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mackenzielovee · 3 years ago

Note

Omg your writing is novel material 😻😻😻!! Can you do a rafe x reader where there’s build up to the fact that he takes your v-card?? And is like all proud and cocky BC he loves the ~innocence~ but gentle at the same time :0000

a/n: hey babes!!! thank you so much for this request. I would have never written something like this on my own, but actually really enjoyed writing this. I hope I got it right, I tried to include it all in here!! Let me know what you think!

Warnings: swearing, sex scenes, mentions and conversations of losing virginity, and Rafe acting like a king

Word Count: 3.5k

my writing

my one and only - rafe cameron

You're laying on Rafe's bed, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone as you wait for him to finish his shower. He had invited you over, and when you showed up, he just told you to wait in his room and he'd be out in a bit. You huff, finally hearing the water shut off. You can't help but be annoyed - that boy uses up all the hot water before he gets out.

He swings open the bathroom door, a towel wrapped around his waist, and smirks at you. His chest is completely exposed and still slightly wet from his shower, and he watches as you shamelessly rake your eyes over every inch of his skin. You quickly forgive him for taking so long, because it's given you this view.

"Thought you might join me," he smirks at you, coming over to the bed and leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

"Thought you might hurry up since you knew I was waiting," you fire back, giving him a playful glare.

He laughs at you and steps to his dresser, removing his towel and sliding shorts on. You watch him and he knows you watch him, which makes him smirk. He doesn't even bother with his shirt, because with what he has planned, he won't need it.

He turns and jumps on the bed, laying himself down beside you. You grin at him as he does this, watching as he sits up, then grabs onto you and pulls you on top of him. He can already feel himself getting riled up, he's been with you for almost a month now and really, really wants to fuck you.

He immediately starts to kiss you, one hand on your waist and another traveling down your back. You kiss him back, loving the way he tastes. One of your hands goes into his hair, making him moan as you pull on it. His tongue pushes its way into your mouth, which you very much allow. He brings his hands down to your hips and starts moving you against him, moaning into your mouth at how good it already feels.

"Rafe," you groan, feeling your body as it gets excited.

He ignores you, bringing his lips down to your neck and kissing the skin in between your jaw and neck. You let out an involuntary moan, which only encourages him more. His hands travel under your shirt and grab the skin on your stomach, and when Rafe tries to pull your shirt off of you completely, you stop him.

"Rafe, we should chill out," you say, pulling away but staying on his lap.

He looks at you, not quite understanding why you're stopping him, but agrees. He lets out a frustrating groan, but doesn't speak.

You don't want to tell him you're a virgin. Not with how experienced Rafe is. You just believe in your heart that he'll be disappointed with your performance or your body - you're afraid he won't want you anymore if he knows the truth.

"What's going on with you?" he asks finally, afraid to even reach out and touch you because you might pull away from him again.

"What do you mean?"

Rafe licks his lips and sighs, not wanting to sound like an asshole for asking why you won't have sex with him. But every single time he tries to make a move, you deny him and cut him off. He at least wants to know why, or if he's doing something wrong.

"I just don't understand. I mean, I just took my entire fucking towel off in front of you, but you won't even let me see you with your shirt off. What is that? I mean, are you, like, not attracted to me or something?"

You shake your head immediately, "No, Rafe. That's not it, I just-"

"You just what, then?" he asks, meaning for it to come out more gentle than it does.

You take his harshness for impatience, and you wonder if you should just suck it up and give him what he wants. But the thought of losing him makes you afraid.

"I'm a virgin, Rafe," you whisper.

You climb off of his lap and then get up off the bed, sure this will be a dealbreaker for him. Rafe Cameron, you think, the party king and the guy who's probably had the most sex of anyone on the island, is not going to want to put up with your inexperienced ass.

"What?" he gasps, sure he heard you wrong.

You don't speak, you just pick up your phone, and then your bag from the floor. You don't hear Rafe get up from the bed, but when you start toward his bedroom door, he's rushing around to stop you.

"Where the hell are you going? Sit down, let's talk about this," he coaxes you, removing your bag from your shoulder and putting it back on the floor.

You sigh as he leads you back over to his bed, both of you sitting down on the side. He doesn't speak at first, mainly because he doesn't know what to say. You don't either, so the two of you sit in silence for a bit. He finally looks over at you, but his look isn't disgust or confusion. It almost looks like admiration.

"So," he starts, then stops, then starts again, "So, you're telling me-"

He stops himself again, not wanting to offend you or make you uncomfortable. To be honest, the idea of nobody touching you makes him feel like a damn god. Only if you'll let him be the first one.

"I've never had sex," you confirm, speaking slowly to make sure he understands.

"No, yeah, I got that part," he nods, "But, have you..."

"No," you answer. You're not sure what the question is, but you're sure that's your answer.

Rafe's your first real boyfriend, and you don't sleep around. Ever. Obviously. You don't believe in that. You want your first time for it all to be with someone you trust. Someone who will take care of you.

"And, like, is that a thing where you're waiting until marriage, or..." he trails off, afraid of your answer.

"No," you say quickly, watching his neck snap over to you, "I just want to... be with someone that I trust."

Rafe nods his head, not realizing that his eyes are literally taking in every inch of your body. He can't believe you've never been touched by another guy. He can't believe someone as attractive as you can be so pure and so innocent. It completely and totally turns him on.

"Do you trust me?" he asks you after a few minutes.

You look over to him and he looks at you, his eyes looking soft. You reach over and take his hand, then give him a smile.

"Of course," you say. He grins, the thought of him being your first literally makes his heart jump.

"So, I mean..." he trails off again, not knowing how to ask you without sounding like a horny douchebag.

"I want to, Rafe," you say, watching him smile, "I'm just nervous about it."

He nods his head, understanding completely. He brings his hand up and starts to rub your back gently to comfort you.

"I get it," he replies, "I'm right here to help you through it. And we don't have to do anything, not if you don't want to."

You smile up at him but shake your head, watching as Rafe lets out a breath of relief he didn't realize he was holding in.

"I'm just relieved that you're okay with it," you admit, "But I want to. I want to with you."

He feels as if he could fly right now as you say this. You want him to be the first, your first, to see you and touch you and kiss you all over. Just the thought of you makes him want to strip down right now.

"Of course I'm okay with it, baby," he smiles.

You lean in to give him a kiss, which he gladly returns.

Rafe takes you to lunch at the club later on, but he leans down and grabs the leg of your chair and pulls you around so you're sitting beside him at the table instead of across from him. He keeps his arm wrapped around the back of your chair. He hasn't stopped smiling since your conversation earlier. He looks around at the club, knowing that none of these dudes managed to get a girl who only wanted him. He feels like one lucky motherfucker.

He leans over and whispers in your ear as you two wait for your food, "You really want me to be your first?"

You blush immediately, knowing nobody heard but still looking around to be sure.

"Rafe," you hiss. He loves watching you squirm, but he really just wants to hear you say it again.

"You really do?" he asks again, biting his lip to hide his cocky grin.

You laugh, leaning over and kissing him quickly, "Yes, Rafe Cameron. I want you to be my first."

He grins against your lips, and you would've never thought in a million years he would be this cocky about the whole situation. Truly, you thought this boy would run for the hills.

"Holy shit," he mumbles to himself.

He leans forward in his seat and puts his hand on your leg under the table. You smile, loving the feeling of his skin on your own. He starts to gently run the base of his fingers up your leg, stopping about halfway up. He watches you take a deep breath, knowing he's getting to you.

"So," he leans over, whispering in your ear again, "You're telling me, nobody's hand has ever been here before?"

His voice comes out so dominant, so arrogant, and you love it. He knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You shake your head. He smirks against your ear, giving you a little kiss there. He starts inching his hand up again, watching as your breathing picks up. You can feel yourself getting excited, and little do you know, Rafe already is.

He stops his hand right where your shorts rest, wanting to curse as he looks down. They're so short, and you look so good in them.

"And here?" he asks quietly, his voice raspier now.

"No," you shake your head again, your voice coming out weak. That makes him grin.

"Hmm," he hums into your ear. He leans even closer to you, moving his hand up and unbuttoning your shorts.

"Rafe," you warn, getting uncomfortable with the fact that his hand is about to be inside your pants in a public area.

"Nobody's looking, just trust me," he whispers.

You try to relax, but are completely unable to. He wraps his other arm tighter around you, then carefully slides his hand underneath your shorts. He can feel through your underwear how excited he's made you, which only makes him grin. He shoves your underwear aside and traces his fingers along your core, making you gasp lightly when you feel the cold metal of his ring on you.

"What about here?" he asks you, smirking widely now as he watches the expression on your face.

"No, babe," you look over at him now, your eyes beading into his. He smirks and kisses you, a little rougher than usual, then pulls his hand out of your shorts.

"Just checking," he sits back in his chair now, completely content with himself.

You, on the other hand, already feel like a mess. You try your best to discreetly button your shorts, but every nerve in your body seems to be going crazy as you relive the feeling of his hands on you.

He watches you try to wipe the frazzled look on your face, but can't because you feel like every single person at the club knows what Rafe just did to you.

You sit back after a few minutes, relaxing as you convince yourself that nobody could actually see under the table and Rafe had been correct when he told you nobody was looking. To be honest, the feeling of him touching you did not compare to any feeling you have ever had in your life. You really, really wanted him to do it again. But maybe not at the club.

The next day, you go over to Rafe's just after dinner, and you finally have your head on straight. You honestly, truly want to have sex with him. You trust him with your heart, so you should trust him with your body, too. He invited you over to just hang out and watch a movie in his room, not bringing up sex at all. So neither had you. But you surely did plan on it.

Rafe's laying in his bed on his phone when you enter. He smiles up at you and stands, coming to give you a kiss.

"How was your day?" he asks you, setting your stuff down on the chair in the corner of his room.

"Fine," you shrug, "What about you?"

"Same," he replies.

He lays down on the bed and opens his arms for you to crawl in with him. He wraps both of his arms around you and holds onto you for a long time, neither of you saying a word. Having the presence of the other seems to work for the both of you.

"Rafe," you say after a while, afraid he's fallen asleep.

"Hmm?" he hums to you, sounding like he's getting sleepy.

"How does tonight sound?" you ask him, moving so your chin rests on his sternum as you stare up at him.

He opens one eye and looks down at you, trying to figure out if you're serious or not. When he believes you, he pops open his other eye, then brings his hand up to stroke your hair.

"I'm not pressuring you, baby. When you're ready," he replies.

You are silent only for a minute, then move your eyes back up to look at him.

"I'm ready now, Rafe."

His head snaps down at you, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then relaxes again.

"Are you sure?" he asks, searching your eyes for even an ounce of hesitation.

"One hundred percent."

That's all he needed to hear. He grabs ahold of you and flips you over on the bed, crawling on top of you and attaching his lips to yours. His tongue quickly starts exploring your mouth. This time, you don't object when he pulls your shirt up off your body, and when he looks down at you, he groans and kisses you again.

Every move he makes feels even better than the last. You love watching as he removes his own clothes, as he kisses down your stomach, to your underwear, pulling them down. Every moan and sound you let out only feeds Rafe's ego, knowing no guy has ever made you make those sounds before. It's literally music to his ears.

His head is between your legs before you know it, and you moan as he leaves small, wet kisses on the inside of your thighs.

"Tell me again," he whispers against your leg, kissing you again.

"Rafe," you whimper, wanting him so bad.

"Tell me again, baby, and I'll take care of it."

You let out a frustrated sigh as you stare up at the ceiling. You have never felt this need, this hunger, this want, for anyone else in your entire life. You just want to feel him, everywhere. All over you.

"I want you to be my first, Rafe," you tell him, feeling him smile widely against the inside of your thigh.

It's just what he wants to hear as he moves his head a few inches over, and gets to work. He listens to every groan, every whimper, every moan of his name, and he fucking loves it. He vows to himself that he's the only man that will ever hear you make those sounds, and his name will be the only one you ever scream out.

When he's finished with you, he kisses back up your stomach, still able to taste you on his tongue. He finds his way back up to your lips, giving you a long, deep kiss in hopes that you can taste yourself on him.

He reaches over to his nightstand and opens the drawer, grabbing a condom from it without breaking your kiss. He puts it on himself, smirking at the idea of eventually teaching you how to do it for him, and then kisses you again.

"Rafe," you say again, the desperation audible in your voice.

"Are you sure, babe?" he asks you one more time, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Oh, my God, yes, Rafe," you nod your head. You've never been more sure of anything in your life. You know for a fact he will be taking such good care of you.

"Well," he smirks to himself, "You'll be saying that a few more times tonight."

You laugh and whack him on the chest, but you're sure he's right. If it feels half as good as what he had just done to you, you'll count yourself lucky.

You feel pressure and a bit of pain as he enters you, but are relieved when Rafe lets out a very loud, satisfied groan.

"Holy fuck," he swears.

You whimper, but keep yourself relaxed, knowing it will help it hurt less. He looks down at you and kisses you, moving extremely slow inside of you so as to not hurt you. He moves his head down into the crook of your neck, mumbling out more curse words.

