyr Argyn and the odd archaeologist.

Today, they were just using the museum as a way to cut past the crowds.

“I hate this place,” whispered one of the security personnel escorting them. “It always feels haunted.”

The ghost woman rolled her eyes. Danny was highly tempted to do the same. This place? Haunted? Sure. Was that significant in comparison with everywhere else Danny had been in Avlynys since landing? No.

“Focus,” snapped Mr. Kynbaz. He’d been on edge all day. Probably because he was currently in charge of the safety of the entire remaining royal family.

“Remember,” said Maddie, leaning down to her children and whispering. “We’re only witnessing. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to answer any questions.”

Danny nodded… and was immediately distracted by the ghost woman stopping in front of a door. When he looked over his shoulder to try and see why she had stopped, other ghosts started to join her. She looked at Danny, pointed at the door, and stepped through.

Danny looked up at Vivian, hoping to get a better explanation, but she was too focused on staying near her mother who, to be fair, looked like she was suffering from a major depressive episode… which she probably was.

Mr. Kynbaz would probably kill him for this himself, if Danny got caught, but… When no one was watching, he let himself fade to invisibility and backtracked to the door the ghost woman had gone through. He phased inside, and let go of his invisibility. He must have tripped a motion detector, because the lights in the room came on.

The ghost was standing in front of a large, Roman-style floor to ceiling fresco, next to a placard on a small pole. The fresco depicted a woman in ancient armor holding a spear and scroll. The fresco was an unmistakable likeness of the ghost woman, right down to the braids.

The placard in front of the fresco read ‘Gwensyvyr Dyrys Avlynyse I, also known as Gwensyvyr the Great, Gwensyvyr the Enchantress, and Gwensyvyr the Phantom, First Queen and Monarch of Avlynys.’

Gwensyvyr waved at Danny.

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt22 #ectoberhaunt day 19: one and one hundred #ancestral fic

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matiiiih · 2 years

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“I once played Growltiger, could do it again...”

“Sure grandpa, let’s get you to bed.”

Asparagus Jr. is the embodient of the “how do you do fellow kids”- meme. He’s that little clumsy and goofy, yet always excited and well-meaning dad while Jelly is the more practical and down to earth mom. Gus is just a grumpy grandpa with a slight "kids these days"- attitude

---

“I guess I’m drawing all the Cats- characters”

Deme and Bomba

Mungo and Rumple

Tugger and Munk

Misto and Tori

The kittens

Grizabella and Old Deuteronomy

Macavity

Alonzo and Cassandra

#cats #cats musical #cats the musical #musical #musicals #andrew lloyd webber #Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats #jellylorum #gus #gus the theatre cat #asparagus cats #cats asparagus #asparagus jr

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vasfasan · 10 months

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i am a killian stan and my bsf is a rumple stan. we have a complicated relationship when ouat is discussed. “- i am off 2 bed - gn. i hope you lie awake with insomnia for ur sins of lovin rumple - pls don’t wish insomnia upon me, i already have it. i’ll try to dream of killian and become a fan of his instead. - ok im waiting on that - bye bye! pls don’t bully me for loving the evil grandpa💞“

he is only at 3x12 at this point, i hope he changes his mind by the time rumple defrauds belle & everyone else on the show for the 102943205th time

#once upon a time #rumplestiltskin #killian jones #ouat

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hockeylvr59 · 2 years

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Having Patience Part 3 || Taylor Makar

Authors Note: Totally wasn’t inspired by a 2 second clip of Taylor from Umass to buckle down and actually write the next part of it instead of continuing to stew over it. This part is a little rough and a bit short, showing some more of the struggles Taylor is facing as a single dad but the next part is going to be fun. Pat in the Stanley Cup anyone?

