#Graham this isn’t how to handle loosing

[indycarnocontext]

[bloodgulchblog]

Fuck it, can't sleep.

So, before I get into the garbage, I will say that revisiting this has reminded me of something: Black Box's brain donor killed himself in 2532. Black Box himself was not created until 2552. So, we have some precedent (...for as much as Kilo Five can be called precedent with how loosely it plays lore) for a donor brain that has been preserved for 20 years being used to mint a Smart AI.

This doesn't totally make sense to me because we are otherwise in most Halo led to believe that there is a dearth of suitable donor brains for AI use, but okay. Sure. It probably ties in with Parangosky having considered the donor a personal friend and wanting to honor his last request.

Secondly, before I dive in, I was under the impression for a long time that there was some kind of hard lore somewhere indicating that the UNSC does not use the brains of people who committed suicide for Smart AIs due to the potential for impact on the psychological health of the AI. Given the nature of making a Smart AI based on a brain, that made sense to me. But it's also an idea I picked up from a friend years ago that I can't find an actual lore source for now. (I'd still stand by this making sense to me, though.)

Alright. Preamble done.

If you haven't already self-selected out of this post given the topic, but are nervous about proceeding through more detail, let me kick off with a low-detail summary of what I think here:

It is very troubling to me to see a fictional portrayal of suicide where the message behind it appears to be that sometimes, the "right" way to handle your regrets for doing something "bad enough" is to just die about it, and remorse is worthless and cowardly after the fact.

My reasons for this are intensely personal.

If you're not up for reading a fictional suicide letter and discussion of it, you can skip this one. I encourage you to skip this one.

If you're up for it, here we fucking go:

First things first, Dr. Graham Alban's suicide letter to Margaret Parangosky:

One has to be careful with suicide notes. Even these days, when I hope we all accept that our lives are our own to do with as we choose, some still see it as insanity, or cowardice, or an affront to some god, as if we’re no more than slaves of the divine with none of the free will those same believers claim God gives us. So this note will be explicit. I’m perfectly sane, and it’s my life that’s been cowardly, not my death. And if there is a god, then I’m prepared to stand before him and tell him what a careless, negligent, unloving father he is to let us behave as we do. He should have been more forthcoming with the thunderbolts and smiting.

But why blame God? I don’t believe he exists, but even if he does, we should be capable of morality without him, and are. His purpose is mysterious because he hasn’t got one, and if he has, it isn’t benign. We face extinction by a genocidal alien culture that also believes it serves its gods. But we persist in the face of logic ourselves. The devil made us do it. We were only following orders. It was for the greater good. The ends justified the means. And so on, ad hypocritical nauseam, blaming everything but our own self-created evil.

I have taken my own life because the SPARTAN-II program is a crime against humanity, and I should have had the moral courage to refuse to work on it. I did not. I complied. I’ve committed a crime against life and contributed to many deaths, so if nobody else can or will punish me for that, I must sentence myself and carry it out.

I knew SPARTAN-II was morally indefensible. That probably makes me more loathsome even than Catherine Halsey. I understood how wrong it was, but she never appeared to recognize that in all the time I knew her. She made all the right noises, but that was all they were: noises. Her actions were all enthusiasm.

Your conscience is what you do, not what you think or say you think. It’s also something you do when it has to be done, not as an afterthought when you’re forced to face up to your wrongdoing. Remorse is cheap and easy. It’s an insult.

My awareness obliged me to act, but I did nothing: I cooperated, and my compliance enabled something monstrous. I didn’t slaughter millions, but there’s no sliding scale in atrocities, even if the robotic imagination of the law requires fixed thresholds. Each death, each act of suffering, is a complete and qualifying act of evil in itself.

Humans instinctively norm. We behave like others around us, because compliance is our survival strategy. No matter how intelligent, sensible, or kind, 99 percent of human beings will carry out the most appalling acts if the rest of their tribe is doing the same. And most of our conscious acts are simply postscript rationalizations of our hard-wired unconscious decisions.

And yet I knew what I was being asked to do was wrong, and I still did it. Being a normal human is no excuse for that.

