cops are searching the place right now.” Jensen sighed, pacing back and forth
in his apartment. He was on the phone with Clif and constantly looking at you.
You sat on the couch and stared off into the distance, not saying a word since
he found you in your living room. You heard the knock on the door and turned
your head toward it, but remained seated, not answering it. “They’re here now.”
Jensen said, hanging up the phone and answering the door.
Ackles?” The man asked. “Detective Robbins. May I come in?”
Yeah.” Jensen opened the door wider and let the detective inside. He headed to
you on the couch, taking a seat next to you.
must be Y/N.” He said. You nodded without looking at him and Jensen was at your
side in an instant. “Can you tell me what happened today?” You shook your head
and your whole body started to shake again until Jensen grabbed your hand and
squeezed, grounding you.
[ReaderReplacement Key: “Moira” - Your first name, “Dehaan” - Your last name]
Cassian found the compound as promised, well camouflaged
into the forest. It was a small, circular building that looked long unoccupied,
but still well kept. As he rounded it, he came into another clearing, though
much less vast than the one earlier. It housed several quaint adobes - almost
enough to make up a little neighborhood. His scans, however, read negative for
life in the area. It seemed those days had long passed.
Walking into the home was almost like walking into an interior
design advert. The home boasted everything from paintings and statues to purely
decorative furniture. Even the furniture that looked useable seemed unlived in.
Each item was meticulously placed and balanced to offset another piece or angle
in the room. And, the most prominent of all decorations, were the photographs.
Dozens of them filled the empty spaces on the walls, tables, and surfaces - almost abrasively, he thought.
Cassian set down his things by the door and delved deeper
into the house, feeling himself pulled in by a photograph on the far wall; a
large print, set deep in an elegant silver frame. In the middle of the photo
was Moira, still a child. She stood between a woman and man, smile wide and
unadulterated, barely tall enough to breach their waists. The man, who he
assumed was her father, was proudly holding a bushel of wood berries while her
mother stood mid-laugh beside him, thick dark curls framing her face.
Below the large frame, sat what looked like the most recent
of mountings - Moira’s formal Academy photo. He heaved a sigh as he looked at
her, the girl pictured still so bright-eyed and fresh faced. She hadn’t changed
much since then - at least not physically. The gleam in her eye was still the
same, if not a bit more weathered.
His stomach squeezed again, as the unusual feeling of guilt
relapsed within him. He tried to push it away, to reassure himself of his job,
but it was hard when it was so clear to him that she was good natured - kind, intelligent, and positive, if not a bit frivolous. And Cassian couldn’t
help but feel a certain shame for the invasiveness of his mission, for even
leaning into the inclination that she was anything less than righteous
about the Resistance. A sneaking bite of regret reminded him of his efforts to
manipulate her so quickly after convincing her to trust him. Cassian knew he
did not have the same good nature as her. And perhaps that was what made him
so desperate to preserve hers.
Cassian turned away from the photos, disheartened and a bit ashamed. He crossed back to his bag
to pull out the holopad with the intention of continuing his work until Moira decided to stop playing hide and seek. But when he looked back up, he
found himself eye level with a rather familiar looking little droid, though it
looked much cleaner than the last time he’d seen it rolling around the base.
Beside the droid sat Moira, maybe in her early-teens. She still wore a smile,
but this time with a certain sadness that he had yet to see. And, next to
Moira, was unmistakably a younger Poe Dameron. He smiled widely, one arm around
Moira’s waist, pulling her close - his hair was shorter and face less engraved
with lines than Cassian recognized him to be now. He wore the same New Republic
uniform that it seemed Moira would don years later. Cassian gently dragged his
fingers over it, consumed by his curiosity. The photo caught on his skin,
dislodging itself from the frame and into his hand. He looked down at it,
surprised, and flipped it over to find a hand written note.
‘24 ABY. Poe heading back to the Academy. Kissed Moira on
the cheek before he left. She cried for two days. She misses him terribly.’
Cassian backed away from the wall, setting down the photo on
the nearest ledge. He suddenly felt all too close to it. So unexpectedly deep
in her life without permission, without preparation. His eyes found their way
to more and more photos of her, many with Poe, many with her family, and many
of just a young, bright faced girl.
“Damn it,” Cassian muttered, breath catching in
his teeth. He grabbed his blaster and took off out of the house.
“They’re testing me. And I understand why. I get, why.