Warnings: cursing // Word Count: 2,052

~~~~~

Christmas break had been the change of pace that Taylor had desperately needed. As soon as his finals were over he was on a plane with his mom and Patience, flying back to Calgary for a full ten days. He saw his family, he saw some friends, he went skating with Mark a couple times and he enjoyed watching Pat on her first Christmas even if she was still too young to really enjoy it.

There were moments that were bittersweet when Taylor let himself wonder if only for a moment what it would be like if Pat had her mom here too, if they were spending Christmas as a family the way he had imagined so many times. But he knew that it wasn’t healthy to dwell on those thoughts so instead he just did his best to enjoy the Christmas that life had handed him and sharing it with his infant daughter.

He had laughed seeing her pull Cale’s hair and then give a two toothed grin at her uncle who she hadn’t seen other than by FaceTime for months. He’d come home a few times to Pat asleep on her grandpa’s chest and Taylor knew that he really was lucky to have his family’s support.

___

It felt like no time at all from when Taylor had arrived back in Amherst with Pat to when he was packing his bag for his first full weekend roadtrip. So far all their road games had been within a few hours drive away and he had only been gone for a single night max. But now they were going out to Michigan and that meant almost four full days away from his baby girl. Taylor wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it.

His mom had reminded him over and over that Pat would be fine but all Taylor could do was bite his tongue as the thought ‘but what if I’m not fine’ rolled through his brain. Grabbing a hoodie from his closet, Taylor turned back to his bag only to find the seven month old who held his heart scooting her way into it from where he’d left her with a toy just a few feet away on the floor of his bedroom.

“Daddy wishes he could pack you away and take you with me.” Taylor murmured, scooping her up to shove the sweatshirt inside. With the baby’s protestations of being derailed from her task, Taylor sighed and kissed her head before setting her back down. “You’re going to be good for grandma right Pat?” He asked, grabbing the bathroom supplies he’d set on his bed earlier when he’d gathered them from the bathroom. Again when he’d turned, Pat had scooted her way to his bag and was laying on it, her toothy grin and bright blue grey eyes staring back at him.

“Yeah I know Pat. This sucks.”

___

Getting home from Michigan felt like it took forever for Taylor. They’d lost both games, even though he’d only played in one of them. And while he couldn’t deny that it was nice to get basically a full night’s sleep, he’d still woken up multiple times each night expecting to hear Pat so it wasn’t truly all that restful. He’d talked to his mom and therefore Pat once before Saturday’s game and his heart had shattered when she’d started crying as his mom tried to explain that he would be home tomorrow.

Sore from playing and from travel, Taylor tossed his bag into the trunk of the car as soon as the bus unloaded back on campus. It was already after midnight and all he wanted was to get home to his baby girl.

The streets were quiet and thankfully it was only a short drive back to the house. Grabbing his bags so that his mom wouldn’t yell at him later, he slipped inside and silently made his way upstairs after resetting the alarm system. Tossing his bag into his room to deal with later, Taylor crept to the nursery and peeked in. Pat was currently asleep but her sheets were rumpled underneath her having been pulled off the mattress with her fitful sleep.

Deep down he knew that he should just leave her but this was the longest he’d been away from her and he suspected she needed his touch just as much as he needed hers. So he carefully scooped her up and held her close, body clicking back into place with the soft little puffs of air falling from her lips.

“How bout you sleep with daddy tonight?” He whispered, tiptoeing back to his room to slide under the covers with her, her tiny body snug against his chest.

“Daddy missed you so damn much.” He breathed with a yawn, rubbing his hand gently up and down her back until she stretched lazily before falling deeper asleep, little snores showing how congested she was either from a winter cold or just from all the crying she’d been doing over the last few days.

There was definitely some appeal to a full night’s sleep but honestly, Taylor would take this any damn day. Nothing was better than having his baby girl in his arms once more.

And though he knew that if he did end up making the NHL that there would be roadtrips far longer than this one but he put those thoughts aside knowing that there were a million obstacles to complete before that would ever be a concern.

As hard as it was going away and not being with his daughter, it made coming home all the more worth it. And that was what he had to focus on to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

******

Taylor’s ears were ringing incessantly as Pat wailed in his arms. She’d been battling an ear infection and had been absolutely inconsolable for the past 24 hours. And of course, of course her ailments once again happened when his mom wasn’t around. To top it all off, it was midterm week and Taylor had his biggest test at 9am which was now only about 8 hours away.

He’d done his best to study ahead of time so he didn’t feel too panicked in that regard, but he knew that taking a major test without proper sleep was a very very bad idea.

Yet no matter what he did, Pat wouldn’t stop her high pitched pained screams and the clock was ticking away little by little.

Pacing with Pat, Taylor scrolled through his team group chat for the first time all day trying to catch up on everything, throwing some emoji reactions onto certain messages including one of his classmates whining about the midterm they both had in the morning. As he continued checking social media while pat screamed in his ear, Taylor’s phone buzzed in his hands.

Bobby T: Don’t you have a final first thing T? What are you still doing up? Cramming? Because you know that’s not productive.

Reading his Captain’s text, Taylor sighed and shifted Pat a bit to have two hands to respond with.

Taylor: Trust me, I wish I wasn’t up right now but it’s kind of hard to sleep with a screaming baby whose ear hurts with mom out of town.

Bobby T: What’s your address again?

Taylor: Why’s that relevant?

Bobby T: Because I kind of need it to come over and watch Pat for you.

Bobby T: And don’t even say that you’re good. You never ask for help T, so take it when offered. I’ve got nothing going on until after lunch tomorrow so if I’m up a few more hours it’s not going to kill me. You need the sleep and we can’t have you flunking any midterms.

Taylor sighed at the message, wanting to protest, but knowing that Bobby was right deep down. Sending the address back, he dropped his phone on the island before moving to tidy up a little while Pat continued to fuss in his arms. Kissing her head he whispered softly that she needs to sleep so that her body can heal but that he knows it hurts. She’d started antibiotics yesterday so he could only hope that they would start to take effect soon and make her less miserable.

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the front door and Taylor moved to it, letting in his captain as Pat paused her cries for a moment and twisted her head to peek and see who this new person was before starting up all over again.

“Not grandma. I know.” He mumbled softly to her before turning to Bobby. “You really don’t have to do this, she hasn’t exactly been her quiet self.” He declared, watching as Bobby kicked shoes off onto the mat and set his keys down.

“You look like hell T.” Bobby declared. “Seriously, go get some sleep. Pat and I will get acquainted.

At his Captain’s prodding, Taylor reluctantly passed Pat over and winced when her wail grew louder. How she still had any lung power he wasn’t sure after hours of crying.

“Go. We’re as good as can be. I can come get you if I need you.” Bobby insisted again shifting Pat before waving Taylor off. Looking over his shoulder, Taylor climbed the stairs to his room feeling guilty for passing Pat off but knowing that he did need at least a couple of hours of sleep if possible if he was going to make it to his midterm let alone pass it.

Setting an alarm, Taylor slid into bed and threw a spare pillow over his ears to dampen his daughter’s cries. Parenthood was so not easy.

****

The beeping of his alarm jolted Taylor awake and he looked around confused, honestly not having expected to get more than an hour or so of sleep. Instead, the sun was up and shining and when he made his way downstairs, he found Pat sitting on the living room floor with a bottle of milk in hand, chugging softly.

Seeing him she kicked her little legs and made a cooing sound around her bottle. At the same time, his Captain came into view sitting just a few feet away from her with a cup of coffee.

“Pot is still hot.” He stated, seeing Taylor who was just standing there in shock.

“How..? She’s not crying.” Taylor mumbled breathlessly.

“Gave her pain meds at 4 and again at 8 and used a couple of warm compresses and she seems to be feeling better.” Bobby shrugged. “Go take a shower and head to your test. I’ll hang here with Pat.” He insisted, again shaking his head at Taylor’s silent protest.

“Seriously. Accept the help T. If you feel like you need to do more then you can change her diaper before you go.” Bobby laughed. “She’s bound to crash here shortly and with a baby monitor I can put her down and just nap on your couch until she wakes or you get back. So go. We’re good.”

Before Taylor headed out the door, Bobby patted him on the shoulder.

“No one gives you enough credit T.” Bobby declared softly. “There’s no way that I could have made it through college and played hockey while raising a kid. It’s obvious that it hasn’t always been easy for you but dude if you ever need anything, just ask for it. We’re a team and we’re here to help you, you don’t have to do it all alone.”

Grabbing his bag, Taylor nodded and shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah but you know how it is.” He mumbled. “You’re a good captain Bobby. We’re going to miss you next year.”

“Just because I’m not in Amherst doesn’t mean we’re not friends and that I’m not here for you.” Bobby declared. “You can always reach out for advice or just an ear if you have things you need to get off your chest. That won’t change.”

And as he snuggled Pat after taking his midterm, Taylor chewed on those words, it may have taken a while but Amherst was starting to feel a little more like home. At least for now. He looked forward to seeing all of the memories he could make with Pat here, one day at a time.

#taylor makar #taylor makar imagine #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #cavalanche #043

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depressedstressedlemonzest · 1 month

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😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I hate hate HATE how belle went to zelena ZELENA of all people for help.

THE WOMAN WHO ABUSED YOUR HUSBAND

WTF BELLE

Call me what you want, but it comes from love.

I said it before and I'll say it again. Fuck you zelena.

AGAIN WHAT THE FUCK BELLE

Love henry such a smart fucking kid.

Get away from our son!

It'd been cool if emma and regina got together and had a like polycule thing/poly thing with hook and Robin.

