#(Besides maybe some newly added ones to mob)

[clownsuu]

Dusty moments plus doodle KDJDDJ

I do absolutely nothing with my “Shiddy dating sim au”, but it’s fun to doodle things for it every blue moon smhh

[glitxhwayventeen]

A Different Kind Of Love…

Wonwoo: Chapter 3 (Save Your Tears)

Characters: Wonwoo x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst, fluff, cheating (again, sort of), FOOD mentions, Mood Swings. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: Here it is friends! A chapter with almost complete fluff. Who would’ve thunk huh? Anyways I hope you guys like the chapter. I had quite a bit of fun writing it for some reason…

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

Mostly domestic ☁️ & barely any 🥀

A Different Kind Of Love… Master List

Chapter 3: Save Your Tears

It had been exactly three months since you had been marked by Wonwoo and finally completely integrated yourself into your new pack. You hadn’t seen or heard from Song since that night, but you still felt VERY uneasy about the whole situation. People didn’t just get together the way you and your mate did and get a sweet happy little ending.

Wonwoo and you were doing great personally though. You now slept in the same room, ‘slept’ together, and just all around loved each other. You were starting to have a hard time remembering what life was like before you had gotten attacked by that angry mob now that you were with him. He made time stop and fast forward all at once. Everything seemed to go on forever and yet so quickly when you were with him. And you loved every single second of it. Even if you had a hard time showing him that sometimes.

You were downstairs in the kitchen making breakfast for all the boys, someone had to. They literally could not seem to take care of themselves even if they were grown ass men. So you kind of took on the part of den mother to them, you were the only responsible girl they had around after all. None of the Alphas had mates yet, in fact, no one older than Jihoon had found theirs yet. It was only the younger ones. And while their mates were great, they just very much acted like their wolf counter parts, which meant fun all day everyday without a second thought. So that left you being one of the few, other than Seungcheol and Joshua, who knew when enough shenanigans was enough. You didn’t mind, you liked having a big family again.

Many of the boys reminded you of your brothers. Especially Mingyu, who ate and played just as much and as rough as they did. It caused the both of you to become very close, even to the point where he felt like one of your biological brothers, he reminded you a lot of Mako. And of course, Wonwoo was absolutely delighted that the member he considered his best friend and his mate got along so much. He trusted Mingyu around you more than anyone else, so much so that he refused to even let you leave the house without either Gyu or himself by your side.

You had been having your nightmares again which was relatively normal for you. However, Wonwoo had started having them himself, which as a seer was very much not normal or good in meaning in anyway. He wouldn’t tell you what they were about, he always said you didn’t need to worry or be bothered with them as there was nothing to mention. But the way he clung to you, and the way he forced Mingyu to stay with you when he couldn’t, started having you think that maybe things weren’t as alright as they seemed…

You still just brushed it off, trying your best to just enjoy your little honeymoon bliss with your mate and continued to flip pancakes. Everything would work out. That’s what your voices said, so that’s what you believed. Soon enough, your mate had woken up to an empty bed and marched his way downstairs with a pout adorned on his face.

“(Y/N), why are you downstairs stirring batter instead of upstairs snoring in my arms?” He let out in an annoyed huff as he came to stand beside you, watching your actions with playfully narrowed eyes.

“Because Wonu, 1.) everyone will need breakfast soon and I hate that Seungcheol’s always left to be the one to do it and 2.) you take forever and I hate waiting for you to wake up. And HEY I do NOT snore!” You ranted, smacking his toned chest with your free hand in the process, the other firmly gripped onto your whisk as you made more mix for more pancakes.

You had gotten comfortable with him to the point of joking. Which not only made you proud, but made Wonwoo’s heart soar. He was glad he could coax you out of your shell a bit.

“Yeah yeah sure. And Soonyoung isn’t a little sexual deviant.” He chuckled and kissed the top of your rat’s nest covered head.

“Hey! I heard that!” Soonyoung shouted from his room in the higher portion of the house.

“Yeah I know.” Wonwoo smiled, dipping his finger in the batter you had just added some strawberry syrup to to add more flavor and plopping it directly into his mouth.

“Whatever that weird stuff is is good. But don’t think I’m still not upset that my mate left the bed without me this morning.” He assessed, sitting himself down on the counter next to you while you started pouring batter onto your skillet.

“Well get over it my love. It’s not the first time it’s happened and we both know with the way you sleep, it’s not gonna be the last. And my pancakes are not weird! They are delicious.” You declared, flipping a newly heated pancake over so it’s other side would begin to cook.

That’s something he had come to realize about you: you were always very prideful of being able to do household things well. And certain things like your hair for that matter. You always had high personal standards, though you only seemed to hold yourself to them as you didn’t care if anyone else lived up to them, just you. He chalked it up to your tribe’s old family centered traditions. He thought it was cute, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t tease you a bit about it.

Wonwoo smirked and bit his lip at the gratification you showed in your cooking, “They are. They’re still weird as shit though. Who puts the syrup INTO the batter?”

“I do. It makes them taste better” You insisted before you put the finished pancake with the rest of the cooked stack you had managed to create before your mate came to bother you.

“You know maybe you just don’t know how to cook.” You pointed at him with your spatula in a teasing manner.

“Maybe not” He shrugged, ducking his form down a bit to get closer to you, “But I DO know that when you’re done cooking them, you’re just gonna eat them plain like a freak.”

Just as he finished his sentence, half a dozen wolves made their way into the kitchen. You hadn’t even realized anyone other than Soonyoung was really even up yet do to you focusing all your senses and attention on your mate. That had taken you a lot of practice as, in the wilderness, you had to pay attention to everything and everyone around you.

“Mmm smells good (Y/N), what’s cooking?” Seungkwan questioned as he fought Soonyoung for a seat that was positioned closer to the food.

“Pancakes. I made loads of them” You stated, looking towards the two bickering werewolves before you and turned the stovetop off.

“And it is NOT freaky to eat them without syrup. Lots of people do it. Plus, the extra syrup’s so sugary it’s been making me feel sick lately so I would rather just eat it without to avoid it.” You spoke to Wonwoo, who had finally brought himself down from the counter and sat himself down on a chair to grab food with the other boys.

He just laughed in response to your stubbornness and pulled you to sit on his lap with a kiss to your cheek, “Whatever you say baby. I still think it’s weird to eat a plain pancake.”

It had taken you quite a while to warm up to this kind of PDA. When you first came to them, something like that would have you wiggle your way to sit alone and have to hide your burning cheeks. You’d really come a long way. Well, at least with Wonu

“Oh yeah no that’s suuuuper weird (Y/N). You may be a sociopath.” Jeonghan chuckled as he plopped another large bite of a pancake into his mouth, smiling.

“Yeah that’s weird as shit. Who the hell eats a plain pancake?” Soonyoung snickered, shoveling a whole syrup filled circle into his mouth.

“Look, what do any of you know? Most of you had never even eaten a pancake before I came around because Koreans don’t typically eat them for breakfast. So shut up!” You spit out, your feelings starting to get hurt at the constant teasing of the others.

“Who’s the weirdo eating plain pancakes?” Joshua, the American, asked from the stairs as he slowly made his was down towards the rest of the pack to eat.

“Well the Westerner thinks it’s weird so…” Chan said with a shrug and a shit eating grin.

The boys all busted out laughing, some so hard they had to hold their sides. Wonwoo started to choke a laugh back into your shoulder as you sat there and folded your arms over your chest.

“You guys suck. I try and be NICE to you and I get laughed at for my eating habits. I don’t want to have to sit here for this” You huffed, getting up from your mate’s lap and walking upstairs to your shared bedroom, closing the door a bit louder than you probably should’ve when so many people were still sleeping.

“Damn, what crawled up her ass?” Hansol, who you had stomped past on the way to your room said, finally getting himself situated in the kitchen.

Wonwoo let out a frustrated sigh before he stood up from his place, grabbing a plate of pancakes in the process. He was still trying to figure out when his teasing was too much for you. And he probably would’ve been fine had the others not decided to join in. You liked them, you did, but you weren’t as comfortable around them just yet. Them taunting you probably really upset you and he was just the dumbass who let them continue to do it.

“Me. I’m an idiot. I’ll go talk to her and see if I can get her to come back down.” He said as he begrudgingly made his way to the stairs, slightly kicking himself internally for upsetting you over something so little and stupid.

-

Once he made it to your bedroom door, he tried to turn the handle, only to realize it was locked.

“(Y/N)? Baby? Can you please open the door?” He whined out, not realizing he had upset you to the point of you wanting even HIM to leave you alone.

You always wanted him around you. Even when you first came to the pack, you still would rather be near him. Even when he was with Song, you still liked having him close by. Even when you were angry at him, you’d rather be angry at him with his arms wrapped around you than be angry at him alone somewhere. You never locked the door. His inner wolf groaned at the thought.

“No.” You bluntly spit out, wanting him as far away from you as possible and trying to suppress a stomach growl all in one go.

“I brought pancakes…” Wonwoo all but sung out, having heard your angry stomach and knowing damn well you would give into him if he had food.

After hearing a small groan from the other side of the barrier, he heard a little click of metal before the door swung open. In front of him was a very angry looking you, your cheeks were stained with tears and it caused a small whimper to emit from his chest. He had caused you to cry and it crushed him.

You had your hand out in expectancy as he had promised sustenance in exchange for entry. He dutifully handed you the plate and closed the door behind him. He watched as you scarfed down a full pancake in one go. Damn, you were more hungry than he thought.

“What do you want?” You sniffled at him once you had cleared your airway of food.

You sat the plate down on the nightstand before you stood and turned your attention back to your mate, grabbing another pancake and taking small bites in the process. You were never really this hungry or ate this much, but when you got sad lately, you just felt like eating. Probably not the best habit, but you weren’t that good with your feelings, you always just followed your instincts instead. They always kept you alive, and right now they were telling you to eat, so you ate.

“I wanted to apologize baby. I didn’t mean to upset you. It really was just a joke. I didn’t mean to make you cry. You’re not weird. Plain pancakes are fine. I should’ve just kept my big mouth shut.” He groveled, wrapping his arms around your small frame.

“Yes. Yes, you should’ve.” You agreed, finally swallowing the remains of your food and crossing your arms in annoyance, slightly leaning away from his touch to wipe your tears away.

You wanted him to touch you. God, you wanted him to touch you. But you didn’t want to give in so easily, because once you gave in, you knew he’d get all smug and then you’d want to punch his smug face. You wanted him to genuinely feel bad before you crashed your lips to his and ripped each other clothes off. It was only fair.

Wonwoo could smell the wetness already beginning to form between your legs. He suppressed a smirk threatening to appear on his face for getting you this worked up by literally doing almost nothing, but he knew being cocky wasn’t a good way to get you to stop being mad at him. So he stuck with his original plan: begging for forgiveness.

He easily lifted you up and secured your legs around his waist, holding onto your back so you wouldn’t lose your balance and fall, “I really am sorry. I won’t do it again baby. I promise.” He spoke as he leaned his forehead against yours with his best pout, tugging at your heartstrings.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to contain your excitement for what was about to come, but failed miserably and let a happy smile creep up on your lips. You locked your hands behind his head, giggled at him and bit your lip.

“You’re forgiven. This time. BUT you have to make it up to me.” You decided, eyes looking up for a moment in thought to tease him. He slowly started moving towards the bed that was in the center of the room before he spoke up.

“And how would you like me to make it up to you baby?” He said as he began kissing your neck softly, trailing around your mate mark with a grin plastered on his face.

“Well for starters, you can fuck me senseless until I forget what I was even mad at you for to begin with.” You confirmed, tilting your head to the side to give him a bit more access to your exposed neck.

“With pleasure my love.” And with that, he fell to the bed with you in his arms, careful not to crush you in the process before he got to work on his promise.

(Updated 8/23)

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 22

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: there is a HUGE musical theatre reference in this chapter and i’m rly happy it is here 😉 hope you enjoy this chapter xx thank you so much for the love you’ve been giving this series so far, i love you all so so much !! 

NEXT CHAPTER

In any other circumstances, Y/N would’ve been crying but considering Daniel was downstairs awaiting her. She was happy, she convinced herself, she was happy to spend Christmas with Dan, Gwen and everyone else. She was happy, this was just her post first time brain playing tricks on her. Why would she expect the mob boss to suddenly drop his plans to come and spent Christmas with her at his wife’s childhood home? Maybe it was a good idea he didn’t want to go with her. How hypocrite to walk into Gwen’s house with the same husband to be she just slept with. God, Y/N, get your head in the game.

With the bag that hadn’t been unpacked the day prior she abandoned her bedroom, head slightly turning towards Sebastian’s room. Unconsciously, she hoped he would be at the door but it was closed. There was no way he was spending Christmas with the Forrests and Y/N did not know why she was hoping he did. Well, she knew why. She was an hopeless girl filled to the brim with naivety. Shaking those thoughts and the events of last night into a black corner of her mind, she went down the stairs where Dan was standing, awaiting her on his phone. 

     - Hey Dan. - she forced a smile out of her clouded, over ran mind. The eldest Forrest sibling smiled at her, coming in for a hug. However, Y/N was not much into the mindset to be hugged or to be her regular self so she let herself be embraced with a dazed off look. - We should be going before it starts snowing again. 

     - Of course, birdie. 

She gave the upstairs another look as she followed Daniel onto the lift. She was happy, right? She was happy to go spend Christmas with those who she considered the only sort of family she had ever known. She was happy. She couldn’t be happier. Right? Couldn’t be happier, right there with Dan in the car, sort of like her own happy ending, right? Spending Christmas like she always did. Though it is she admits the tiniest bit unlike she anticipated but she couldn’t be happy. No, she’s happy, she’s happy to be here driving away from the Upper East into her childhood home. 

However, there’s a kind of a sorta of cost, a sort of thing that got lost when she left that bedroom. There are bridges you cross you didn’t know you crossed until you crossed and Y/N, Y/N had just crossed that bridge. With an overwhelming sadness in her eyes, a far cry from the bright sparks whenever she got to see the decorations from the car windows, she leaned against the glass, finger raising up to doodle sweet nothings onto the fogged surface.

It didn’t take as long as she was expecting to arrive to her childhood home. Maybe this was due to her need to be inside her mind wondering if she had done something mid falling asleep and waking up that would’ve hurt Sebastian. Did she hurt him in any other way or was he just playing safe? He was an analytical man, after all he needed to be in order to thrive in the environment he’d been born in. Maybe Y/N was expecting regular expectations from a man who wasn’t regular. 

    - You’re very quiet. - Dan was the first one out of the car, thanking the driver before taking her bag off the back. - Did something happen with Sebastian? I was worried about leaving you alone with him.

    - Don’t you think it’s odd he doesn’t want to spend Christmas with us ... I mean with Gwen? She is his ... wife-to-be. 

    - Dad doesn’t really want him here. Don’t you remember Gwen’s 18th? He was here. 

    - I’m sure I would remember if he had been around. - however, in all honesty, Y/N had spent Gwen’s 18th, which had also been her 18th, much more interested in reading Pride and Prejudice for the 100th time. - Why doesn’t Mr. Forrest want him here?

    - You’re making a lot of questions you don’t need the answer to, birdie. 

    - Why do you always leave me in the dark? I’m 24, I’m not exactly a child anymore. - she crossed her arms, annoyed at the lack of responses to her questions. Maybe it was the newly found annoyance at everything that gave her the chops to stand up and ask for some answers.

    - You are not in the mob, Y/N. You don’t get to ask questions and you certainly don’t get to have the answers. - he harshly opened the door, allowing her to come inside and see the same sights she saw every single year. How come she didn’t feel as excited as she should? The decorations seemed prettier and shinier in her mind and the once environment she was sad not to return to, she was now sad to be in. It just felt empty. 

   - Where is the staff? - she looked around, noticing the substantially lack of people running around despite for a few bodyguards.

    - Gwen gave them Christmas off. - Dan shrugged. - I guess she’s preparing herself to be a housewife. 

   - I seriously doubt that. - she muttered under her breathe before grabbing her bag and climbing up to her bedroom. It was mostly unchanged, like a picture frame of what her life had been like before she had met him. Well, turns out she might have met him prior but Gwen’s and her 18th birthday had been a mostly chaotic experience so maybe her brain had compartalised that far far away from her. 