"You okay?" he asks you after another minute.

"I'm okay," you confirm, the pain finally starting to subside.

"Just tell me when it starts to feel better, I'll go faster."

You nod but don't speak, just try to adjust to this new feeling. After another minute or so of him moving very slow, you tell him he can go faster. He obeys immediately, groaning and cursing even louder now.

"Jesus, baby, you feel so good," he tells you, making you smile.

Every fear you ever had about Rafe not wanting you goes away as you listen to the sounds he makes. After a few minutes, it starts to feel like heaven for you too, and Rafe feels relieved once you start moaning and telling him to move. The second you say his name, he spills everything he has into the condom.

When he pulls himself out of you, he's almost thankful that it was your first time, because he's embarrassed he didn't last long. You just felt so damn good around him.

"Oh, my God," he pants as he collapses beside you on the bed.

"I know," you agree.

He turns his head to look at you, watching your chest rise and fall with your breaths. You look so beautiful, and it's still so unreal to him that you chose to trust him with such an intimate moment of your life.

He reaches over and pulls your body into his, wrapping both of his arms around you and kissing your shoulder. You feel extremely lucky, like you definitely made the right choice on waiting for a guy like Rafe to come along.

"Thank you for trusting me," he whispers in your ear, then brings his lips down and kisses your neck over and over.

"Thank you for being so sweet and understanding," you smile, stroking your hand up and down his arm.

You turn around in his arms after a few minutes and stare at his face, taking in every single little detail you can find. His kind eyes, his sharp jawline, the way his hair gets in his eyes when he doesn't gel it back.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, smiling softly at you.

You know he's full of shit, but the comment makes your stomach turn. In a good way.

"Thank you," you reply.

"Do you regret it?" he asks you after a minute, afraid of your answer.

"Hell no," you smile at him, which makes him smile in return.

"Good," he laughs, "Because, just for the record, I plan on being your one and only. Never to be touched by another man as long as I shall live."

You set your head on his chest and giggle, feeling his arms pull you into him.

"Is that a marriage proposal?" you scoff.

He laughs, then looks down at you with a cheeky look in his eye.

"Maybe after round two," he said, then moves quickly out from under you to on top of you.

You laugh loudly, yelling out as he lands on you. Rafe Cameron can't remember the last time he was this happy. So yeah, he's pretty sure it'll turn into a marriage proposal. Married after dating for a month? Crazier things have happened in OBX.

#drew starkey #rafe outer banks #outerbanks netflix #outerbanks #outer banks netflix #outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe

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tobiosmilktea · 4 years ago

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nom de plume — bokuto koutarou

1.6k words | genre/s: barista!au, fluff | warning/s: — | pairing: bokuto x gn!reader

↪︎ in which bokuto gives you a fake name every time he comes to the cafe you work at. you’ve been dying to know the handsome stranger’s real name, but here you are scribbling “captain america” onto his stupid caramel macchiato

a/n: here’s something short and sweet to quench my need to write a fic after writing boring essays all week for school. not the most original content either but i needed something simple :p

there were four types of regulars you would see walk through those doors of the cafe you worked at. either to spend as little as five minutes to the entire day inside the shop just to breathe in the serenity of light jazz music humming in the background. you’ve been working at this establishment long enough to relish how different every single person’s life was as they stood in front of you and ordered their special pick-me-up for the day.

you could easily tell what a person was like based on what they order—like that middle-aged office worker with a receding hairline that always entered the cafe in the midst of an angry phone call with a client, disrupting in the calm mornings with bickering. he usually orders an iced americano, bitter and dark enough to match the dark circles under his eyes and wrinkles adorning his forehead. not entirely your favorite, but he tipped well.

then there was the occasional university student, overworked trying to finish three different essays while cramming for an exam. they usually come in small study groups that end up messing around half of the time or they trickle in as individuals, eyes all red and glued to their laptop screens as they try to chug the remaining contents of their cappuccinos with three shots of espresso.

then there were the soccer moms with their obnoxiously specific drinks, ranging from the different flavors of frappuccinos with extra, extra caramel drizzle.

and then there were guys like him—the one with alabaster hair and darkened roots who just walked inside the cafe—your favorite. the door swinging opening and causing the bell right above the threshold to ding. the tall, hot, and beefy regular with a smile so intoxicating that he catches you off guard each time he walks in exactly at two-thirty in the afternoon.

you didn’t know his name, but you recognized his face, all chiseled and annoyingly handsome. this time he was accompanied by his friend again, akaashi with dark frames resting on the bridge of his nose.

unlike his companion, you actually knew his name as he would actually give it to you, unlike the latter who preferred giving out a new nickname each time he comes around to visit. hell, you knew a lot more about akaashi despite seeing him far less often.

to say you were a bit peeved of this fact was beyond question.

the only thing you truly knew about the man you were inexplicably interested in was that he always ordered an iced caramel macchiato with almond milk. he was very particular about the non-dairy part of that order.

“what can i get you two?” you ask the two towering figures before you. though, it wasn’t much of a question when you already knew what they would order.

“a flat white for me,” says akaashi.

the usual, you think. he says he likes the foam art designs you make.

“and an iced caramel macchiato for me,” says the other, giving you that infamous toothy grin.

god, he was so cute. if only i knew your name, stranger.

you input their orders into your screen quickly, the total popping up on the smaller screen in front of akaashi and his friend as he takes out his card. he inserts the chip in for a few seconds, waiting for the beep to emit from the machine before taking it out in a swift flick.

once the payment goes through, your fingers pull the black sharpie clipped onto your apron off as you grab a cup.

akaashi didn’t bother mentioning his name as you were already scribbling it down in cursive—swift, yet satisfyingly neat. on the other hand, you waited for the white-haired boy to mention what new moniker that piqued his interest today. your eyes met his with patient intent.

“captain america,” he mutters with the corners of his lips tugging up into an amused smile. as if he was proud of himself for saying such, you couldn’t help melt into his contagious grin. like a ray of sunshine that would immediately melt away your troubles, you swore your heart skipped a beat.

the brunet flicks his eyes back and forth from you and his friend, temporary intrigue setting in as he holds back a smirk. “sorry about him,” akaashi pats his friend’s shoulder, “we’ve been rewatching the entirety of the mcu and just finished captain america before coming here.”

“oh, no worries, i’m used to it.” you wave it off, “it isn’t the first time he used marvel superheroes as nicknames. just two days ago he used vision after i reminded him that he had already used thor twice in the past week.”

“i’m surprised you remembered them in the first place,” akaashi’s friend confesses.

“how could i forget? i always look forward to whatever name you give me next.”

you thought you saw a hint of red blush dusting his cheeks when you flick a look over to him, but you weren’t too sure.

perhaps it was just your imagination.

noticing that you were only holding them up by making useless conversation, you clear your throat, muttering almost incoherently, “i’ll have your drinks ready in a few minutes.”

you dipped back towards the coffee machine before they could even thank you. their cups were gripped tightly in your hands as you placed them down next to the machine. the ground up coffee beans cascaded down the dispenser and into the portafilter. carefully, you compressed it tightly into the container before brewing the espresso into a small shot glass.

“is that the guy you were talking about?” your coworker, mitsuko, pops up from behind you and asks. you jolt a bit, almost spilling the piping hot, steamed milk in your hands when you give her a look, “you weren’t wrong when you said he was a complete hunk!”

playfully rolling your eyes, you continue making their coffees, careful not to spill anything that could possibly garner more attention towards you as you could see his towering figure over the barrier.

mitsuko’s eyes cast down towards one of the cups, grabbing at one of them to read the name. “captain america, huh?” she reads before glancing at him, “he fits the name well, at least. you think he’s an athlete?”

you shrug, “not sure, but i heard he’s a big marvel fan. he used quicksilver, vision, and thor in the past week.”

“aren’t you ever curious about his real name?” mitsuko asks as you smile contently at the foam art before snapping the cover atop akaashi’s flat white.

“of course i am,” you say, setting the ready-made drink to the side to start the other. “i suppose the guy likes his privacy. who knows, maybe he’s famous or something.”

you say that partly as a joke, but something inside of you thinks that perhaps that this was that one in a million chance. how would something of such a high caliber as him not be inherently well-known, even if it was just a little bit?

mitsuko snorts at your vehemence, slapping the meat of her thigh as if that was the funniest thing she has heard all day. “as if any famous person would ever come into a random cafe in a small city, (y/n).”

you didn’t answer for a few beats as you completed the white-haired boy’s drink, capping it properly. you weren’t ignoring your coworker’s statement, yet rather simmering in the thought of how ridiculous it actually sounded.

maybe this guy just wanted to have some cheap amusement. nothing more nothing less. it was just a name after all.

you let out a sigh, “as much as i would love to know his real name, it’s none of my business. speaking of which, has he ever given anyone else random nicknames when he comes by?”

mitsuko shrugs, “he only ever comes by when you work.”

“seriously?” you’re quite surprised.

“yup, this is the first time i’ve ever seen the infamous regular who only gives out fake names.” she mused, “maybe he does it to get your attention.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing at the thought. how ridiculous. you never wanted to wipe that smirk off of your coworker’s face as you wave her off, approaching the open end of the counter as you readied yourself to hand them their drinks.

they had been patiently waiting at the other end of the counter for a few minutes now, grateful they didn’t complain at your discrete chatter with mitsuko as some patrons would. instead, they smiled at your approaching figure with their coffees in your hands.

“here’s your flat white,” you hand the cup over to akaashi.

he flicks you a charming look of appreciation before making his way towards the cafe’s entrance. you couldn’t exactly pinpoint if he was in a hurry or not as he left you and his friend alone.

you didn’t entirely mind, though, as you shook it off.

you handed the man his drink, “and to the dude whose name that i shall never know.”

he mutters a brief thank you as he takes it from your hand, fingers brushing against each other and causing your heart to rush.

“aren’t you curious?” he asks suddenly.

your brows furrow, “about what?” you replied as you feign innocence.

“my name,” he clarifies.

“well, unless your name is actually captain america, why wouldn't i be curious?” a smirk was slowly appearing on your lips, “besides, with the dozens of people i see almost everyday, i have to say that you’ve caught my attention, stranger.”

he grins, hand fishing through his pocket, “well, since you’re dying to know,” he hands you a tiny slip of paper, making sure the tips of his fingers linger feather-like touches on the palm of your hand. “come and find out for yourself.”

he sends you a wink before walking out of the cafe, leaving you absolutely dumbfounded. your shaky fingers unfold the creases of the paper, eyes scanning the contents of his messy handwriting.

000-000-0000

the name’s bokuto — call me! :)

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @crybabbicus @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @milktyama

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto fluff #bokuto scenarios #bokuto imagines #haikyuu bokuto

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cathyparrlyn · 5 years ago

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Calling myself out, part 1

Just a little tid bit of me calling myself out, some of these are inside jokes, but I hope you all enjoy this. It will hopefully describe me as a person better cause I am not an amazing writer in real life, just a chaotic disaster that wants to hug her stitch plush.

Shout out to @toomanyfamdom @dannixy @all-my-love-cathy @little-bit-lost-and-found @boleynhowards @saria-malinas @flat-dr-pepper-chasers @shilly-shally-disaster @prisky0731 and @thatbolxyngirl as they would understand this post the most, lol.

And @lakes-other-sixes who is baby and I blame my sleepy brain for forgetting to add, I am sorry it’s like 5 a.m. here lol. I love you my holy body of water 💙💚

Me: Time to do something productive.

Also me: *stares at a wall for three hours thinking about my 28637026 parrlyn fic ideas cause I am a bi disaster who has sold their soul to this ship.* Or not.

Me: *insert random emoticon as a response as I am bad at texting.* perfect.

Me: B A B Y.

My online daughter who is both taller and more mature than me: no...

Me, almost 17 year old with no brain cells and is short: Y E S B A B Y. IMA HUG YOU. PREPARE TO BE HUGGED AKHSHEHHWJWJHSJEH I LOVE YOU

My online daughter: okay then.

Me: PRINCESS CAN NOT BE A STRIPPER.

Princess and baby girl and my smol bean noodle: but mom!

Me: N O! Not in this online fam!

An amazing bitch (they know who they are): *exists and pole dances*

Me: Fuck yeah, do what you want girl!

Princess: HOW IS THIS FAIR?!

Me: ITS NOT JABSNVENWBSJJSG

Me: BABY BABY BABY

Baby: MADDY MADDY MADDY? What?

Me: hiiiiiiiiiii. (8th time I have said hi to them in the past hour.)

Baby:....... hi?

Baby girl: *exists*

Me: my life has purpose, you are beautiful and I shall protect. You could do no wrong. If you murdered someone and blamed it on me, I would be fine with it.

Baby girl: *holds up scissors*

Me: N O.

Me: They are so coo-

Baby: I’m not a them.

Me: ajgshshsvjsbsjjsbsk WHY AM I DOING THIS???

Me: Morning!

Baby: it’s 1 p.m.

Me: time is a meaningless concept.