They're so nervous watching him, but he's got it.

At first I thought he meant rumple grandpa but it's probably david grandpa.

"Henry violet might be a nice girl but she's a commoner she's lucky to have a prince like you."

Subtle.

Real subtle.

This just pissed me off.

This and her not letting rumple at the birth. Like BELLE he loves you both so much. He'll get his head out of his ass.

At least Skype him for the birth.

#lem watches ouat #rumbelle #ouat belle #belle gold #mr. gold #ouat rumple #rumplestiltskin #henry mills #regina mills #evil queen #emma swan #ouat #once upon a time #fucking zelena

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stahlop · 1 year

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All of Me (loves all of you)

Merry Christmas @cosette141! Here is your Christmas gift from your Secret Santa! I had so much fun writing this little fix it, canon divergence piece for you. I know season 4a is one of your favorites and I just happen to be in the middle of reviewing that season, so it worked out perfectly! I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you to @xarandomdreamx for being my beta

And thank you to the Captain Swan Secret Santa for putting this on again!

Rated: T

Ao3 Link

Emma slammed her bug into park and started beating on the steering wheel. The words of the Snow Queen echoed through her mind.

The only way this ends is you embracing who you are.

But Emma had embraced who she was. Wasn’t that why the wand had worked in the past? Wasn’t that why she had wanted to stay in Storybrooke? Because she was embracing who she was? She just needed to get her stupid powers under control, and without Regina’s help she just couldn’t get a grasp on them.

Right now, she just needed a place to hide.

As if her magic understood her need, her hands sparked and her car went back into drive and started driving itself.

“Great,” Emma sighed to herself. “Just like the Ford Anglia in Harry Potter.”

It deposited her in front of Gold’s cabin in the middle of the woods. The last time she’d been here he’d been beating the crap out of Mo French. She hoped it had been cleaned since then.

She slammed the car door as she got out, putting her red leather jacket back on to ward off the chill. She didn’t even bother checking if the door was locked, her magic automatically opening it for her.

“That would’ve been useful when I was younger,” she murmured to herself. The place was spotless. Definitely been cleaned up since the Mo French incident. Emma wondered if Gold even remembered he owned this place. It didn’t look like anyone had used it at all. Everything was in perfect order. No rumpled bed sheets, nothing in the sink, not even any wear on the sofa. However, there did happen to be a thin layer of dust over everything. Emma found a roll of paper towels, tore off a piece, and started dusting the cabin. She was already beginning to feel calmer.

—-----

Henry had never been so thankful that driving in the woods had to be done slowly. After the debacle with his mom, he’d hid while he saw the encounter with the Snow Queen. He hated how the Snow Queen could get under his mom’s skin so easily, especially as he’d seen his mom go up against his mother without any regard for the consequences. What was it that made her think the Snow Queen was worse than the Evil Queen had been?

He watched as the car drove itself through the winding roads and managed to catch a glimpse of it as it stopped in front of a cabin in the woods. He wasn’t sure who it belonged to, but he was sure someone back at the loft would know.

He followed the road back into town and ran to the loft. He could hear his grandparents, Killian, and Elsa arguing from outside the door about continuing to look for Emma some more.

“Perhaps she doesn’t want to be found.” Killian said, quite angrily, though Henry could tell he was also worried. “Since, you know, that’s what she bloody told us!” They may have only started dating, but Henry liked how concerned he was about his mom, and that he wanted to give her the space she’d requested.

“Well,” David began, “the good news is, thanks to the ice wall, Emma can’t leave town.” Henry scoffed. Of course Grandpa was only concerned about whether his mom would leave. Not whether she was okay or what she was feeling.

“The longer she isolates herself, the worse it’ll get. Her magic will just keep spiraling,” Henry heard Elsa say. It almost made him run right back to the woods to try and talk to her again. “When your powers are out of control, everything’s upside down, and you don’t want to be anywhere near the people you care about,” Elsa continued.

“Wonderful,” Killian said with a sarcastic tone Henry knew he used when he was trying to cover up his own feelings. “Well, should we send Sneezy after her, or Happy? Which is the dwarf she despises?” Henry silently chuckled at Killians words, making his head throb and probably bleed more from his most recent encounter with his mom in the woods. But he continued to listen to what was being said.

“I was so scared that I would hurt Anna until I finally realized you can’t run away from the people who love you, because in the end they’re the only ones who can help you.” Elsa finished. His grandparents began arguing again about what was best for Emma, but Henry took Elsa’s words to heart. He needed to send someone who could get through to his mom, who loved his mom, not someone who would just talk at her.

He took a minute to psych himself up before opening the door, just in time to hear David say “then we go out and find our daughter. Okay?”

“You don’t have to look anymore.” The adults all looked shocked to see him come through the door. Which, to be fair, he was supposed to have been sleeping upstairs. He absentmindedly put his hand to his injured head (he silently cursed himself for upsetting his mom enough that she accidentally had a burst of magic and hurt him, something she was trying so hard to not do) and pulled back his hand with spots of blood on it.

“What happened?” David asked concerned.

“Look, I’m sorry I snuck out, but I found her.” All the adults looked at him in awe. He tried not to let it go to his head, knowing he’d found her when the rest of his family couldn’t. His grandparents began talking over each other to find out how she was, but all Henry was concerned about was Killian’s reaction. He looked…relieved, yet he still didn’t ask any questions. He knew Henry would answer them in his own time. He was exactly who Henry needed to send after his mom. He’d be the only one who could get through to her.

“I’d really like someone to look at this head injury I’ve managed to get,” Henry said, focusing his attention on Killian as he said it. Killian looked at Henry, his eyebrows raised in question, which he then quickly schooled and nodded in agreement. Luckily, his mom wasn’t the only person Killian could read like a book.

“I’ll take the lad and get him cleaned up.” Killian said before anyone else could volunteer. Henry quickly steered him to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

“You have to go to my mom!” Henry said, turning to face Killian. He expected to see relief on his face, but instead he saw something more conflicted.

“I don’t think your mother wants to see me, lad,” his face dropped, looking hopeless. He gestured to the cabinet; Henry quickly took out the medical supplies to keep up the pretext. Killian wet a small hand towel and motioned for Henry to turn so he could get a better look at the wound.

“You’re wrong!” Henry said adamantly, then winced as Killian wiped away the blood with the towel. “You heard what Elsa said, isolating herself will only make it worse. She’s at Gold’s cabin in the woods.” He tried to turn toward Killian but he kept him facing away from him. “Do you know where that is?”

“Aye, lad, I do.” Killian sounded almost resigned, like he still wasn’t sure if he should go. Henry finally wrenched from his grip and turned around.

“She’s scared and she’s afraid she’ll hurt someone. She just needs someone to reassure her that her magic isn’t bad. That it’s part of her. It’s like Elsa said, she needs someone who loves her..”

Killian looked shocked. Henry wondered if he’d overstepped. Despite the fact that Killian had been trying to court his mom for a few months now, they’d only started dating. Killian tilted his head down, not looking at Henry’s eyes.

“It’s that obvious, is it?” He let out a shaky breath. Henry didn’t think he’d ever seen him so vulnerable. The great Captain Hook worried that Henry knew he loved his mom.

“Well, mom’s oblivious, as usual. Or maybe she’s just using her magic as an excuse. You know how skittish she gets.” Killian gave a wry chuckle. “But you need to go. I think you’re the only one who’ll be able to get through to her. You actually listen to her. My grandparents are great, but they’re scared of her, whether they want to admit it or not.” Killian nodded in agreement. He fished out some gauze from the medical supplies Henry had brought out with a small piece of medical tape and affixed it onto Henry’s wound.

“Tis merely a scratch,” Killian gave Henry a small smile and stroked his hair. Henry understood the significance of this gesture - it was fatherly in nature. Another reason Henry knew he could trust him.

“Are you sure you know where Gold’s cabin is?” Henry wasn’t sure he’d be able to find it again.

Killian nodded. “Aye, lad. I’ve traipsed through these woods enough, I’ve got a good lay of the land. I didn’t realize the cabin belonged to the Crocodile.” He made to leave the bathroom, but turned back toward Henry. “Are you sure she’ll be alright with me going to her? I’m trying hard to respect her boundaries.” His face dropped in concern. Never did Henry think he’d feel sorry for Captain Hook.

“I think you’re the only one she will see. Though knowing mom, she’ll fight you at first. Killian smiled.

“Well, it wouldn’t be me and your mum if we weren’t fighting, would it?” A grin spread over Killian’s face and Henry thought maybe everything would be alright.

“I’ll distract the rest of them for as long as I can.” Henry said, returning the medical supplies to the cabinet he’d got them from. “You sneak out and get to mom.” Killian nodded his head in agreement.

Henry slipped back to the rest of the group. Mary Margaret started fussing over his head while David gave him a light reprimand for leaving the loft when they told him not to. Mary Margaret insisted on making something to eat since they’d all be out all night. They could use some rest before Henry told them where Emma was. As David had pointed out earlier, it’s not like she could leave town with the ice wall around it.

Henry could see Killian patting down his jacket and pants pockets. “Bloody Hell! I’ve left my talking phone in the back of your truck.” He announced though no one seemed to be paying attention. Mary Margaret was showing Elsa how the stove worked as she also gathered ingredients for pancakes. David was pacing around, most likely trying to decide what they should do after they’d refueled and recharged.

“It’s just called a phone.” David responded mechanically, watching as Killian headed for the door to retrieve it.

“What an impractical name. I’ll be back in two shakes.” Henry observed Killian go out the door, everyone else still too absorbed in what they were doing. Killian gave a quick, awkward wink to Henry - he knew Killian would not be back in two shakes.

—---