Sitting down in her bed she let out a huff. God what did she want? First she wanted to spend Christmas like she always did and when she got it she felt miserable. Is that how people behave after losing their virginity or was Y/N missing him already? It surely had hurt her for him not even to consider coming with her but if Mr. Forrest wasn’t found of him then maybe it made sense. Anyway, it felt like a cold answer and Y/N was starting to tire herself of being constantly left in the dark. If she was good enough to be close to Mr. Forrest’s daughter then she was good enough to get answers. 

Much too upset with that whole line of thought, Y/N grabbed her phone from her back pocket, unlocking it to reach for her contact list. She didn’t have many which gave her an easy path towards who she wanted to reach. Sebastian. After convincing herself that he wasn’t mad at her and that all of this was a great misunderstanding, she dialled his number. Leaning her ear against the phone she heard the long and high beeps, expecting to hear his voice anytime soon. However, it never came through.  

    - I thought I’d head Daniel arrive. - Y/N raised her head from her bed to see Mr. Forrest by the door. - I’m sure you’re hungry, Y/N. Why don’t you join us for lunch and great the guests.

    - I’m not entirely sure I’m up for food, Mr. Forrest.

    - Nonsense. Besides, I’m sure Gwen misses you. - he fully opened the door, gesturing out. Gwen, yeah, how was Y/N gonna look in her eye ever again? As she went down the stairs with the head of the family, she wondered how she was ever gonna speak to Gwen ever again until she spotted her at the table being very cozy with one of the associates sons. Great, just what she wanted, a table full of the same associates that clearly disliked her by the cabaret experience. However, it wasn’t Gwen flirting with the young men at the table or the amount of associates present at Christmas Eve, it was a very familiar man sat next to the only empty seat. - Y/N, I’m sure you’ve met Mr. Williams before. He’s spending the holidays with us. 

    - Yes, we’ve had the pleasure. - he smiled as she sat next to him. - We are very glad you can spend Christmas with us, Miss Y/N.

    - Imagine having to spend the holidays with Sebastian in that tiny overrated penthouse. - Gwen said before stuffing her mouth with a forkful of meat loaf.

    - He is really not that bad, Gwen. - Y/N spoke up in her normal soft and melodic voice. Normally her opinions tended to go unnoticed but at those words, every single person seemed to redirect his attention towards her. 

    - Never mind Y/N. She’s a very forgiving person. - Mr. Forrest diffused the situation with the sort of swiftness that only people holding power could do so. Soon enough, everyone was too distracted in their own affairs and conversations to really care about Y/N. She didn’t care much about being invisible, in all honesty, her expectation in life was to be invisible and so far she was good at it. Invisible people don’t deal with conflicts ... well at least not physical conflicts as she has mental conflicts galore. 

The meal took a rather long time to finish with people laughing and stopping to comment on various issues and she had to admit not having the staff to speak to was a bit boring. Yet again, Y/N was already quite uncomfortable being next to Mr. Williams and the weird aura he always let through, so she had spent most of her lunch checking her phone for any new messages, any new calls but there were none to be seen. He was probably busy, he was a busy important man. 

    - ... no, there’s no need. Y/N can take the dishes into the kitchen. - her name being spoken by Gwen made her raise her gaze from her phone onto the table and Gwen. - Right?

   - Gwen ... - Daniel warned, voice low but still laced with threat. In normal situations, she would’ve recognised it, but the heiress was much too intoxicated with champagne. 

   - What? It’s not like she’s part of the family, she’s staff. - she added and in that moment Y/N felt a bit less guilty she had slept with her husband to be.

   - Genevieve, that’s rude. - Mr. Forrest added.

   - What? It’s true, she’s a handmaid.

   - Gwen ... - Daniel returned with that same threatening voice but Y/N found it rather hypocritical coming from the same man who just a second ago had shot all her questions down in a rather rude manner. 

    - It’s alright. - Y/N stood up and started collecting all the plates, stacking them together on top of her arms.

Gwen was right, at the end of the day this wasn’t her family. They had raised her but they weren’t her family at the end of the day. She was just a handmaid. She wasn’t part of the mob, she was a handmaid. A handmaid. She never thought about the word itself for too long, always considering herself a friend but at the end of the day she was a subordinate to everyone and that was what she would always be. 

Words can hurt and these words had cut through her. Not even Sebastian seemed to want to actually pick up her calls. Maybe Gwen was right, she was a handmaid and that was what she was always gonna be. 

She put the dishes on the sink, taking them one by one to dispose of the food scraps and start scrubbing them. She looked down at her soapy hands and then at the metal kettle on her side, noticing her reflection in it. The tendrils flying in front of her head and the soap suds made her look exactly like the staff Gwen made her out to be. She was too lost in how she looked in her reflection that the slippery plate slipped off her hand, shattering onto the floor into a thousand bits. 

Y/N kneeled down, starting to pick up the shards so lost in her own negative thinking she didn’t realise tears had started to run down her cheeks until they hit the palm of her hand and she broke down sobbing in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by the shards of porcelain which once were a plate. 

Just a handmaid. Out of the sudden, it seemed to her that she had finally realised what she was. A subservient. At that point, Y/N wondered if that what she was to Sebastian too, a submissive creature which he could do with as she pleased.

   - It’s just a plate, there’s really no need for there to be any tears about it. - she immediately straightened her posture, returning to her standing position.

   - Mr. Williams. 

   - It’s really unfair, isn’t it? - he circled her, leaning against a opposite marbled surface in the kitchen. - People like us getting treated like dirt by the top ones. 

   - I’d really rather not speak about it. - she smiled softly, hoping he would leave. - It’s really no issue, I enjoy doing the dishes anyway. 

   - It hurts, doesn’t it, Miss Y/N? To know that she’s the one who is going to walk down the isle and you’re gonna be in the sideline. 

   - I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. I really need to return to the dishes.

   - You and Mr. Stan aren’t fooling anyone. Maybe Genevieve, but you’re definitely not fooling me, birdie. You’re not the mistress type.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee​ @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater​ @nikkipea​ @madisonpillstrom​ @cevans98​ @thelostallycat​ @sideeffectsofyou​ @anxiousdreamersworld​ @captainchrisstan​ @lookiamtrying​​ @sarge-barnes-sir​​​​​ @stuffforreferences​​ @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen​​

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hot Blood [2]

Warnings: non-consent sex; oral, intercourse

This is dark! (mob) skinny Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Synopsis: Steve Rogers is on the rise in the New York underground as you’re trying to keep your own place there.

Note: Here’s the second half. I’m TRYING to slow down a bit because I’ve become a bit manic and scrambled and all over the place so hope you guys don’t mind maybe revisiting some of my stuff while I try to clear my mind.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

There was a flurry of activity at the tall brick building you pulled up to in Brooklyn. Bucky drove around the back and killed the engine. Steve sent you a look before he climbed out. You grabbed your small bag and got out as Bucky closed the driver’s door. 

Steve led you to the back door of the building as Bucky trailed you and pulled out a cigarette. As you entered, the distant banging of hammers and buzz of voices rose from above. You were surprised by the interior as it did not reflect its facade; the aged brick hid the newly laid layer of decadence.

“Mind the noise,” Steve said as he strode across the lobby. “First two floors are finished but they got a dozen more to do.”

You glanced around at the stone statues and gilted frames. A little Versailles in the heart of New York. No doubt prompted by overcompensation and egoism.

“A borough is an empire on its own, I suppose,” You mused as you neared a bust of a naked woman.

“No, but New York is,” He neared and ran his finger along the curve of the stone woman’s hip. “It will be.”

“Big plans…” You stopped yourself from finishing; for a small man.

“Too many plans,” He drew away and looked at his watch. 

“Buck,” He called to his henchman who flicked off his cigarette. “Would you use the goddamn tray?”

“Sorry,” Bucky snickered. “Habit.”

“Mmm,” Steve grumbled. “Take her up to a room. Lock it, will ya?”

You glared at him and gripped your bag tighter. He glanced at you as he felt your anger radiating towards him.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll have the tailor come by and get you all set.” He smiled. “Considering that hole you were living in, I think you’ll like it here.”

“You can tell your tailor to fuck off.” You snapped.

“Ah,” Steve’s hand flew up and he grabbed your chin. “That’s not very ladylike language.”

“Get off of me,” You smacked his arm but he didn’t flinch. 

“There are gonna be rules, got it? First, you’re gonna start acting like a lady and watch your tongue. Then you’re gonna get rid of these,” He let go and pulled on your lapel, “And mind your place, woman.”

You bit down as you brought your hand up. He reeled at the slap which echoed through the lobby and Bucky’s figure loomed in your peripheral. Steve raised his hand to halt his henchman and touched his cheek. He took a breath.

“That’s the only one you get,” He said slowly. “Understand? Cause I’ve been more than patient with you. You still got your piece.”

“Empty,” You intoned.

“Still,” His eyes flashed. “And your head.” He pointed at you. “And a very clear choice here, doll. This can be easy or difficult. Now it seems you prefer the latter but I don’t think we ‘share that sentiment.”

“No, we don’t,” You said.

“Bucky,” He gestured to his man. “Get her out of my sight.”

Bucky grabbed your arm and drew you away as Steve walked across the marble floor. Your shoes slid over the stone and you were forced up the stairs by the bulky henchman. He dragged you to a pair of double doors and wrenched the right one open. He shoved you inside. 

The door slammed and you heard the lock slide into place. You cursed and kicked it before you spun to look around the room. It was as big as, if not bigger, than your apartment. 

The walls were decorated in a pale blue paper that bore regal curlicues and the polished floor shone even without the light of the glass lamps. The furniture was carefully arranged and no doubt expensive. You dropped your bag on the side table by the door and inched further in. You removed your hat and played with the brim. You needed to learn to shut your mouth.

🌆

It was about an hour before the lock sounded. The door opened inward and you rose from the chair with the French legs. A man with round glasses struggled to drag in a rolling rack of garments. When he was inside at last, the door closed and the lock slid back into place. 

He glanced around as he adjusted his spectacles and seemed taken aback by you. He sniffed as he came closer.

“Oh dear,” He said. “Hmm. Uh, hello, Miss, I was sent for a fitting. I’m Stuart.”

You crossed your arms and scowled. He shook his head and turned back. He grabbed a pale green dress from his collection and faced you again.

“This might fit,” He said. “Miss.”

He nodded to the screen on the other side of the broad bed. You looked between him and the painted divider. You didn’t move.

“Mr. Rogers told me you required a wardrobe,” He said aghast, “And I must agree with him.”

“And if I refuse it?” You challenged.

“You’ll have no protest from me, I have been duly paid to come here and offer my services. However, I know my client well and I am certain you can predict his reaction yourself.” He explained. “Whether or not you go along with this, is not my job.”

You huffed and reached to your belt. The man blanched as you removed your holster, gun still secure, and set it on the side table.

“It’s empty,” You assured him. “If it wasn’t, I’d not be here.”

You took the dress from him and disappeared behind the screen. You swore under your breath as you hooked the hanger over the top of the barrier. You removed your jacket and unclasped your suspenders. You slipped your shoes off and balled your socks inside them. You unbuttoned your shirt and tossed it a top your jacket on the small stool about a foot away. You added your trousers to the pile and stood in your underwear.

You grabbed the dress and pulled it over your head. The a-line skirt fell just to your knee and the delicate embroidery along the panels of the bodice stretched from chest to waist. You hadn’t worn a dress in years and it was just as awkward as you recalled. You stepped out from behind the screen and braced your hips in disapproval.

“Fits quite well,” Stuart mused and neared his rack again. “That means… the red, yes, oh, silver, the lace skirt…” He began to take hangers down and toss each piece on the chaise not far away. “Enough to see you through until I can make adjustments.”

You frowned and shook your head as you watched him. He passed you and you watched him gather up your former clothing. You blocked him before he could return to his rack.

“What are you doing with those?” You asked and reached to your waist instinctively.

“Mr. Rogers bid me take them with me.” He said plainly. “My assistant will be by later with undergarments… I just need your measurements before I go.”

You sneered at him as he dumped your clothing on the side table and stirred around in his pockets.

“I can assure you, miss, given your temperament, this is as unenjoyable for you as me.” He neared with his tape measure and you dropped your arms.

“Doubtful.” You grumbled.

🌆

There was an oval mirror in the corner behind the screen. You spent a while looking at yourself in the ridiculous dress before you distracted yourself with hanging the rest in the long closet. Stuart’s assistant, Olly, was shown in an hour after the tailor had left and gave you a collection of negligee and silk underwear. You hid them in the drawers and tried to forget about them.

Steve, for all your spite, was a man who acted quickly and effectively. And, you guessed, impulsively. You doubted you were the first woman to laugh at him but you didn’t wonder much on his wrath. It was his ilk; yours too. The underworld was run on tempers and wounded pride.

You sat in an armchair as you fiddled with the gun, flipping the chamber in and out, listening to the roll. You heard the door handle and stopped. You spun the gun in your hand and pointed the empty barrel at the man who entered. Steve’s brows drew together as he saw you. His lips twitched and he removed his hat. He left it on the side table beside your bag.

“You waiting on me?” He asked coyly.

“If I had a bullet, perhaps I would be more excited for your arrival,��� You set the gun on the small round table beside you.

“Go on,” He stood across from you. “Stand up. Let me get a look.”

You stared at him. You didn’t move. His gaze travelled to your legs and he tapped his toe.

“Hurry up, would ya? We’ve got places to be.” He sneered.

“Places to be? Oh?” You still didn’t rise.

“Look, doll,” He lowered his voice as he stepped a bit closer. “I know you think I’m just a skinny little shit but let me tell you, I’m a whole lot more. You stand up so I can get a peek at you or I’ll get you up myself and do more than look.”

Your nostrils flared and you grabbed the gun. You swung it at him and he dodged it. He caught your hand as you stood and tried again. He twisted your wrist and you gritted your teeth as he forced you to release it. He caught it with his other hand and shoved you back. 

“You just can’t help yourself,” He growled as he tucked your gun into his trousers. “You’re lucky I have more self-control than you.”

You crossed you arm as he looked you up and down.

“Nice get-up but not for tonight,” He went to the closet and slid it open. “Even so, you’ve been busy.”

You were silent as he pulled out a pale blue dress that shimmered in the light.  Thin straps, low cut, skirt flowing to the floor. You cringed as he turned back to you.

“I am not stupid, doll,” He neared and held out the hanger. “You think I’m a joke. You’re one of the most stubborn gals I’ve ever known. I like that.” He waved the dress until you took it. “But I don’t work alone. You wanna step on my toes, I have no issue calling in back-up.”

You glared at him; silent.

“I’ve seen Bucky do terrible things to men; his own size, bigger. I heard of worse from his years in the war. It changed him and when I tell him to do something, he doesn’t think, he does. He doesn’t see a man or woman, trousers or skirt, he sees a job.” Steve warned. “He’s all smiles til I say ‘sic ‘em’.”

“You must watch a lot of pictures, Mr. Cagney,” You sniped.

“Listen, when it comes down to it, you’ll prefer me to him,” He said. “Me to any man in this city. I could let you go,” He pointed at you. “Could, but I’d have to put a price on that pretty little head.”

You frowned and folded the dress over your arm.

“Where are we going?” You asked quietly.

“A party,” He smiled. “To celebrate my recent victory.”

🌆

You hated the gown and the shoes. The way the woman had done your hair. Steve had left you to change and been quickly replaced by an older woman with fake blonde curls. Once a Jean Harlow fan or merely grasping at her fading youth?

She set your hair and grabbed your chin as she powdered your face and lined your eyes. She was pushy and said her name was Muriel. She talked a lot. You could barely keep track of her gossip. She painted your lips a deep shade of red and looked you over. When she finished, she left you as swiftly as she’d come. You ignored the mirror and the stranger in it.

When the door opened once more, you were at the window. You stared down at the sidewalk, pondering the way down. It would be a painful and slow death. So you had to wear heels; was it worth that?

“Doll,” Steve’ voice made you tense and you turned to face him. “You look… wonderful. Like a real woman.” He neared and his eyes lingered on vee of the dress. “Forgive me, you are a real woman.”

You crossed your arms but quickly dropped them as it only served to push your chest higher. Steve held a velvet box. He placed it on the table between the arm chairs and snapped it open. He lifted the silver chain from it and held it up to sparkle. Small diamonds decorated the slender necklace; the centerpiece a large sapphire.