Also me: also, I went to sleep at 5:30 a.m. because fuck consistency and a healthy sleep schedule.

Me: *tells my friends they are beautiful*

Also me: I AM A DEMON SPAWN THAT WAS ACCIDENTALLY SUMMONED FROM HELL WHEN SOMEONE MESSED UP MAKING A MUSTARD SANDWHICH!

Me: I have an idea! Let’s add it to the parrlyn fic list!

The lists word count for just (insert AU!AU):

Me: *texts online six friends* I think my brain has a problem.

Also me: *laughs at 69*

Me and my fake wife: * yelling arguing for ten minutes on a group chat call about a show we only know.*

Also me and my fake wife after agreeing to take the argument to our dms: *has a civil discussion and continues to talk about the show and have a fun while we lead the fake fam to think we were arguing and at each other’s throats for a whole hour.* Lol.

Me: Precious smol chaotic bean noodle! I write poetry.

Them: It’s good.

Me: shush. No you.

My fake wife: you are so evil.

Me: but evil is hot?

My fake wife: yes..... but like, please don’t.

Me: I love you.

Theyby: you shouldn’t but thanks, I love you too.

Me: ACCEPT MY LOVE OR I SHALL THROTTLE IT DOWN YOUR THROAT BY HUGGING YOU AND COMPLIMENTING YOU UNTIL YOU SMILE YOU BEATIFUL HUMAN PERSON.

Theyby: False.

Me: I made an oath to only tell the truth. Newspaper.

Theyby: I know.

Me: I mention it a lot.

Theyby: yeah, you kinda do.

Also me from last post: human person? How is English my first language.

Me: *has all these angst ideas.*

Also me: *has only published fluff.*...... I didn’t think this through.

Me: my writing sucks.

Everyone else: maddy no.

Me: Maddy yes.

My son: Dale is the best boi, I am the okayest boi.

Me: No, you are the bestest boys and precious, I love you baby boy, let me hug you through this phone.

Also me: *continues to kill him every time we play Minecraft as he has mob skin and I joke pretend he is a mob.* I love you!

Him: Why do I deserve this, my arms [virtual] are now glitching.

Me: I’m a great mom!

Me: my crush gave me a bed time, so ima follow it cause I’m whipped.

Me: *after losing my crush* let’s sleep at 6 a.m. tonight.

Somebody: *literally says anything.*

Me: *bursts in out of nowhere* I have a parrlyn idea.

Me: ima have over 100k on this fic.

Also me: *continues to talk about fic, but doesn’t write anything. If I do, it’s a future chapter that can’t be posted until my current chapter is done.* .......Fuck.

Me: *sees fanart of Cathy in a stitch onesie.* :0000

Me: *one month later sitting in a stitch onesie.* I have accomplished in life.

Everyone else: *answers a question with one word.*

Me: *answers same question with three pages of words for content*

Also me: *wonders why everyone is staring and refers to me as the one in English with a 96*

Also me again: *giggles at 96 being the flipped version of 69*

Me: *asexual* good howdy dandy morning you beautiful lovely people who I graciously call my friends as they deserve the world and make me smile! Have hugs.

Also me: *inserts a sex joke at any occasion and teases my online friends as the annoying introvert I am.*

Me when I accidentally hurt any of my children in the most minor way: I have failed you, for I am a terrible, awful, horrendous person who doesn’t deserve to succeed in life.

Them: Nuuuuu.

Me: I am the worlds biggest disappointment.

Nobody: ......

Me: So Katanna is totally perfect for an insert fic with Tangled, agree or perish.

No one:

Me: ha ha, I’m no one, read my user.

Not a single soul: .....

Me: LETS ENTER THE CHAT IN ALL CAPS WITH A BUNCH OF EMOTICONS CAUSE I CANT TEXT LOL :D ;) :P :333 :0 ^0^ ;-;

Me: *bored* let’s call myself out.

Me, my first time entering the tiefs chat: Hi you all, you are so amazing and beautiful and I am so happy to be here. Let me give you hugs. Your writing is amazing, if you ever need help or just need to rant, I’m here.

The group chat: #MaddyTheHypeMom.

Me:..... Well I feel called out, but I can’t deny it. This is it. I am the hype mom. I shall adopt all of you, I don’t care if some of you are 5 years older than me. I am the mom now and I will love you all.

And finally~

My online chat peacefully minding their own business:

Me sending a text to them: 😇

Them: oh god, this can’t be good.

#I am a mess #chaos #group chats lol #love my online fams #😇😇😇😇#💙💚💙💚#exposing myself #maddy the hype mom #tiefs #chaos admins #i hope you enjoy #kinda six the musical #parrlyn #parrleyn #mentions of wajms #i like to write #epitome of a cooc disaster who can only funtion between 11pm - 4am #love you all~

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saijspellhart · 6 years ago

Text

ML Fluff Month

<< Previous ~ Next >>

Read it on AO3

This is a collaborative project between @aknazer, @ao3bronte, @yamina20-blog, @saoirse7ilysi, and myself. We’ve pieced out the prompts for Fluff month and are bringing you our own particular take on them.

2: Safe (Marinette/Chat Noir)

Things you need to know about this AU:

-Takes place after the events of Once a Thief.

-This is a no powers/no Miraculous AU.

-All characters are human.

-Adrien is a cat burglar whose alias is Chat Noir.

-Marinette is a museum curator.

-Plagg is Adrien's former partner, and his normal person name is Felix.

0000

Warning: This has sexual themes, but no sex.

"God dammit!" When Marinette's cell went straight to voicemail, Adrien ripped the cell from his ear and began furiously tapping in her home phone number.

His relief upon hearing the call ring through quickly evaporated into panic when the call continued to ring without any answer. "C'mon love. Please pick up. Please!" He was about to hang up and call again when the line clicked and a small voice blared into the speaker.

"Hello?" It was the voice of a little girl, her mouth pressed right up against the speaker. So that he could hear each time her lips brushed over it and the harsh whoosh of each tiny breath.

"Isabelle?" he tried, "Where is Mama?"

"Mama is aseep. She worked lots today," Isabelle replied a little too brightly for a child who should've been in bed.

"I need you to wake her up. Can you do that?" Adrien asked as clearly and patiently as he could. Trying not to let his panic bleed into his voice and frighten the little girl on the other end.

"Why?"

His teeth made a painful creak when he gritted them together. She had his suspicious and inquisitive nature, that was for absolute sure. "Please, Little Bell, I'm on my way home right now, and I need you to wake up Mama, and tell her we are playing the hiding game."

"The hiding game!" Her squeal of delight nearly ruptured his eardrum, and Adrien pulled the cell away from his ear to wince.

"Yes, the hiding game!" he replied, lacing his tone with as much urgency and enthusiasm as he could. "But you need to wake Mama and hide with her right now, and don't come out until I come find you."

"Ok!" The cordless phone slammed down on the cradle, ending the call before Adrien could so much a say another word.

Part of him sent praise to the gods that Marinette insisted on keeping an absolutely useless relic of a house phone in her apartment; simply for the nostalgia, and because her parents bought her the phone.

Once the call was ended he turned his attention back to the keypad of an electronic lock, his brows stitched into a scowl behind his mask. He spared another look around the darkened offices he was trapped in, looking for another way out. The windows were useless unless he broke them, which would undoubtedly set off alarms, and aside from the elevator, (which required a now-useless key card) there didn't seem to be another exit.

Adrien glared at the numeric pad for the emergency stairwell again and gnawed at his lower lip. He dialed another number, one he knew by heart, and hoped his old partner was willing to help him out of this jam.

He should have been more careful sneaking into the place. But he had not expected them to change the coding on the key cards at midnight.

The call picked up relatively quickly considering the time of night, and the grumpy male voice that answered sounded more concerned than peeved.

"Hey, Plagg," he hummed in tone much lighter than was appropriate for his current predicament. "You think you could hack the security system on a building for me? I'm afraid Interpol's intelligence system fell through."

There was a snickering on the other end of the line.

"Please be quick, I'm worried about Marinette and Isabelle."

The laughing died out immediately, and Adrien's heart crashed violently against his ribs when Plagg growled, "what's happened to Isabelle?"

"Nothing. But there's a mole in our latest operation and everything's gone to hell. I've already alerted Interpol, and they are out looking for the mole as we speak. But right now I'm trapped in here."

Plagg made a grunt of acknowledgement, and began asking Adrien for information about the building he was trapped inside. Plagg's fingers, clicking away at a keyboard, could be heard on the other end of the line; and if the situation wasn't so dire, Adrien would have sighed at the warm memories of old times that scorched the inside of his chest like a swill of hot cocoa.

0000

The wheels of a black Jaguar F-Type made a maddening shriek against the pavement outside Marinette's apartment building. The car came to an abrupt halt somewhere between two parking spaces and encroaching on the territory of a third. Adrien couldn't bring himself to care even if anyone had been awake that late to raise a fuss.

He barreled out the side of the vehicle, still adorned in the cat burglar get-up, although a ghost of its former self before his incarceration. He punched in the code for entrance to the building, and took the stairs two at a time, practically tumbling forward and dragging himself up the steps using his hands as well.

His mindless panic to reach his family had him fumbling with the lock, his hands quaking so badly the key wouldn't fit the first try. As soon as the lock gave he was through the door in an instant, shutting it almost carelessly behind him before readying his fists and peering into the living area.

"Marinette?" his call echoed through the silence of the apartment. She wouldn't answer, he knew, and neither would Isabelle when he called her name soon after. The point was not to draw them out, but to alert them that it was him searching for them. That he was near in case they were in danger or hiding.

Knowing Marinette, if she'd been drinking and couldn't feel his presence, she would clobber him with a lamp, or worse a rock, in defense of her life and that of her child.

He searched the most conventional hiding spots first, not for them, but for any hostile intruders. When he was absolutely sure the apartment was clear he made his way to the bedroom and crouched by Marinette's expansive workstation.

Adrien sank to his knees before the desk. He ripped his mask off and tossed it carelessly aside, then shoved a swivel chair to the side, and rasped their names. His claws dug at a false back under the desk, digging the panel of wood out to reveal the only reasons he had left to live.

There she was, folded into the cramped space, black hair spilling messily over her shoulders, dressed in a camisole and a pair of his boxer briefs. She was curled protectively around a little blonde girl that stared out at him with eyes the same color as the ones he saw in the mirror each and every morning.

The weight of a freight train lifted from his chest, relief, like oxygen, traveled through his veins. His shuddering inhale reminding him that for the past few minutes he'd hardly even breathed.

"Chat?" Her voice—albeit laced with fear—was like the first drops of a summer storm pelting a scorched earth. Marinette didn't have the room to lift her face from the child's shoulder, but managed to turn her head enough stare at him from their hiding spot.

"Papa!"

Adrien's heart sucker-punched his lungs.

Isabelle scrambled from her mother's embrace. Small flailing limbs undoubtedly kicking Marinette painfully as she crawled out of the hiding space beneath the desk and into Adrien's waiting arms.

"You found us!" Her pleased exclamation unadulterated by the severity of the situation, and the potential danger they could have faced.

"Yes," Adrien rasped, throat cracking from raw emotion. "You hid very well. This is a great spot." He settled Isabelle against his hip, cradled tight by his right arm, and retreated back a step allowing Marinette the room to unfold herself from the hiding space. She accepted his offered hand, slender fingers clasping tightly in his grip as he pulled her out and into his lap.

His left arm crushed Marinette tightly to his chest, his fingers threaded her inky black hair only to grasp it as he possessively embraced her and Isabelle. Two arms never felt so insufficient than it did just then, and he was pressing his face to the tops of their heads, breathing in their scent to ground him. One more assurance that they were safe, and here.

"You're safe," he whispered, rubbing his cheek against Marinette's forehead. He stopped to place a chaste kiss, before repeating the action with Isabelle. "You're both safe."

"Adrien..." Marinette started, but her voice trailed off with questions unasked. She wanted to know what happened, but it wasn't a discussion for Isabelle's ears.

"In a bit," he ducked his head to whisper against her ear. "I promise."

Isabelle's tiny and slightly sticky palm pressed into the side of his face, nearly catching him in the eye and demanding his attention. "Did we win?"

Adrien lifted his head only for her to shift her grip to his nose, causing his response to come out nasally. "Yes, you girls totally won. You're a master hider."

"Better den you?"

Adrien's smile grew impossibly wider. "Even better than me."

Marinette made a noise akin to a scoff, but didn't say anything.

Isabelle looked between them both and stated, "Mom, I'm bedder den Papa."

Adrien started when the front door opened and slammed shut, and Marinette tensed against him. Seconds later a familiar voice sounded through the apartment, and the couple sighed in relief.

"Isabelle? Marinette?" There was a pause and then, "...Adrien? Are you guys alright?"

"Félis!" Isabelle shrieked, worming out of Adrien's embrace with the skill of a weasel and galloping out the bedroom and down the hall. Her squeal of delight could be heard from the entryway.

The sudden absence of the little blonde girl and her unbridled joy at Plagg's arrival made Adrien's stomach sink, twisting into the acrid stirrings of jealousy.