The calm Emma had been feeling immediately dissipated once she finished dusting. With nothing left to do with her hands, the sparking had started up once again. She sat on the edge of the couch staring at her hands, willing them to go back to normal. But the doubt rapidly crept in.

She’d hurt Henry.

She’d hurt her father and almost hurt Killian.

The look on her mother’s face.

How could they want to be around her after that?

How could she act like everything was normal after that?

Maybe Ingrid was right and she was a monster.

“You are nothing of the sort, love.” Emma looked up to see Killian leaning on the open door frame, his signature smirk overtaking his face. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or scared to see him.

“Did I say that out loud?” Killian nodded in the affirmative. Emma could tell he was being cautious. Usually he would say ‘aye’ and it would sound incredibly sexy. But she could see his casual smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and their usual blue was closer to a stormy gray. It would be upsetting if it wasn’t….sweet.

“How’d you find me?’ Emma asked warily. She could already feel the sparks in her fingertips coming to life as if a lightning storm was on its way.

“Henry.”

Emma’s hands went to hips. “I drove here!” She said incredulously. Killian just shrugged. She didn’t really know what to do with that. She loved Henry and she’d hurt him. She couldn’t risk hurting Killian too. It still amazed her that calling him Killian came as easily as drinking water after calling him Hook for so long. She’d known, logically, that his name wasn’t Hook. She’d called him Killian when he took care of Henry, before his memory had come back, but that had almost been like a role he was playing. The part of Captain Hook will be played by Killian Jones. And she’d called him Killian when Gold and Zelena had almost killed him and she’d lost her magic. Even after he got his hook back, he was now just Killian. But this person in front of her, the one trying so hard to give a casual indifference, she wasn’t sure who this was. He didn’t have the flirtiness of Hook or the undying devotion of Killian.

“Your family is worried about you, love. At least give them a call and let them know you’re alright.” Emma sighed. “Henry’s fine, by the way. Just a scratch.” He added. Emma pinched her face, already having forgotten about her altercation with Henry in the woods. The Snow Queen had come after that and then everything had been a blur.

“God, I’m the worst mother in the world.” She cried, sitting herself back on the couch, her head in her hands.

“No, love. You just have a great deal many distractions going on.” He took a small step inside the cabin. “Have you eaten?” Emma turned to see he held a bag from Granny’s. “Bear claws and a hot chocolate, just the way you like it.” He smiled, a real smile this time. One that actually made his eyes crinkle in that way that Emma knew he’d seen a lot in his lifetime, but also made him look sexy. As if on cue, her stomach growled. Killian took that as a sign that he could come inside and sit next to her on the couch. He passed her the bag and she took it gingerly, still afraid of what her magic might do, but it seemed to have calmed down with the prospect of food.

Silence permeated the room as she ate. The only sound they could hear was the wind whistling through the trees outside. How had they gone from dates and kisses and letting him in about her past, to this uncomfortable silence? This was not who they were. They were all flirtations, and banter, and heated glares. Emma didn’t like it at all.

She was about to say something, anything, when the door slammed shut. They both turned to look and then saw heavy snow falling outside the windows.

“Crap!” She ran over to the slammed door and pulled it open. Within the few minutes it had taken to eat, there was already nearly an inch of snow on the ground, and it didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon. Big, fat, fluffy flakes were falling at an alarming rate. “Crap!” She yelled again. “Killian, we’ve got to get back to town!” Killian shook his head.

“We can’t drive in this, Emma!” The wind had picked up and was now howling around them, her hair whipping around her face. “Get back in the cabin.” Emma wanted to scream at him that they needed to leave, but at the pace the snow was coming down, she knew he was right. They’d be trapped and at the mercy of the elements. She nodded and ran back inside with Killian following close behind.

“Think you can light a fire for us?” He asked, nodding to the pile of wood near the fireplace. Emma looked at her hands, fearful for a moment that she might put a hole in the cabin like she did the sheriff station (she really hoped Regina could magic that back together ASAP), instead, she concentrated on the wood Killian was placing in the fire. She closed her eyes, and then hoped for the best.

“Good job, Swan! I knew you could do it!” Emma opened her eyes to see the fire spark to life and Killian grinning like a fool. The expression on his face was so infectious, she felt a grin spread across her face too. Killian was looking at her in awe. “Come here, Swan.” he beckoned her to him with a gesture of his hand. Emma took it and suddenly he was kissing her.

As someone who had initiated most of their kisses, Emma felt slightly out of control when Killian would kiss her first. She’d only been in one relationship where the other person kissed her first and it made her feel wild and out of control. She hated feeling like that now. But the more Killian kissed her, his lips caressing hers gently, the more safe she felt. The more she felt seen. The more she felt treasured (and that was saying a lot considering he was a pirate). She pulled away at that revelation. Killian’s eyes were still closed and instead of opening them to look at her, he leaned his head forward so that his forehead touched hers. It felt more intimate than the kiss they had shared, and it made Emma extremely uncomfortable, even though she didn’t want to feel that way.

“Emma…” Killian’s voice almost sounded broken, like he was afraid she would tell him it was a one time thing again, which was ridiculous since they were….dating. But at the same time, Emma could see why he might think that. Or maybe she was overthinking things. Looking for an excuse so that she wouldn’t be too hurt when he decided to end things. Except…she didn’t think Killian would ever want to end things. And she wasn’t sure which scared her more, him wanting to leave her or him never wanting to leave her, so she decided to deflect instead.

She took a step back from him. “This isn’t a regular snowstorm. I think this is the Snow Queen.” Emma said as she headed toward the window. In the short time that she and Killian had been together, there seemed to already be a foot or two of snow on the ground.

“I gathered that, love, seeing as it’s too early for snow storms of this caliber, even being this far north.” She arched an eyebrow at him regarding his knowledge about Maine’s seasons, and he gave her a smile back. Maybe her fears were just that - fears. Why else would he change his entire wardrobe, hang out with her family, and learn about Storybrooke if he wasn’t planning on sticking around?

“She wasn’t happy about me not wanting to be her sister. She keeps trying to convince me that no one can love me with my magic. From what Elsa told me, magic isn’t abundant in Arendelle. People are afraid of it there, so I’m guessing the Snow Queen has some traumatic backstory that makes her think she knows everything there is to know about how people feel about magic.” Killian nodded, waiting for her to continue. That was something she’d never had, someone who actually listened to her. When she was younger she’d just been some dumb kid. And now her parents were too busy with their own traumas and trying to finally raise a child from birth. Well, Emma really couldn’t blame them for wanting that. That feeling of finding out she hadn’t raised Henry when she got her memories back was devastating. The fact that Regina basically gave her a do over, well, at least she still had those false memories to hold onto. Emma realized she’d gone off on a tangent in her head. Killian was still expectantly waiting for her to go on.

“She keeps calling me a monster, which I’m not. I have saved people with my magic.” She was angry now, which did nothing to keep the sparks at bay.

“I can attest to that, Swan. Without your magic, I’d be without my shadow, dead on Neverland. Or killed by a giant icicle that the Snow Queen conjured up.” Killian walked over to her because she’d apparently been pacing in front of the window as more and more flakes floated to the ground. It would have been beautiful if it wasn’t a threat from the Snow Queen. He took her hands in his and Emma was afraid that her magic would hurt him like it did Henry, but he didn’t even seem to notice it. “I’m a fan of every part of you. That includes your magic. You wouldn’t be the woman I’ve been chasing after without it.” He kissed the knuckles on both hands, which in the past would have made her squirm (in a good and bad way), but in this instance, it only reassured her. And because Emma couldn’t think of anything as poetic to say in return, she pulled him close and kissed him.

Their bodies melded into one as they walked over toward the small bed set up in the corner of the cabin. Emma certainly hadn’t expected this turn of events to happen tonight, but she couldn’t say she was sorry about it. Except when her knees hit the frame and she sat down, Killian did not follow her down, her lips chasing his as he backed away. He stayed standing and looked at her with something akin to fear behind his eyes.

“Before this goes any further, Emma, I have something to confess.”

—---

Killian hadn’t expected the day to take this turn. He’d come here to talk to Emma, to convince her to come back to the loft, and maybe convince her that everything the Snow Queen was saying to her was a load of rubbish. He hadn’t thought that things would lead to a bed. And despite having been a pirate for hundreds of years and having many a man’s wife, he didn’t want to do this with Emma with this secret hanging over his head.

Emma was staring at him, her face still flushed from their heated kiss. He was nervous, a feeling he hadn’t had since he became a pirate and raided his first ship. He was positive this was even more nerve wracking than that, because revealing his deal with Gold and what he’d been compelled to do might make Emma hate him. And while he could deal with any assortment of emotions from Emma, hate was the one that would undo him.

“I’m afraid I’ve been lying to you,” he began. Killian could see Emma’s face immediately fall, but he knew he had to get this out if he wanted any type of future with her. “Gold has been lying to Belle about the dagger. He gave her a fake, and I knew, so I blackmailed him. It’s how Elsa and I found the Snow Queen in the forest, and then how I got my hand returned to me for our date.” He was staring at the floorboards of the cabin as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. He couldn’t bear to see the disappointed look on Emma’s face, so he soldiered on and continued his tale. “Gold blackmailed me into helping him. He has a hat that collects magic powers. He forced me to collect a magical old man that he had some vendetta against. He knew I’d do whatever it takes to be with you, and he used it against me.” Tears stung his eyes as he spit the words out as fast as he could so he could get everything out. “I just wanted to be a better man for you, Swan.” He dared to peek up at her at this point. Her expression was one he’d never seen before and that made his heart drop into his stomach. “But I failed. And now because of it, I might lose you. I’m sorry.” He knew his apology was probably worthless, but he also knew it had to be said. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, head still tilted toward the floor. It felt like hours though he knew it was most likely only seconds. He hadn’t realized his hand was clenched until he felt a warmth radiating around it. He looked to see Emma holding his hand in hers. She didn’t look afraid, or upset, or filled with hatred, she looked concerned.