“I’ve never seen a woman look at a jewel with such disdain.” He mused as he neared.

“Only at you, right?” You japed. He almost smiled.

“Sure, doll,” He seemed calmer as he gestured for you to turn.

You let out a breath and did. He carefully looped the necklace around your neck and clasped it. You spun back to him and wobbled in the heels. You kept yourself from tripping and he smiled as he reached to touch the sapphire.

“Gorgeous,” He said. “If not lacking grace.”

You drew away from him and his hand brushed your arm. He grabbed your hand and stopped you. He came up beside you and hooked your arm through his. 

“You behave…” He purred. “And I just might take it easy on you.”

🌆

You recognized many men at the party. It didn’t make it any easier. Once, you had faced them with a gun on your hip. With a sense of dignity. You lowered your head as Steve swept you along and he stopped to push your head up with two fingers.

“Be proud. You’re mine.” He whispered as he turned back to his path. “One day, this whole city will be mine. I might just take you with me.”

You didn’t like that. He spoke of you like a possession. But you shut your mouth and focused on not tripping. As you gained your balance, you struggled to stop as Steve pulled on your arm. The man across from you, Harry Carligne, squinted at you as he greeted your escort. As he tried to take you hand, you just stared.

“I know you,” He pulled back and realisation smoothed the wrinkles in his forehead. “Holy…”

“Where’s Carol?” Steve interjected. 

“She found out about Lucille,” Harry laughed. “Who you will find flitting around somewhere.” He glanced at you again. “My, my, how did you tame this creature, Rogers?”

“He didn’t,” You said tersely. “Keep your paws off me.”

“Oh ho,” Harry grinned. “You’re definitely braver than me, Rogers.”

“I told you, I like a challenge,” Harry’s smile fell as he caught the edge in Steve’s voice. “Plus, I’ve heard that women with sharp tongues are the best fucks.”

Your eyes rounded and you gaped at Steve in disgust. You tried to pull away from him and he snaked his arm around you and pulled you closer.

“Besides, I’m sure the mouth is good for more than just talk.” Steve chuckled. Harry joined in loudly and you snarled at both of them.

“I’m thirsty,” You insisted as you tried to wriggle away.

Steve’s arm stayed firm and he waved with his other hand. A server appeared with a tray and Steve took a champagne glass from the lot. He handed it to you. 

“Drink up, doll,” He said and returned his attention to the other man. “Now, Harry, we got some clean up to do in Queens…”

🌆

The night was long. You didn’t miss the whispers of the men or the women attached to them. It also didn’t escape you that you looked like one of those women now. Some were wives, some were mistresses, and some were paid by the hour. You weren’t quite sure where you fell yet.

And Bucky hovered ever in your peripheral. He was Steve’s watchdog. Those Steve talked to were also aware of the other man. They were nervous. He had a reputation you had yet to see proven. You could live without the evidence.

You were relieved to be away from the party guests but less than to be once more beside Steve in the back of the ivory roadster. He was close, his fingers tapped on his knee as he was quiet. Bucky drove, yawning here and there. You were tired yourself but antsy due to the man next to you.

You flinched as Steve’s hand fluttered over onto your leg. He felt the fabric of your dress and leaned closer.

“A few slips,” He said. “But you did well, doll.”

“I thoroughly despised it,” You grumbled.

“But you looked good,” He cooed. “I like this dress… makes me think about what’s underneath.”

“You’re a dog.” You snapped.

He chuckled and his hand slid further and crawled along the crease where your thighs met. You pressed your legs together but he didn’t push. He merely traced a line around your hip and his fingers danced along your arm. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you to him. He kissed you and you slapped his chest. He winced but didn’t stop.

You shoved him but it only seemed to drive his fervour. He squeezed the back of your neck as he poked his tongue past your lips. The car came to a stop and he finally drew away. He glanced out the window but as he turned back to you, you slapped him.

“Animal.” You hissed.

He touched his cheek and his blue eyes glinted in the dim. He let out a heavy breath and tore his hand away.

“Get her,” He barked at Bucky. “Drag her, if need be.”

Steve got out of the car as the other door opened and you found yourself being ripped out by the henchman. As you found your footing, Steve came to face you. 

“We’re gonna go back to the room, doll,” He said curtly. “And this can stay between the two of us or I can have my man hold you down. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the show.”

You glanced over at Bucky. His expression was dull and his grip firm. He shrugged. He tugged you forward as Steve spun and led the way to the tall building. Inside, it didn’t seem so extravagant anymore and your steps echoed on the stairs. The hand on your arm was like a shackle.

The same door, the same room, you were ushered inside and Bucky let go hesitantly. The two men watched you, waiting. You didn’t move and Steve nodded to his henchman.

“Stay close,” Steve said quietly. 

Bucky nodded and showed himself out. Steve faced you and brought his hands up to grasp your arms.

“I don’t wanna call him back,” He said. “Do you?”

You shook your head as a chill crept up your spine. You hadn’t felt this way in a very long time. You were afraid. You told yourself it wasn’t the thin man before you, it was the one outside, but deep down, you knew it was both.

“Alright, take the dress off.” He said. “Just the dress.”

You unhooked the back and slid the straps down your arms. Steve walked circles around you. You looked to him as you braced yourself. He loosened his tie as you let the gown fall to your waist. You shimmied out and exposed the creamy lace-trimmed panties and bra beneath.

“Sit. On the bed.” He ordered.

You stepped out of the dress and slowly crossed to the bed. You turned and sat on the end. He neared as he pulled his tie from around his neck. He put it over your eyes and you grabbed his wrist. He shook you off and secured it around your head so you were blind.

“Don’t even think about taking it off,” He warned. You dropped your hand and he stroked your cheek as he backed away.

You listened and shivered in your scant clothing. The underwear, the garters, the sheer stockings, and the strappy heels. You sensed him before you again. He ran his hands over your shoulders and down your arms. He brushed them back up your sides and groped you through your bra.

“Take this off,” His hand dropped and he pulled at the lacy trim at your hip. “And these.”

You stood in the pitch black of the blindfold and carefully undid your bra. You paused and you felt a tug on the front. You swept it away and hooked your thumbs in the top of the panties. He hummed and you rolled them down until they fell to your ankles. You untangled your feet and felt him step closer.

“Turn around. Get on the bed.” He commanded. “On your knees.”

You turned slowly. You stopped yourself from touching the bed.

“No.” You said. “No.”

“If I have to call him in, I won’t stop him from joining.” He rasped.

You bent and felt around. You managed to find your way up, lifting your knees carefully onto the mattress. He slapped your ass and you flinched.

“Further.” You crawled towards the middle. “Just like that.”

You waited there for a time, still on your knees. You felt the bed shift. His hand was suddenly on yours and he pulled it towards him. He pressed your fingers to hot flesh and wrapped your hand around his cock. You were surprised by his girth and as he slid your hand up than down, his length was no less impressive. He squeezed your hand tight.

“Not laughing now, huh?” He taunted.

You stopped and he nudged your hand. You just sat there with your hand around him, unwilling to move. Unwilling to accept this.

“Fine,” He slapped your hand away. “I’ll just use your mouth.”

He moved quickly and grabbed the back of your head. He yanked you forward and you fell onto your hands. He pushed down until you were on your elbows and the head of his cock prodded your lips. He rubbed it back and forth.

“Doll, I won’t tell you one more time.” He snarled. “Bucky’s right outside that door. I’ve seen him break men’s jaws as if it was nothing. What do you think he’d do if I told him to open your mouth for you?”

You gulped and shuddered. Your parted your lips reluctantly and he pushed inside. He grasped the back of your head and held you there as he hit the back of your throat. He urged himself deeper and you slapped his naked thigh. His fingers tangled in the tails of the tie.

You couldn’t help the noise which slipped from you as he pushed himself deeper. You held back a gag and squeezed his slender leg. You shook as he stilled you a lingered in your throat. He wiggled his hips cloyingly.

“Never would’ve known you had such a nice ass in those suits,” He slid back and slammed back in. You choked on him and he repeated the motion. “But that dress… perfect complement.”

You kicked your feet as he thrust steadily. He didn’t seem to notice the constriction of your throat around him as you struggled to hold back the wave of nausea. Or the way you struggled to breath around him. There was only his airy moans and sickly sound of his cock as it glided in and out of your mouth.

He finally pulled out and you struggled not to keel over. You wiped the spit from your lips and he grabbed your hand. He placed it on the mattress and held it there.

“Don’t move,” He said.

You were awe-struck by his pushiness. By the authority that radiated from him. He climbed off the bed and you reached to the tie as the sweat gathered along its edges. You were surprised by a pinch.

“I said don’t move,” He came around behind you and smacked your ass. “You keep those hands on the bed.”

You slapped your hand back down as he climbed up and his legs pushed between yours. Your stockings rubbed against his skin and he ran his hands up and down your back and around your hips then along your thighs. He tickled you and you felt his cock as it poked at you.

“You think you were funny yesterday?” He kneaded your ass as he leaned against you, his smooth length pressed against your cunt. “You really know how to use that pretty little mouth.”

You were, for once, speechless. It was one thing to deal with a man on his level, but to be bent over before him, was another. 

“Where’s that voice now, doll?” He drew back and dragged his tip along your folds. “I wanna hear you.”

He pushed along your entrance, the head of his cock dipped in just a little before he pulled out. He rubbed himself along your cunt again and repeated the act several times. When he shoved himself further in, you squeaked and clapped your hand over your mouth. Another pinched on the tender flesh of your thigh.

“You moved,” He growled and impaled you entirely. Your walls were snug around him. “I know listening isn’t your strong suit but we’ll work on that.”

He eased out of you and paused. You let out a breath and he slammed back in. You flinched and grunted through your teeth. Your fingers curled in the thick duvet and he did it again. He thrust into you, each crash of his hips jolted you. 

His hands brushed over your back and he grabbed your shoulders so that you arched. He rutted into you without restraint. He panted as you quivered against him. You moaned suddenly and clamped your lips shut. He chuckled and sped up.

“Is that it, doll?” He taunted. “Is that the spot?”

He bent over you and snaked his arm around your front. He pressed his fingers to your clit and dragged his lips along your shoulder. He bit down as he started to draw circles around your bud. You gulped as the ripples spread through you. You whined and finally let loose a sharp cry.

“You’re close, I can’t feel it,” He said and slammed into even harder. “And I know you can feel me.”

You’d lost control. You couldn’t let up and he wouldn’t. You moaned louder and louder, almost snarling for more as your flesh clapped loudly. The bed rocked beneath you and you dropped your head forward as you came. Your walls pulsed around him and you pushed back so you could take him deeper.

His hand never stopped, even as your arms shook and threatened to collapse in your rapture. You were stunned by your second orgasm and the third. Your arms folded and you were on your face as he grasped your hips and guided them firmly against him. 

He sank as far as he could and swore. He pulled out quickly and you felt his harried strokes as he pressed his tip to your ass. His hot cum spilled over you and dripped down your thigh. He slowed and sighed as he grazed your throbbing pussy with his fingers.

He backed up off the bed but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You listened to his soft footsteps and felt leather against your ass. He caressed you with the belt and pulled back.

“You moved again, doll,” He rasped as he brought the belt back down and you exclaimed. “You don’t like the easy way, do you?”

[stitchcasual]

A Running Date

Live on AO3 or click through the cut for the full thing

a real fluffy Fenhawke fic with a wedding meetcute because We Deserve It

"Who's the hot guy with tattoos?"

Marian and Isabela share a look, high five, then Isabela extends a hand toward her new wife.

"Pay up, darling."

Marian grumbles and slaps a bill too crushed and crumpled for Garrett to make out the denomination into Isabela's hand. The look on her face says it wasn't small, however. The two of them are sitting on a slightly raised piece of flooring at the back end of the social hall Marian and Garrett's mother has rented for Marian's wedding reception. They're receiving visitors there, a whole line of people waiting to convey their best wishes to the happy couple on their happy day. Garlands and flowers decorate nearly every piece of available space, and despite the fervor with which Marian had opposed having a high society reception like their mother wanted, she and Isabela are holding court up here like they're royalty.

"You bet on whether or not I'd ask about him?" Garrett asks, unsure whether he should be offended or not.

Marian grins at him. "Of course not, dear brother. I would never do that to my favorite twin. We bet on how long it would take you to ask."

Isabela cackles. Garrett is definitely offended, but he supposes he does have a history of doing this. It's not his fault his sister attracts hot, queer people, though, so he can't be blamed for it.

"Anyway, that's Fenris."

"That's Fenris?"

Fenris and Marian work together, and she's told a few stories about him over the years when she and Garrett get together for drinks. According to her, Fenris is hilarious and intelligent, if a little grumpy and standoffish, and her favorite coworker. Garrett takes another look over at Fenris, standing against a wall with a nearly empty wine glass. Where Garrett is tall and broad, Fenris is average height and narrow; where Garrett is pale skinned and dark haired, Fenris has light brown skin and white hair. He's utterly gorgeous, which is the conclusion Garrett came to after an hour of trying not to stare at him rocking the hell out of that tuxedo during the ceremony. Fenris stood in Isabela's eclectic mix of bridespeople while Garrett performed his duties as his twin sister's best man and thankfully didn't stumble over too much in the course of what he was expected to say.

"Yep. And he is incredibly out of your league, but because you're my brother and I love you so much, take this when you go talk to him." Marian pulls a bottle of wine from behind her chair and somehow manages to hand it over to Garrett despite the scuffle with Isabela that ensues when she sees which bottle it is.

"That's cheating, kitten," Isabela pouts. "We'll have to amend our bet."

Garrett hightails it away from the dias after kissing his sister on the cheek, not wanting to hear exactly what it is she and her troublemaker of a wife bet on this time. He does hear Carver say, "What's his problem?” and then, "Ow!" when Bethany slaps his arm as they step up next to offer their congratulations.

This is still the drinks and hors d'oeuvres hour of the reception, which means everyone's milling around and stretching their legs after the long ceremony and before the long dinner to come. Garrett snags a bottle opener from Bodahn in the kitchen, promising to return it later, and attempts to make as casual a beeline for Fenris as he can. He doesn't want to come on too aggressive, even if he's been hoping for a chance to talk to him since yesterday at the rehearsal dinner.

En route, he's waylaid by Anders and Nathaniel, his exes who had, rather amicably after a year of them all dating each other, decided they'd prefer to be a couple rather than a thruple. That had suited Garrett, eventually, once he'd realized that maybe he wasn't actually ready to date so soon after his father's death. He'd stayed friends with Anders and Nathaniel, though, and has tried dropping more than a few hints over the last few years that the two of them should get married too, but so far they haven't. As long as they're happy, though. Anders and Isabela know each other from some shadowy past encounter, or so Garrett has always liked to believe, and Nathaniel, aside from being from old money himself and thus invited on his own merits thanks to Leandra’s system, goes wherever Anders does.

They let him go when he, after several minutes of polite conversation, explodes quietly that he's trying to go hit on someone thank you very much and if they'd be so kind as to let him get on with that. Or, rather, Nathaniel lets him go and covers Anders's mouth with one hand when Anders tries to say more than, "Him?? Why would you want to—"

Garrett approaches Fenris slowly, within eyeshot (sneaking up behind someone seems like it might make for a bad first impression), and grips and regrips the wine bottle, hoping desperately that it doesn't fall out of his hands, as suddenly sweaty as they seem to be. The murmur of voices around him is simultaneously too loud and too soft, and he doesn't know how to pitch his voice so it carries to Fenris without deafening him. He settles for a wave with his free hand when Fenris's eyes lock onto him during their sweep around the room. Fenris nods in return, brushing soft looking white hair out of his eyes.

Okay so the wave was a mistake. Bad first greeting. Garrett raises his other hand, the one holding the wine bottle, and tries again, adding the smile Marian has told him is dick-worthy. He's pretty sure she means that well. Fenris raises an eyebrow, considers, and gestures to the wall beside him with his wine glass. Garrett takes the hint: he opens the bottle immediately after settling next to Fenris and pours a generous amount into the glass.

And then he realizes he forgot to bring himself a glass too.

"Sorry, uh…Bran," he says, reading the table setting as he purloins the wine glass from the seat closest to him.