I just wish they would tell it to me straight, you know? Sit me down and talk
to me instead of whispering in secret as if everyone doesn’t know what I can
do.” Moira shook her head. “It’s so frustrating. This sort of thing,
it’s just been chasing me everywhere. People lying to me or sugar coating
things or giving me half truths. I hate it.”
An incoming breeze rearranged the scattered leaves on her
parents’ grave stone as darkness began to loom overhead. Moira ran her hand
over the cool marble, fingers gliding through the ridges of their names with a
“I just want the truth,” she murmured.
“Be careful what you wish for.”
She turned to see Cassian slowly stepping towards her
through a dense collection of trees. What little light was left outside caught
on his cheek bones, casting shadows over the hollows of his face.
“Cassian,” she breathed, obviously surprised to
He motioned to a spot beside her. “May I?”
Moira nodded at him, expression both curious and cautious.
Cassian sat down on the ground, resting his arms around his
knees and gripping his wrists. He looked up at the gigantic oak tree that stood
behind the grave, its long branches hugging the area around them in shadow.
“You and Commander Dameron. You’ve known each other for a long time.”
“I’m guessing you found your way into my mother’s
shrine alright then?”
“I’ve known Poe for as long as I can remember. His
family lived close and our parents were good friends. I grew up
playing sidekick to him. Even though he was older than me, he never treated
me any worse for it. He always looked out for me and had my back. He’s the
only person left in my life who I can wholeheartedly trust. So, when you said
what you did…”
“I’m sorry, Moira.” Cassian told her, looking down
at the decaying leaves at his feet. “I was wrong to do that.”
She blinked at him, not exactly sure how to process an
apology from him. “It’s your mission, isn’t it?”
“Do you really want the truth?” He asked in
“I… Yeah. I do.” She responded, staring over at
Cassian let out a sigh. “Bare with me. As you know, after the Battle of Endor, the
Empire was in it’s death throes and doing anything to survive. Rumor was that
they were running a lot of panicked experiments - many of which eventually
became the seeds for the rise of the First Order. But a small number of them
were centered around the creation and manipulation of Force sensitive children. According to the files, many of those involved with
the projects, scientists and children alike, just… disappeared in those final
“You mean they were killed.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It was a chaotic time, people were
defecting left and right. A lot of people just slipped through the cracks. It
would not have been hard for someone to do so, and take one of those kids with them.
"So… what? You’re telling me
is that they think I’m one of those children? That that’s how my parent’s got
“The timeline fits. You’re the right age. And the
abilities you’ve demonstrated match up with what the desired outcome of the
experiment would have been.
Moira sat silently, mulling it over in her mind.
"It’s just a theory,” he told her. “Whether
or not you are, my mission is to get a read on you and your power if I can. That’s it. The
General, was adamant about not pushing you to do anything.”
“Yet you thought you’d try
anyways,” Moira quipped.
His mouth dangled open for a moment. “I…”
“I’m just kidding,” she told him with a light chuckle, reaching out and pushing him gently. “But really, Cassian, thank you.”
He nodded, returning his attention back the great oak tree before
them. Another breeze wafted through, sending waves through their hair as they
sat side by side in silence. The tree quivered, sending, more leaves
falling upon the cold stone plaque between them.
"Your parents… how old were you when they passed?” Cassian
“Older than most,” she replied, glancing down at the grave. “Nineteen.”
“Still too young.”
"Do you still have yours?” Moira asked,
looking over at him.
"No,” he replied casually. “They’ve been gone
since I was six.”
Moira frowned, her heart aching at the thought of such a
child so young losing their entire world. “I’m sorry. That’s awful.”
He looked at her and shook his head. “People always say
that to me. They think that because I was so young, it must have been so awful.
And maybe it was. But they died so early that I’ve lived my whole life without
them. It’s hard to miss a family I have no memories of. I learned how to
live without needing anyone else.”
“That’s sad,” she murmured, not monitoring the bluntness of her response.
Cassian raised his eyebrows at her, lips pursed.
She turned away, thinly veiling the blush on her cheeks.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, you’re right,” he admitted. “It is. But
you, had a real relationship with your parents. You had them with
you into your adult life. You made memories with them, made real connections
with them. Truly learned to love them, to appreciate them. And then you had to
lose them. I cannot imagine what that was like.”
A sob involuntarily caught in Moira’s throat. She had no
desire to be so suddenly emotional, so weak in front of a man she had known for
barely a day. Yet, there she sat with him, trying to keep it together as tears
began to spill from her eyes. She had cried so many times before, so many times by
herself. But something about having someone else say that to her, something
about him saying it, just pushed her over the edge.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to
Moira wiped at her face with the fabric of the poncho.