“Killian,” she breathed out a sigh. “You never have to be anyone but who you already are. I fell in love with Captain Hook, the pirate. You know I wanted you at the beanstalk and that’s why I left you up there. It wasn’t you I didn’t trust, it was myself. I…I’m not good with words like you are, but Killian Jones,” she moved directly into his line of sight so they could see eye to eye, “I love you.”

The world seemed to have gone silent after her declaration. Never in a million years would Killian have thought Emma would be the one to say ‘I love you’ first. He’d known from the first moment he’d met her that he could possibly fall for her, but his need to get revenge for Milah had still been too strong. It wasn’t until he saw how desperate she was to find her son and had offered his services in Neverland that he realized just how much he’d already fallen. And then, of course, after their first kiss and subsequent admission in the Echo Caves, he knew she was the one he would give up his revenge for.

Emma’s eyes had a watery sheen to them and Killian realized he’d probably been in shock far longer than he intended to. He could feel the sparks emanating from her hands that were still holding his, though slightly looser. He wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t said anything back or due to her unpredictable magic.

“Emma Swan,” he said, grabbing her small hand in his larger one. “Make no mistake. I love you too. I just never thought you’d admit it first.” Killian chuckled and saw Emma’s shoulders relax at his admission. She melted into his chest and he brought his arms around her in an embrace. He was sure Emma could feel his heart racing and he couldn’t help but smile at that. They stayed that way for a few minutes, just feeling the warmth from each other, listening to the crackling of the fire and the wind from the snowstorm outside.

“I think you help my magic.” Emma said so quietly that Killian almost thought he imagined she had spoken. She pulled away slowly, putting her hands up so they could both see that the sparks had disappeared. “Elsa told me her sister’s love helped her control magic, and I’ve noticed that when I’m around you I can control it better. Usually. Yesterday notwithstanding.” Killian nodded in understanding. Just like her powers to detect when someone is lying, all her powers seemed to go awry when she was overly stressed. Killian kissed the top of her head in reassurance.

“Emma, you love me. I never thought I’d find that again. I’m honored that our love helps you.” Emma smiled at his words before leading him back to the couch where they sat huddled together. Emma practiced her magic by floating logs onto the fire. She laughed as she did it with ease.

After a few moments of contemplative reflection (and stolen kisses) in front of the fire, Emma finally addressed what Killian had confessed earlier. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you blackmailed Gold and then he blackmailed you right back.” Killian froze, but Emma snuggled in closer to him. “We can discuss it later. Right now, I just want to act like a normal couple sitting in front of a fire on a snowy day without thinking about Snow Queens and Dark Ones and magic fairytale nonsense.” Killian kissed her temple, smiling against her hair. Emma grabbed his hand and hook and brought it to her lap as she rested her head against his shoulder.

The Snow Queen may have tried to convince his Swan that her magic made her a monster, but to Killian, her magic made her the most amazing woman he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing. He could only hope that whatever the Snow Queen threw at them next, that Emma used her love to defeat her. Killian vowed that he would stand by her no matter what because he knew Emma was his happy ending, the one, as a former villain, he never dared to hope he could ever have.

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @qualitycoffeethings @snowbellewells @courtorderedcake @klynn-stormz @tiganasummertree @therooksshiningknight @teamhook @deckerstarblanche @onceratheart18 @the-darkdragonfly @wefoundloveunderthelight @earanemith

#csss2022 #csss22 #captain swan secret santa #cs canon divergence #cs s4 fix it #cs fanfic #cosette141

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countrymusiclover · 2 years

Text

18 - Prince's Permission

Part 19

His Golden Princess

@fanficismydrug @misskitty1912-blog @alanaangie24

Neal and Henry are sword fighting while Rumple and I watched from afar. I had to admit Henry is pretty good with a sword even if its a toy one. Foosteps approached behind us and I bite my tongue seeing Regina. Two days ago she tried to kill my mother for killing hers. So my family put Rumple on guard duty over her so she couldn't kill her. Rumple kept his eyes watching the boys holding my hand in his free one. "What are you doing here?"

"The real question is what's your son doing with mine?" She nodded her head towards Henry's direction.

Rumple turns towards Regina chuckling lightly. "Oh that..That's right, you didn't get the birth announcement, did you? That's Henry's father."

"What?" Regina glared down to him in disbelief.

He turned to face her still holding my hand in his giving her a slight smirk. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Miss Swan and my son-"

Regina interrupts his sentence not believing what she was hearing. "You're Henry's grandfather?"

"Guess that makes us family! He's got my eyes, don't you think?" He asked me more than her before we started walking away from the evil queen.

Regina stomped after us. "You did this!"

"Trust me, dearie, it was as much a shock to me as it is to you." He shrugged his shoulders.

She refused to believe his words. "No! You must have known! When I adopted him, it was you who procured him for me. You expect me to believe that that was a coincidence?"

"No, not coincidence. Fate. And apparently, fate has a sense of humor." Rumple showing our intertwined hands. "Looking at Astrid and I. I would call it fate for us being together."

She crossed her arms over her chest flickering her gaze between us. "Fate. So, you're playing the part of the loving grandpa now? They won't accept you, no matter what you do. Not your son, not any of them." Rumple glanced down to me listening to her words. "You really think that her parents the Charming's will accept that you are dating their daughter."

"We'll see." He spoke in confidence.

Regina replied to his words knowing his past better than myself. "I've already seen, Gold. I've seen your dark heart and it always wins out. You always choose darkness."

"You think you know me, dearie. But you don't." Rumple rolled his eye at the evil queen.

Regina explains in confidence walking away leaving us alone. "I know you well enough. If your own son couldn't bring out the good in you, who will?"

Without thinking I grab his hand quickly walking towards the road and we ended up outside my parents apartment. He struggled to catch his breath before I knocked on the door where it opened revealing my father to answer it. "Hi Astrid, Gold. What's up?"

"Even though I am a grown adult I feel like I should give you the chance to have the dad/boyfriend talk with Rumple. Where he asks me out on a date with your permission." I explained sitting at the kitchen table my hands intertwined together in front of me.

My mother's head shot up while she still layed in the bed feeling awful for what she had done a few days ago. "Oh your first date. I have to know everything when you get back sweetie!" She actually had happiness in her voice that you could clearly hear.

"You didn't know about this did you, Dark One?" My father asked crossing his arms over his chest seeing Rumple shakes his head no replying. "I would have been more prepared if I had, Charming."

Hitting my hands on the table I rest my chin in the palms of my hands smiling. "Come on please do this without bickering or violence...for me."

Both boys stared over at me slumping their shoulders before Rumple ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Mr. Nolan I...I'd like permission to take your daughter on a date...please?"

"You know we can go looking for your dagger again if you ever hurt her." My father glared down at him but sighs heavily nodding his head yes. "But there's a part of me that see's you make her happy. So you can take her on a date."

Jumping to my feet I fling my arms happily around my father and he hugged me back with a side hug. "Thank you, thank you. Thank you, daddy."

Rumple offers me his freehand opening the door with his other and I wave to my mother who is overly excited. Granted though she wasn't there for our first date being trapped in the Enchanted Forest. Reaching Granny's I got into the booth first and he followed after. The door opened and I see my father pick up an order of Chilli with Leroy who is actually Grumpy the dwarf back home. The pair exit right as Granny brought over two cheeseburgers just like last time. "Did I give you a scar at my parents house?"

"Indeed you did. Although your father won't find my dagger where I've hidden it this time." He chuckled taking a bite out of his burger and I do the same watching the door making sure this time Regina doesn't come inside.

As soon as I think we will have an uninterrupted date the door opened and Henry ran over to us sliding in my side of the booth pulling out a folder of notes causing Rumple to groan through his teeth. "Henry..."

"I think I figured out why you and Rumple shared the same pain." He pulls out a paper of notes explaining soulmates that he got from multiple books. "I haven't figured out how you can see the future kind of yet. But I think you two are soulmates."

Sitting my burger down I rest my chin in the palm of my hand asking. "What exactly is a soulmate, Henry?"

Rumple tapped his fingers on the table when his grandson started explaining. "Basically it's someone who has a close connection with somebody else. Like they can feel the others pain or desire."

"How in the laws of magic does that work. Dark and light magic a hero and a villan together. How is that possible?" Rumple rubbed the back of his neck raising a brow in confusion for never having this type of ability before in his thousand years as the Dark One.

Henry shrugged his shoulders saying back. "I don't have all the answers for, Astrilskin. I'm only eleven after all." He closes his book seeing Rumple's eyes kit together confused even more.

"Astrilskin...is that a band name or something?" Rumple asked making me giggle taking his hand in mine from across the table.

Henry smiled as I squeeze his hand intertwined with his. "It's our names put together. It's called a ship name.."

Rumple sighed watching his grandson leave pointing his thumb over his shoulder shaking his head. "One of these days I hope we can have a date where a family member doesn't interpret."