The Mortal Dictata Act defends many things, but mostly it enshrines the individuality and validity of each human life. I hesitate to call it a human rights charter, because that term has been utterly devalued and its intent completely distorted over the centuries. The Mortal Dictata are a suite of laws that remind us of the basic moral duty that we owe our own species. They bar us from creating humans for the purposes of harvesting tissue, even if that human has an otherwise independent life; they bar us from enslaving others; and they bar us from cloning entire humans. The Mortal Dictata recognize a central principle that no human should be brought into existence or coopted primarily as a convenience for others. Each life is equal and valid. SPARTAN-II broke that law on every level. I helped it happen. And because of that, I can no longer justify my own existence.

I have no right to ask anything of a fellow human being following my death, seeing as I failed to meet the minimum requirement of what it means to be human. But this is a personal request to Vice Admiral Margaret Parangosky, CINCONI, under whose command these acts took place. I would ask that my brain be retained for the AI donor program, specifically for an AI dedicated to the support and protection of Spartan-IIs. I have taken my life by a method that causes least damage to brain tissue. I know how to do that, of course. I am—was—a neurosurgeon and a psychologist.

This isn’t an attempt to squeeze out a few more years of pitiful existence that I don’t deserve. I know the AI based on my brain won’t have my memories or personality, and that I shall be very dead. But I owe it to the children and families whose lives were ruined and stolen to put whatever I can back into making those Spartans’ daily existence safer and less miserable. If anything of me survives, then it might be what I wanted most in my final moments—the need to do some good for those children.

If you can make this happen, Margaret, and I’m wrong about God or the Devil, I shall put in a word for you regardless at which gate I arrive. You were always more human than I ever managed to be.

Your friend, Graham

I do not care to engage with the theological end of this. (For transparency, I am an atheist myself.)

What this boils down to is: Graham Alban elected to kill himself because he was haunted by his participation in Spartan-II, and also Karen Traviss needed to give us another character witness to how bad she hated Catherine Halsey as a final sendoff.

(This is the epilogue of Mortal Dictata. This is how the book ends. This is the last we hear from KT, and of course she had to get in one last kick on the way out the door.)

As I have stated repeatedly when dealing with Parangosky and Spartan-II, it is incredibly rich watching a character act as if Parangosky were a moral superior to anyone when it comes to Spartan-II. She wasn't head of ONI back when it started, I may have mis-stated this elsewhere when railing about this topic, but Parangosky was absolutely deeply involved in approving all the details and there's no way she wouldn't have known about them.

It's wild reading this character talk about how "just following orders" and "doing what is necessary" isn't enough to justify monstrosity.... to the woman who was in charge of this happening??????

Anyway. I'm getting sidetracked. :)

The thing that sticks with me the most and upsets me the most about this is how Kilo Five ends with what feels like an argument in favor of killing oneself as a good/noble/selfless means of handling regret and remorse.

I don't want to say this lightly. Just because a fictional character says a bad thing doesn't mean the author believes or wants to endorse the bad thing. But the problem here is how Alban's suicide is framed.

It tacks on Graham Alban as an obvious contrast to Catherine Halsey. Traviss is always incredibly dismissive of Halsey's remorse. Nylund's handling of it is actually very genuine, I've posted repeated examples from all three books where she features (The Fall of Reach, First Strike, Ghosts of Onyx, and even the diary from the Halo Reach legendary edition). Halsey's remorse for Spartan-II was genuine, sincere, and was already tearing her apart as the project was put in motion. But Traviss always portrays it as self-serving, self-deluding theater. In Traviss's portrayal of Halsey, her regrets are useless attempts to make herself feel better for Being Evil and she's actually a heartless monster.

So, if we're meant to see Halsey as evil and terrible, it stands to reason that we are meant to take Alban's opposite response as more righteous?

So, we end with... a story that pretty much says "sometimes in life it is possible to have done something so bad that the only way you can possibly make up for it is to die, intentions and coercion for doing bad things do not matter, and regrets and remorse are useless."

Which is... pretty fucking bleak.

Kilo Five is messy because it shifts back and forth on whether it wants us to like or hate characters committing war crimes (depending on how cool the author thinks the war crimes are and how much she wants us to like/hate the character committing them.) Sometimes it portrays the Sangheili sympathetically, but other times it seems to think they deserve what they get. It shows some compartmentalized thinking. It's complicated. I think that sometimes what it says is unconsidered. I think all of this probably wasn't the intent of the inclusion of this fictional letter but that's the raw ideas under it lain bare. Kilo Five does that in a lot of places, after all.

And they're not uncommon ideas.

Let me get personal for a hot second.