He chooses to believe that the look on Fenris’s face is amusement, and raises his newly obtained and filled wine glass in a toast. Fenris taps his glass gently against Garrett’s and sips. His beautiful, holy shit so beautiful, green eyes widen a second later, and he pins Garrett with a searching gaze.

“Where did you get this?” Fenris asks, and his voice is so low and rough and unexpected that Garrett short-circuits. In all her stories, Marian hadn’t mentioned anything about a voice Garrett would be one hundred percent okay with doing absolutely filthy things with. That the voice is attached to someone as handsome as Fenris is a perk.

“Why? Is it good?” he asks, finally drinking himself. “Oh, holy shit, yes, it is.” He takes another sip, expending a considerable amount of willpower to keep from gulping it down. This wine is fantastic.  

“Well,” he says, raising the bottle and peering at the label, “apparently this is the kind of shit rich people give as presents at weddings.”

“I didn’t get one,” Fenris sniffs, and Garrett laughs.

“I didn’t get one either, but the bride…uh, bride number one? Or would she be number two? I think Marian proposed so would that make her number one? Anyway, one of the brides is my twin sister and she let me have it.”

“Your sister must love you a lot to part with a bottle of Aggregio.”

“How did you—”

“I have a discerning palate.”

Fenris closes his eyes as he drinks again, savoring the wine. Garrett tries not to stare, he really, really does, but the way Fenris’s throat works when he swallows and the little sound he makes are entirely too difficult to ignore.

“I’ll have to thank my sister, I guess. You know, eventually. When she’s not swarmed by mobs of fancy-dressed fans.” Garrett loosens his tie, tugging back and forth with a finger until he can undo the top button of his dress shirt as well. His mother will rake him over the coals for this, but right now the comfort and extra air are necessary; the wine and proximity to such an attractive person are attempting to do him in.

“So, you are Marian’s brother.”

The question is less of a question and more of a statement coming from Fenris, and Garrett’s stomach swirls nauseatingly with the wine.

“Technically yes, though Carver’s also her brother, technically. If we’re being specific.”

Fenris rumbles with laughter. Garrett’s pretty sure if he’d been standing any closer to Fenris he would have been able to feel the vibrations of that sound.

“Please tell me she hasn’t been spreading embarrassing stories about me to everyone at work.” He would cover his face with a hand but both are occupied, and so he just hangs his head and only chances looks at Fenris out of the corner of his eyes.

“Horribly scandalous stories, I’m afraid.”

Garrett groans and closes his eyes.

“I have heard about your fifth birthday party three times.”

“Oh, sweet Maker, strike me down now,” Garrett mutters, and now he does gulp at his wine.

“I admit, I find it fascinating that anyone could eat an entire cake without anyone noticing until he throws it all up later onto the rest of the ferris wheel riders.”

“Death would be a mercy I do not deserve, yet humbly beg of you.”

That rumbling laugh again, and Garrett risks an actual glance at Fenris. He’s smiling, the skin around his eyes crinkling in true mirth. It doesn’t sound like Fenris is mean-spirited in his teasing, just amused at the situation. Which Garrett can sometimes laugh at himself, if he’s being honest.

“I am honestly impressed that you managed to get nearly everyone else on the ride.”

And, here’s the unbelievable thing, Fenris really does sound impressed. Not disgusted. Just honestly impressed at a five-year-old Garrett’s ability to projectile vomit cake at an amusement park. That’s a first.

“It’s not my fault they built that ferris wheel with latticed roofs on the cars. They should have known better.”

Fenris barks a laugh. “That is poor design.”

“That’s what I’m saying! It’s also not my fault that mom thought I couldn’t climb up onto that counter; I’d been climbing weird shit since I was born.”

“Do you still?”

That’s a personal question. They’ve taken the turn from funny anecdote into actual conversation, and Garrett borrows courage from the wine, topping off his glass and Fenris’s, before answering. This is going leagues better than he thought it might after talking with Marian and Isabela, and though he’ll credit the wine for the initial breakthrough, the rest is just…happening.

“A little, here and there. I was big into free running for a while until, uh, some stuff happened, and I just never got quite back into it. That and I broke my ankle. Hard to run on one of those.”

‘Some stuff happened’ is Garrett’s usual way of brushing past saying ‘my father’s death really fucked me up’ so people don’t ask too many invasive questions, but Fenris is nodding like he understands. Marian was working with Fenris when their dad died, so it would stand to reason that he might know about it and make the assumption.

“Do you run anymore?”

“Now and then. I need to sign up for a race or something, hard to get motivated otherwise.”

“I understand. Would you… I do not know how far you live from Marian, but she and I are neighbors, sort of. If you wanted a running partner, that is.”

Garrett does not choke on his wine, but it’s a near thing. He’d thought, make some conversation, drink some wine, sit at the same table for dinner, and then call it a night and maybe ask Marian about Fenris after a couple weeks and see if she could arrange a party or something so they could run into each other ‘accidentally’ and then he would gather up his courage and ask Fenris on something that could be called a date if one squinted sideways at it. Things are going so well he almost doesn’t trust them. He refuses to look over at Marian and Isabela, just in case.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’d be great. There’s that little park near her place. I could meet you there? When do you run?”

Between the two of them as they keep conversing, they polish off the bottle of Aggregio before the hour ends and Marian and Isabela are escorted from receiving their guests to their table at the front of the hall for dinner. Garrett and Fenris sit on opposite sides of the table from each other, not able to continue talking, but they sneak a few glances. Garrett sees Isabela pass Marian a folded bill after they catch Garrett and Fenris in one of their looks, and Marian toasts in Garrett’s direction after that. He laughs, happy to see his sister so happy with Isabela (and glad that their first round of betting as a married couple ended in a draw, with one win each). Even his mother readjusting his shirt and tie before the speeches can’t dampen his good mood.

It’s just a running date, but Garrett has a feeling it’s the start to something wonderful.

[whoree321]

Bike Lessons (s.r.)

Request: i was wondering if you could write a spencer reid x reader where instead of him getting shot, him and the reader are on a date, riding their bikes and spencer is learning or sumn (bc i kinda get the feeling that he didn’t as a kid), and they are in the park, and spencer looses control and ends up falling with the reader, and you know, he dislocates his knee and the reader her shoulder ( :’D ), and idk maybe emily, penelope, or hotch could be i’m the park at the same time talking to morgan or idk in the phone and they’re like “hold on, some idiot just fell. let me check if they r okay.” and they go and it’s spencer n the reader?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, really. Minor bike accident, dislocated shoulder and knee but nothing described too graphically.

Word Count: 1.6k

Category: Fluff

---------------------------

“What do you mean you don’t know how to ride a bike!?”

Spencer Reid was many things, but a proud man he was not. Years of school bullying had been combatted by more years of relentless, loving teasing from his coworkers and closest friends, and resulted in a man who could take criticism and jokes at his expense rather well. That did not, however, do anything to stop the burning shame he felt at his girlfriend’s revelation about his biking abilities.

He gave her a sheepish grin before replying, “It’s not that I don’t know how to ride a bike, necessarily. When I was in college, biking was my primary form of transportation as the state of Nevada wouldn’t issue me a license at 14. But I haven’t ridden a bike in almost 15 years. You know, despite the common saying that you never forget how to ride a bike due to muscle memory, studies have shown that…”

As much as she would have loved to listen to what studies had to say about the longevity of muscle memory, Y/N had more pressing information to gather.

Interrupting him, she asked, “So you learned how to ride a bike, you just don’t think you remember how to since it’s been so long?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying”

Y/N nodded, a plan for the day quickly forming in her mind.

“Alright,” she said decidedly, “well, good news! Today you’re gonna learn again!”, a cheery grin overtaking her face.

Spencer groaned and hung his head. This was so not how he wanted to spend his rare day off with his beautiful girlfriend. They were always off on gruesome cases, too weary and focused to truly enjoy each other’s company. He had hoped for a calm day inside, maybe read or binge one of their favorite shows and just be with each other. But he recognized that gleam in Y/N’s eyes, could practically feel the excitement radiating off of her, and he knew he’d never in a million years be able to say no and risk being the reason that bright smile faded.

Looking back up, he replied resignedly, “Fine. But I get to choose dinner tonight.”

“Deal!”, she squealed, leaping off the couch and bounding to their shared bedroom.

Laughing lightly at his girlfriend’s childish antics, he got up and followed her, watching as she dug around through her drawers for a pair of leggings. Soon, they were both dressed in casual athletic wear and made their way to a bike rental kiosk that Y/N had found near the park.

Walking their newly rented bikes to the trail, Y/N glanced over at Spencer to see him anxiously chewing on his lip. She could tell he was nervous, probably not wanting to embarrass himself in front of her, but she thought that once he got the hang of it he would really like it, and it would be another activity the two could enjoy together. Smiling at the idea, she stopped once they had gotten to the trail and put the kickstand of her bike down.

“Ok, why don’t you just get on and do your best to ride it like you remember doing before. I know your big ole brain is still storing that info,” Y/N said with smile. Spencer looked between her and the bike a little uncertainly, before she gently added, “I’ll walk next to you just in case things go south.”

This convinced him, and he tentatively got on the bike and started pedaling. His balance was a little off at first, and she could tell that his hand-eye coordination (or lack thereof) was always going to be an issue, but he got the hang of it rather quickly.

“Ok, I think I got it! You can stop walking next to me now, I think there might be one or two people left in park that haven’t seen a grown man being taught to ride a bike like a child,” Spencer told her teasingly, though the triumphant look in his eyes told her how happy he was at catching on with minimal difficulty.

Y/N giggled at his remark. “Ok hot shot, lets take a lap around the park and see if you’re still so cocky.”

The two rode down the trail nearly side by side, Y/N slightly ahead of him but close enough that they could still talk. They made their way smoothly, chatting and laughing, but the peace was not to last.

Looking back at it later, Spencer concluded that it was entirely that damn squirrel’s fault. If that squirrel hadn’t run out onto the sidewalk, he would not have violently swerved into the back wheel of Y/N’s bike, causing them both to lose their balance and harshly crash to the ground, a tangled mess of bike and limbs.

To make matters worse, their misfortune was not without witness. As luck would have it, the BAU’s resident tech genius Penelope Garcia happened to be on an uncharacteristic trip to the park, stuck on a picnic date that that was currently going from bad to worse.

“Derek, I am telling you, this guy is bad, I mean capital B-A-D bad, and not in the good way. He spent 25 minutes telling me about the benefits of intermittent fasting! Fasting, Derek! I couldn’t fast if my life depended on it! I mean, don’t get me wrong I totally respect people that fast for religious reasons, oh my goodness I mean those people are so strong and dedicated I couldn’t imagine doing that! But to fast for literally no reason at all and brag about it on a date!”

Morgan chuckled on the other line. “Where is he now, sweetness?”

“He saw some guys that he knew playing frisbee and went to go say hi and he joined their game and that was like 10 minutes ago. So not only is this guy the most boring conversationalist ever, he’s just straight up rude! I mean, could you imagine taking a girl out on a date and- oh my gosh, these two people just got into a bike accident over on the hiking trail! Oh wow, that did not look pleasant, I would hate to be those two idiots right now.”

Watching the fallen bikers slowly start to move, Garcia gasped as she recognized the brown curly head and the Y/H/C ponytail sticking up from the crash.

“Oh my goodness, Derek I have to go, those are our idiots!”, she exclaimed as she hung up and ran over to her coworkers.

“Reid? Y/L/N? Are you guys ok!? I saw you fall down, are you hurt!?”

Y/N groaned as she sat upright, her shoulder sharply aching. “Penelope, what are you doing here?”, she asked.

Penelope huffed before she answered, “I’m hopefully escaping the worst date in the history of dates, now yes or no, are you ok?”.

“Yeah, Pen, I’m fine, I think I busted my shoulder a little though. Spence, how about you?”, Y/N asked, directing her attention to her grimacing boyfriend.

“I’m ok. That stupid squirrel got in my way and I didn’t want to hit it, I’m sorry,” he replied sheepishly, staring guiltily at Y/N as she attempted to assess the damage to her shoulder.

Garcia helped the pair stand up, and Spencer nearly collapsed again once he put weight on his left leg. Gasping in pain, he looked down to see his knee bent at an angle that could not have been right.

Averting her gaze from his clearly dislocated knee, Garcia helped steady him before declaring, “I need to take you two to a hospital because clearly neither of you are actually fine.”

The two agreed, following Garcia to her car and getting into her backseat. Spencer kept his eyes trained on his hands, guilt at hurting Y/N ailing him far more than his searing knee. He finally looked at her, however, when she reached over and grabbed his hand. Flashing him that dazzling smile from earlier, she leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Maybe you should have let me walk next to you a little longer,” she offered with a wink, eliciting a chuckle from her boyfriend that warmed her heart.

*DAYS LATER*

“Wait, wait, wait, so you’re telling me that the two of you manage to hunt serial killers generally unscathed for a living, but Pretty Boy here tries to learn how to ride a bike and you walk away with a dislocated shoulder and knee?”, Derek Morgan teased as he watched his two friends enter the bullpen, clad in their respective braces and Spencer hobbling on his crutches.

“Oh I could just kill Garcia! I told her the story she was supposed to tell you all was that we got injured stopping the mob from robbing a bank,” Y/N replied dejectedly.

“Sorry kitty cat, I just happened to be on the phone with her when it happened,” he explained bemusedly.

“Besides, Y/N/N, it’s pretty unrealistic that any mob would be robbing a bank in broad daylight, and statistically improbable that we would just so happen to walk into it and be capable of stopping it,” Spencer chimed in cheekily, knowing how much his logical debunking of her story would rile her up.

Y/N glared at him before answering. “You know what, I’m glad the squirrel did this to you. I might have been collateral damage, but you deserved it.” She sat at her desk, but not without giving him a small glance and playful grin to let him know she was joking.

Spencer simply rolled his eyes and took a seat at his own desk, although he couldn’t help but feel pretty good about how things had turned out. He may have been bested by a squirrel and a bike, but he would get to spend the next few weeks on desk duty with his favorite person. And Y/N would probably never make him ride a bike again.

It definitely turned out pretty good.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Love in the Highlands

Summary: In Lochdubh, Hamish acts as self-appointed matchmaker to newcomer Belle as she tries to make sense of her feelings for taciturn landlord Gold. Hamish Macbeth/Once Upon A Time fusion: rumbelle, bellish / Isobel&Belle broship.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “AU: Fusion”

Rated: T

=====

Love in the Highlands

Small, isolated communities like Lochdubh were naturally suspicious of incomers, especially if they came from anywhere further afield than Glasgow and even more so if they came from the other side of the world entirely. Belle had been prepared for more than a few strange looks when she had first moved to town and started to work at the newly opened bookshop slash library slash local information office slash community centre slash back-up post office. 

Once she’d made it clear in a firm but friendly manner that she wasn’t going anywhere and that she was going to try and fit in with the local customs as much as possible, people started to be more accepting, and now the locals would smile at her in the pub and would only express incredulity that someone would ever want to move from somewhere like Australia to the middle of nowhere in the Scottish Highlands. 

There was only one person left in the town whom Belle had yet to win over, and, considering the way that the rest of the locals gave him a somewhat wide berth, she thought that this was something to be proud of.

Ciaran Gold was Belle’s landlord, and he owned the village antique shop; how he managed to stay in business in a place as small as Lochdubh was anyone’s guess and theories among the town varied wildly: from him being a vampire, to him being a mob boss, to him running an underground moonshine operation to rival Lachlan McCrae’s. 

He was also the most reticent and surly man that Belle had ever met, keeping to himself for the most part and barely ever leaving his dusty shop. He hardly spoke two words together to her when she ventured into his lair to bring him her rent, and although she would have loved to stay a while and browse the veritable Aladdin’s cave of treasures in the shop, she always received the impression that her presence was unwelcome, and he was shooing her out of the place with his aura alone. 

“He’s like that with everyone,” Hamish assured her when she was lamenting her lack of cordial relations with her landlord in the pub one evening. The local policeman and his girlfriend had welcomed her from the very first and it was largely due to Hamish and Isobel’s practical common sense that Belle’s popularity was increasing, and the library was gaining in foot traffic daily. (The fact she’d started bringing in cake probably helped as well.)

“But why?” Belle pressed. “No one’s naturally that miserable, something has to have happened to make him that way.”