Raising my freehand I smirked ungulfing us both in a cloud of yellow smoke. Once it gone I cheered hands in the air that we actually ended up inside his pawnshop. "Yes, I finally did it." Rumple shakes his head with a playful grin.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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sabraeal · 2 years

Text

All Pain Will Turn to Medicine, Chapter 6

[Read on AO3]

There are ways sickness leaves its mark on a house.

Stale air, for one. Shirayuki could explain the benefits of proper ventilation until she turned blue herself, but the windows are always shuttered when she visits, rooms left dark and stagnant, as if the sickness might simply go away so long as the neighbors don’t hear.

An untidy house, for another. Dishes left teetering in the wash basin, clothes laying heaped in their basket, never put away. Dust over every surface, settling like dew on the grass, with only fingerprints left to prove anyone lived there at all.

Poor fools, Anda muttered, when he’d taken her on her first rounds. You and I know that taking care of the sick is work, but these people, they don’t. They’re always trying to do two jobs at once with half the care and half the thanks.

Lastly, was the smell.

It hits her as a wall when Suki pulls back the curtain: urine and sweat in equal measure, the scent of a body unwashed and bedding unchanged. The stench of the sick, Anda called it, always accompanied by a sniff and the quivering of his cane. He never stayed long in rooms like these; blood he could handle aplenty, but these long, wasting illnesses-- they left him shaking in the night, calling out wordlessly for a comfort she’d never been able to give.

Herr Bauer hardly resembles himself; gone is the fleshy man who stood at Shou’s counter, letting his granddaughter count out pennies. Skin hangs off his bones, wrinkled and yellowed like old parchment. He doesn’t even stir as she enters, his snore thin and wheezing as she comes to her knees.

His skin is papery when she takes his wrist in her hands, counting heartbeats. “How long has he been like this?”

“Days now,” Gen grunts, scowl scouring brackets around his mouth. Suki’s a friendly girl, she always has been, but her husband’s only gotten sourer with each daughter. He’d keep those lines one day, just as his father had, and never lose them no matter what joy he found.

If he ever found some. Shirayuki can’t help but think it unlikely, the way he glowers. “Can’t get up, barely eats. Says nothing tastes right, even though Suki makes everything the way she always does.”

She frowns, letting his arm settle back on the pallet. Herr Bauer huffs, shifting restlessly, and turns his back to her. His undershirt sticks there, the thin fabric clinging like a second skin, nearly translucent stretched across his back. A gnarled hand reaches back, itching absently at his shoulder blade, and there--

“Hah.” Shirayuki squints, leaning closer, making out a patchwork of thin lines, pink and raised though not quite angry yet. They would be, given time. “Has he been scratching at himself more?”

There’s been more than a few nights in these past years where Shirayuki has spent the night on this very floor-- first to bring Suki’s daughters into this world, and second to keep them there, when croup struck the quarter hard this past winter. And even still, Gen’s never quite warmed to her, never quite believed her to be Anda’s equal once he stopped following her on her rounds.

And it’s all the more apparent now when he looks at her, flat as a sheet and twice as coarse. “All old men scratch themselves.”

Anda may say taking care of the sick is work, but between the two, taking care of the well is harder. It takes a deep breath and a determined cheerfulness for her to answer, “I meant, is he scratching himself more? Complaining of discomfort, maybe?”

It’s consternation that fouls up his brow, impatience that makes his mouth rumple into that scowl. “Just going on about his joints, the way he always does. Nothin’ special.”

“Well now, just the other day he’d been saying his ribs hurt,” Suki offers, coming in with a handful of cloths, wrinkled but laundered. It’s not something Shirayuki needs-- not yet anyway-- but it’s a kind gesture, one she takes with a soft smile and a grateful nod. “He asked me if a grandpa could have sympathy pains, since he--” she flushes, looking younger, almost like the girl Shirayuki remembers from the market square-- “well, he’d thought something must be kicking him from the inside, the way he was aching.”

Gen stares at his wife, all accusation. “He didn’t say anything to me!”

“That,” Suki informs him, real crisp, “is because you ain’t known for your listening.”

“Hey now--”

“Thank you.” Shirayuki pitches her voice loud enough to be heard, hoping it’s enough to stem the tide until she gets out the door. “That’s very helpful, Suki.”

She settles back on her heels, slicking away sweat with the back of her wrist. Gen barely allows her a breath before he presses, “So what is it? You got something he can take?”

“Ah...” Her teeth clack together, not quite gritted, but still on-edge. This is the part she likes least, especially with folks like Gen. “Maybe. Once I talk with Herr Anda, perhaps I could--”

“Oh to hells with that,” he huffs, arms folding over his chest. “Your opinion is just as good as that stubborn old fool’s, and you give it twice as fast.”

Shirayuki knows she could collect flies the way her mouth is hanging open, but she can’t help herself, not when her only thought is, but you’re not supposed to like me.

“Whatever you think is fine by me, Shirayuki.” He grunts, giving her the sort of nod men do when they think all the work is said and done, save for their say-so. “Just give it already. Can’t afford to have him under the weather when the girls need watching.”

Her smile pulls thin, held up by will instead of humor. “There’s plenty of things I could give, but there’s a chance they make it worse as well. Herr Anda is the expert, so I should really--”

Gen snorts. “Come on now, everyone knows you run that shop. Herr just sticks around for decoration. Give him what you think is best and be done with it.”

Her hands shake as she gets to her feet, cheeks hot and skin flushed, but her voice is even-- oh, so even-- when she says, “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Herr Bauer, but Anda is the one between us with the most experience, especially when it comes to--” she hesitates, shuffling through words-- “this sort of thing. I’d rather take my time and know I’m giving your father the right treatment, rather than rush and put him in more pain.”

The Bauers have never been small men, but even sitting Gen manages to loom over her, a dark cloud threatening a storm. Still, he doesn’t speak, doesn’t push; no, instead he sits there and-- and--

Shrinks.

“Gen,” she murmurs, resting a hand on his shoulder. It’s so much larger than she suspects, her hand the size of a child compared to him. “I know you’re worried for your father, but I promise, I’ll have an answer for you by morning.”

His brow furrows, the shadows growing on his face. “Do what you have to,” he tells her, gruff and displeased. “I just hope nothing happens to him while you do your waiting.”

On any other day, Gen’s worry would set her on the shortest path through the quarter; a simple trip down the hill with maybe a turn or two to send her the back alley ways, keeping her from hitting the market during the late afternoon rush. But today, today--

Is supposed to be her day off. Not that a physic ever really and truly gets a day off; there’s always the chance there will be measles and babies and broken bones-- a hundred emergencies, all guaranteed to cut a good time short. Or worse, a good night’s sleep.

But still, with Herr Anda manning the shop, the afternoon was supposed to be hers. And so when she comes to the crossroads, Shirayuki’s feet lead her down the longer path, the one that will take her round the river and over the quarter’s bridge. Might as well enjoy what little time she can eke out from the wreckage of her plans. Once she gets to the shop and gives her report to Anda, it’ll be a long time before she has any time so carefree as this. Not when all her own answers are so...unfortunate.

Her hands give both her cheeks a steadying slap. There’s no point in worrying like this, not when Anda’s the one who will make the call. He’s the one who’s seen these things before, the one who always has some tip, some trick to see her through her worst storms. And yet, yet--

Cleverness can’t fix everything. He’d told her that, not more than a year past now, when Herr Kino died from the cough that’d been going around that winter. We all have our own time. All we do is stall the inevitable, and sometimes it takes.

Shirayuki purses her lips, fingers knitting in her skirt. That’s not what she wants to do, to just...stall for time and set her hopes on the odds. But that room hadn’t just smelled of normal sickness; there was a sweetness beneath it, something far too close to rot for her comfort.

There’s no reason to keep thinking about it, not when she’s already made up her mind, but still, she worries at it, the way a dog does a bone. It’s easy to question herself like this, alone with only her footsteps for company. With one stride she’s certain, and the next she falters, over and over again, an endless argument she can never seem to close.

A terrible state to round the corner in, especially when it’s Obi she finds hunched over the bridge. He stares down at the river like if he does it hard enough, it might give him answers. She could use some of those herself, if only to find the right words to say to close the distance between them.

“Are you waiting for a golden fish?” she asks haltingly, her hands gripping her skirts to keep from shaking. “I hear they grant wishes, so long as you don’t ask for too much.”

His head rolls, chin tracing along his collarbone until he marks her from the corner of one sullen eye. “Is that so? I always heard they made good bones.”

Shirayuki approaches him slowly, one step at a time, the wood grain worn smooth from a thousand hands as she lays her arms on top of it. There’s no hunching for her, but their elbows brush, the way they often would. For a moment, it all feels like it’ll be all right. “Why are the magical creatures always eaten in the stories you tell?”

She means to rib him, the way he’s so fond of teasing her, but when he laughs, there’s no humor in it. “Because where I come from, there’s nothing we do better than ruin a good thing.”

It would be easy to speak, to tell him that there’s nothing ruined, that nothing between them could ever be ruined, not by something so silly as Rina Kramer and her ridiculous ribbons. It’s always been her firm opinion that it’s none of her business who he walks out with; what she even knew came third- or fourth-hand, rumors bandied about by the old gossips when they came to roost at the kitchen window, looking to Oma for a good cup of tea and some hospitality. They all would smile behind their hands, talking louder when she walked through the kitchen, as if they could get a rise out of her with just a bunch of names and speculation. But she’s always known just where she stood with Obi; he could roll the whole town, but it was at Oma’s table he sat when she came through the door, her window he knocked on whenever she had a day free. But now, now--

Nothing is ruined, but the girls he’d stepped out with before had all been his age-- older, in a lot of cases, especially once word got around he knew how to kiss, and then later, that he knew what came after. And that all had made sense to her; it wasn’t like he could think of