But before it could settle there a heated palm cupped the side of his face, drawing him out of his hurt. He turned and met the blue eyes that had long ago taken his heart captive, and even now sent it hammering a vicious tempo against his ribs.

"Give her time, kitty. She loves you too."

He released a sigh, and tried to smile but she undoubtedly saw right through it. "But Plagg, he..."

"Holds a special place in her heart," she finished for him, then continued on. "And he always will, but you aren't meant to replace it, you're supposed to grow your own. That will happen." Her hands moved, brushing the hair from his ear so her thumb could tease the gold earring there. He unconsciously pressed into her touch, taking unparalleled serenity from it. "But you have to give it time, Chaton."

He tipped his head to kiss the inside of her wrist, meeting her eyes with wordless acceptance.

They could hear Isabelle chattering excitedly to Félix in the front room, his deeper nasally voice sometimes heard between her interspersed exclamations.

"Will you tell me what happened now?"

Adrien shifted his sitting position, until Marinette was straddled more comfortably in his lap. His hands moving to cup her back side, as her arms came to rest on his shoulders, her fingers lacing behind his neck. He met her forehead with his own and began recalling the events of the night, and how they led him to worry for their safety.

After filling her in he concluded by saying, "I couldn't be certain if you and Isabelle would become a target, but I wanted you to be safe should things have turned for the worst."

Marinette expelled a hard breath but didn't open her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Chérie. I didn't want to frighten you."

"I know." She buried her face against his neck, and her arms hugged him tightly. "Thank you for telling me."

"I love you," he whispered feverishly, almost as if he would lose her should he fail to say it. He returned the tight embrace, and murmured the words over and over again.

His string of declarations were cut short when Marinette tore away and kissed him. Her lips molding so desperately perfect against his own sent a shock through his system that had the muscles in his back tensing and his toes curling.

She could do that. Light a fire in every nerve of his body and leave him begging for more.

Adrien recovered, cupping her ass again and hauled her closer. He returned the kiss with helpless enthusiasm, channeling the previous high of fear into a burning desperate need. He devoured her mouth. Stroking lips, followed by insistent tongue and teeth that grazed a little too harshly.

They were her teeth, actually. And they were leaving bruises on his lips that he'd be appreciatively licking later.

A quiet moan escaped him, muffled against her mouth, when she shifted her hips on his lap. His cock no longer twitching in his pants, but straining painfully at the material instead.

Marinette pressed down on him again. Harder. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to whimper or purr.

His claws were kneading her backside, and if they dug in painfully she gave no tell.

A year and half. A year and a half he'd been back, after more than two years away from her. And she still managed to wreck him. Although work with Interpol still kept him busy, and sometimes away for weeks. He made certain to spend any time off he got with Marinette and Isabelle.

Her fingers were clawing at his blonde hair and the shirt at his back. Adrien struggled to breath, and rasped her name between their barely parted lips.

He savored every minute he got with her. To the point that Plagg mocked them relentlessly for acting like young lovers.

He loved her. God, how he still loved her. And if they'd been alone he would have eagerly shown her.

He thought about the underwear she was wearing, the pair that his claws were mostly probably perforating. They were an old green pair of Gabriel brand boxer briefs, a brand that neither of them purchased anymore, and Adrien hadn't acquired any new clothing articles from since before his incarceration.

"What is your obsession with my underwear?" He asked in a breathless but throaty timbre. His fingers slipped below the tired elastic, to caress the sensitive spot at the top of her ass. "Specifically this pair," he added, pressing kisses along the edge of her mouth and down to her chin.

"You've noticed?" She sounded equally affected to his ears.

"How could I not? You play such obvious favorites with my undergarments. This pair even makes its home in your lingerie drawer." He snapped the weak elastic, before sliding his hands away from her backside and down her thighs.

Marinette shivered under his touch and stole another kiss from him before murmuring, "this is the pair you left at my apartment ages ago, when you got shot. I know I gave them back after our first night together, but then you moved in with me and I had to confiscate them for safe keeping."

"Any particular reason?" he purred out, trying too hard to fight a devilish grin that the corners of his mouth hurt.

"They're incredibly comfortable."

He slipped one hand between them to the inside of the briefs where he knew there was a hole worn in them from where her thighs brushed together. She made the cutest sound and jumped in his lap when his claws tickled the exposed sensitive skin. "Clearly," he hummed in response claiming her mouth again and letting his hands slide up her body, inching the camisole up along the way.

The sharp clearing of a throat alerted them to Felix's arrival. He stood in the doorway, holding it mostly closed. "If you guys need to be alone, I can take Isa for a bit."

Adrien ripped his mouth away, head jerking to the side to glare at Félix over his shoulder. Even Marinette seemed to have forgotten their lack of privacy, jerking up as her previously grabby hands slipped away to brace against his shoulders. Both their cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

"They's kissing!" Isabelle's excited shriek came from the hall, where she was peering through the space between Felix's leg and the door.

"Yes they are," said Félix, and he made a face down at the little girl. "It's yucky."

"Is not!" she stated defiantly. "It's cute!"

Felix shot them a look, and asked again in a low tone. "You guys need some time alone?"

"No, no. Just give us a minute." Marinette straightened up from Adrien's lap smoothing her bunched camisole in the process.

Adrien fell back against the floor in a frustrated heap. He heaved a sigh and looked up at his former partner with a whimsical expression. "Yah, one minute—or five minutes," he stole a glance at his pants. "Then we'll all raid the freezer for ice cream. I still need to call Agent Lahiffe anyway."

And excited squeal alerted them that, if anything, Isabelle had overheard the words, "ice cream."

Author’s Notes:

This particular drabble takes place in the same universe as my Once a Thief Always a Thief fic.

Next up is me again covering the prompt: Summer Love

So tune in tomorrow for something uhhh.... hot?

#mlfluffmonth #mlb #marichat #miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #chat noir #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Saijspellhart writes #post OaT drabbles #once a thief always a thief #fanfiction #fanfic

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accio-ambition · 7 years ago

Text

Under Christmas’s Influence

Merry Christmas Sandy ( @tehgreeneyes )! I was fortunate enough to be your CS Secret Santa this year! I know we didn’t really talk much, but I really enjoyed what we did talk about. 12 Monkeys is now definitely on my to-watch list, with all the Googling I did to cameo it in here (I might have fallen into a vortex for a couple hours of distraction, but whatever). You said that one of your favorite tropes was fake!dating/engaged/married, so I wrote you a (not so) little fake!engaged Christmas story. I hope you don’t absolutely hate Hallmark Christmas movies, because that is where I drew a bit (aka a lot) of inspiration for this story. Merry Christmas!

(This is a long one, so you can read it on AO3 too in case it hurts your eyes.)

The call from his brother isn’t necessarily unexpected. It is Christmastime - the one time of year one starts reflecting on the past year and thinking about all the important people in one’s life. But since getting married last winter, shortly after Valentine’s Day, Killian’s barely heard from his brother or new sister-in-law. A postcard from the honeymoon, the occasional tag in a Facebook post, but otherwise, nothing.

It’s been difficult, he will admit, watching his brother go from bachelor to husband, but only in that selfish way where now Liam has to ask if he can accompany Killian on bar crawls or can’t make it to every football game during the season.

So when Liam does call as he walks in to his apartment after work one afternoon, Killian gladly answers it. It had been a long, trying day at work - depositions for most of the morning, then a conference call that lasted five hours with little time to eat or even use the restroom in between. Killian cannot wait to get out of his stuffy suit and tie, throw on his sweats, and watch T.V.

ESPN, he tells himself. There’s that important college game on tonight.

It’s a losing battle, though: it’s Christmastime, which means corny, completely unnecessary, totally unoriginal Christmas movies. The perfect remedy to the problems practicing the law could bring up.

Killian flips the light in his room on before immediately turning on the T.V. and muting it before answering his phone. He greets his brother just as some woman silently giggles at a man holding a dog.

Haven’t seen this one before.

“Little brother, my god, you are alive!” Liam says instead of hello.

“In the sense that I’m still alive and breathing, yes,” Killian quips back, putting his phone on speaker and proceeding to change out of his clothes. “Other than that, I’d hardly say I’m alive.”

Liam groans and Killian can just imagine his older brother slapping himself on the forehead. It’s his own fault, the sarcastic streak Killian has, though it does both of them wonders during certain situations, particularly during hard court cases.

While Killian chuckles, Liam’s groan transforms into a sigh. The change in mood is as unexpected as Liam’s phone call, but instead of asking about it, Killian lets the quiet ensue. If there’s one thing Killian’s learned about his big brother in his time on earth, it’s that, if something’s bothering Liam, he’ll say it.

So when Liam says, “I apologize for being an arse,” his younger brother can’t imagine what he’s managed to do wrong if they haven’t truly spoken in months.

“About what exactly, may I inquire?” Killian asks, changed and taking a seat at the edge of his bed. His eyes sort of glaze over as he stares at the screen. Another man’s face is contorted into some slimy smirk or grimace or something akin to that, looking after the woman with the puppy.

This plot would be so much simpler if I could hear what they were saying.

Killian fiddles with the remote, trying to find the button for subtitles or captions, while Liam continues. “I know I’ve been sort of…” he pauses just as the captions begin scrolling along the bottom of the screen, “neglecting you since I married.”

Shrugging, Killian reasons, “Your priorities have changed. You’ve got Belle now. All that marriage stuff. Honeymoons and thank you cards and on and on.”

“Yes, but you’ll always be my little brother.” This time, Killian groans, but it’s in the same way that he bemoans cheesy pickup lines and corny Christmas movie plots. It’s a sentiment he doesn’t exactly always feel this time of year, but when he does, it makes his heart grow like the Grinch’s.

“I’m still learning how to balance brotherhood with marriage, alright?” Liam says, his voice a bit gruffer. “So I’m sorry if I made you feel poorly. I never meant to.”

“Worry not, Liam. I’ve gotten used to it.”

His older brother scoffs. “Now don’t say that,” he says. “You really make me feel like a horrendous person.”

Killian barks out a laugh. “You said it, not me.” Dramatically, he flops back on his mattress, letting his muscles relax into the comfort. It really has been a long day.

“So what’s going on in your life?” Liam asks in a friendly manner. “What have I missed?”

Killian opens his mouth to answer - it’s been months, there really is too much to cover in a single phone call - but it shuts quickly when he hears a key in the lock of his front door. There’s only one person in the world who’s got his spare key to his place.

While losing Liam as his automatic plus-one to all social events was a bummer, Killian’s managed to find solace in his neighbor, one Emma Swan, who barged into his life quite suddenly and hasn’t really allowed him a moment to recover since.

Liam just doesn’t know that.

Not quite yet.

And with all the time he’s had to theoretically prepare for this moment, Killian hasn’t the slightest idea how to tell his brother that the most important thing he’s missed in the past months isn’t an event, but a person.

0000

He’d briefly seen her move in, just a couple days after returning to his apartment from Liam and Belle’s wedding festivities. The door next to his propped open with a box overflowing with shoes and the grunts and groans of furniture-moving from within were dead giveaways. Still tired and a bit hungover, Killian resolved to introduce himself later. Maybe after he’d had a thorough shower.

Very thorough. I’m pretty sure someone vomited on me during the morning-after brunch, he thinks. I can still feel the grime on me.

And that’s all the thought he spares this new neighbor of his. Killian goes about showering and returning to the land of post-Liam’s-wedding. It isn’t until two or three Sundays later that the new neighbor crosses his mind again.

Settling down on the couch, Killian takes a deep breath. 12 Monkeys is set to premiere in mere minutes - perhaps not the best attempt at unwinding before what’s promised to be another tough work week, but he can’t even ponder the idea of dodging spoilers. Too much stress.

His eyes slide shut and the next thing he knows, the opening notes of the theme music float through his ears. Killian opens his eyes, hoping they clear in time for him to catch all the intricacies this episode might offer.

And then the pounding starts.

Someone incessantly bangs at his front door. Everyone who’s anybody important enough to him knows not to interrupt him during this time of the week. So he tries to ignore it, just let the complexities of Dr. Railly and James Cole’s adventures take him away.

But the knocking won’t stop.

“They’ve just got the wrong apartment,” he mumbles to himself.

“Open the door, 312! It’s an emergency!” a woman’s voice shouts through the door.

Apparently not.

An emergency could mean a slew of things: broken bones, burning buildings, a mouse in the shower. But if it’s either of the first two, he doesn’t want the woman’s injury on his conscience for the rest of his life. And Liam did raise him to be a gentleman. It wouldn’t be chivalrous to let the mouse run all over this woman’s apartment if she really didn’t want it to.

Eyes still glued to the TV, Killian walks and opens the front door. The only way he can tell that the blonde hurricane that rushes by him is a person is the brush of hair against his arm and the aforementioned tone of voice.

“Excuse me,” he says, watching as she takes his seat on his couch to, what seems like, watch his T.V. “Can I help you?”

“My cable isn’t working and I heard the theme song through the walls.” Her words are direct, offering no other option except for the fact that she’s in his apartment during his show. Eyes on the screen, the woman pats the cushion next to her. “Close the door and sit the fuck down.”