Maybe I haven't committed war crimes, but I've struggled with depression since before I was old enough to know what it was. I've dealt with suicidal feelings pretty frequently for my entire adult life. (I'M OKAY, PLEASE DON'T WORRY, I PROMISE I'M OKAY! I've had a lot of therapy, I have coping strategies! You don't need to console me, I'm gonna be as alright as I've ever been.)

When I'm down in the bottom of the fucking pit, I feel like history's greatest monster. I don't even have to have done genuinely horrible things to feel that way. It becomes very easy to feel like you're the worst person ever, and everyone would be better off without you.

The idea that one's own death would be somehow righteous is incredibly dangerous because it marries the attempted escape from unmanaged pain with justification.

I read through this fictional thing and it flashes me right back to horrible times in my life, which I was only protected from by other people caring for me and helping me fight with these ideas.

I do not think fiction is literal mind poison. Reading bad words and ideas someone wrote on contract for a bad scifi novel for a stupid video game IP is probably not going to cause someone to choose to die. That would be wild.

But it does hold up a horrible portrait of things a lot of people actually believe without realizing how bad it is.

Ending a book by telling us how one of the most likable characters in it exists because a person who did bad things killed themselves to "atone" for how bad they feel and believed remorse and regret was not enough without capital punishment, to the point where they decided to mete it out themselves, is a deeply troubling choice.

It's a stupid Halo novel and it's not the end of the world but oh my god I am so mad about it still, what the fuck Karen Traviss what the fuck?

Had the bad 3 AM idea of "i should reread the suicide note at the end of mortal dictata and actually break it down" and all I did was make myself really really angry all over again.

[glassbxttless]

Matt Solo x f!Reader

Word Count: 1,099

Warnings: postpartum, mentions of childbirth, mentions of blood/bleeding, mentions of child death

Notes: I’m sorry if this isn’t your cup of tea, but I just had a baby and I’m in my feelings about it! So I whipped this up real quick. Enjoy!

It’s 2am when Matt is fishing for his glasses from the sliding tray next to the pullout couch he’s sleeping on. He can see you sitting up in your hospital bed, gown pulled off and loosely hanging around your waist. Your nurse is scanning your hospital bracelet, giving you your Motrin to take, and helping you latch your last baby onto your breast. Graham Kylo Solo had been a whirlwind of surprise ever since that first positive pregnancy test.

Matt has seen this all before, with the twins, with Alison. He’s slept on this sofa, he’s held your hands to help you sit on the toilet, he’s helped clean you up after a particularly heavy flow during the night. He admires the mesh panties for a moment and what they signify. He thinks about what you went through to get Graham here safely. How he thinks he would have broken his teeth pushing like that. How terrifying but amazing you are.

He watches the tears well up in your eyes as you realize this is the last time you’ll be here in this bed, holding your brand new newborn, hoping you remember how to do this. You hold onto Graham’s hand as he nurses and think about how you’ll never feel him kick in your belly again. How you can’t keep him safe inside of you anymore. What if the same thing happens again? Alison was your angel baby and you don’t think you can handle that again. And Matt knows you’re thinking it with one sleepy glance. He’s moving to sit on the edge of your bed, peaking at where he’s latched onto your breast.

You’re a natural, a pro, you’ve done this three times before after all— and he starts to think of a comment you made so many years ago, Solo’s come in threes. Of course they did. He couldn’t even imagine life without Randy and Ben, as much as they’ve done for him. As much as they continue to do for him. Matt forgave Ben. Matt knows about Kylo. He knows who his namesake is. And he thinks, Randy, Ben, and Kylo. There were three. Han didn’t want any more kids. Leia could hardly keep her head straight with the three of them. And after the accident, things just got so much harder. Especially with Matt making his way into the picture. And he thinks of you and him. How Douglas and Felix were his world— and then Alison was given and taken from him so soon, just like Kylo— and now here’s Graham. He’s latched onto your breast, pulling tears from the corners of your eyes. “It really hurts, Matty.” You whisper softly, and he’s reaching out to wipe away the tears falling from your cheeks.

You relatch him and relatch him, running your fingers through that head of sandy blonde hair on Graham’s head. You’ve never had this much pain nursing before and Matty’s here, trying to help you out in any way he can. He smiles sleepily as he rubs your thigh. He’s whispering how beautiful you are. Something you don’t hear too often. It’s just not what Matt says. Not what he does. But here you are, half naked in a hospital bed and bleeding onto your cold pack and tucks pads, having bypassed your shower for going on three days now, and he thinks you’re beautiful. Your wedding band catches the dim light of your room and Matt notices your eyes drawn right to it. “I love you, okay?” He says softly.