her

like that, not young as she was. But Rina Kramer used to sit in front of her in the school room, those long ribbons spilling over her slate, obscuring her copy work until Rina deigned to flip her hair. She’d only been one year ahead of Shirayuki, the best speller in the class, her hair always tied up in the most complicated twists and braids, the sort Oma could never do with her aging hands.

Fancy

, the boys had called her, and she’d looked it, clean and bright and perfect.

Shion Bauer sat in another row; the boys had picked on her for her big eyes-- cow eyes, they’d laughed, big and wet and stupid-- but in that year before they’d gone to apprentice, cow eyes turned alluring, all dark and dewy and fringed with thick black lashes. She’d stayed on in the school room, meaning to be the next mistress when Herr Hoffmann retired to the country with his daughter. A threat he’s yet to make good on, but Shion’s kept on as an assistant of sorts-- she’d only been two years her elder, but Shirayuki still remembers how Shion smelled like sweet grass when she bent over her shoulder, showing her how to long divide.

She’s never wanted to be one of the girls he made time with behind stockroom shelves or in empty hay lofts, but that he’s letting their time bleed into her time...

It feels pointed, is all.

“I heard your day got cut short.” Obi’s got big hands, long and callused on the mounts, and one of them lifts, rubbing at his shoulder. The bad one, though as far as Anda’s concerned it healed right, even if something about Obi didn’t. “Got stuck going ‘round to Gen’s place, huh?”

She nods, small and tight. “Herr Bauer’s taken down with something. Suki thought I might come take a look.”

Obi cranes his neck, leaning close enough that she can see every thread of color running through the gold of his eyes, green and brown and black all together. His mouth twitches, but there’s no humor in that, either. “That bad, huh?”

“Ah, no, it’s not...bad.” The lie would be more convincing if she didn’t flinch telling it; as it is, Obi only grows curious, one eyebrow inching up his forehead. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be something bad. I’m probably just seeing shadows in sunshine today.”

His gaze skitters back to the river, his hands balled to to fists to the rail. “Wonder why.”

It’s little more than a breath, but Shirayuki still hears the words sagging, dragged down by the reproach he lades them with. Not for her, but for himself, laying blame on his back like a carter might his mule. If she gives him half the chance, he might even whip himself like one too, for not carrying it well or silently enough.

It’s hard to speak when she’s so aware of him, when she can account for every inch of space between their bodies. It’s usually so easy to stand beside him, her body and his fitting shoulder-to-shoulder like lock and key, but today she’s all knees and elbows, practically blurting out, “How did you hear, anyway? I thought only--”

Her teeth clack shut, painfully hard. Only Pavo knew, because Pavo had been there, his shirt half open and his-- his particulars half-hard as well. Because she-- because he--

“Pavo told me.”

For the first time in her life, Shirayuki truly understands how a palpitation could stop a heart. “W-what?”

“After I got myself-- er...” Obi coughs into his shoulder, the tip of his ear a painful red against his black bristle. “I thought I might head up to the pond, see if I couldn’t catch up with you. But I met Pavo on the way.”

Her palms prickle, fingers stiff where they clench the rail. It’s impossible that Pavo could have said something-- that he would have. Not after that first summer, when Obi spent more of his waking hours being her shadow than in the shop, glaring at him every time he passed. They might have become fast friends after harvest, but if he took up with all that love making mess as he always did--

“You’re going to ask Anda about it?”

She nearly jumps clear over the rail, only her white knuckles keeping her on the dry side. “A-about what?”

He blinks real slow, the way Pavo does when she talks about tinctures. “About Herr Bauer.”

There’s something in the way he says it, the smallest hint of incredulity wrapped in resignation, that gets her hackles up. Her heels clack as she pushes away from the rail, loud in the air between them. “Of course. He’s my mentor, why wouldn’t I want to ask his--?”

“Hey now.” Obi holds up his hands, eyes wide behind them. “I don’t think there’s any reason for you to be getting sand in your craw over that, Miss. I was just asking. Simple curiosity.”

She deflates, the fight going right out of her sails. “Ah, I’m sorry, Obi. It’s just...Gen asked the same thing.” The derision on his mouth fouls up her own just thinking about it. “He clearly thought I shouldn’t need to.”

“But you don’t, do you?” Obi doesn’t so much walk away but unfurl, each piece of him peeling away from the rail until his warmth radiates in the space between them. “You pretty much run the place, I think Anda wouldn’t mind if--”

“That’s not true.” The words rush from her too loud, too desperate, and she turns that energy into forward motion, setting a brisk pace toward the market. “I may do most of the rounds, but that’s only because it’s better for him to not put so much pressure on...”

His leg. The injury from the war, the one he’s never deigned to let her look at, no matter how bad his hobble. The same one that keeps him up at night, moaning a hundred names into the dark. He may pretend as much as he likes in the morning, but Shirayuki can see the bruises that bleed onto his cheekbones and the darkness in his eyes.

“I don’t know why Suki came to me when Anda was still at the shop.” There are places where her chemise sticks to her skin, damp with sweat, and yet her arms still wrap tight around her, as if that might stop her sudden chill. “If she’d gotten him, he would have been gone and done in half the time, leg or no.”

It’s unfair how much length these past few summers have given Obi; no matter how quick her steps, he keeps pace, not hurried in the slightest. Her breath huffs, but his is steady, unstressed, even when he says. “You know, people like you quite a bit. A lot better than they like Anda.”

“That’s--” unfortunately, undoubtedly true, and he’s earned every bit of it. She gnaws at her lip, a strange restlessness rushing up her legs and tickling her palms. As if she has too much limb and not enough to do with them.

“Well,” she tries again, slowing enough so that her breath doesn’t come faster than her words. “I suppose between the two of us, you could say I have the better bedside manner.”

Obi snorts. “It’s more than that. Anda’s been taking a step back the last year or two, letting you take on most of the work, especially outside the shop. You’re the face everyone sees, and it’s a nicer one than the old man ever showed them.”

“You know his leg bothers him,” she snaps, defensive. “He can’t be going around town all day on it, letting it get--”

“Hey, hey.” His shoulder bumps hers-- or rather, his arm does, luring her right into his grin. “I know Anda’s a spry old fart, and if you let him I’m sure he’d be all hither and yon, but I’m just saying...maybe he’s getting ready to pass on the torch. Not like he doesn’t know that leg of his gets worse by the day.”

More like ‘gets worse depending on the day;’ some mornings he’s hopping around the storeroom, giving her enough guff to tip the scales of her patience, and on others he can hardly rouse from his bed. But that’s not what captures her attention, oh no.

“Pass the torch?” She blinks. “He’s hardly fifty, Obi. He can’t possibly be thinking...”

Herr Hoffmann had hardly been older when he started making noise about moving to the country, and Opa-- ah, well Opa would have traded in his bar cloth for a fishing rod long ago, were her father still alive. Only this morning he’d complained about a creaking back, about how this heat always did in his knees, and maybe wouldn’t she go and find herself a nice man today who knew a good draft when he drank it. She’d laughed, and Oma had crowed, you got a few good years left in you yet, my love, but still--

“Do you think he’s found someone then?” There hasn’t been anyone new past the shop lately, but Anda had always been a private man; she wouldn’t put it past him to keep correspondence to simply letters until it was time. “Maybe there’s someone from the palace...?”

“Found someone? From the palace?” Obi blusters through a laugh, eyes crinkled at the corners. It’s strange how much she wants to touch them, to feel the physicality of his joy, but instead she just curls her hands in her skirt and looks away. “Of course he’s found someone, half pint. You.”

She blinks. “M-me?”

“Yes, you.” His mouth twitches even as he tries to hold it steady, that spark of mischief in his eyes. “You know, his apprentice?”

“Ah, but that’s-- that’s not right.” She shakes her head, trying to loose the knot in her throat. “I’m not-- I’m no trained physician, not like Anda is. I can’t possibly-- he wouldn’t--”

“Why not?” Obi’s head cocks like a crow’s, curious and sharp. “He’s the one training you, isn’t he? Most of the quarters out there make do with some half-taught healer, and some are lucky enough to get an herbalist with even a handful of schooling. Even if you never see the inside of one of those academies, you’re twice the doctor any of them will ever be.”

But she could be better. Without formal schooling, she’d never be as good as Anda, and to leave the quarter with less than it started, to be the reason some of these folk died when they could have lived--

“He wouldn’t-- he couldn’t leave the shop to me,” she insists, nails digging into cotton. “I’m not ready. This isn’t like-- like you and Shou. I can’t just inherit the shop, I’d have to be--”

“Woah, woah.” Fear sits stark on Obi’s face, his eyes so wide she can see the white around them. “I’m not the one inheriting anything. That’s for whatever’s in Seyha’s belly. I’m just...extra hands.”

In the fading sun, the bakery’s window glimmers. Not in the way treasure does in Oma’s stories, but the way the air wavers before the ovens, too hot and just right all in one. Like it had that night when Obi pressed his nose to the glass, eyes so wide they could have been stomachs themselves. He’d watched Shou pull loaves from the oven so hard it was as if he could devour them with his eyes alone, filling what was empty in him.

And Shou had seen him there, a creature more gaping mouth than boy, and understood. The same way he did now, standing at the door of his shop, great head sweeping from one end of the street to another, the furrow in his brow knotting tighter with each body that passed him by. It’s impossible to guess how long he’s been there, sweat beading at his brow and eyes squinted against the sun, but it’s her eyes he meets when they turn the corner, his shoulder easing back down to his collar.

Her hand lifts, a smile ready, but he turns before she can get higher than her waist, stepping inside without a glance back. Extra hands indeed.

“Obi,” she starts, bracing herself as they idle in front of Anda’s door. “I think--”

“IF YOU EVER LEARNED TO OPEN YOUR EARS, EVEN ONCE, MAYBE YOU MIGHT--”

Her teeth grit down, thoughts all in a jumble, and it’s Obi who sighs, “Is that my place, or yours?”

“Ah...” Her fingers tighten on the door. “I think it might be--?”

Her weight pushes the glass the slightest bit ajar, and-- “I DON’T RECALL MAKING PROMISES ABOUT ANY SUCH THING, YOU--”

“Hah.” Obi shakes his head, the tension in his body dropping like leaves in the breeze. “Well, have fun with that.”