And despite the fact that she’s the one that barged into his apartment, Killian does as she requests: a bit stunned, he shuts the door and ambles over to the couch, barely able to focus in on the show unfolding before them.

“Who are you?” he inquires, easing himself on to the cushion she’d indicated.

“311,” she replies.

“Lovely to meet you, 311. Is that the name - “

She shushes him, her hand waving next to him, gaze still intent on Cassie as she’s deep in conversation with some character Killian hadn’t even known existed. “Wait until commercials. Then talk.”

Again, Killian surprises himself by following her instructions. Between commercials, he manages to get a little more information out of her through hesitantly asked questions. Emma Swan, she says, apartment 311, moved in a month or so ago after escaping from bailbonds and getting something a little more efficient (and probably safer) in law enforcement.

But that’s all he gets that first night, aside from the few physical descriptors he gets from her profile. Otherwise, she’s silent, intent on trying to figure out the twists and turns the show keeps throwing at them. And, man, even as distracted as he is, even he can tell that this season is bound to be a gamechanger.

When the episode is finished, she quietly thanks him, a much different tone from earlier, and leaves his apartment with a completely changed demeanor. But just before his front door shuts between them, Killian sticks his foot in the jamb.

“Next week?” he asks. She - Emma - turns gently, eyebrow raised and eyes squinting at him with confusion. She’s wary, for some reason or another. Swallowing nervously, Killian repeats himself. “Would you like to come over for next week’s episode?”

Taking a step back, Emma’s tongue peeks out between her lips. “My cable should be fixed by then,” she says.

“Oh.” That’s a bit of a letdown. Then again, as he’s constantly had to remind himself tonight, she hadn’t really given him much to go on about her personal life except that her cable was out.

He’s always been up for a challenge, especially one as beguiling as the show that unintentionally brought them together. For now.

“Regardless, you’re more than welcome to come, Swan,” he tells her. Gesturing toward the door, Killian also suggests, “Perhaps knock a bit gentler next time.”

He watches Emma struggle to hold back a grin, her fingers wringing around each other. “Maybe,” is all she deigns for an answer. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones and that’s not something Killian usually notices with anybody. With a silent nod, she takes the five or so steps back to her front door and goes back home.

Killian lingers in the doorway far longer than appropriate.

The next Sunday, he’s settling into the couch, ten minutes to showtime, when a much more hesitant knock sounds at his door. Killian can’t help the smile that crosses his face as he approaches the door.

When he opens it, Emma stands on the other side, both hands holding a plastic bag between then. When he glances down at it, she struggles to hold it up on display.

“Apology Chinese?” she says by way of greeting, her lower lip getting stuck between her teeth. Bringing the bag back toward the ground, she adds, “I’m sorry I forced myself into your apartment last weekend.”

Killian’s already shaking his head before she’s completed her thought. “Completely understandable,” he remarks. “The cable was down.”

Chuckling, Emma shuffles her feet. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees that as an emergency.”

It takes an exorbitant amount of time for Killian to stop nodding like the village idiot. But when he does, he takes a step back and waves her into his apartment. “Please, do come in,” he offers. “You made it just in the nick of time.”

And the rest, he likes to say, is history.

0000

“Killian!” The shout is followed by slam of the front door. “Killian, where are you? I need to complain to you about my day and then drink all your booze.”

He’s up quicker than he thought possible at this time in the evening. Killian slides down the hardwood floors into the living room, silently and frantically slicing his hand across his throat and mouthing shut up!

Emma just stares at him with befuddlement in her eyes. She briefly mimics his motions.

“Are you having a fucking stroke?” she asks, coming up to him. “What’s wrong with you?”

Bringing his phone down to his chest to cover the speaker, Killian whisper-shouts, “It’s my brother,” just as he can hear Liam on the other end of the line. His voice is muffled, of course, what with the shirt and all, but even from here, Killian can tell his brother’s tone is adamant and desirous of information.

Emma, on the other hand, is dumbstruck. Those green green eyes of hers are blown wide with surprise. She tiptoes away and sinks into the corner of the couch, pulling one of decorative pillows he threw on there when he first moved in a couple years ago into her lap and squishing it.

“Sorry,” she whispers, hiding the lower half of her face with the pillow, presumably trying to protect herself from the blush of embarrassment rising on her cheeks.

Killian sighs and shakes his head. He walks over behind the couch and rests his empty hand on the top of her head, running his fingers through the hair that catches there. When he finally puts his phone back to his ear, Killian just catches the tail end of Liam’s barrage of questions.

“Who was that, little brother?” Liam asks.

“No one,” Killian answers too swiftly. He feels pressure on his hand, Emma leaning into his hold, before she gets up and heads toward the kitchen.

Probably to start drinking that booze she mentioned, he thinks.

Liam catches his attention once more. “Killian, I can’t even see you and I know you’re lying through your teeth.”

Unconsciously, Killian’s hand raises and scratches at the skin behind his ear. “So?” he asks, his brother losing his focus as Emma finds whatever poison she was searching for and takes her seat back on the couch, cup in hand.

“So, I’m your older brother,” Liam explains. “You’ve got to tell me.”

“Have not.”

“Have so.” Liam doesn’t say anything for another moment before pleading, “C’mon, Killian.”

Sighing, Killian looks at Emma again. He’s not sure why he hasn’t told Liam about Emma yet, lack of communication in the past few months aside. It’s always been his little secret, almost - a secret friend who’s come to rely on him for alcohol and support and who knows what else.

Emma turns on the T.V. in the living room, already on the Hallmark channel from last night’s bad movie binge. She mutes it, but Killian doesn’t need the dialogue. It must be the end of the movie, the main characters standing at the end of a church aisle.

“It’s just…” he hesitates.

“Yes?”

He knows it’s going to be a mess before he even comprehends what he actually says. “My fiancée?” He winces, the ends of Emma’s hair making some sort of noise as they whip around on the back of the couch. Killian can feel her staring at him.

“Fiancée?” Liam repeats, sounding just as disbelieving as Killian is that he actually said it. Killian hums in agreement as Emma’s green eyes go impossibly wider. Liam, on the other hand, grumps. “Bring her...Him?” Killian rolls his eyes and replies her. “Her to Christmas Eve dinner. You guys can stay with Belle and I and we can have a real Christmas morning.”

Moaning, Killian walks around to the front of the couch and takes a seat beside Emma. His free hand comes to rest on her knee, a move she mimics in solidarity. “I don’t know, Liam,” he says. “I really wouldn’t want to intrude on Belle and yours first Christmas as husband and wife. You should have - “

“Nonsense!” his brother shouts. “Christmas is about family. We should spend it together.”

“I thought Thanksgiving was about family,” Killian scoffs.

“You and I both know we have no bloody clue about these American holidays. We like to - “

“Keep good form as we go.” Next to him, Emma chuckles. He’s been known to say the same phrase on occasion. “I know, brother.”

“I know you know. It’s my job to remind you sometimes.” On Liam’s end of the conversation, something arises in the background, a scuffling sort of noise. It’s probably Belle, Killian thinks, making dinner or coming in from work. Liam’s voice is muffled as he probably greets him.

“I’ve kept you too long, haven’t I?” Killian asks once the racket on the other side signals his brother’s back on the line.

“No, no, I called you, remember?” Liam says. “I’ll let you get back to your -” he pauses, making his voice more suggestive, “-.fiancée.”

“Thanks.” There’s something hard to swallow around in his throat. “I’ll see you for Christmas Eve dinner, I suppose.”

“Yes, both of you will,” Liam bids, his last phrase a subtle reminder, before hanging up and spending the evening with his wife.

Killian, on the other hand, groans and throw his phone on the coffee table. He rubs his hands against his face.

“Fiancée?” Emma says calmly. “Really?”

Killian shrugs, his face warming with embarrassment. “I’m really bad at thinking on my feet.”

“How is that possible? You lie for a living!” Emma flops back on to her spot on the couch, really too semantic for her own good.

“No I don’t.” It's a point of discussion since the inception of their friendship: in her experience, Emma's seen attorneys lie and lie and Killian tries really hard not to.

But sometimes…

“I just sometimes have to spin the truth in a different.” Emma glares at him. “Ugh, I don’t know.” He throws his hands up in the air, exasperated. “I was watching one of those bad Hallmark Christmas movies and I guess their subliminal messaging worked.”

Scoffing, Emma turns back to the T.V., where one of said movies comes to its joyful conclusion. As always, there's unnecessary confetti that's definitely going to kill the birds, but no one cares about that because it's a low budget T.V. film. “I’ll be sure to write a letter to the TV executives congratulating them,” she says drolly, finally unmuting the T.V. She sighs as the new movie starts, one he's already seen this season. “Well, what happens now?” She asks on another sigh.

Killian should've known. His Swan is nothing if not curious, if not nosy. But she was there, as she is nearly every night in any given week, and he knows he really should've asked her before blurring out the word fiancée as he did.

But where else is he going to find a fake fiancée in such a time crunch?

“What plans do you have for Christmas?” he inquires, hoping for a subtle reaction.

That's not the case, of course. Turning toward him slowly, Killian watches as Emma's eyes go wide as saucers, her brows raise high, and her jaw drops.

“Killian, you can’t be serious.”

“Swan, darling, what else are you going to do?” he reasons. “You’ve got an invitation to dinner on Christmas Eve and the guarantee that you’ll wake up to presents and stereotypical family warmth on Christmas morning.”

“I-I mean,” she stutters, jaw still dangling dangerously close to her breastbone. “Weren’t we going to get drunk Christmas Eve and sleep off the hangover Christmas day?”

Recoiling a bit, Killian raises a brow and asks, “We were?”

Emma shrugs, somehow digging herself further into the couch. She takes to holding the decorative pillow from earlier, a sure sign of her nerves. “We didn’t decide anything, but I figure it was the sort of thing we would do.” Looking furtively between him and the T.V., Emma shrugs again. “I was gonna suggest it after dinner tonight.”

“Well, we can do that at Liam’s,” he offers, playfully nudging her with his elbow. “We’ll have some drinks with dinner, have a nice time, then steal whatever from the liquor cabinet and down it all in the guest room in our pajamas.”

She rolls her eyes. “That can’t be good form.”

He doesn’t deign her an answer - not because it’s technically not good form, but for other reasons - and begins poking her on the knee. “Come with me,” he requests of her quietly. “You can meet Liam and Belle. It’ll be great.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes on the male character as he ascends to a throne, before looking him dead in the eye.

“Promise?” she asks softly, her mouth partially hidden behind the pillow.

Killian nods solemnly. “Promise.”

0000

It’s been dark all day, clouds heavy with snow, but somehow, as Killian and Emma sit in her car in his brother’s driveway, Christmas Eve somehow seems to get darker.

“It’s kind of cold,” Emma mumbles, playing with the ring on her left hand. It’s fake, of course, but real enough to pass for an engagement ring. Or at least that’s what they’ve settled on. Killian dug it up from his pirate Halloween costume, and he spent a pretty penny on getting something real enough to fool adults more than children.

Works well for short notice, he thought.

“Yeah, it is.” They sit there for a moment longer, both lost in their respective thoughts, before Killian tsks. Reaching over the center console, he stills her nervous fiddling by taking her hand in his own. “You ready?”

Inhaling sharply and deeply, Emma nods slowly. “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” she says accusatorily.

“I can’t believe you agreed to it,” he quips back with a smirk. Killian doesn’t need to see her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. He unlocks his door and squeeze her hand once, hopefully transferring some courage from his palm to hers. “It’s going to be great.”

Emma scoffs, unlocking her door as well. “You better hope they’ve got some top shelf stuff in their cabinet.”

Killian chuckles as he steps foot outside the car, letting go of Emma’s hand to grab the bottles of wine they brought as gifts. “I should hope the same. Alcohol’s the only way to warm up after this cold,” he says over the roof of the car.

The wind blows up a terribly bitter breeze just as they walk up Liam and Belle’s front steps, leaving Killian and Emma to huddle up to each other.

“It’s fucking freezing!” Emma shouts over the wind.

“Try the door!” he replies. “It should be open.”

The next gust of wind ushers them into the starkly warm house. Both shaking off the breeze and the snow, they hang up their coats and rid themselves of their boots. Killian can smell some sort of meat roasting from the over, the scents wafting down the hallway with the Christmas music gently playing on the stereo.

“Hello?” Killian calls, draping his scarf over his jacket. “Liam?”

Liam’s head pop out from around an archway that must lead to the kitchen, for he’s decked out in a festive Santa apron. His smile is goofily wide, though Killian’s sure that there’s a grin as equally as absurd on his face.

Bloody hell, I did miss him.

“Little brother!” Liam shouts, much to Killian’s chagrin. He comes around the corner and embraces Killian in one of the tightest and, in his opinion, most unnecessary hugs in the history of the universe. “My god, it’s been eons.”

Killian can’t help but belt out a laugh as he slaps his older brother on the back. “I saw you at your wedding,” he reminds Liam.