“No, it’s fine. I’m just a baby, remember, like you said? A big baby 'obviously lacking
the cunning and prowess necessary needed’ to just keep it together.”
He looked at her for a moment, processing her words And then Cassian was legitimately laughing. Not his usual shallow chuckle, but
a laugh that was genuine and warm. And he smiled too. This smile was one that
brought out the dimples in his cheeks and made his eyes crinkle and gave way to
a sincere expression of joy.
Moira hadn’t seen something so beautiful in a long time.
“You. I don’t understand you at all,” he managed,
regaining his composure. “One second you’re crying and the next you’re
She smiled at him mischievously, hints of tear trails still
on her cheeks. “I think we both have a lot to learn about each other, Captain Andor.”
Cassian smirked back. “I think you might be right, Lieutenant.”
Since we were on the subject of how awesome Mikleo is, let’s talk about how in one skit he deconstructs THE HISTORY OF THE ROYAL FAMILY OF ROLANCE
He does this entirely on his own, but I can’t figure out where he got his information or found the time to do it because this is right after all the trial shrines but before we get back to Pendrago and shit goes down. So the party has been nothing but busy and they’ve honestly barely been in any Rolance cities that much to be honest YET HE STILL MANAGED TO MAKE THIS THING ANYWAY OUT OF THE GOODNESS OF HIS HEART. Also because he’s worried about Rose.
And to top it off, Mikleo and Sorey aren’t from Rolance, so he had to be starting mostly from scratch? Like bits and pieces might be in the Celestial Record, but this is mostly about the current line of succession, and I doubt the princes had died by then or that all this political drama was occurring prior to Michael isolating himself in Camlann.
Basically my point is Mikleo somewhere along the line finds enough information to create this family tree and form solid, analytical opinions on it, and I’d really enjoy reading any book he writes because that means his researching abilities are top notch.
While writing Flat Dreams, there were a lot of scenes and snippes I had in mind that never made it into the fic. A few did as interludes, but most were scrapped. I figured it might be fun to post some as I write them anyway, so here you go. Click here to read all those written so far. I’ll use Flat World as a title for bits set before Bill got his powers and took over his dimension; Flat Minds for anything set after that.
(Also, I am open to prompts and stuff because why the hell not. So, if you’ve got any, just drop me an ask!)
One year today.
The realization hit Ford while he was staring at the calendar for entirely unrelated reasons - trying to figure out when the next new moon would be, for science - but once it did, lycanthropy was firmly pushed out of his mind.
Had it truly been a year - a year already - since his muse had found his way to him? It felt like it couldn’t possibly be more than two or three months at the very most. Each day had been so filled with wonders, so many things to learn and see and a guide to help him through it all, that time had simply flown by.
And there he was, a year later, having come such a long way and with so much yet to do.
Because of Bill. I had hit a dead end. Where would my research be now if it wasn’t for him? Where would I be?
Stanford Pines glanced at the small shrine he had put together for Bill. He knew many might find it… somewhat excessive, but it still came nowhere close to expressing exactly how grateful he was that a creature of infinite knowledge would find him - him of all humankind - worthy of sharing that knowledge with.
One year tomorrow. The best of my life, and what do I have to give back?
She thinks it’s embarrassing, tries to play the whole thing down when he finds them one afternoon. She’d been trying to get through one last pile of paperwork before giving up for the day and succumbing to her husband’s advances - extremely distracting advances, it’s a wonder she’d been able to get anything done at all today with the way he’d been touching her, teasing her as she’d tried to work - and so, bored of waiting, Robin had decided to entertain himself with a book from her vast collection. She’d expected him to simply choose one at eye-level and skim through for a little while until she was done but as she turns to find him kneeling beside the bottom right corner of the bookcase that spans the entire wall and she hears his curious “what are these?” she knows he’s found them.
It’s not so much a hobby of hers but merely a way she’s always used to capture and collect memories and those things most important to her. She scrapbooks.
There are three, currently. Three large, thick brown scrapbooks with parchment paper that are filled with pictures, sketches and momentos. He pulls all three out onto the floor and looks up at her with those beautifully curious blue eyes when she touches a hand to his shoulder before she kneels beside him. The first she shows him is the first scrapbook she’d started not too long after she’d cast the curse. On the spine, in large cursive letters, is the word ‘Cooking’.