Hamish made a face and pointedly changed the subject by announcing that he was going to get another round in. Belle waited until he was out of earshot and turned to Isobel. 

“There is a reason, isn’t there?”

Isobel nodded and leaned in over the table. 

“It’s a bit of a local gossip legend,” she said. “Gold left Lochdubh for the bright lights of Glasgow, married a city girl who then left him and took their wee son with her. He came back to Lochdubh a broken man. Hamish doesn’t like it talked about; Gold’s a cousin on his mother’s side and even if they’re not incredibly close, he’s still family.”

Now that Belle knew the connection, she could see the resemblance. Gold’s face was older and worn with life’s hardships, his hair greyer, but the familial traces were there. Isobel’s words had only served to make him seem even more mysterious in her eyes, and she wondered if perhaps she could be the one to bring him out of his shell of hurt…

X

Armed with the admittedly scant knowledge that she had gleaned from Isobel, Belle decided that she would take a different approach the next time she tackled Gold. She would simply refuse to be cowed by him. If he wanted to be left alone, then he shouldn’t have a shop open to the public. 

So, on the next rent day, when Belle went into the antique shop with her cheque, she didn’t go up to the counter straight away. She was determined to look around and browse with the proper respect that a lifetime of collecting all in one place deserved. 

Gold was watching her as she moved around the shop taking in the veritable Aladdin’s Cave of treasures there, and occasionally, their eyes would meet. At first he seemed to be in just as much of a foul mood as usual, but the longer that Belle stayed, the more he seemed to become used to her presence and relax in it. When he finally spoke, Belle was so surprised that she startled out of her perusal of a delicate tea set. 

“Do you see something you like the look of? Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he added when Belle jumped. 

To Belle, those few words - spoken in complete earnest, she could tell - were incredibly revealing. He didn’t mean to scare her. All the other times she had been in the shop, something about him had given off a fearmongering aura. Now, he was a little different. As she glanced over at him, she saw that there was a slight shy smile on his face. 

She pointed out the tea set. “This is beautiful.”

He came around the counter and crouched down beside her to open the display cabinet, taking out one of the cups and handing it to her. This was certainly unprecedented. Everything about the shop had a general air of ‘do not touch’ around it, and now Belle was being allowed to handle the goods. 

The bell over the door went, and this time they both jumped, with Belle losing her grip on the cup. Gold’s hands shot out to catch it and ended up cradling hers as she regained her hold. She looked up at him, suddenly aware that she was blushing furiously, and noticing that Gold had gone distinctly pink around the ears as well. 

Belle glanced over her shoulder to see who had come in, finding Hamish standing in the doorway. He was looking rather amused at the scene he’d just interrupted. 

“Can I help you?” Gold asked coolly.

“No, no. As you were.”

Hamish backed out of the door and closed it behind him, leaving Belle and Gold standing in the middle of the shop. The moment had become awkward now thanks to Hamish’s inadvertent intervention. 

“I think you’d better take that back,” Belle said hastily, handing over the cup. “And this.” She put the rent cheque down on the side and almost ran out of the shop, glad to be out in the cold air so that she had an excuse for her flaming cheeks. Oh, this was bad. She definitely wasn’t supposed to be developing a crush on the landlord when she’d set about trying to ingratiate herself with him. Now what was she supposed to do?

X

Ever since Isobel had moved into the police house, she’d extended an open invitation to Gold to join her and Hamish for Sunday lunch, doing her best to give him some familial contact. So far, she’d been incredibly pleased with her efforts. He generally came about once every two months, which was about as much as his introversion could handle. When he came this week, however, Isobel was quite certain that he’d never come again. 

Ever since Hamish had walked in on Gold and Belle’s ‘little moment’ in the antique shop, he’d been determined to matchmake.

“Hamish, you know your cousin better than anyone else in the village, but even I know that he’s not going to welcome you interfering in his love life, no matter how honourable your intentions might be. Besides, you don’t even know that they like each other, let alone want to get to know each other more intimately.”

“Iz, if you had been there, you would know that they definitely like each other. I think ‘smitten’ is the word.”

When Hamish, on learning that Gold would be joining them on Sunday, had suggested inviting Belle as well, Isobel considered putting her foot down for all of ten minutes before she realised that if she did, Hamish would simply resort to more drastic measures to get the two of them in a room together. His enthusiasm was borne out of a simple desire to see his closest relative happy, and all Isobel could do was try to temper him for fear of him doing more harm than good. 

Although she wouldn’t interfere in Hamish and Gold’s relationship more than she already had done by extending the lunch invite in the first place, Isobel felt that it was only fair to let Belle know what she was letting herself in for in accepting Hamish’s invitation. 

On learning that Gold would be present, Belle had just given a little smile, quickly covered it with a cough, and said that it wouldn’t be a problem. 

Reluctantly, Isobel had accepted that maybe there was something in Hamish’s observations. 

Now Sunday was here, and they were all sitting around the table with anticipation hanging heavy in the air. So far, Belle and Gold had been perfectly civil to each other and shown no signs of mutual attraction, and Hamish was thinking of increasingly ridiculous methods of trying to leave them alone together. It was painfully obvious to all parties what he was trying to do, and now he’d dragged Isobel into the kitchen on the pretence of getting her to help make custard.

“Hamish, if you keep this up then neither of them will ever come here again.”

“We have to give them a chance!”

“We’ve given them several chances, now be reasonable. These things don’t happen overnight. Look how long it took us to get together.”

“That was different.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Whilst this argument was continuing in the kitchen. Belle and Gold were still left to their devices in the other room. Belle couldn’t help continuing to sneak little glances at Gold. She’d been doing it ever since she’d arrived, and sometimes she caught him doing the same. This was one such occasion. He gave a little smile, although it was becoming clear that he was getting increasingly stressed by the whole situation. 

Figuring that conversation was better than awkward silence, Belle decided to start talking. 

“Are they doing this on purpose?”

Gold shook his head. “No. Hamish is doing this on purpose and Isobel is probably giving him grief for it as we speak.”

“I think he just wants us to get to know each other a little better.” Belle inched her chair a little closer around the table. Since she’d been given this opportunity, however contrived, she might as well make use of it. “I mean, I’d like to get to know you better, if I can.”

Gold’s expression was a strange one, part hope and part disbelief. “There’s not much to know,” he mumbled. “Not much good, at least. I’d rather talk about you.”

“If that’s what you want, I’m sure that I can be persuaded, Mr Gold.”

“Please, call me Ciaran. If we’re getting to know each other better then maybe first name terms would be a start.”

“As you wish, Ciaran.”

She didn’t realise how long they continued to talk for, but by the time Hamish, looking somewhat smug, and Isobel, looking somewhat exasperated, returned to the room, the custard was stone cold and had set into a solid lump in the jug, and the apple pie that it was supposed to accompany had burned to a cinder. Isobel got out some ice-cream instead, and the ruined dessert was tactfully not mentioned in the hope of avoiding breaking the proverbial fourth wall that had sprung up around the table and Hamish and Isobel’s prolonged absences from it. Still, conversation seemed to flow much more easily now that Hamish had achieved his goal, and Belle was almost disappointed when the time came for her and Gold to leave. Not too disappointed though. They walked along in the late afternoon sun together until it was time for them to part and go their separate ways to their respective homes. 

“It was nice to get to know you, Ciaran,” she said. “Perhaps we could get to know each other a little better over lunch again. Without an audience, this time.”

Gold smiled, and his ears had gone rather pink again. 

“I would like that very much, Belle.”

“I could bring a picnic to the shop tomorrow?”

“That sounds perfect.”

As they said their goodbyes and continued down their different roads, Belle couldn’t help but grin. It turned out that Hamish’s interference had done the trick after all, and if he was attempting to play matchmaker like this, then he obviously approved of her interest in his cousin. 

Belle couldn’t wait for their next date. 

(But she probably wouldn’t tell Hamish about it.)

[starry-blue-echoes]

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

That opens up..... an ENTIRE set of possibilities. Especially if we go with Pucci being the most human, this will add an extra layer to his protectiveness and care for Perla. He loves her, but he also knows the rest of the world isn’t going to be so kind to her. That their traits, their inhumanity, it’s dangerous to reveal it to those outside the family. He’s been lucky enough that his traits are practically nonexistent, but Perla’s always had to exercise a tad bit more caution. She doesn’t have horns, but there are a few other tells

And of course, there’s also how this is going to affect Wes and Perla’s…… relationship. Specifically, this might make a bit of a disconnect between them. They both have this secret they need to keep at all costs, a secret they’ve been keeping their entire life, and it’s not something easily hidden. While they did love each other, it’s difficult to have a relationship around such enormous secrets

And well, Wes having those enormous horns is probably going to make the lynching soooooo much worse if let’s say...... his hat fell off

And this is going to hurt the both of them so badly

Wes is going to be ashamed of himself. After all, what was he thinking, that a monster like himself could ever find love. Perla was normal and human and more than he could ever hope to be, and yet he selfishly tried to make her love him without even telling her the truth. And now look where it got then, his secret revealed in the middle of an angry mob with her right beside him

But for Perla…… it’s a mix of joy and absolutely CRUSHING grief.

She wasn’t alone. There was at least one other person out there who was strange like she was, who had these traits like she did. And out of everyone in the world it just so happened to be Wes

But on the other hand…… the circumstance which it was revealed. Everything happening before her is exactly what her parents and brother warned her about, EXACTLY what would be done to her if her secret was ever revealed. What’s happening before her eyes is her worst nightmare come to life

and the fact it isn’t she facing the wrath of the mob, but Wes? That makes it so much worse

Maybe this is what pushes her to suicide this time. This cruel, brutal confrontation of how some people will treat people like her. She has her family yes, but now there’s also the added fear of them being hurt in order to protect her which is the last thing she wants

And if she dies now, at least she can reunite with Wes in whatever after life exists

…….but Wes isn’t dead. He’s alive and in pain and shattered. And no matter what he does, his own biology and his newly gained Stand preventing him for joining Perla

and this is when he’s at his lowest. He doesn’t know Perla was part Pillarmen either, doesn’t know that she didn’t hate him. As far as he knows, she died thinking him a monster and without anyone here, he internalizes that. He’s spent his whole life hiding his nature, and now he’s been pushed over the edge. This then just adds more fuel to his rampage through town

They want a monster?

Okay. He’ll give them one

And for the first time in his life, Wes walks around with his horns out

AU where the Weather Report is part Pillarmen

(okay technically this means Pucci’s part Pillarmen too, but the genes were more present in Weather than him. Not really sure how far back the Pillarmen relation is, but it’s a very persistent gene that’s stuck around for a while)

Why does this AU exist? Simply for the mental image that my friend came up with of Wes realizing he’s growing horns, trying various hats and hairstyles in order to cover it, doing a bunch of research trying to figure out what the hell this is, and generally doing everything in his power to hide them……. only to get his memories yoinked and wake up in prison with horns and go “huh. Wonder what those are. Oh well” and just incorporating it as part of his LookTM

He cuts holes in his hats so the horns can poke through because he doesn’t like how they feel when they’re pushed down, and he’s torn holes in nearly all of his shirts by them getting caught in the fabric, aka the real reason why his outfit has all those heart cutouts

he also has a bunch of other watered down Pillarmen TraitsTM that he keeps discovering over the years but because nobody’s told him exactly what a regular human can and can’t do he just thinks it’s normal. Plus he could just chalk it up to Stand Things because his Stand has horns too

Emporio’s not any better because he only has books and has rarely interacted with other people. He essentially has a “that doesn’t sound right but I don’t know enough about people or the affects of Stands on humans to refute it” thing going on

And Anasui absolutely knows this isn’t at ALL normal but he doesn’t say anything because he thinks this is hilarious

[showmethedestiel]

Like I said; I don’t like Hospitals

Chapter Twelve

[Masterlist]

Summary:  You help Misha while he’s going through a hard time. The two of you quickly become friends, but will it lead to something more in such trying circumstances?

Words: 2,714

Pairing: Misha/Reader

“Y/N, can you come here for a sec?” Misha calls through from the kitchen.

You wander through to see him on his phone, leaning against the countertop. “What’s up?” You ask, taking an apple from the fruit bowl.

“I kinda need to talk to you about something.” He sighs.

“Uh-oh.”

“It’s nothing bad.” Misha chuckles, “It’s just that Darius finished editing the episode of Cooking Fast and Fresh with West, and all the good bits have you in them.”

You nod slowly. “So, you want my permission to post it?”

“Well, yes. But it’s more than that. I’m a public figure whose wife died recently and now I’m living with this beautiful girl who clearly loves my kids, who I film retching into my toilet.” Misha chuckles. “People are gonna assume stuff.” He hesitates, “And unfortunately you might get shit for it.”

“Do you mind?” You ask, taking a bite of the apple.

Misha shakes his head, “Not if you don’t.” He pauses as if he’s thinking, “Darius suggested it might be easier to go public at this point.”

You consider this for a few moments before nodding. “Okay. If that’s best, I’m cool with it.”

Misha raises an eyebrow, “You sure? You don’t have to.”

“I’m sure.” You smile, walking over to wrap your arms around his neck. “I love you, after all.”

Misha smirks and leans down to kiss you, before taking your arms and moving them from behind his neck.

You give him a confused look, before he takes a bite of your apple, smirking.

“So,” He says, “You wanna see the tweet?” He walks over to his laptop on the table.

“You’re doing it over Twitter?” You laugh, following him.

Misha shrugs, “It’s my preferred method of communication.” He turns the laptop to face you, “Here.” He says.

On the screen there’s a picture you’ve never seen before, and didn’t see anyone take at the time. It’s of you and Misha two nights ago among the trees. You’re looking around in awe, and he’s looking at you with pure adoration.

“Jensen took it when we first got there.” Misha explains, watching you to gauge your reaction.

“Well damn,” You say, nodding in approval. “We look good.” You grin and Misha smiles widely.

You look at the screen again and read the caption:

Found: one girlfriend; short, adorable. Please claim if yours (although if you do – I know you’re lying because she’s mine.)

“Nice.” You laugh.

A few hours later Misha posts both the announcement and the episode of Cooking Fast and Fresh with West. For the rest of the day you very carefully avoid going on any social media, but once you’re lying in bed next to Misha curiosity gets the better of you.

You pick up your phone and sign into your personal Twitter – where, of course, people have found you already. You have a couple dozen Misha fan accounts following you, but that’s manageable so far.  

You go to Misha’s Twitter, mentally bracing yourself to go through the replies on his post.

There’s the typical “dad” and “marry me”, but once you get past those, you see

You look so happy!

Aww, y’all are so cute together

She is so pretty!!!

Slayy Misha

You cover your grin with your hand, the positivity overwhelming you.

“Babe, you okay?” Misha asks, noticing you.

You nod slowly, “Have you seen the comments on your post?” You ask, smiling.

Misha grins in relief, “Yeah – they love you.” He laughs.

You go back to scrolling through Twitter – there are a few tabloids calling you Misha’s Rebound but they don’t ruin the fan’s reaction.

After a few minutes you ask, “Hey, do you mind if I tweet a photo of us?”

“Sure – just no nudes.” Misha teases. “Although your social media will get mobbed.”

“Yeah, I know.” You say, looking through your pictures. “I’m prepared.”

Eventually you settle on a picture you took a few days ago, of you and Misha making faces at the camera. You caption it –

Hello world. You might have heard of my adorkable bf Dmitri.

You put your phone down and wait for Misha to check his Twitter. You watch him as his phone buzzes, he smiles – then he glares at you.

“Come on,” He laughs, “Dmitri? Really?”

You grin and shrug. “You have my Twitter notifications on?”

Misha shrugs and murmurs. “Not anymore.”

Later you notice he retweeted your photo anyway. You scroll through some of the comments and laugh when you see:

Yes! A new source of adorable Misha photos – score.

You decide to reply with:

True. There will be a lot of Misha pics from me; it is my true purpose in life.

You toss your phone away and look over to see Misha asleep, you frown – it’s late but you’re not tired in the slightest.

You carefully slip out of bed after turning the lights off, and wander down the hall, wondering what to do at midnight on a Tuesday.

You make your way into the living room, where there’s still a small pile of your things that no one put away, kneeling down you notice your sketchbook, a few canvases and paints.

Hmm.