Matt is the one that puts Graham in his bassinet and helps you up to the bathroom. He’s the one calling in your nurse when you pass a clot as big as Graham’s head. Matt’s the one advocating for you, while you wrap your head around being a mom again.

Felix and Douglas are home alone, they’re fifteen after all— and Matt steps out into the hall to check in. To see what’s going on and if Uncle Randy has stopped by to make sure they’d gotten to their practices on time. He’s sending a picture to his mom, to Ben, to Randy— saying he’s so happy to be a dad again. And Randy knows the feeling, with his own brand new two week old at home. When Matt steps inside and sees you emerging from the bathroom, holding onto your IV pole, he takes a deep breath. He’s said it so many times, but he’s always so astounded by what you are able to take, what you’re able to manage. He sees your pad through the mesh and helps you adjust yourself back into bed. His heart is full when he watches you lie down and beg for just ten minutes of sleep.

But Matt is drawn to the cooing baby in the bassinet next to the bed. He’s a part of him. He’s a part of you. There’s nothing more he wants in life than his family these days. And Graham starts to fuss, “Sunny.” He whispers quietly, before he sees you’re sound asleep. Picking him up, Matt tucks him close to his chest— that same Grateful Dead t-shirt you loved so much is clinging to his shoulders by a thread. It’s so worn down, after almost twenty years. And he wants to cry when Graham’s eyes meet his. He knows his dad, Matt doesn’t have to say— he doesn’t have to tell him. Matt knows that he knows. And his heart grows three sizes when Graham’s mouth opens, beginning to root around as much as he can. And he doesn’t want to wake you, he wants you to get some sleep. And he’s searching, searching, for that formula bottle.

And once he finds it, he tucks up in the rocking chair next to the window with Graham on his lap. He lets him latch onto the bottle and begins to feed him as he rocks, admiring the chilly New York City night down below. He’s always thought of Manhattan as home, but now he knows home is wherever you are. Wherever his kids are. Wherever his brothers are. And he knows the twins will feel like this too one day and maybe Graham will too. He’ll tell him one day of his own namesake, because Graham isn’t named after Matt, he’s named after the brother he never got to meet. And he thanks Kylo everyday for watching out for him, for being the other half to Ben’s wild personality. For giving him a chance to be their brother. Solo’s do come in threes, after all.

*

*

@sacklerscumrag @mrs-zimmerman @fizzywoohoo @thepriceofstars @2000andwhat @loganluckylover @themuseic @clydesfavoritegirl @caillea @maybe-your-left @driversmutbucket @cornmousequeen @mrs-kylo-ren @peachyproserpina @mrs-gucci @millenialcatlady @leatherboundbirate @jynzandtonic @awkward-katiesaur @daydreamsofren @qvinteroexc @loganluckylover @hedgy-hog @simpin_mama @thepalaceofmelanie @starryeddie

[artistic-writer]

The Contract :: CS Omegaverse :: Ch 14 :: Rated E

Title: The Contract

Rating: E

Summary: Emma had never wanted much in her life, despite being married to one of the richest men in the world. For ten years she has felt like a prisoner in her own marriage, denied the one thing she wants the most, but her husband cannot help but bargain her want like a cheap business deal.  Enter Killian Jones, the Alpha her husband has hired to make sure she gets what she wants. And then some.

Chapters: [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10] - [11] - [12] - [13]

AO3 - Ko-Fi (100% of coffee’s bought go towards buying @adognamedkillian toys and treats!)

A/N: Here lies the final chapter of this fic that has taken me far too long to write. I am sorry, but you know, 2020.  Thank you to all my lovely beta bitches; @hollyethecurious my person, my heart, my bestie. I you person. @shardminds my fellow angel <3 @courtorderedcake @zaharadessert @thisonesatellite for lurking and encouraging and ALL THE LOVELY LADIES IN THE DISCORD <3

Artwork by me, @artistic-writer

This is an Omegaverse fic featuring A/B/O dynamics.  Whilst this varies from fandom to fandom, for the purposes of my fic, there will be no mpreg.  Just so you know.  There will however be knotting, breeding, heats and other delicious things that come along with A/B/O.  If you do not know what A/B/O is, feel free to message me :)

If you wish to stay away from this fic, blacklist the A/B/O tag.