“What?” Shirayuki reaches out, trying to grasp a sleeve, a belt loop-- anything that might keep him planted here, next to her. “You can’t just leave me alone to--!”

“Can--” he plucks her one lucky catch from his sleeve, giving her fingers a squeeze before he slithers free-- “and will. Have a nice night there, kid.”

It does no good to glare at his back; oh no, that just puts a spring in his step and whistle on his lips for good measure. But there’s nothing else she can do, not unless she means to go inside, and well...

Shirayuki winces, easing the door open. Obi may make slink seem like a word applicable to more than just cats, but she could walk as quiet as she liked and still Anda would call out from the back, as if she made no effort at all. So when Shirayuki enters the apothecary, it’s with the heavy air of a criminal at the block, braced for the blade.

It’s silent inside; not the quiet of an empty room, but of a whole house catching its breath, caught between words. She barely has time to catch her own before there’s the telltale clink of a cane against the floor, a sound that only abates when Anda emerges from the storeroom, flushed and hunted, his hands thrown into the air. “Can I not get a moment’s rest in my own home, woman? Or will I need to hobble to the privy to get some peace and quiet?”

For a moment, Shirayuki could believe he means her-- almost, since Seyha emerges from the dim behind him, eyes blazing and hot on his trail, despite her belly. “You were never such a fool as--”

Her long fingers reach out, snagging his sleeve, but he pulls away, whip-quick. That injury might slow his steps, but the rest of him is sharp, turning like a blade as she reaches out again, determination honing her already cat-like reflexes. Fingertips brush his sleeve--

And then snatch back, Seyha’s mouth and eyes going wide as she catches Shirayuki’s gaze over his shoulder. “Finally, Shirayuki-ya!” she gasps, eyes rolling heavenward. “Maybe you can talk some sense at him. He certainly won’t hear it from me!”

Her skirts sweep past him, moving toward the door with all the dignity-- and offense-- of a queen. One with a bit of a waddle now, but somehow it doesn’t detract from the effect.

“You have to have sense to give it,” Anda snipes at her back. “And gods above and hells below know you weren’t given the same considerations as an ass!”

The noise Seyha unleashes from her throat isn’t so much a rumble as an earthquake, shaking Shirayuki right down to her toes. But she doesn’t turn, not one inch, her spine painfully straight as she replies, “Well, you would be the expert on asses, now wouldn’t you?”

The sign on the door clatters as it shuts, leaving Shirayuki alone with its echo.

“Finally,” Anda mutters, looking less pleased and more peeved to see the back of her. “Quiet.”

Shirayuki means to speak-- her mouth hangs open and everything, breath caught up in her throat-- but the door flies open, and oh, how Anda’s face lights. “This isn’t over, you know.”

“Of course not, you harpy!” His hand raises, like her neck sits in the space between his fingers, and clenches shut. “The only thing that could free me of your nagging is the sweet release of death!”

“HA!” One of her fingers snakes out, waggling. “You wish it would be that easy!”

There’s a quirk to Anda’s lips as they open, the sign of a particularly creative bit of nastiness behind his teeth, but the door slams before he can deliver it. It fouls up his mouth instead, rumpling like a piece of paper in the bin.

Shirayuki gives a quick look to the sign, still set to OPEN. “Do you want me to--?”

“Do not.” Anda holds up one trembling finger. “Get involved, girl.”

“Ah, I...wasn’t.” It’s a strain to smile, letting her head jerk toward the door. “I only thought...the sign?”

“Ah...” He clears his throat. “Right. Go ahead then. Don’t need anyone else sticking their nose into my business either.”

Shirayuki hardly needs to be told twice; it’s a relief to put her back to him, to be able to avoid getting in the middle of whatever muddle the two of them have gotten themselves into. So much so that she takes the time to flip the lock too, letting herself have an extra breath--

“You know,” Anda grouses, hobbling to the counter. “I thought she had married Herr Beck, and yet somehow she’s over here every day nagging me, as if I’m the one she shackled at the altar.”

--and sighs. So much for that, then. “You know that Seyha--”

“I said,” Anda snaps like a pulled shade, “do not get involved.”

It would be rude to tell him that she learned long ago not to put herself between their barbs, not unless she wanted to feel twice the sting. Instead she busies herself with straightening the counter-- a chore Anda only bothers with if it’s custom making the mess, not the proprietor-- letting a strained silence settle before she tries, “Meister--”

He eyes her over the till, warning heavy in every glance. “What did I just say?”

Her hands wave, trying to clear the air between the, “Ah, it’s not about Sey-- that. It’s about Herr Bauer.”

“Herr Bauer?” He blinks, cane tapping idly on the floor. “Is that boy giving you guff again about knowing more about his staff than he does? He couldn’t find the tail on a pig, let alone--”

“Ah, no, Gen is--” stubborn as a mule and twice as unpleasant-- “not the problem. I meant his father.”

Anda’s brow furrows. “Goro? Didn’t I see him only a few days ago, right over at the bakery? Seemed fine, from what I saw.”

Shirayuki takes a deep breath, setting her hands flat on the counter, as if that might somehow keep her steady. “Unfortunately, that’s no longer the case.”

For what felt like a saga’s worth of an afternoon, it hardly takes any time at all to give Anda both the broad strokes and gritty details of Herr Bauer’s condition. Through it all, he’s silent, a steady presence across the counter even if his mouth tightens as she comes to the end. “And what do you think?”

“It’s his liver.” It surprises her how firm she speaks, how authoritative. The way Anda is on a visit, once the door closes behind him. “Hepatitis, maybe. Or...another ailment, perhaps. But I worry...”

He waves at her, quick and impatient, urging the words out of her. “Well?”

“He’s never shown much sign of it before, has he?” Her teeth worry at her lip, wishing there was some loose skin to gnaw on, if only to give her something to do. “And he’s not much of drinker, considering.”

“Considering how a good half of his lot imbibe like fish?” Anda lets out a harsh hah. “Not saying much. Still, you’ll see stranger things on a job like this. I can teach you all the best knowledge the king’s college has to offer, but at the end of the day, sometimes all you have is your gut.”

“That’s a poor substitute for education.” Shirayuki shakes her head, ponytail sweeping over her spine. “Didn’t you always tell me that more mistakes were made by men who thought they knew better than the ones who came before them?”

Anda grunts, running his hand through the peppered thicket of his hair. “We all reach a point where the learning gives out, and we have to fall back on what feels right. You have to trust yourself.” A warm weight perches on her shoulder, tentative yet firm, and it takes a moment of her fully staring down, right at the callused fingers clutched there, to realize it was Anda touching her. “Especially you, girl. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, sure enough, but you’ve got even better instinct. That can make the difference between a patient and a corpse.”

“A-ah...” It’s a point she’d argue if it came from any other mouth, but Anda is hardly in the practice of giving advice he hasn’t earned the hard way-- or compliments. “I suppose...if you say so...”

“I do. Shirayuki...” He sighs, letting his hand fall back to his side with a shake. “How are you going to run this place if you have to come talk to an old man every time it gets hard.”

Shirayuki stares. “Run...?”

“Don’t get any fool ideas, girl,” he sniffs, waving her off. “Not any time soon. You’re nowhere near ready. But one day you won’t have me over your shoulder, giving you all the answers. Don’t forget that.”

“I...” She licks her lips, only to find her mouth is incredibly, impossibly dry. “I won’t.”

He grunts, giving her a firm nod before he hobbles past. “Good. Now go off and get what you need for Herr Bauer. No need to keep that man in pain now that you have your plan.”

“Ah, right!” His nod goads her into action, scurrying behind the counter. She shuffles at the stockroom door, almost unsure of what to do with herself. “I’ll get it ready now and drop it off first thing in the morning.”

“Good enough.” Anda hesitates on the first stair to his loft, looking back to tell her, “You can stay here tonight, if you like. It’ll take a while to brew up that tincture, and there’s no need for you to go all the way home in the dark. The Bauer place is closer here anyway.”

Maybe by a few steps, but Shirayuki knows better than to look Anda’s charity in the mouth, at least for too long. “Right. I’ll-- I’ll do my best.”

His mouth may not move more than it takes to open it, but his eyes crinkle at the corners.“That’s all I could ask.”

She turns back to the stockroom, taking in a deep breath of mint and nettle--

“Eh, hold up there, girl.” A stair creaks under Anda’s weight as he shifts around to look at her. “Didn’t I give you the day off? How is it that Suki Bauer even found you out on that lake?”

“Ah...” It’s terrible to be caught like this, pinned by her master’s gaze like a specimen to a board. “Er...”

Anda lets out a huff, chest puffing up as proud and as red as a robin’s. “That boy didn’t stand you up again, did he? I should go right on over there and give him a piece of my mind. That woman’s giving him too free a rein if he thinks he can waste your time--”

Ah. She slumps against the jamb. So much for keeping out of their scuffle.

It’s just as Anda said: by the time she’s done measuring and grinding and sifting and brewing, the moon’s already gone behind the rooftops, casting the cobbles in forbidding shadows. There’s no reason she couldn’t go home; there’s hardly any safer streets for her than these, but still-- she collapses into the spare cot before she can do much more than take off her stays, dropping into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

When she wakes, it’s with a shake, Anda’s sour expression hovering above her.

“Get up, girl.” His voice is rough from sleep, burred and bleary. “Your friend is here.”

She blinks, rubbing sleep from her eyelids. “O-obi?”

His mouth puckers. “No, not him. The cow who’s always in here having another girl.”

That gets her upright. “Suki? Is it Herr Bauer? Is he worse?”

“No.” He rises from her bedside, cane clomping across the floorboards. “It’s her husband. Seems he’s fallen ill too.”

“O-oh.” Her stomach churns, but there’s no time for regrets, not when there’s work yet to be done. “Tell her...tell her I’ll be right there.”

#obiyukibingo22 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #free space #neighbors au #all pain will turn to medicine #my fic #ans #warnings for: mention of PTSD and illness #we are finally starting to get into the meat of this arc #i'm hoping to have basically about a chapter a month out #with probably a small break in october #since i don't think i could write something this long so soon after obiyukiweek #and i have other things to post that month!#but i don't want to linger too long on any of these chapters without answered #because as we go on it's gonna be...distressing

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