You fill a jar with water and take everything upstairs, turning on the dimmest light in the bedroom. There’s nowhere to sit with a good view of Misha, so you move a few of your things off the dresser in the corner of the room and clamber on top.

Here you have a good angle of Misha’s sprawled out form, half under - half on top of the covers – his bedhead hair sticking up at angles on the pillow, and the sinews of his toned back emphasised by the warm, low light.

You sketch out his form, and then begin to paint. Art runs in your family – but you had never considered it more than a casual hobby; something you’d do at weekends, or if a friend asked. That wasn’t to say you weren’t good – you were very good, but art had never seemed like a real future for you.

You end up painting for hours - into the early morning, until pale morning sun begins flowing through the curtains; ruining your lighting.

You squint through your tired eyes, inspecting your work. You’ve always been a perfectionist when it came to your work – but it is perfect.

Exhausted, you place the painting haphazardly onto the dresser and slide off the hard wood surface, collapsing into bed next to Misha.

Misha doesn’t wake you when he gets up to drive the kids to school, instead letting you sleep until midday.

When you finally wander into the kitchen, yawning, Misha’s at the table – on his laptop. In front of him is your painting from last night. You’re sincerely taken aback – seeing as you genuinely forgot you’d made it in your weird, sleep-deprived state. “Morning.” You say, coming over.

Misha looks up, startled. “Morning Y/N, did you paint this?” He asks, gesturing at the painting.

You nod casually, getting a bowl from the cupboard and turning back to face him.

Misha’s staring at you incredulously, “Y/N this is incredible – I didn’t know you could paint!” He exclaims.

You shrug, “It’s just a hobby.” You bring your newly made cereal back to the table and sit across from Misha, taking another look at your painting.

It’s good – better than you remembered.

“You should paint more – this is fucking amazing.” He says sincerely.

“Hm.” You say, taking a spoonful of cornflakes. “Maybe I will.”

The next morning Misha comes back into the kitchen after dropping the kids off at school and sighs dramatically.

“What’s up?” You ask, putting the kettle on to make tea.

“Work wants me to come back soon; which I don’t mind – I’m kinda looking forward to going back - but it means moving back up to Washington – Jared and Jensen left yesterday, and…” He trails off, frowning.

“What?”

“Well it’s just… Vicki always used to look after the kids when I was gone, but now… I’m gonna have to get a nanny or something.” He flops down onto a chair.

“Well…” You start hesitantly, before sighing. “I think we should have a conversation.” You say reluctantly before adding, “Like a real, adult conversation.” You take a seat next to Misha.

“Okay…”

“So, you’re gonna be gone sometimes – the kids need looked after. Right now I’m taking time off work with a personal emergency, but I’m meant to be back next week.” You state, absent-mindedly playing with the sleeve of your shirt.

“Y/N, do you like your job?” Misha asks abruptly.

You shrug, “It’s just a job.”

“Do you like painting?” He continues,

“Well, yeah.” You say, starting to regret starting this conversation. “But it isn’t sustainable – I wouldn’t make enough to live off my art…”

“Which is where I come in.” Misha interrupts. “I think you would make more than enough to live off, because your stuff is fucking amazing, but even if you don’t…” He trails off.

“Misha no.” You say firmly.

He raises his hands in defence, “It’s just accommodation.” He says, “And food. And it would give you time to look after the kids… It’s just a suggestion. Think about it. Okay?”

You sigh, “Okay, I’ll think about it.” You roll your eyes. “I guess it would mean West and Maison wouldn’t need a nanny…”

“Exactly! That’s the attitude.” Misha chuckles, standing. “Plus…” He adds, “We have a spare room up North that would look incredible as a studio.”

“Stop.” You laugh, standing to cover Misha’s mouth with your hand.

He just grins, “I’ve been wanting to do some renovating – it’s a perfect excuse.”

“Are you serious about all this?” You ask.

“Yes.” Misha says simply, moving your hand to lean down and kiss you softly.

Misha has to go back to the set of Supernatural a short three days later. In those three days, you quit your job and Misha packs the both his car and your mini with things for the move.

You sigh, taking a step back to admire your work. Your car is filled to the brim with clothes, bags, food and your belongings.

Misha’s driving the kids because he “didn’t want to subject you to that hell”, and you’re following him up to Bellingham – stopping overnight in Medford, Oregon. You’re setting off early tomorrow.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Misha asks, coming to stand beside you.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” You chuckle, slightly nervously. “I’ve never driven this far before.”

“It’ll be fine, as long as you’re stocked up on coffee, snacks and good music – you’re good. Just be glad you don’t have to deal with those monsters.” He gestures at West; currently chasing Maison along the sidewalk.

“That I am glad of.” You say, genuinely relieved.

The four of you stop at a hotel overnight, which is stressful because the kids have so much pent up energy. Luckily, you and Misha do not have any energy – so you basically pass out as soon as you see the bed.

As the sun’s setting on the second day, you see that heaven-sent road sign – “Welcome to Bellingham”. You breathe a sigh of relief and follow Misha’s car to a navy house, looking out onto the marina.

You park and get out of the car, stretching as you walk over to Misha – who’s doing much the same.

“How was that?” He asks.

“I’m sore, sweaty and exhausted. So I’d say it went better than expected.” You say, opening the back door to retrieve a sleeping Maison.

Misha takes West and leads you in through the front door and up the stairs to the kids room. You tuck Maison in and follow Misha to the master bedroom, not even bothering to undress before collapsing onto the soft, white blankets.

“We’ll unpack the cars tomorrow.” Misha mumbles, crawling under the covers beside you.

You wake up early – before anyone else, so decide to look around a bit. The view out of the bedroom window is a stunning picture of water glistening in the morning light.

After taking a shower, you change into a robe and wander downstairs to find the kitchen – deciding to make pancakes, you get out some plates and a pan, but realise all the food is in cool-bags in the car.

You sigh and wander outside, grabbing a few bags of food and some clothes for everyone.

“Do I smell pancakes?” Misha says, appearing at the kitchen door.

“That’s why I admire you darling – your good nose.” You tease, leaving the pancakes to wander over and kiss the tip of Misha’s nose.

Misha scrunches up his face before pulling you in by your hips and kissing your lips.

“Mm,” You hum, breaking away. “Pancakes!” You say, skipping back to the stove.

Misha chuckles, following you. “Are the kids not up yet? That’s weird.”

You shrug, “Peaceful though.”

“True.” He laughs, “They might lynch us if they miss pancakes though.”

“Good point – our lives are in serious danger, you should wake them.

Misha has to go to work that afternoon, which means – after unpacking the cars – the rest of the morning is spent showing you where everything is, how everything works and what to do if something goes wrong.

“I’ve got it Mish.” You laugh, batting his hand away from one of the many dials on the electrical box. “I’m not gonna need to use any of this stuff.”

Misha sighs, “Fine. I’ll be back late tonight though – and if anything happens-“

“Mish.” You cut him off. “I know, you said. I’ll call. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“Remember to feed the chickens.” He adds, kissing you cheek. “I’d better get going, have you got this?”

“Have fun at work babe.” You say, following him to the front door. “Say hi to Jared and Jensen for me. Go knock everyone’s socks off.” You smirk, kissing him before he goes out to his car.

You’re checking your phone on the couch once you’ve fed, read to, and put to bed the kids that evening.

You notice that basically the entire cast of Supernatural – who you may or may not have googled - have congratulated you and Misha on Twitter.

You smile and get to replying to everyone, as well as answering a few of the fans questions.

After that, you go to check out the room Misha said you could use for art – it’s spacious and lets in plenty of natural light. There’s very little furniture in it, aside from a wooden table and a few chairs. You bring all your art supplies in, dumping them on the table. Your sketchbook falls open on one of your best pieces – it’s of your sister, dancing with one of her ex-boyfriends. You smile, and briefly consider posting it online – to gauge the reaction – but decide to call your sister and make sure she’s cool with it first.

“Hey Y/N.” She answers.

“Hey.” You say, subconsciously doodling on the table. “Oh, first things first – I’m in Washington.”

“The state?” She asks, surprised.

“Yes. Misha had to go back to work, so I went with him.”

“Right. Of course.” She says, laughing. “I saw that you went public on Twitter – people even found me you know.”

“Ah. Sorry about that.” You say awkwardly. “But um, I was wondering if you’d mind if I published one of my drawings of you?”  

Beth sighs. “I guess not – the one of me dancing with Liam? Yeah, it’s good.”

“Yeah. Misha convinced me to start doing shit with my art.” You chuckle.

“Huh, give that man an award – I’ve been trying to do that for years. Anyway – I’d better go. Have fun in Washington.”

“Bye Beth.” You say, hanging up.

The drawing is just a taster, so you take a photo of it and post it to Twitter with the caption:

Does anyone know why this happened when I put a pencil to paper?? Is it cursed?

Immediately a hoard of your new followers comment on “this is amazing” and “she can draw too? Damn”. You smile to yourself and put your phone down, deciding to start another painting; this time of Misha and his kids. You pull up the reference image on your laptop, roll up your sleeves and get started on the large canvas.  

Chapter Thirteen

[entergamingxp]

Doom Eternal review – the same orgiastic thrills with a creeping weight of story • Eurogamer.net

“Story in a game is like a story in a porn movie,” the original Doom’s programmer John Carmack once wrote. “It’s expected to be there, but it’s not that important.” A connoisseur of sleaze might object that story often makes for sexier porn – after all, story tends to involve chemistry, atmosphere, suspense and all the other emotions that distinguish intimacy from the act of banging together genitals to spark a human being. Still, if we’re going to liken games to pornography, and assuming it’s the more kinetic kind of pornography you’re after, I heartily recommend Doom Eternal: a looping video compilation of oversized guns and fists plunging into squelchy orifices, spurting along at 60 frames a second.

Doom Eternal review

Developer: id Software

Publisher: Bethesda

Platform: Reviewed on PS4

Availability: Out March 20th on PS4, Xbox One and PC, coming later this year to Switch

2016’s accomplished reboot was already quite the debauch, its firefights punctuated by leering close-ups of skewered hellspawn, its heavy metal soundtrack always building to a crescendo. Eternal turns up the heat even further, allowing you to dash and flip your way around arenas that are newly fixated on the vertical axis. Dripping organs are wrenched out of, then stuffed back into, demon torsos; chargeable alt-fires scream for release; health orbs spatter the ramps and chokepoints like – well, you get the picture. The environments often look like the work of an adolescent H.R. Giger who’s just got into AC/DC. Aside from silvery Protoss-ish fortresses and some seriously down-at-heel office blocks, you’ll wander labyrinths of squirming flesh, using runes to unclench toothy sphincters and shearing pop-up tentacles in half with your shotgun.

Some, of course, will soberly insist that all of this is just good, honest, videogame violence – clean, upstanding fun with absolutely no over- or undertones whatsoever. And to these people I say: when I am walking down the shaft of an enormous spear, straight into the pierced belly of a reeling, gaping titan, it is difficult to argue that there isn’t some kind of metaphor in play. “Rip and tear”? More like rip and splooge.

Carmack’s porn quote (which he has since qualified a little) epitomises the view that narrative in games is always an imposition, a foreign body carried over from film and literature. It’s a view that has been roundly debunked. The thing is, though, Eternal does have a story, somewhere in amongst the parade of demon O-faces, and while that story is lightweight by Zenimax game standards, it feels hopelessly grafted on. Having thwarted Hell’s invasion of Mars, the legendary Doom Slayer must purge Earth itself of diabolical interlopers, setting out from a gothic orbital station turned customisation hub to a series of ravaged cities, factories and temples that feel on loan from Gears of War. In the process, he must also tunnel back into a startlingly eventful past, sitting through flashbacks and wrangling with old allies.

The 2016 game was a thrilling reimagining of the speed and ferocity of 90s Doom combat, but it also magnified Doom’s narrative trappings, adding in cutscenes, audio diaries, codex entries and mid-mission dialogue – a curious reversal of one of id’s key decisions with the original game, which was once planned to include a sizeable narrative component written by co-founder Tom Hall. Eternal adds yet more to the load, expanding the cast and redoubling the emphasis on lore.

The cutscenes are now a mix of first and third-person, which means the Slayer is a fully tangible human being – one you can, moreover, trick out with unlockable outfits and weapon skins – rather than a pair of enormous fists twitching beneath your aiming reticle. He feels enclosed by the fiction, rather than, as Christian Donlan put it back in the day, like a man who is also playing Doom and who shares your resentment for anything that gets in the way. There’s some effort to explain the character’s superhuman prowess, with one scientist suggesting that you represent humanity’s rage to survive, as opposed to humanity’s love of making Cacodemons pop in slow motion. The Slayer even has a voice these days, though I think he strings together maybe five words in total.

True, our man in green never looks happy with all the attention, stomping impatiently through cinematics while other parties monologue at his retreating head (if they’re lucky, that is – the fate of most speaking roles in Eternal is to be ground up like tuna). Nor are you required to listen to the audio diaries, or dip into the codex. But these elements drag on you nonetheless, like the lakes of purple goop that stop you running or jumping in certain levels. They’re a deflating reminder that you are no longer here just to indulge your baser instincts. Conversely, the developer’s guilty awareness that people don’t play Doom for the narrative means that when you do dig into the world-building, you’ll find it to be scanty and by-the-numbers: a set of tired references to ancient races, legendary battles and fallen cities.

Still, if visceral gratification is the goal, Eternal amply delivers. The combat is once again about ceaseless pivoting between attack and retreat, care of a raucous battlefield ecology which sees you ripping ammo, health and armour refills from your prey rather than just searching for medikits or finding somewhere to cool off. Stun a foe and you can execute them for a smidgeon of health. These executions double as windows of rest, with other demons easing off till you’re done rearranging your victim’s anatomy. They can also be triggered from metres away, warping you to the target without even the courtesy of a transitional animation, which means you can use them to escape or get behind a mob. Bisect demons with your trusty chainsaw, meanwhile, and you’ll be rewarded with a geyser of ammo, restocking all your weapons in one dollop. You’ll need plenty of chainsaw fuel to carve up the bigger demons, but you’ll always have enough to carve up the smaller “fodder” demons, who spawn endlessly throughout each battle till the larger demons are slain.

This hyper-aggressive resourcing style forces you to close the gap with foes who are, in any case, very good at running you down. Some, like the minion-summoning Archville, are closer to terrain hazards, but the underworld’s legions are light on snipers or artillery; pretty much everybody, from the podgy Mancubus to the serpentine Whiplash, is hell-bent on getting in your face. It sounds like chaos, and often is, but there’s a lot of science to Eternal’s combat, and solid artistry to how the key variables are conveyed from second to second. Ammo, health and armour drops are colour-coded; staggered enemies flash blue, then orange when they’re about to recover. The game’s audio is similarly readable, once you acclimatise to the roaring heavy metal soundtrack. You’ll learn to follow the progress of the battle by ear – be it the tink of a cooldown gauge, the belch of a Cacodemon that has just swallowed something explosive, teeing it up for an execution, or the nasal howl of a charging Pinky.

New variables include an ice grenade, mapped to the trigger, which lets you flash-freeze whole groups to interrupt otherwise lethal offensives. You can also light foes up with your shoulder flamethrower attachment, causing them to spit out armour parts and further motivating you to fight at close quarters when you’re hurting. The most important change-up, however, is your newfound agility. Besides availing himself of launchpads, the Slayer can now perform aerial dashes, scuttle up laddered surfaces, swing from monkey bars and use a Super Shotgun-mounted grapple line to yank himself towards or past enemies.

This encourages showboating reminiscent of anti-gravity duels in the sadly-forgotten Lawbreakers. You might grapple somebody, fling yourself past them while firing your shotgun pointblank, then double-jump to a monkey bar, hurling yourself at a stunned Pain Elemental, then drop neatly onto a launchpad while switching to your Heavy Assault Rifle so that you can carpet the arena in micro-missiles. The weapons are by and large entertaining rejigs of DOOM 2016’s offerings, with two upgradeable alternate-fires per gun that lend themselves to different tactics and different opponents. Your shotgun, for instance, can serve as either a sticky grenade launcher – useful when trying to shoot the turret off a Cyberdemon – or a buckshot-firing Gatling gun for crowd control.