Taglist: @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @hollyethecurious​​ @kmomof4​​ @hookedonapirate​​ @winterbaby89​​ @courtorderedcake​​  @cocohook38​​ @branlovesouat @teamhook​​ @snidgetsafan​​ @shireness-says​​ @wingedlioness​​  @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones​​ @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin​​ @deathbycaptainswan​​ @onceuponaprincessworld​​ @chinawoodfan  @seriouslyhooked​​ @snowbellewells​​ @wordsmith-storyweaver​​ @jennjenn615​​ @delightfully-difficult-pirate​​ @doodlelolly0910​​ @tiganasummertree​​ @hookedmom​​ @thejollyroger-writer​​ @rachie1940​​ @unworried-corsair​​ @cs-forlife @notoriouscs​​ @killian-whump​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​ @mariakov81​ @strangestarlighttree​ @shardminds​ @donteattheappleshook​ @thisonesatellite​​ @carpedzem​​ @lfh1226-linda @strawberryfieldsbricksonwalls​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​ @stahlop​​  @elizabeethan​ @reggieshamster​​ @shardminds​​ @ultraluckycatnd @jrob64​​ @swanslieutenant​​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​​ @jonesfandomfanatic​​ @tiganasummertree​  @fuckurghh

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The car journey home was a blur. The entire way Emma whispered sweet nothings into his ear as her scent surrounded them, suffocating him and making it almost impossible to keep his eyes on the road. Killian had been so engrossed in beating Graham, making sure he knew that he was nothing to them and would never hurt Emma again, that he had failed to notice the change in Emma as she watched them battle. It wasn’t until he was with her in the car, sealed in with her heady musk, that he realised that the primal Omega spirit inside of her had come alive, baited by the sight of blood and the smell of him, that he realised her intentions.

Emma was leaning over to him having ducked under the body strap of her seat belt, and was rubbing her eager hands over his thigh, gently scraping her nails over the material of his pants and making him shiver. Killian sucked in a quick breath but it felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen left in the car to oxymoronically put out the fire in his lungs, but he was quickly distracted from the pain in his chest when Emma softly, but forcefully, pushed on the growing bulge between his legs, a wry smile on her lips that he only managed to see for a second before his eyes fluttered closed.

He felt Emma’s hand on the steering wheel next to his, helping to keep the car on course whilst her other one massaged his cock, making him hard in seconds. Blood surged around his body, making him lightheaded and he eased his foot off the accelerator pedal, unable to even comprehend his own name, let alone tell how fast he was driving. He heard Emma laugh, her breath hot and wet against its shell as she purred into his ear, her fingers clutching the girth of his erection through his pants, her touch like a both a gift and a curse for his cock which strained painfully to be free.

“I want this,” she whispered darkly. Her fingers grabbed at the zipper of his fly, slowly and deliberately sliding it down, the sound of each tooth coming apart from its twin deafening him.

“Fuck, Emma,” Killian panted, lifting his hips off the seat in an attempt to relieve his aching cock.

“Omega,” she purred sweetly, sliding her hand into his pants through the now open zipper and past his underwear. She traced a single finger over his balls, loving the way they shrunk under her touch and the skin pulling tight around them. She continued her assault, dragging her finger over the skin covering the bulb of his knot and grinned wickedly when she felt his cock twitch and his chest expand with another huge breath. “Use my title,” she cooed, mirroring his earlier command.

Killian was so aroused by her words that he almost didn’t see the light they were approaching turn red, slamming his foot on the brake and the car skidding to a stop just over the line. He heaved a breath, his knuckles aching from how hard he was gripping the wheel, the strain of his erection only momentarily soothed from her assault by the fact her hand shot out to brace herself against the dashboard.

“You need to stop,” Killian ground out, trying to blink his vision clear.

“Why?” Emma whimpered innocently, cuddling back into him and resuming her caresses.

Killian looked over at her and gave her a dark stare, a warning glance that just made her grin even more slyly. “Because you and I both know I can’t fuck you in this car, and the apartment is another five minutes away.”

“Who says you can’t fuck me in this car?” Emma pouted, batting her eyelashes at him as her fingers twirled around in what chest hair she could see poking from the top of his shirt.