“Really?” Pulling back, the look on Liam’s face makes him seem a lot duller than Killian knows he is. But then he lights back up, in the present instead of the past now, as Belle comes into the room. “Then it has been too long, Killian.”

Moving around his brother, Killian takes his sister-in-law into his arms. “Belle,” he pauses to buss her on the cheek, “radiant as always.”

“Why, thank you,” she says, color rising on her cheeks. She blinks a few times before her eyes focus behind Killian, on to Emma. He’s nearly forgotten she’s there, she’s unusually quiet.

But Belle, ever the people person and general lovely lady that she is, immediately takes to her, stepping forward and offering her a friendly smile. “You must be Killian’s fiancée.”

“Yeah,” Emma chokes out, her voice decidedly soft and watery. “I’m Emma.” Awkwardly, Emma sticks her hand out. Instead, Belle goes in for the hug, Emma’s hand getting caught between their chests. Killian hears her quietly go, “Oof, a hug.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle says automatically, taking a step back subconsciously into Liam’s hold. “Do you not do hugs? I should’ve asked first. I’m sorry, I’m just excited that we’re going to be family.”

And that’s something that neither Killian nor, he’d bet to say, Emma had thought about. Sure, they can pretend that they’re going to get married, say that they incredibly happy and in love, but the idea of being family…

It’s not one of the angles they thought of, he can safely say that. And, from what he know of Emma’s past and the skeletons in her closet, he’s afraid the mere fathom of it might trigger her into quitting the whole charade.

But Belle, bless her, isn’t privy to Killian’s inner monologue, and moves on to the next thought. Addressing Emma, she says with a chuckle, “I don’t know if Killian’s the same way, but I know Liam is a handful more often than not.”

Liam pulls her closer into his chest. “Now, darling, I resent that sentiment,” he chides her lovingly.

Their little exchange, apparently, gives Emma enough time to reboot and get over whatever turmoil she might be experiencing internally. “Hugs are fine,” she tells Belle, her voice a little stronger than when introducing herself. “I was just surprised. It’s been…” She licks her lips, and glances up at Killian for a tick. “Well, it’s been a while since someone greeted me that way.”

“To be honest, Emma, I’m not surprised,” Liam replies. Looking to his wife, he adds, “Did I tell you, Belle, when I called Killian, the only way I knew about Emma’s existence was because the front door slammed and she yelled at him?”

Killian’s arm goes around Emma’s shoulders, mimicking his brother because that’s what engaged couples do, right? “Frankly I deserved it.”

“He did,” Emma agrees, finally cracking a smile. And then, surprisingly Killian, she places a hand on his chest, looking up at him with a weird glimmer in her eyes, one he’s never really seen in her before. “But he’s still the best part about coming home, and he knows that and accepts that I am a very loud person.”

“I do.” Something about that look of hers keeps him from sarcastically remarking that she can be incredibly loud without even trying. It shakes him because, for some reason or another, her glance reminds him of the way his brother looks at his wife.

Shaking the thought from his brain, Killian turns back to Liam. “So dinner?” he asks. To Emma, he says, “I don’t know about you, love, but I am starved.”

“Seconded,” Emma agrees.

Liam and Belle usher them into the kitchen where the final timer goes off. Liam pulls a ham from the oven and Belle mixes them their first drinks of the evening. That easily leads into dinner, where Killian finds himself glancing at Emma, his excuse being that he wants to make sure she’s having a good time. By the way she laughs hysterically at Liam’s tales of their childhood and keeps whispering to Belle next to her, Killian believes that she is.

A couple times during the meal, he finds his hand wandering over to her knee, exerting slight pressure, silently asking her if she really is doing okay. She always responds with a complementary squeeze, and when her hand lingers there more often than not, Killian tries to focus on literally anything else occurring at that specific moment in time.

By the time the dishes are drying and the leftovers are packed away for lunch tomorrow, Emma’s happily tipsy and Killian’s well on his way to joining her. Liam tells them they’ll have to share the guest bed, but neither of them take issue with it. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve fallen asleep together in close quarters.

Killian manages, though, to keep up his end of the bargain. After bidding Liam and Belle a goodnight and merry Christmas, he nabs two bottles of rum from the liquor cabinet and sneaks them into the guest room, where he finds Emma laying on the bed, flipping through the T.V. channels. She throws the remote to the end of the mattress when her search lands on the Hallmark Channel.

“For someone who enjoys complaining about the subject matter, you’re always quick to find them,” he says over the click of the door closing.

“I get it,” she states as he hands over a bottle. She pops the top and takes a healthy swig.

“Get what, love?” he inquires.

“The bad movie thing,” she says with a roll of her eyes, as if that’s been the topic of discussion for the past two hours and not the last two seconds. Pointing toward the screen, she explains. “Escape. Even though he sent her back home and banished her from Aldovia or wherever, you know he's going to go find and her and they're going to be happy.” On a sigh, Emma settles her head into the pillow. “It's nice.”

It’s so outside of Emma’s realm to be as serious as she is right now. Killian smiles softly at her, joining her on the bed. “I'm glad you finally see that.”

Just as it’s seemed she’s gotten comfortable, Emma swiftly stands, digs through her overnight bag, and goes off into the bathroom with her pajamas. Killian watches the movie as she changes, trying to pick up on the plot points he’s missed and occasionally taking a drink of rum.

When Emma comes back in the room, her daytime clothes balled up in her arms, she announces, “I don't have a family.”

It’s not necessarily out of left field, what with all the talk of Liam and Belle’s wedding and their fake impending nuptials over the dinner table, but Killian’s still a tad surprised by her statement. He doesn’t say anything, though: just allows her to continue at her own pace.

“I was bounced from foster home to group house until I aged out,” she explains, setting her clothes atop her bag. “There were so many kids that none of the adults particularly cared about the holidays.” Coming back to bed, Emma curls up beneath the covers, her voice growing quiet. “And when I grew up, I took to ordering Chinese food and watching these bad movies and the old stop motion ones all night.” She scoots closer to him, her eyes never leaving the T.V. screen. “This is the first Christmas I won't spend alone.”

Killian’s always known her life to be a little harsher than she deserved, but never quite that bad. There’s a hint of that emotion from earlier, the one that made him feel things, linger in her eyes, and he can’t help himself: gently, he brushes some stray strands of hair from her face, his hand staying on her cheek. “Then we're going to make this the best Christmas ever, Swan.”

“It already is,” she sighs happily, looking up at him. “I'm here with you.”

He leans down and kisses her forehead before crawling under the covers himself. Emma’s head ends up on his chest halfway through the movie, the rum forgotten on the nightstands, and they’re both asleep before the prince even proposes.

0000

Killian wakes up shortly after sunrise, head pounding with a headache. He stumbles to the bathroom for aspirin and water and brings back enough for both of them. Popping a few too many drugs, Killian takes a large swig of water to wash them down, and settles back in bed, hoping to get a few more hours. If there’s one Christmas present he’s not going to take for granted, it’s the chance to have a lie in.

Especially when an innocent Emma flips over and snuggles into him, sleep warm. And though her sigh airs on the side of dreamy, Killian can’t say the same for her morning breath. He’s casually choking on tainted air when she rouses.

“What time?” she asks, still half asleep.

“Too early,” Killian says, dragging his hand down her back to try and lull her back into unconsciousness. “Go back to sleep, Swan.”

“But Christmas,” she grumbles.

“It’ll still be Christmas when you wake up,” he assures her. But her breath’s already evening out, and she’s fast asleep less than a minute later.

0000

When they both wake to the sounds of pans clanging in the kitchen a few hours later, Killian feels a lot better. His head isn't killing him anymore, his mouth no longer tastes like cotton, and he's still got a Swan in his hold.

For now.

“You're so fucking hot, get off me,” she grumbles, pushing him wearily, her eyes still closed.

“It's so kind of you to say so,” Killian quips back, holding her even tighter. “I find you to be quite attractive as well.”

Emma groans and shoves his face away. She rolls over and scoots to the very edge of her side of the bed. “You know what I fucking mean.”

Killian sidles in behind her, careful when he threads his arm across her hip and waist. “I do,” he murmurs behind her ear, “but it's Christmas, so your words of malice mean nothing.”

She says something else that her pillow exclusively hears, but then she's sliding out of bed and toward the bathroom.

“If it's Christmas, then we better get started,” she says before closing the door. “The sooner it's over with, the sooner I can be mean to you again.”

Chuckling, Killian shouts through the door, “I like you even when you're yelling at me!”

Emma pokes her head and shoulders out the bathroom door.

“I'm not yelling,” she says matter of factly. “I'm simply expressing my opinion in an angry and slightly elevated tone.”

Once taken care of, Killian and Emma shuffle into the living room to find Belle curled up in a corner of the couch, sipping from a mug.

“Merry Christmas, You two,” she greets them quietly.

“Merry Christmas, Belle,” Emma says in return. “Where's your Jones?”

Belle giggles and tilts her behind back to the kitchen. “He wanted to put some cinnamon rolls in the oven to bake while we opens presents,” she explains.

“Always thinking ahead,” Killian remarks as his brother walks into the room.

“Ah, the lovebirds have awoken.”

“I could say the same for you.”

They exchange gifts - nothing to big or mind blowing. Liam gives Killian his annual pair of socks. Emma and Belle, it seems, thought along the same wavelength, exchanging candles and lotions meant for a relaxing home-spa day. Nobody changes out of their pajamas - too busy eating leftovers and watching classic Christmas movies - until Killian regretfully reminds Emma that they have to drive back home tonight.

“Some of us have to work early tomorrow morning,” he tells her jokingly.

“It’s not my fault your field likes to start their day at 8am,” she gests back.

By the time they say their final goodbyes and merry Christmases to Liam and Belle, it’s dark again, though thankfully not snowing. And when Killian drops Emma’s overnight bag at her doorstep, he can’t quite believe they made it through the holiday.

“Thanks for playing into my fantasy,” he says, surprising himself by how shy he sounds. They’ve spent the better part of the last 48 hours together pretending to be head over heels in love with one another, and now is the part where he begins to be scandalized by the matter? How curious indeed.

“Thanks for giving me the part.” Searching beneath her feet for the answers to life’s greatest questions - or at least that’s what he assumes she’s doing, she staring so intently - Emma scuffs at the floor. Unlike his apartment, she’s got a welcome mat, a little dinky, but still as welcoming as the word written across it. She kicks at it before she inhales deeply. “This might be a bit of a surprise, but that’s probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had in my life.”

“So you said,” Killian says with a chuckle, sticking his hands into his coat pockets. Then he admits quietly, “Me too.”

Her eyes light up, that same emotion bright behind her fluttering eyelashes. “Really?”

Killian shrugs. “The company was above average this year.”

“Aw shucks.” She kicks at the mat again. “Hey, um...” And then she stops herself from continuing.

“Yeah?”

Her right hand is cradling her left as Emma looks at the costume ring on her finger. His gaze falls to it as well. It’s just a silly fake pirate ring, and yet seeing it on her finger, knowing that it belonged to him only a day ago, does something that he suspects looks a lot like the little glimmer that keeps showing up in her eyes.

“I know I should probably give you this back,” she says, “but, um...”

“Keep it,” he says without hesitation. “It's part of your Christmas present.”

Emma shakes her head, already starting to pull the ring off her finger. “You've already given me so much and I just…”

“You've been perfect,” Killian interrupts her. He takes her hand in his and holds it tightly, effectively stopping her from removing the ring. And then, surprising himself, Killian adds, “Since the day you barged into my life and demanded to watch 12 Monkeys.” His tongue runs along his teeth, contemplating the idea formulating in his mind. “But...”

“But?” she repeats.

“If you feel so inclined to thank me...” His sentence drifts off, leading him to raise his finger and tap it to his lips.

Rolling her eyes so hard Killian fears they might get stuck that way, Emma says, “Oh my god, are you serious?”

Killian shrugs again, bringing his hand back into his pocket. “I said if you were inclined.”

“Please, you couldn't handle it,” she says quickly.

“Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it,” he quips back easily.

And before he knows it, Emma’s pressed against him, chest to chest, her hands pulling harshly on the lapels of his jacket. He’s jettisoned forward, his lips to hers, in what’s probably the least expected kiss in his life and possibly the lives of everyone else in their apartment building.

It’s also probably the single best thing to ever happen to him, romantically-inclined or otherwise.

Emma doesn’t step away once she’s done with him, merely comes down from her tiptoes with a heavy breath. “Only one way to find out, right?” Her voice sounds wrecked, her tongue coming out to lick what’s left of him on her lips. Then she lets him go and takes a step back. “Why don't you drop your stuff off and we can see how much we can actually handle together?” she suggests.

Raising a brow, Killian smirks. “Challenge accepted.” He grabs his bag from where it’s fallen to the floor and can’t help himself when he leans over and presses his lips to hers swiftly once more. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

He leaves her unlocking her front door to enter his own apartment, throwing his bag on the couch and beelining it toward his room. There’s dirty laundry to do and he should probably just go to bed because he does have to go to work in the morning, but the opportunity presented to him is just too good an offer to pass up and he can’t be sure that it’ll still be there come morning.