It’s filled with pages and pages of recipes she’d cut from magazines and taken from the internet, some she’s never cooked again since the first time and others that are old classics of hers, recipes she’d taken and tweaked to her liking and, looking at each entry with Robin beside her, she finds that her instructions move from cold and informative to rather warmer territory. “I’m guessing this is where Henry came into your life?” he asks when he finds more child-friendly dishes, annotated with various commentary such as “big hit!” or “NEVER COOK AGAIN.” and she laughs with him at those, remembering walls splattered with foods her little boy hadn’t liked at all.
“It is,” she nodded before turning more and more pages. There are smudged notes in parts, pages stained with ink blotched by her tears as she’d poured over her son’s favourite meals when he’d no longer been with her enough for her to cook them. Robin merely lifted an arm to wrap around her shoulders and pulled her a little closer to him without comment. Henry adored her now, he’d always loved her, that much he’d confessed a long time ago, but things were different now - better.
“And this,” she smirked as she came to the recipes a little more haphazardly glued in and written down, not as much care going into them as the others through lack of time, “is where you, Roland and our little Scarlett came into mine and Henry’s life.” They were recipes created in mind with more mouths to feed and more child-friendly than earlier on, desserts consisting of ice creams and chocolate sauces, sketches of smiley fruit and vibrant vegetables beside each recipe that had Robin smiling.
“I never knew you were so creative, my love.” He pressed a kiss to her hair, smiling when she let out a happy hum in response and they came to the last page. “Can I see more?”
She turned only her head to find him smiling at her, his eyes calm and kind and filled with an adoration she knew was present in her own. He wanted to know this part of her and, as she sat and thought about it, she wanted to share it with him to, her pride be damned. She nodded slowly, chuckling softly when he grinned and ducked his head enough to steal a tender kiss from her lips before he was turning excitedly to the next book, the spine decorated with the same elegant script though this time it read ‘Children.’
He placed his hand over the back of hers when she moved to open it, a gentle frown creasing his brow as he asked “plural?”
It took her a moment to understand before she looked down to the book, created firstly when she’d adopted Henry, and caught onto his confusion. Her cheeks flushed a gentle pink as she bit at her bottom lip nervously before confessing “I’ve always known that I was going to have more than just Henry,” her nerves settling at the return of his smile.
“You are precious,” he cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer to press a kiss to her forehead, releasing her and reveling in the beautiful smile that lit her features in response to his comment. She looked at him for a long moment more with pure joy on her features before she turned back to the book and opened it, revealing a picture of her tiny little boy asleep in his carry seat on the first afternoon she brought him back to Storybrooke with her. “It’s hard to think of him as ever being so small,” Robin chuckled softly, his palm rubbing up and down the expanse of her back on absentmindedly soothing patterns.
“I know,” Regina laughed with him, eyes moving from the picture to the empty square beside it. She touched the space inside, nostalgia creeping in.
“What was there?” Robin asked gently, a little smudge had been left behind by the sticky tape showing that something had been there and been taken away.
She smiled wistfully at the memory of it, the remembrance of lonely nights spent twirling it around her finger whenever Henry had shut her out. “His hospital bracelet,” the adoption agency had given it to her with Henry’s papers, something for her to keep, “I gave it to Emma about a year after she arrived here.” It had read ‘Henry Swan’, the memory of Emma’s tears of awe and love had been enough to confirm that she’d been doing the right thing in parting with it, in giving the blonde her own memento of Henry’s birth.
“I bet she loved it,” he mused with a fond smile and pride shining in his blue eyes, pride that she loved putting there.
She shrugged the moment off though he knew he’d managed to quell any more lingering regrets she might have had about giving the bracelet away, before she begun turning page after page. She’d made her own little list of Henry’s firsts; his first word, the date of his first steps, his first friend, his first lullabye etc. A page filled with the proof of Regina’s commitment and love for her son that had his heart glowing within his chest. That feeling only intensified when, after reaching Henry’s older years - it appeared she still updated the book every now and again and that just had him smiling all the more and endlessly curious as to when she found the time to do so, something she wouldn’t answer for him rather amusedly - the first picture she’d ever taken of Roland on her phone appeared on the page.
He chuckled on a gasp, the image of his boy smiling up at him and considerably smaller than what he was now absolutely heart-warming. Beside the picture was a box much like Henry’s only this one contained something else. “When did you get this? I didn’t see you?” he asked, turning to find her grinning down at the perfectly preserved lock of hair that had no doubt been picked up after Roland’s first haircut in this land.