Inevitably, the charm of Eternal diminishes the further you travel from these firefights. Its grander story component aside, the game is slightly over-burdened with customisation systems. Besides tracking down weapon mods in levels themselves, you’ll equip runes for perks such as slow-mo when you aim in mid-air, together with Praetor Suit upgrades such as the ability to suck in health drops from further away. There’s a knack to combining Rune perks, especially when tackling “Master” versions of levels that have more punishing enemy spawn patterns, but the role-playing systems aren’t novel, and the associated menu-diving bogs down a shooter that’s at its best in the thick of the bloodshed.

What really saps Eternal, however, is the predictable way the campaign once again breaks down into combat bowls and platforming stretches that feel like they’ve been stripped at random from Prince of Persia: Sands of Time. There are collectibles to unearth, some tucked in high alcoves or behind smashable walls, together with optional hidden battle chambers, but the alternation of shoot-out then jumpy bit then shoot-out is the same throughout. Boss battles are the biggest change of tune – the final clash is a doozie, a gruelling two-phase affair in which your nemesis looms over the layout like the world’s angriest D&D player. But some of them are just annoying, a question of repeating a tactic to whittle down a health-bar. It’s revealing that the game offers you a layer of all-but-indestructible Sentinel armour after a certain number of deaths, though Eternal’s accessibility is otherwise refreshing: dropping the difficulty doesn’t cost you anything in terms of progress, and you revert to the previous difficulty once the bossfight is over.

It’s worth remembering that old school Doom wasn’t just a series of one-man massacres. It could be ominous and anxiety-inducing. It had monsters you could hear through walls, shambling about in the guts of the level, and concealed partitions that slid open without warning. It had a narrative, just about, but it didn’t try to root the weirdness of its concept or spaces in lore, and its secrets were as much about enjoying the possibilities of virtual architecture as securing a power-up. It was a world of alarming corners and optical tricks that deformed and shifted simply because it could. For all its abundance of things to find, you don’t get quite the same feeling in DOOM Eternal. At times, it feels like the levels have been designed backwards from the completion screen, with its grocery lists of optional treasures and encounters. You might argue that 3D worlds are simply less surprising on the whole in 2020 than in 1993, but that’s to ignore the work of countless DOOM modders whose creations, made using id’s original engine and tools, continue to startle and intrigue today.

The missing link in this review is multiplayer, which is offline for the moment, but which already looks like a step up from Doom 2016’s ramshackle online. It’s a strictly asymmetrical affair, with one player starring as the Slayer while the others control one of five demon breeds from the campaign. As a demon, you can summon AI-controlled hellspawn with the D-pad, so victory is presumably as much about mob strategy as dealing damage yourself. Which sounds like a pleasant way to cool off once you’ve tired of the sweaty embrace of a campaign that, for all its breaking of Carmack’s ancient maxim, has a shot at being one of the best you’ll play this year. Still, Doom Eternal leaves me undecided. The game is fundamentally the 2016 reboot again with new props, and its dogged commitment to Doom’s narrative universe is as baffling as the firefights are exhilarating. Is this really all Doom can be, nowadays – a cascade of collectables, unwanted cutscenes and the spectacle of a gurning demon face, forever?

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/03/doom-eternal-review-the-same-orgiastic-thrills-with-a-creeping-weight-of-story-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=doom-eternal-review-the-same-orgiastic-thrills-with-a-creeping-weight-of-story-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Domestic Life of the Dark One and his Lady, as Observed by Emma Swan

Summary: A post season 1 canon divergence, in which the curse broke at the end of season 1, but Rumpelstiltskin held off on bringing magic back for reasons still unknown, so none of the magical shenanigans at the beginning of season 2 happened.

Emma is getting used to life in the newly-decursed town of Storybrooke when circumstances force her to go into hiding at Rumpelstiltskin’s house. Whilst she’s there, she gains a privileged glimpse at his and Belle’s relationship which gives her hope for her own life.

Written for the @rumbelleishope event.

Rated: T

=====

The Domestic Life of the Dark One and his Lady, as Observed by Emma Swan

Emma Swan had been having a very good day up until the point when she had been forced to fake her own death. To make matters worse, she’d only had six and a half minutes’ notice in which to stage her demise and to make matters even worse than that, the only person who was currently aware of her continued existence was Mr Gold, whom Emma still didn’t trust quite as far as she could throw him.

Maybe that was a bad analogy. He wasn’t exactly a large man and Emma had a very good throwing arm, even if she did say so herself, so she could probably throw him a lot further than she thought. Especially if she was annoyed with him.

Right now she couldn’t really be annoyed with him since he had just saved her life, and she was currently hiding from the rest of the town in the back of his Cadillac.

“Are you sure I can’t let my parents know that I’m all right?” she asked.

“Miss Swan, your parents are lovely people, but completely unable to keep a secret. If you let them know, everyone will be rejoicing in your survival within a couple of hours, and right now, news of you not being dead will only serve to make your assailants redouble their efforts. You’ve already seen what they’re capable of doing.”

Even though she was crouched in the back of the car, Emma could still see the smoke rising from the remains of the Sheriff’s Station. Apparently, when deprived of magic, fairy tale characters could get very creative when they wanted to kill someone and they had access to unstable chemicals at the packing plants down at the docks.

Emma sighed and looked up at the roof of the car as they took the back roads around the edge of the town towards Gold’s home. To think, half an hour ago the most serious thing she’d had to deal with was ownership disputes and the headache of people who had been kings and queens in the Enchanted Forest now attempting to turn back twenty-eight years of democracy and restore the feudalism they’d always been used to.

Regina’s curse had been broken, but there had been no big poof of magic that had taken everyone back from whence they came, and so everyone was now trying to get used to living in the Land Without Magic whilst very clearly having memories from a land with it.

Emma privately suspected that there might have been a big poof of magic, but that Gold was holding out on them for some reason. He’d taken the magic that she’d fished out of Maleficent after all, but then nothing had really come of it. All she knew was that he was hiding it very well, because both she and Regina had tried to find it and come up short. She couldn’t even get a search warrant because as Regina had pointed out, once the lynch mob outside her door had got bored and ultimately left her alone, the magic was his own property and they couldn’t really confiscate it.

Emma could only hope that whatever he was saving it for was worth it.

Being sheriff in a town full of former fairy tale characters was always going to be an interesting experience, but Emma had really not counted on the fact that in all fairy tales, there are heroes and villains. Some of the villains, like Regina and possibly Gold, although from what Emma could tell Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t really so much of an outright villain as a trickster who helped whichever side was willing to give him what he needed, appeared to be relatively genre savvy and were just accepting the changed status quo and adapting to it. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that they’d been awake for a lot longer than anyone else.

Other villains, however, weren’t quite as adaptive, and in the wake of the curse breaking, Emma had suddenly found herself facing problems from people whom she had never faced problems from before.

For example, the judge. Sure, before he had been your stereotypical old white guy and Emma had really not held out much hope for leniency when Mary Margaret had been about to face trial, but he’d been comparatively harmless.

Man, that had been a mistake in judgement. Now he’d remembered that back in the Enchanted Forest he’d been Claude Frollo of Hunchback of Notre Dame fame, and he was trying to recreate his legal reign of terror here in Storybrooke, much to both Emma and Regina’s chagrin. All things considered, it was the constant battle against Frollo that had forced Emma and Regina to put aside their differences for a while and actually work together to stop him trying to enact some kind of hostile takeover. It didn’t help that several of the ordinary citizens who had led ordinary, mundane lives, now remembered that they’d been soldiers in a previous life, and a few of them were definitely willing to take up arms again in the name of whoever was willing to pay them.

Emma was just thankful that none of them were trained with firearms and there was a distinct shortage of swords in rural Maine.

“You know, I really don’t think that this is a good idea,” she said to Gold presently. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Because the easiest way to find out who wanted to blow you to smithereens is to let them think that they succeeded and then see what they do. Lulling them into a false sense of security always works.”

“Right.” Emma was not entirely convinced by this. “You know, I’m sure it’s Frollo, can’t I just go and arrest him now?”

“No.” Gold’s voice sounded calm and patient but Emma thought she could detect the slight hint of suppressed laughter, and she glared at him in the rearview mirror.

“He might not have been working alone,” Emma conceded. “He’s an astute guy but I’m not sure he could make homemade explosives. Now, that woman who runs the tearooms, she could certainly do it.”

“I’ve no doubt that you’re correct, but shall we wait and see what happens next, Sheriff?”

Emma gave a huff of frustration. “How do I know that you didn’t do it?”

“Because I have absolutely nothing to gain from you being scattered in several pieces all over Storybrooke,” Gold said. “Besides, if I wanted to get rid of you I’ve got at least seven different methods that are far quicker and cleaner and I would have used them by now.”

“That’s not at all comforting, Gold. You really don’t tell someone that kind of thing when you’re about to hide them in your home.”

Gold just chuckled, which did nothing to reassure Emma in the slightest.

“Can I get up yet?” she grumbled. “I can see that we’re out of the town centre. No-one’s going to see me.”

“Yes, all right. As amusing as it is to see you concertinaed in the back there, I can appreciate that it’s not the most comfortable of positions. We’re almost there.”

Emma struggled into a more upright position and peered out of the window. Gold lived on a quiet street in the most upmarket part of the town - go figure - and she was right in thinking that there was no-one about. This place was the home of all the minor nobility with whom Regina had had no quarrel in the old world; they had simply been transplanted from one life of moderate luxury to another one, and Emma had, thankfully, never had any trouble with them apart from the odd standard middle-class complaint about parking restrictions being violated or loud dogs barking. She didn’t think that any of them would pay any attention to what was going on in the pink house; now that everyone had remembered exactly who Rumpelstiltskin was, the majority of the sensible part of the population was giving him a rather wide berth.

Emma was a little surprised to see the front door open seemingly of its own accord, and then Belle’s head peeped out from around it.

It wasn’t that Emma had forgotten about Belle, per se. It was more that she hadn’t really had time to process the young woman’s existence, what with everything else that had been going on in the town at the time. She wasn’t there one minute and she was there the next, and she had reunited with Gold in much the same way as everyone else had reunited with their loved ones now that the curse had been broken.

There was some vague notion in the back of her mind that this must be the girl that Gold had beaten up Moe French over back when that had happened, and the fact that she’d honestly never come across the woman in the town before the curse break had raised a few alarm bells. Other than that, Emma was happy to just accept her for who she was and leave it at that. Henry had tried to explain her significance with the aid of his story book, but Emma had been trying to stop a crowd from mobbing the mayor’s office at the time so she hadn’t been paying too much attention.

“I’m glad that you’re all right,” Belle said once they were all inside the house, Gold having kept a furtive lookout for any curtain twitching in the vicinity. “You can see the smoke even from here, it must have been a very impressive explosion.”

It had been. Emma’s ears were still ringing as a result of it. She shook her head in disbelief. This was a town filled with fairy tale characters designed as some kind of sleepy backwater sort-of paradise. There should not have been any exploding sheriff’s stations to contend with.

“I’m glad that you’re all right too,” Belle added to Gold, smiling as he slipped an arm around her waist and greeted her with a kiss.

“It’ll take more than that to get rid of me,” he assured her.

Belle just laughed, and Emma found herself gawping unashamedly at the tenderness of their interaction. It was as if, in the split second it took him to walk through the door, Gold had become a completely different person. There was a depth of love in his eyes that had definitely not been there before, and considering their rather antagonistic history together, she definitely wouldn’t have thought him capable of such emotion. This man was meant to be a scourge; her own parents had kept him locked up, for crying out loud. He was, or at least had been, a dark magician of the highest order, and yet here he was, completely and absolutely besotted. She’d never felt more like a third wheel in her life, but there was something so intense about what she was seeing that Emma really didn’t want to draw attention to her presence and ruin the moment. It was almost mesmerising.

Belle broke the shared gaze and moved away towards the stairs.

“I’ll get the guest room ready for Emma if you start on dinner?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Emma was pretty sure that she was dreaming and would have been convinced of the fact had it not been for the smell of smoke emanating from her jacket.

Finding herself alone in the hallway, Gold having disappeared into the kitchen, and still wondering at the state of her reality, Emma slowly followed Belle up the stairs. She’d been in Gold’s home before, searching for an intruder after Moe French had broken in, but she’d never been able to get a good nosy look at it before now. It was absolutely crammed to the rafters with antiques and relics, and she wondered how much of it had come through from the Enchanted Forest with him like the articles in the shop. None of it looked particularly otherworldly though, just expensive and tasteful, so maybe he’d just got it in his deal with Regina for a comfortable life in this world.

Belle was in what was obviously the guest room, pulling sheets and blankets out of the ottoman at the end of the bed and putting pillowcases on.

“I’m still not used to the kitchen appliances,” she said by way of explanation, “but there’s not much change in bed linen between worlds. I’m far more at home with cleaning and laundry than I am cooking. Not that I was all that much of a cook beforehand, as Rumpel will no doubt attest.”

Emma came over to give her a hand; it felt wrong not to help out in some way since she had unceremoniously arrived in Belle’s home with very little notice and now needed a bed for the night and a hiding place for however long it might take to catch the villains who wanted her dead.

“Don’t you have twenty-eight years of experience with this world’s kitchen appliances?” she asked nonchalantly.

Belle shook her head, and her warm expression faltered into one of sadness.

“I have no memories of Storybrooke,” she said quietly. “I was in the hospital… I don’t have cursed memories like everyone else does. This is all new to me.” The corner of her mouth quirked up a brief smile. “I like to think of it as an adventure in a new place, and Rumpel is my faithful guide through it all.”

Well, that definitely explained why Gold had been so intent on causing Regina some kind of bodily harm in the immediate aftermath of the curse breaking. If Belle had been in the hospital with no memories for the entirety of the curse then it would be Regina who had put her there. She glanced sideways at Belle as she smoothed down the sheets and stood back to admire her handiwork. She was quite possibly the most harmless person she’d ever met, and it was a chilling thought to realise that she’d probably been locked up simply because of her relationship with Gold.

Still, they were together again now, and it was quite clear that they were not going to let anything else get in between them. Emma decided that it would be a good idea to change the subject. She did wonder just what the relationship was between the two of them. The sheer depth of love that they both displayed for each other made her think that they’d been very close in the Enchanted Forest, but there was the tenderness of new lovers there as well.

“So… I take it that this isn’t your room?” she began.

Belle blushed.

“No. Rumpel and I… Well, he did give me this room at first, but I kept having nightmares about the hospital and, well, you know, one thing led to another. I feel safer sleeping with him.”

“Hey, no-one’s going to judge you here. I guess that’s one definite advantage to being transplanted to modern day non-magical Maine. Much less stigma attached to pre-marital relations.”

Belle bit her lip, her cheeks still very pink. Her train of thought was obvious and Emma really didn’t want to follow it. Getting an insight into Belle and Gold’s relationship was one thing but she didn’t actually want to know all that much about their sex life. They continued to make the bed in silence, and Emma fell to thinking about the events that had just transpired. By now, the news would have spread around the entire town, and even those who had managed to miss the huge bang and billowing plume of smoke would know what was going on. Right now, everyone would be wondering what was going on and whether she had survived, trying to get hold of her for that reassurance. Emma’s stomach began to churn, and she sat down heavily on the ottoman as she thought of what the rest of the town must be going through whilst she was safe and sound and hidden in Gold’s house.

“Hey.” Belle came and perched beside her. “It’s ok. You’ve just had a very traumatic experience. Do you want to talk about it?”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t know what there is to talk about. I don’t know what to say. It’s not every day that someone plans your assassination. And you survive it. And no-one else knows that you survived it other than two people.”

Gold had said that Mary Margaret and David wouldn’t be able to keep a secret, but Henry had been secret-keeper for the entire town for an incredibly long time, and out of everyone, he was the one that she really needed to tell. She’d left her phone in the station, not having had time to grab it when Gold had told her to make a run for it if she didn’t want to get blown to smithereens.

“Belle, do you have a cell phone? I’ve got to let Henry know I’m ok. I don’t care if it scuppers Gold’s plan for flushing out the assassins. I have to tell him.”

“Sure, I’ll get it.” Belle left the room, and Emma felt a great weight lift off her shoulders.

In the wake of the curse-breaking and several people remembering the feuds they’d had with either Regina or Snow White and Charming over the years, it had been unanimously decided that Henry, despite his comparatively young age, needed a cell phone in case someone decided that he was an excellent target to use as leverage.