I hope it is, Killian thinks as he pulls on his sweatpants.

But then there’s banging on the other side of his bedroom wall, insistent and forceful and she’s never done that before. Something must be wrong. Throwing on another shirt and forgoing shoes altogether, Killian rushes over to her apartment, knocking equally as hard on her front door.

Emma’s smiling when she flings the door open.

“What's wrong?” he asks, confused by the conflicting information he’s receiving.

“Killian, the Hallmark movie with the dogs!” she shouts at him.

Shaking his head, Killian squints. “Yes, what about it?”

She points toward her living room. “It's on!” Taking his hand, Emma drags him into her apartment, her pleading eyes doing a number on his stomach. “Can we watch it and or have it on in the background?”

He sighs as the screen comes into view. It’s the beginning of the movie, so they can watch it in its entirety and laugh about it together. “I suppose we can wait,” he relents, allowing Emma to sit him down on the couch. He, in turn, wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her legs over his lap. “But I'm not taking my eyes or hands off you for a moment.”

“Good,” she says with a smirk of her own. “I'd despair if you did.”

She tucks her head in the space between his neck and shoulder and something settles, warm and happy, in Killian’s chest.

If Killian had to think of one word to encompass this Christmas, he'd have to settle on unexpected. From his brother’s phone call to his and Emma's fake engagement, the last thing he thought this holiday would end with was him and Emma cozied up on his couch, curled around each other while watching a cheesy Christmas movie.

(And if they don't make it to the triumphant end in order to create their own, then sue him. Sometimes Hallmark movies have to write themselves.)

#csss #captain swan secret santa #cs ff #cs au #fake!engaged #ALSO CHRISTMAS FLUFF #ouat #my words #storytime #this is easily the longest one shot ive written ever #its over 7k #i was worried it wasnt going to get done in time #BUT IT DID #MERRY CHRISTMAS SANDY #i feel like i neglected you as a secret santa #im sorry #i hope you enjoy this!

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mechagalaxy · 7 years ago

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Sten Hugo Hiller #627184 - KOTM 20 Tons

Submitted by Sten Hugo Hiller #627184 Mountain Climbing Mecha Combat

Brought to you by ANN, A News channell for Mecha Combat

Highlighting the December 3328 20 Tons

After my surprise success in the Ogguners I had gotten special invitations to K2 for the following four climbs. The first event was 20 Ton and Bruno had my formation (3 Axe Bots and 27 Shocklites) ready. I on the other hand was very skeptical. Paperwork was piling up, and there were mayhem to do in the Metaverse. Besides, regular entry was from grade 177 to 236 so I would be grossly overmatched. When I mentioned that to Bruno he gave me a nasty grin. "That is what we are hoping for. We have had nothing to do lately, so a formation of blown up machines where the parts are so mixed up it will take weeks to put them correctly together again are just what we need."

My crew blanched at those words. If the Mechs were that badly mauled, most of them would be lucky to just have lost parts as well. Bruno tempted me beyond my ability to resist by making a solemn promise, "Hey, if you should somehow win, I will not complain about the lollygagging you have in Meta and on the Mountains for the rest of the year." Amid dirty looks and muttered curses we set out for the mountain.

Once there I decided to claim the top, and then I had to run back to the office to handle paperwork. The crew seemed like they wanted to run off, but I just pointed out all the strong enemy formations that had us surrounded. Any move would surely trigger immediate demolition of our Mechs.

As scramble neared I returned to find my crew huddling in a cave on the upper slopes. Curiously enough, fully a third of the contestants were in main. The rest... Melissa Powell of HF: Mecha Pirates held the top, and between us the mountain was crawling with Bunnies from both the Avengers (Lewis Reed and xZydrex) and Spirits (John Mainer, Todd Rainer, Hendrik Smith and Joe Kump). They had about 40 to 80 grades on me, and except for xZydrex they had 105 to 200 tons on me. But if I was to get Bruno to shut up I had to advance. The first target was Joe Kump, as he held top foothill. My crew pointed out the disparity, almost 50 grades, 145 tons and at least 8 more Mechs. But who listen to such naysayers? Five attacks later the top foothill belonged to us.

Then it was Melissa we had to beat. I had a hollow feeling in my stomach. She had fended off the cream of the Bunnies, veterans of div one, for hours. And considering what happened the last climb, where I grabbed the Gold in front of her nose, I really didn’t want to be in her crosshairs. But that was what I had to do if I wanted to shut Bruno up. Scramble was still some time away, so I probed her defenses. Not sure how good they were, because she immediately turned her offensive power to reducing my formation to scrap. Half an hour and seven tries later the best I had managed was a glimpse of her fourth line. But now the scramble started. I increased the tempo of my attacks to full "pour out all the Hatorades speed" My losses mounted 10, 25, 40, 70. We were about 9 minutes into the scramble and I was about to concede. But I had a last super left. Grimly I chugged it and continued.

And lo and behold. My 76th try succeeded (never mind having only one Mech left, it had 3 Hp and her formation was gone) and I found myself on the top. Looking nervously down I saw all the strong formations that surely would blow me off the top any moment. Only question was if it would be Melissa or some Bunny. As it turned out the answer was neither, but I was a nervous wreck when the light flashed. I got my comm out and told Bruno to come and pick up the pieces, and keep shut for the rest of the year. Those who had overwhelmingly strong formations, sneaked into the tops or just battled it out successfully this time were:

Div Lvl 1 237+(21 players): Sal Vezzosi Jr, Warlock (3h,10m) 2 -236(12 players): Sten Hugo Hiller, Star League (16m,51s) 3 -176(17 players): KiloToneRecoil, Northwind Dragons (3s) 4 -131(30 players): Donald Anthony Alligood, B.S.L.R. (11m,40s) 5 -105(20 players): Shandar Shadowmist, Death`s Brethren (10m,26s) 6 -87(30 players): Darren Jackson, M&L: Blood Wolves (1s) 7 -68(19 players): Darth Zed, The Brotherhood (7h,4m) 8 -54(17 players): Cora Soco Hiller, today and tomorrow (18m,57s) 9 -42(12 players): Brian Wilson, Smurf War Patrol (3h,24m) 10 -29(13 players): riflemanIIC, Hammer`s Stallions (40m,16s) 11 -24(24 players): AtlasIIC, Hammer`s Stallions (45s) 12 -15(8 players): Joxer Salo, Nova Cats (16m,26s)

Total participants 223, Total Medals: 165 (of 180 possible)

2+4+3+2+2+1+7+7+3(1S)+3+0+2= 1 Silver and 35 Bronzes went to overweight formations this time.

Participation rose by one since the Oggunners, and six fewer Bronzes were sent for resmelting. Can’t really blame the brackets for the 15 unclaimed Bronzes either, div 11 was the narrowest and had more participants than div 10 and 12 combined.

Fighting varied greatly this time. In some divisions there was intense fighting for the top, in others there was no movement during the scramble. My timepiece had the ending in the 24th minute. During this time eight Gold’s were in play, two of them were decided the last few seconds. Three Gold’s were held for more than 2 hours. There were no unaligned winners this time, and the only clan to claim multiple Gold’s were Hammers Stallions who claimed both div ten and eleven. We had two repeat winners this time; Both Brian Wilson of Smurf War Patrol and Sten Hugo Hiller from Star League copied their successes from the Ogguners.

Upcoming event: King Chrono This is an unlimited Chrono. You can use whatever Mechs you want. Equipment and weapons work as normal. But join as soon as possible, this is decided on points, so an early entry and some fighting can be the difference between a medal and nothing.

Event ends November 6 between 0000 and 0030 New York Time.

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accio-ambition · 7 years ago

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Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

And here we are: another week, another update. Four million and six thank yous to @sotheylived, @shipsxahoy, @queen-icicle-fandom, and everyone over at @captainswanbigbang, for this would be absolutely nothing without any of you :)

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset

Chapter Seven

Gaining her sea legs is a bit of a challenge, but after ten minutes on the water – the Jolly Roger isn’t even out of the sound yet – Emma begins to steady. It’s all in the knees, she finds, along the lines of ice skating: bent knees are better for absorbing the shocks. She’ll probably have a bump on her knee from knocking into the walls of the ship – the hard way of learning that lesson – but it’s a surface injury.

“You’re a natural, love,” Jones shouts from the captain’s hut as they finally hit open water. She turns with the camera to catch his brilliant smile. “I’ll be able to add you to my roster in no time.”

Behind the viewfinder, she scoffs. “Please, Captain, don’t you have a boat to steer?” she responds, focusing back on Scarlet and Robin preparing some ropes for the first throw of the season.

Even from her spot on the deck, she can hear his groan. “Ship,” Jones says, “it’s a ship, Swan, not a little dingy boat.”

She believes herself to be doing well: she’s only fallen on her ass once so far and that’s because she missed a step going down to interview Whale in the galley. She’s been on the boat – ship, one of these days she’ll remember – for half an hour, so she’ll be fine.

Right?

Nope, not at all.

The true test comes once they get out of the sound. Jeff and the Jolly Roger’s crew had explained the basic layout of the general harbor: the docks lead out to a sound where boats pass one another in their comings and goings at a slow speed, sort of like a merging zone on a highway. Once they float past the end of a certain jetty, the captains are allowed to proceed full speed in whatever direction they desired to go that day.

It’s when Robin and Whale shout at her to take a hold of something that Emma notices the wind picking up. It seems that Jones is going to nail the gas pedal until they get to their first destination, something that his seasoned crew is prepared for, but she – being the new guy and the one without any background in boats – is not. She finds herself on the ground in a hot second, her back sliding and bumping into the aft of the ship the next, and her grip on the camera dangerously loose.

Unwilling to test her chance at standing, Emma sits, curled in the fetal position at the back of the boat, for probably 15 minutes, until her hair begins to settle into a mess at her shoulders and the crew comes toward her.

“Are you alright there, Emma?” Robin asks, offering her a hand up.

She gratefully takes it, hoisting herself back to standing, and just steadies herself for a second. “Yeah,” she assures him, “I should be fine for now.”

“We’ll be sure to give ya a bit more warning next time,” Scarlet assures her, standing in the doorway heading below deck. And then, yelling into a walkie-talkie, he says, “Isn’t that right, cap’n?”

Jones’ voice crackles back, “I don’t rightfully care unless you lot are throwing the cages into the ocean.”

“Well, you heard the captain,” Whale shouts. Clapping his hands, he jogs to the pile of cages on the side of the ship. “To work, boys!”

Not getting in the way of their work, being a fly on the wall like she’s supposed to be, proves a lot more difficult than Emma originally thought. She’s got no sense of what the guys are going to do yet, except that she’s usually in the middle of the way. When they come to a new trawling grounds, Robin kindly tells her to move this way or that so they can throw the cages into the ocean as fast as possible. She throws Scarlet many a glare after he uses some colorful language to give her the same message. And Whale – she’d rather not think about it.

(Honestly, it’s a miracle that she doesn’t give him a black eye for the things he did to get her to move.)

She bumps into people and objects so many times that she’ll be surprised if she gets one second of good footage today. Luckily, nothing major happened – no broken bones or men overboard. It’s something that she, David, and Jeff accounted for, some time at the beginning of the endeavor to get the lay of the land, or the deck in this case.

In total, Emma comes home from her first day – about nine hours total, from leaving the last step of her front porch to the moment her toes touch the same stair – with that knee bump, two toes that feel broken, a slew of bruises up her right arm, some scratches on her back, and shoulders tense from unused camera-holding muscles. She feels used and raw and beaten. She’s never felt so productive in her life.

Walking in the front door shortly after dark, she leans against the wood and sighs happily. She leverages herself just enough to kick off her sneakers and sink into the entrance rug.

“Mom?” Henry’s voice echoes through the halls of mostly-built furniture and empty cardboard boxes. His face peeks around the corner of the living room. “How was your first day?”

“Pretty good,” she answers as she follows her son into the living room. Mary Margaret is sitting on the couch and cranes her neck over the back to smile at Emma. “David should be already home.”

“He is,” her friend says casually. “He texted me about an hour ago.”

“Then why are you still here?” Emma asks, shuffling into the kitchen. Despite being around it all day, she’s dying for a glass of water and then, maybe once Henry’s in bed, something a little stronger. To, you know, ease her wounds and unwind or whatever.

Mary Margaret’s voice is closer, coming from the other side of the counter when she says, “I wanted to make sure Henry was okay.” Turning around, Emma tilts her head, a sign of comfort and appreciation. “And I wanted to hear about your first day.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s similar to your husband’s first day.” She downs the entire glass in one go, pouring and starting to drink a second one before continuing. “Different names, but same general idea.”

“And he’ll tell me all about his day when I get home.” Skirting the island, Mary Margaret comes and rests her hand on Emma’s arm. “You’ve been around practical strangers all day, Emma. I just want to offer you someone you know to share any grievances or stories from your day.”

Raising her eyebrow, Emma qualifies: “So you want to pretend to be my boyfriend? I don’t know how your husband will feel about that.”