“I have my ways,” she winked up at him before looking back down and continuing on. She didn’t have a list of Roland’s first steps or words but instead she had the first meal he’d ever claimed to love when they’d moved in with Regina, she had the date of his first lost tooth - the tooth itself in a small clear bag sellotaped into the book - and a wide variety of his other ‘first’s in this land.
“This is wonderful,” he gushed, the sentiment only reiterated when they moved onto a section for Scarlett, much like Henry’s, only ending with her first missing tooth - that also stuck in the book to keep forever.
She was blushing gently but thanked him before closing the book for their children and taking a deep breath before revealing the spine of the last book to him, the book labelled ‘ROBIN’.
His blue eyes found her, lips softly parted as he frowned gently at her. “I have a book?”
She was most nervous to show him this one for it was her own little shrine of sorts to all that he had brought into her life. “Of course you do,” she whispered on a small smile, “you are the most important and special thing in my life, save for our children.” and when he only continued looking at her quite dumbfoundedly, she continued “you are my best friend, my lover, my husband and my soul mate. You give me counsel when I ask for it and comfort even when I don’t know that I need it. You pulled me from the darkness and helped me to stay within the light. I love you,” she smiled with him, laughing wetly at the tears gathering in his eyes before shaking her head and chuckling “of course you have a book.”
His own head shook for a long moment as his eyes flicked between her own before he shifted forward enough to capture her lips with his own in a soft, slow and loving kiss, lingering long enough to draw a warm hum from her before he pulled back enough to whisper “can I see?” against her lips, giving her one more chaste kiss when she nodded and laughing when she followed for more as he pulled back.
She rolled her eyes at him, muttering “idiot,” before she was turning to the book once more. She was confused when he asked to wait for a second before he began moving, shifting behind her. Her confusion was only quelled when she felt legs move to bracket hers and his warm chest against her back. His arms draped around her waist and his chin fell to rest upon her shoulder. “Better?” she asked on a gentle laugh that only grew when he nodded against her and squeezed her closer. “Okay then.”
Regina took a few moments, just to lean against him and breathe him in, savouring the intimate moment between them before she took a deep breath and opened the book to reveal a picture of them that had first instilled hope within her bruised and battered heart - page 23. It had been crumpled, torn and damaged through their years of togetherness and separation combined but still it was in tact, much like themselves.
There were pages and pages of photographs - not many of their first years together with everything that had happened but much more from later, when things had finally settled around them - separated by collages of things she’d saved, little inconsequential things that only she could deem as important. There were movie stubs and receipts from the evenings he’d taken her out of town and to various places in the next town over, feathers that had fallen at their feet on outings, smooth pebbles from late night walks on the beach beside the sea, a wrapper from his favourite candy bar beside one of her own.
He took in each and every single element of their life together with tears in his eyes before he reached one of their wedding photos. Their backs were to the camera, their fingers entwined as they walked down the aisle. Henry had taken it from his place beneath the white wooden archway the Merry Men had created and adorned with cherry blossom for the marriage ceremony, their heads were turned towards one another’s, eyes locked and smiles unbelievably wide. They were the picture of happiness.
“These are beautiful, Regina” he told her once more, looking from the books still laid out in front of them to find her smiling shyly back at him, “truly stunning, I had no idea you did this.”
She shrugged one shoulder, trying to play the moment down as her eyes fell to the books and his lips fell to her shoulder, “I like looking at the life I made here, my life before and after you…I like knowing that I got here, I got to happiness in the end.”
Robin pressed another kiss to her shoulder, chuckling softly as his fingers found their book, he tightened the other arm he had around her waist and whispered “we are nowhere near the end yet, my love,” and as if to prove his point, more pages appeared within the book, causing her to smile at her own instinctual magic before she nodded as he told her “we have many more pages to fill, together.”
“Together,” she echoed with a tender smile, so very grateful that she’d introduced him to her little hobby.
If Kōki could think about anything further than his… date…
with Akashi he wouldn’t be trashing his brother’s room.
There was an explanation. For years, his brother had kept
omamori amulets on one of his bags. Kōki had already found his own kaiun from the last time he went to a
shrine (which he wasn’t sure was working—as long as he’d had a crush on him, was
Akashi being attracted to him good or bad fortune?), but he needed more.
The door banged open and Kōki pressed the amulet to his lips
when his brother’s expression darkened. “What are you doing?”