Belle returned with her purse and took out an old Nokia, handing it over.

“Rumpel gave it to me just in case,” she said. “As much as it’s taking me a little while to get used to the kitchen technology, I do like experimenting with all the gadgets.”

Emma had to smile at Belle’s bright enthusiasm and acceptance of the new and quite scary modern world that she had unceremoniously found herself in, and she began the painstaking process of using the ancient phone to tap out a message to Henry.

Henry, this is Mom, IM OK! U hav 2 keep scrt tho dont tell any1.

Her heart lifted as a response came a couple of minutes later.

I knew it! Glad you’re ok, I’ll keep quiet. Mom & grandma & grandpa already suspect you got out and are lying low. Operation Barbecue is on! Stay safe!

Emma sighed and handed the phone back to Belle, who giggled at the message.

“Someone needs to tell that boy he has incredibly poor taste.”

She felt a lot lighter now that she knew that Henry knew she was safe and that her parents had hope for her survival even if she hadn’t contacted them. She knew that she could trust Henry not to tell anyone else, and she liked to think that she could trust Belle not to snitch on her to Gold. However strange the method might be, she was beginning to have a little confidence that everything would turn out to a satisfactory conclusion in the end.

Belle left the room quietly and Emma was alone with her thoughts for a while. She thought about the many happy couples that had been separated by the curse and had only now come back together again. At least in most cases they had been able to see each other around the town and know retrospectively that they’d been all right throughout the curse, even if they hadn’t been together. Belle and Gold didn’t have that comfort.

She shook herself out of that train of thought and made her way back downstairs. There wasn’t exactly much point in her settling into her room, she hopefully wouldn’t be there for very long and she hadn’t exactly packed a bag in all the commotion. She considered asking Belle for some pyjamas to borrow but considering the not insignificant height difference, she didn’t have much hope of anything of Belle’s fitting her. Plus there was the fact that Belle really didn’t look like a pyjama sort of person, if her everyday wardrobe was anything to go by. She seemed more of a lacy nightie type, and lingerie was definitely not something that should be shared. Especially not if it had likely already shared a bed with Gold.

Emma pushed that image very firmly out of her head.

Gold turned out to be a pretty decent cook, although having lived by himself for twenty-eight years and not starved to death, that was probably a given. Dinner was a pasta dish with creamy tomato sauce, although Emma still couldn’t reconcile the fact that an hour ago she had just barely escaped a raging fireball and now she was sitting down to a polite meal with Gold and his girlfriend.

Of all the things that she couldn’t get her head around, Emma found that the thing she found the strangest was just how tactile they were. Her brain had decided to set aside the explosions and murder attempts and fixate on the little touches that were passing between Belle and Gold. They were constantly brushing against each other as they moved around the kitchen, light touches to each other’s hands and arms. Perhaps on any other couple it would be unnerving - and it was slightly weird just how much they seemed to touch - but somehow Belle and Gold managed to make it look sweet and endearing. They gave the impression of a couple that was long established and yet still in their honeymoon period at the same time, and Emma found herself wondering exactly what their relationship had been like back in the Enchanted Forest. She was acutely aware that she was something of a third wheel here, not through any fault of her own, but that didn’t stop her feeling out of place and like she was intruding on something important and meaningful that she didn’t fully get yet.

Above everything though, however overly touchy-feely they might be, they seemed really, genuinely happy, and Emma found herself sincerely hoping that they would remain so.

X

Emma didn’t think it was too unreasonable that she couldn’t sleep considering everything that had happened to her that afternoon. She’d excused herself to bed pretty soon after dinner; feeling ever more like the gooseberry in Belle and Gold’s romance and not wanting to get in the way when it was clear that they weren’t accustomed to outside observers and obviously wanted to get a lot closer than they were. She was grateful that they’d put her up for the night, but whilst they had been forced to work together, she and Gold were not really friends and however lovely and welcoming Belle might be, no-one wanted things to be awkward.

Without her phone she had no idea how late it was, but she thought it was still pretty early. She hadn’t heard Belle and Gold come up the stairs, and as she crept out onto the landing, she saw that the lights were still on.

She tiptoed down the stairs, winging up a prayer that they weren’t having sex in the kitchen. She couldn’t hear any untoward noises coming from any of the rooms, just the sound of low conversation, and she was incredibly grateful, grabbing a glass of water and making to go back to her room without further ado.

The living room door was slightly ajar as she passed it, and against her better judgement, she had to take a peek inside.

Gold and Belle were sitting together on the sofa, curled up so close that there couldn’t have been any oxygen between them. They weren’t looking at each other, they were seemingly engrossed in the Law and Order rerun on the TV, but they had to be aware of that intense closeness. They weren’t staring longingly into each others’ eyes and they weren’t getting handsy and feeling each other up now that they didn’t have an audience, but there was a much deeper intimacy at play, tactile rather than visual, enjoying the sheer togetherness.

In a strange kind of way, they reminded Emma of her own parents, a solid and strong relationship rekindled. If there was one thing that had been instilled in Emma over the couple of months that she had been in Storybrooke and Henry had been giving her lessons in his fairy tale book, it was that her parents shared true love, and it was for this reason that she herself was - or at least was supposed to be - the saviour and so powerful, with the ability to break the curse.

It certainly looked like Gold and Belle shared that same true love. She didn’t want to think about them having kids just yet though.

There was nothing to be gained from watching them from the shadows like a creeper, and Emma made her way silently back upstairs to the guest room, lying in the dark for a long time, a single thought drifting through her subconscious as she nodded off.

It Rumpelstiltskin, of all people, could find true love, then surely she could too.

X

The next morning found Emma slightly confused when she woke to find herself in a very unfamiliar bedroom. For the briefest of moments she wondered if she’d got hilariously drunk the previous evening and wandered into the wrong house by mistake, but this notion was quickly dismissed by the lack of a hangover and the knowledge that no matter how drunk she might have got in the past, she’d never yet mistaken her own address.

Once she got her eyes open fully, the memories quickly returned and she found herself staring up at the ceiling of Gold’s spare room, letting the knowledge that most of the rest of the town thought she was dead sink in. It was quite a sobering thought.

Well, perhaps they didn’t think she was dead. There was always the chance that she had survived the explosion and got out of the building in time. If anyone went poking about in the wreckage then they wouldn’t find any human remains. David would probably have already taken a look and she liked to think that the fact there was no obvious evidence of her inside would have proved encouraging for him and Mary Margaret. If there was one thing that they were both good at, it was holding onto hope in the most difficult of circumstances.

Still, there was nothing to be gained from staring at the ceiling contemplating her own existence and feeling incredibly guilty about the pain that her friends and family were going through, not knowing whether she was ok or not. The sooner she got out of bed, the sooner she could corner Gold and get him to help her find out what the hell was going on and who the hell had tried to kill her, and the sooner she could reunite with her worried friends.

She got out of bed and pulled yesterday’s clothes back on, finger-combing her hair. She had no doubt that Belle would lend her a hairbrush if she asked, but something made her not want to. She already felt enough of a third wheel in the house, and she just wanted to get out as quickly as possible. It wasn’t that Belle and Gold’s relationship made her uncomfortable, although it was weird to see him so soft and loving. It was just that they were so content together and so happy as a duo that she didn’t want anything to intrude on that calmness and tranquility, least of all herself. The pink house had turned into a safe haven away from everything that was going on in the town and having seen Belle and Gold be so at home here, Emma wanted to keep it that way. The longer she stayed, the more she was bringing the woes of the outside world in with her.

She made her way downstairs towards the kitchen, finding that Belle and Gold were already there, fully-dressed and ready to start the day. She must have slept later than she thought; nearly getting killed must really take it out of you.

It was a quaint domestic scene: Gold in his apron standing at the stove making eggs, and Belle watching over the toaster. Presently it popped up and she put the slices in the toast rack before grabbing another couple of slices of bread. She glanced over at the door, perhaps sensing that someone was watching her, and smiled.

“Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

It seemed a strange thing to say to someone who was nearly blown up the day before, but in hindsight it was probably the best thing in the circumstances. Best to try and maintain some semblance of normalcy, after all.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good morning, Miss Swan.” Gold slipped the eggs out of the pan onto a dish and set them on the table. “Help yourself to coffee.”

Not entirely sure that she wasn’t still dreaming, Emma went over to the coffee pot and poured herself a mug. She was in the home of the great (albeit not currently magically enabled) sorcerer and trickster Rumpelstiltskin, and she couldn’t get over just how mundane everything was. How utterly and completely everyday and non-threatening.

“Toast?” Belle offered. “The toaster was the first thing in the kitchen I learned how to use. I don’t burn it anymore.”

Gold chuckled. “The smoke alarm took a bit of a beating the first time you made toast on your own, didn’t it?”

Belle rolled her eyes and grabbed the piece of toast he’d taken out of his hand.

“There’ll be no toast for you if you don’t learn to appreciate my toast-making abilities,” she said. “You ought to be proud of my accomplishments in mastering strange technology here.”

“I’m very proud.” He kissed her cheek and stole his toast back, neither of them caring about Emma watching them, half-asleep and bug-eyed in disbelief. Surely this was all a dream.

Sipping her coffee and contemplating her toast and eggs, accepting the surreal reality of the situation, Emma was gradually coming to a huge realisation. Despite what she might think of Gold, and her repeated mantra that she did not entirely trust him, he evidently trusted her, enough to let her into his home and display the full extent of his feelings for Belle.

It was clear that their relationship had been used against him to Belle’s cost in the past, and yet Gold trusted her enough to allow her to see it, which meant that he implicitly trusted her not to use it against him like some others would have done in the past. Sitting here witnessing this quiet and homely domesticity was a privilege that would be extended to very few others, if anyone at all.

Maybe it was because she was the prophesied saviour and she’d broken the curse and allowed him and Belle to reunite. Maybe it was something else. But now that she was here and had been allowed into this inner sanctum, she felt duty bound to protect it. What she was being permitted to see was for her eyes only. Yes, the rest of the town knew about Belle and from the amount of time that the two of them spent together it was clear that they were close. Just how close, and how obviously in love they were, well, that was something to be kept more between the two of them.

Emma felt no desire to share the discovery with anyone. It would be a disservice to Belle, at the very least. For a woman with no memories and twenty-eight years’ worth of hazy imprisonment, she had happily let Emma into the only place in Storybrooke that she could call home and feel safe in. The last thing that she wanted to do was place her in some kind of danger by proxy due to her association with Rumpelstiltskin.

It was perfectly possible and indeed probable that Gold had some kind of ulterior motive in rescuing her from her fate and giving her this hospitality. He hadn’t mentioned any favours yet, but it was likely that she would find herself reminded of this incident in the future if something happened which would require her to take sides.

For the moment she would accept it, just grateful to be alive at the end of it all. She already owed him one favour that he hadn’t collected yet; she could add one more to the list and all things considered, he had saved her life and hadn’t exactly given her any choice in the matter.

But Emma was fairly sure that Belle had no such compunctions and had just opened up her home out of the goodness of her heart. Emma couldn’t repay her kindness by being cavalier about her safety. For as long as it was in her power, the depth of the love between Belle and Gold would remain Emma’s closely guarded secret.

Breakfast continued in a companionable quiet, and Emma continued to observe the easy intimacy between the two of them that they had shown the previous evening, finally seeing the constant touching, the brushing of fingers, for what it really was; a reassurance that after such a long separation, they were both there together; they were both real. Belle started to talk about her plans for the day, taking a look at the boarded-up library with a view to getting it started again. Emma decided not to mention the hopefully deceased dragon in the basement.

They were really quite sweet to watch, Emma thought, once she’d got over the initial shock of trying to match up her previous impressions of Gold with the one she now had in front of her. They gave her a kind of warm, fuzzy feeling inside. After so long of the David-Kathryn-Mary Margaret problem whilst the curse had still been in place, it was nice to see that couples were quickly reuniting and becoming established again, no matter how unorthodox or unexpected those couples might be.

Soon enough, though, the meal was finished and plates were being cleared. It was time to leave the happy domestic nest and face their problems head on.

Gold gave her a wry smile.

“All right, Miss Swan. Shall we discover who tried to kill you?”

X

Trying to conduct a police investigation when the local police station was currently a pile of charred and smoking ruins was never going to be the easiest of endeavours, and Emma was privately very impressed that they’d managed it.

Frollo and the seemingly harmless old woman who ran the tearoom (and who was keeping rather tight-lipped about her fairy tale identity, leaving Emma to think that she had simply been a disgruntled peasant wanting to express indignation at all the trouble that the royals had caused over the years) had indeed been responsible for the explosion, just as Emma had predicted.

They hadn’t really planned their attack all that well and the logistical difficulties of not having a sheriff’s station anymore aside, it hadn’t been too hard to gather evidence that would stick. Of course, getting arrest warrants and all that kind of thing when the person you were trying to get warrants against was the judge who would ultimately sign them was an entirely different matter, and Emma was currently massaging her temples to try and get rid of the headache that had been plaguing her for the last two days.

The sheriff’s station was out of action for the foreseeable future. Regina was in the process of approving the budget to get it rebuilt but the insurance was proving a problem, especially since Storybrooke didn’t really exist outside of its own little bubble and the insurance company were having a hard enough time believing that there was such a town and that it had a sheriff’s station let alone that it had been blown up by a pair of angry middle-aged professionals for seemingly no reason beyond wanting the villains of their stories to get happy endings for once.

Emma had set up a temporary office in the town hall, which was useful whenever she needed to go and have words with Regina, but not so useful for keeping suspects locked up. As loath as she had been to use the secure ward under the hospital after learning what had happened to Belle, it was really the only option, even if it did mean that Emma had to take a scenic tour of the town every time she needed to question her suspects. The fact that DA Spencer had now remembered that he had previously been a king wasn’t helping matters either. Emma had to wonder if some of the townsfolk had, upon regaining their memories of the Enchanted Forest, forgotten the immediately preceding twenty-eight years and what they’d done during them.

She shook her head with a sigh, putting aside all the paperwork relating to the case. It occurred to her that she probably shouldn’t be investigating her own attempted murder, but there wasn’t really anyone else that she could pass it on to. The trials of small town life and being unable to bring anyone in from outside. It was time to stop for the day, and go and meet up with Henry at Granny’s. None of it was going to go anywhere. Whatever strange magic was keeping everyone inside the town took care of that.

As she approached the diner, she saw two familiar figures coming out of it. Belle and Gold were arm in arm; Gold’s coat draped over Belle’s shoulders as they made their way from the diner back towards the pawn shop where the Cadillac was parked. They didn’t notice her approaching, both too completely besotted in each other to pay anything else any mind. She wondered if she ought to warn them that they were about to cross a road; she really didn’t want to have to deal with two lovebirds getting themselves run over, especially not when she hadn’t had any dinner yet.

Thankfully they made it across the road without incident, and Emma stopped outside the diner to watch them for a moment. The sweetness that there had been between them when they had been in private in their own home was still there, maybe a little more understated than it had been before, but nevertheless making it obvious that they were together and that they would remain so for a long time to come. Gold opened the passenger door for Belle and she handed his coat back to him, but before she got in, she leaned in to kiss his cheek; a kiss that ended up a much more passionate one on the lips.

Emma couldn’t help but smile. Of all the people to have found true love in true fairy tale fashion, Gold was probably at the bottom of her list of candidates, but it just went to show that absolutely anything was possible. And if he made Belle happy, which he obviously did, well, Emma would make sure that nothing came between them.

“It’s really quite something, isn’t it?”

Emma startled; she hadn’t heard Granny come out of the diner behind her to clear one of the outdoor tables. The older woman nodded across the road towards Belle and Gold as they got into the car and drove away.

“Yes,” Emma agreed. “Despite everything, I just get the overwhelming urge to protect them.”

“Believe me, you’re not the only one.” Granny’s smile was crafty, and in that moment Emma received the distinct impression that Granny would make an excellent deputy should she fancy a career change. “Everyone thinks that I’ve got my crossbow out to deter intruders, which is certainly true, but if I see anyone attempting to get between those two, well…”

She left the rest of the sentence unsaid, but Emma could understand her sentiments perfectly. There was definitely more to Gold than met the eye, and it was clear that Belle was going to be the one to bring it out. In that moment, Emma could only wish them every happiness together.

Even if she still didn’t really trust Rumpelstiltskin as far as she could throw him.