Mary Margaret shrugs. “I want to make sure you know that whatever’s happened in the past is in the past.” Dragging her hand down to meet Emma’s, Mary Margaret gives her a hopeful squeeze. “David and I are always here for you and Henry. Even if that means babysitting or picking Henry up when you’re running late or whatever.”

Emma shifts forward to hug her. “I know, Mary Margaret. I know.” And she does. Or she’s learning to rely on others after years of relying on herself. “Thanks, but it’s been a long day. I just want to hang out with Henry before he goes to sleep and then end the night with a drink and maybe some Supergirl.”

“Well, I won’t be in the way much longer,” Mary Margaret says, grabbing some stuff from kitchen table. She turns to both of them. “You guys are coming over for dinner Friday night.”

Chuckling, Emma takes another sip of water. “That sounds like a statement and not a question.”

“It’s not. You’re coming.” Mary Margaret leans down and presses a sweet kiss to the top of Henry’s head before turning back to Emma. “Enjoy your night.”

“You too, Mary Margaret. Have a nice evening with your husband.”

Mary Margaret winks as she leaves and Emma shudders at the mental image that pops to mind. She hears the front door close as she’s facing to Henry.

“Alright, kid, shouldn’t we be getting ready for bed?”

“But Mooom,” her son whines. He’s hunched over his game controller, staring intently at the TV screen. “I’m so close to completing this mission.”

Emma sighs and picks up the extra controller. “Can I be any help?”

“Yeah.” Pausing the game quickly, Henry turns on her and fixes her with a pointed glare. “But then we both finish this mission and the next one.”

Groaning, she resignedly relents. “Ugh, fine. Then bed. No questions.”

Goofy smile on his face, Henry puts his attention back to the screen and plugs her into the game. “Deal.”

0000

By the end of her first week of work, Emma’s gotten the hang of things. Sort of. Jones gives her a heads up as to what his plan the next day is so she can plan what sort of shots she’s going to try and get. He gives her a time of departure every day and she mostly makes it on time. She mostly stays out of everybody’s way, but since it’s the beginning of the season, the stakes aren’t as high. Everyone – captain included – is dusting off their trawling instincts.

Robin is definitely the most helpful of the crew, the most compassionate. Something about having kids creates the ultimate bond between even the most unlikely of compatriots. Emma realizes that on her second day when, before leaving port, Robin gives her a run through of where she should stand or go when certain things happen. While Whale and Scarlet load the galley with snacks and games in what little off time they’ll have, Robin’s trying to teach her trawling 101 on the fly.

Their conversation fades into small talk, Emma revealing small, unimportant bits of her story to further cement her and Robin’s friendship. She succeeds in her mission if him telling her that he and Regina recently found out they're expecting a baby is any indication. Even for people she barely knows, she’s ecstatic for them.

“You can’t tell anyone, though,” Robin makes her promise as he’s coiling rope. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy until told otherwise. Even the lads don’t know.”

Miming zipping her mouth closed, Emma grins. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Robin returns the smile tenfold. Leaning closer to her, he whispers conspiratorially, “I just really wanted to tell someone. It’s quite exciting.”

Scarlet, it seems, has adopted her as his little sister. He teases her at the most inappropriate moments and makes her laugh during the best shots of the day, therefore rendering them almost unusable. The few times he’s seen her about town, Scarlet stops what he’s doing, no matter how important, and takes a few minutes to walk with her.

Whale, on the other hand, is still a sleaze. Her first impression wasn’t wrong about that. But he seems to soften when Emma approaches the topic of the diner or, more specifically, Ruby. Maybe there’s a chance he is partially human after all. She’s made several mental notes to set those two up, give them a slight nudge in each other’s directions.

The only person who she still doesn’t know where she stands with is Jones himself. He’d made attempts to befriend her at the Fourth of July shindig, and a few times in the days since, but there’s just something about him that doesn’t click with her.

(She knows what it is, in the deep recesses of her mind. Emma doesn’t want to connect with him because she fears she’ll connect with him. It’s much safer for her and Henry if she doesn’t, if she just keeps things cordial and professional.)

It’s an unspoken agreement between the two of them that things stay work-related unless Liam is around. He acts as a buffer, an older brother to both of them, with teasing and scolding and such. Things don’t seem as awkward with Liam around, and for that, Emma is grateful.

Before she knows it, Emma is flipping her calendar – homemade, a birthday gift from Henry last year with pictures of them on their various adventures – to August. A month until school starts and a month since she started this gig. A little over a month since they moved to Storybrooke.

“It’s been a good month,” she mutters to herself before going to empty the dishwasher and start on dinner. “Hopefully that’s a good sign.”

#csbb #captain swan big bang #captain swan #ouat #cs ff #my words #storytime #ditlot #friends!#were all making friends!#and theyve survived one whole month in Storybrooke!#no ones died!

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mechagalaxy · 7 years ago

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Sten Hugo Hiller #627184 - KOTM iMountain Including interview with Cora Soco Hiller #959778

Submitted by Sten Hugo Hiller #627184 Mountain Climbing Mecha Combat

Brought to you by ANN, A News channell for Mecha Combat

Highlighting the February 3327 iMountain

Including interview with Cora Soco Hiller #959778

The craftsmen had decided to let me back on K3. I had my doubts as to that being a good move for my part, I was among the lowest ranked in this climb. OK, it was an iMech event, and I am not a total newbie there, but still the odds were long for me to succeed. But Bruno had my iMechs ready. Two Novums were added as scouts and since no others were in formation when we arrived we settled on the top. And stayed there for a couple days. Others arrived, but none bothered to claim the top, at least not yet.

Then I went to try and get some medals in the Circuits. I returned about 50 minutes before the scramble started. My crew had been relegated to the foothills and there were plenty of strong contenders on the slopes.

Chong Chin from Heroes and Randy Taylor of Red Comet were a few hundred tons below me, but still dangerous. My teammate Able Hunter and Maria Lindley from Spirit of Bunny had around 100 tons on me, and then there were the big cannons. Two more Bunnies, Joe Kump from the Spirit and Michael Coxon from the Avengers. Melissa Powell from the Mecha Pirates. All of those three had at least 30 grades, 200 tons and seven mechs on me. Bruno would call it lunacy to try, but he wasn’t here. It took four tries before Coxon fell, and I had two mechs left, a total of 15 armor points between them. I expected an immediate response, but nothing happened. Perhaps he saved energy for the scramble? Scramble came, and I was set for a furball, but all that happened was jockeying for Silvers. Had Bruno put invi(n)cibility paint on my mechs without telling me? I didn’t know, and didn’t want to call attention by broadcasting, so I sat and waited for them to notice me and blow me away. Instead it ended. Those who hid successfully on the peaks, and those who managed to claim them in furious oil baths this time were:

Div 1 (21 players): Shawn Wretham, Juggernaut (7s) Div 2 (14 players): German Jaramillo, Tiamat Dragons (2m,55s) Div 3 (19 players): Sten Hugo Hiller, Star League (1h,9m) Div 4 (29 players): Colin Toenjes, Heroes (21m) Div 5 (17 players): Darryl Proctor, Red Comet (23h,32m) Div 6 (26 players): LarsonS1, HF: Dragoons (1m,27s) Div 7 (31 players): Leeboy Wegenast, T.B. 1st K. Highlanders (1d,2h) Div 8 (22 players): Cora Soco Hiller, today and tomorrow (1d,9h) Div 9 (22 players): Stug Hill, Behemoth (1d,8h) Div 10 (28 players): Bob Becker, Behemoth (14h,42s) Div 11 (11 players): HighlanderIIC, Hammer`s Campers (1d,18h) Div 12 (14 players): Ricky Yao (52m,3s)

Total Contestants: 254, Total Medals: 174 (of 180 Possible)

2+9+4+4+8+2+3+7+4+0+3+0=46 Bronzes were claimed by overweight formations. Participation was reduced by 31 since the (song of) Ice and Fire, and six Bronzes were sent for resmelting. I might blame at least some of those medals on the brackets, but when the chips are down, it was a case of too few showing up.

My timepiece had the scramble last about 22 minutes. During that time four Gold medals changed hands, one the last few seconds. The hardest fighting I observed was in Div 1. Shawn Wretham and Fabio Favaro went at each other hammer and tongs. I had most of my attention on my own division, but I can’t remember either of them being at the top for over a minute before he was torn down. It was perhaps not quite so intense in Div 2. But German Jaramillo and Bob Schlomer kept hitting and swapping for most of the scramble. Six Golds were held for over two hours, four of them for more than a day. The only clan to get multiple Golds this time was Behemoth, who claimed both div 9 and 10. We had one unaligned winner; Ricky Yao claimed gold in div 12. Just in time to impress team leaders and get invitations to participate in the upcoming CW. Bob Becker of Behemoth was the only repeat winner this time.

As I slowly made my way out of the award ceremony I suddenly had a hundred pounds of wife around my neck, kissing and hugging me. "Well done husband, let’s find a place for a romantic meal, my treat this time" Our daughters, who had merely gotten Silvers, were sent to bed without supper. At the restaurant it was quite a while to wait before the food was served, and I managed to get some questions answered.

Sten Hugo Hiller Congrats on your latest win, that makes it the seventh so far?

Cora Soco Hiller Yes, but I doubt it will be many more, hard to keep up as you advance in the ranks.

Sten Hugo Hiller So you are feeling the resource pinch hard?

Cora Soco Hiller You can say that again! I am trying to keep up and at the same time getting some Krampus` ready for fighting. Those four legged monsters cost me over a thousand Crystal each. First 190 to buy, then around 350 to upgrade and finally I must get them 3 Betrus Processors each for an additional 600 or so. I can maybe afford one a week, provided it is the only one I work on.

Sten Hugo Hiller But you do keep up in the lower tonnages. Are they Your favorites?

Cora Soco Hiller I won’t say favorites, but I seem to always be behind on every class over 30 tons, so it is more a case of using what I have to the best advantage.

Sten Hugo Hiller Some seem to like Chronos, others don’t. What is your take on them?

Cora Soco Hiller I seldom have the time needed to nurse Silver, and most times I can’t even end up in Bronze territory. But I am sure it is wanted by some, so as long as it is not too often, no problem.

Sten Hugo Hiller How about Rainbows and Weapon types. Are they formats you like?

Cora Soco Hiller Again, it is not whether I like them, or the unlimited for that case. It is just that I am way to light to have a shot at Medals unless I am in top of my division, and even then it is a struggle to get a Bronze.

Sten Hugo Hiller That is the case for most of us, in most of the formats. If you were to decide what one of the upcoming KOTMs should be, what would you chose?

Cora Soco Hiller Perhaps a limited rainbow. Say Single Rainbow, but no mechs over 50 ton. Or perhaps a food fight. I think Ambrose mentioned it a while back. Perhaps one Ant one Potato

Sten Hugo Hiller From your mouth to the Developers ears. How have you done in other events lately, like the Birthday party and the Metaverse?

Cora Soco Hiller I got some Bronzes in the Birthday Circuits. The Metaverse gave me some much needed mechs. One Smilidon and a Spitfire, in addition to the three Guardians who will be hangar decorations for the foreseeable future.

Sten Hugo Hiller Impressive accomplishments. As you have been around since `09 and have done quite well, what advice would you give to the new pilots who enter the ranks of Warriors?

Cora Soco Hiller Get into a clan. Ask questions and get things explained. Join the KOTMs, and stay away from PvP fights. Try to get friends, and have full formations.

Sten Hugo Hiller I was thinking more in the line of Equipment, Weapons and Mechs...

Cora Soco Hiller That is more a case of what to avoid. As soon as you enter you get a Warhorse. Sell it, its use is limited and it eats Niodes you will need later. Joining a clan will give you an Orcus. Sell that as well, mediocre mech, not worth the Niodes to keep it upgraded. You might do missions and win mechs there. Sell them as well, or perhaps keep one or two to use the daily upgrades on. Equipment for everything under 50 ton should be Crystal. Get the best Precision for cockpits, best speed for engines and best Dodge for chassis. Don’t sell any Niode gear you win, but don’t use it unless it is better than the Crystal piece it replaces. Weapons, don’t buy (m)any If you buy, get five packs. Join the KOTMs instead. Even a Bronze there will give weapons way superior to what you can buy . Sten Hugo Hiller Thank you for that analysis. Is there anything else you want to add?

Cora Soco Hiller Yes, the food is arriving, and if you don’t put away your reporter hat and give full attention to me and us you are in serious trouble.

When she put it like that it was just one thing to do. Smile, kiss her hand and enjoy the evening. If any other winners would like to give me an interview (no need to buy me a romantic dinner) try to get in touch after the

Upcoming event: Smaller Gateways In this event the total tonnage you can bring is determined by what mountain you are climbing. You can bring whatever Mechs you want, weapons and equipment is totally up to you. But if you have an overweight formation random mechs will be blanked out until you are at or below the allowed weight. So please ensure your formation is a lean, mean killing machine.

Event ends September 10 between 0000 and 0030 New York Time

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