Killian took a moment to lick his lips and could swear he could already taste her arousal on his tongue between the tang of blood and his own excess saliva. He looked at her, long and hard, the sheen of sweat on her skin catching his attention in the street light, displaying her own arousal as if she was in heat, something Killian knew to be impossible. Or maybe it wasn’t? She was a new Omega after all, recently come of age and still not entirely in control of her hormones. She was a slave to her own desire and what she wanted the most was currently trying to force its way out of its sheath into the cool air of the night from her sultry look alone.

“Omega,” Killian soothed reasonably but with a black lustre to his tone that had her audibly shuddering in the seat next to him. “We both know there isn’t enough room for me to fully enjoy you here.”

“Oh?” Emma questioned softly, her mind racing with all of the possibilities of what ‘fully enjoying her’ meant.

Pulling one of his hands from the steering wheel, Killian stroked over the shape of her skull, bunching her hair into a loose ponytail and giving it a gentle tug. Emma wrenched her head sideways, gasping with need, every cell in her body crying out for more than just a promise of his touch. Killian’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, watching her still wide pupils dilate even more as he leaned over to inhale the scent of her skin, exaggerating his action as he skimmed the tip of his nose up the side of her cheek, deliberately ghosting a sigh against her scent gland that pulsed and coaxed him closer with a wave of scent.

“I said not here,” he growled with finality.

Before Emma could explain how his words had affected her, a wave of slick had expelled itself from her body and she clenched her knees together in an attempt to relieve some of the ache that had settled there. Killian watched the light turn green and let her go like nothing had transpired between them, fixing his eyes on the road once more and setting off towards the apartment. Emma fell back into her seat, her head spinning from his dominance.

“Hurry,” she pleaded, the pleasurable pain on her scalp from his rough handling sending a jolt of arousal to her clit. “Please, Alpha, hurry.”

If he was honest, Killian had sped all the way back to the apartment, not caring one iota for the safety of other drivers. Emma was his, officially now, and the thought of having her, marking her, was making him almost rut-like aroused. He wanted to give her everything, more than just sex, and even that had his already hard cock twitching in the confines of his pants all the way through the apartment complex. When they reached the elevator that would take them up to the right floor, Emma giggling like a giddy teenager as her hand clutched his, the only part she could in public, she busied herself with gently stroking his index finger as if it were his cock, the hard glance he gave her only encouraging her further.

"Are you okay?" She purred innocently, watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. "You seem distracted, Alpha."

Killian chose to ignore her taunt, head tilted back and eyes fixed on the numbers above the elevator door as they illuminated with its impending arrival. When the translucent 'G' lit up, the chime of a bell and the grinding of the opening doors accompanying it, Killian gave her hand a squeeze, a gentle and yet forceful pressure that had her mouth turning dry and the ache between her thighs throbbing once more. He stepped inside, giving her arm a tug, the doors sliding shut with only inches to spare between the metal and Emma's hair, before throwing her against the back wall of the elevator with a possessive growl.

Emma hit the hard surface with such force the elevator wobbled from side to side, scraping the walls around it with a grinding sound as it began to move. Her eyes lit up with anticipation as Killian stalked his way to her, closing the gap in less than a second and pinning her to the wall with his weight. His hands were on her face, a gentle but forceful grip of her jaw that had slick soaking her underwear yet again, the widening of Killian's pupils in response sending a shiver up her spine.

"I could take you right here," he growled, his nose brushing her cheek as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, inhaling the scent of her. "But I won't." One of his hands snaked between their bodies, pushing its way into her pants and a single finger slipping through her folds. Killian's eyes fluttered closed when Emma whimpered, a needy plea that sent a rush of blood to his cock, something he knew she could feel as she attempted to move her hips against his.

"Please," Emma begged, her limbs weighty and numb from his most minute of touches, her mind racing when he dipped his head and ran his tongue along her collarbone.

Her skin was different somehow, the taste of her sizzling on his tongue, and he grew even harder than he already was at the smell of her scent gland. She wasn’t in heat, he knew that, but there were so many different senses firing the synapses in his brain all at once that the beast within was roaring, clawing at his insides in an attempt to take her where she stood, but by some miracle, despite the huge, watery doe eyes she was giving him that were anything but innocent, Killian managed to remain externally composed, and simply ran his tongue over her gland in an attempt to quell the fires within with a grin.

"Please, what?" Killian commanded wickedly, pausing his ministrations over her scent gland. He could practically feel the throb of it, hear the blood rushing around her body from how he was touching her, the primal beast within him begging for what was to come.

"Please, Alpha," Emma breathed.

Killian growled, a low rumble emanating from his chest, the surge of adrenaline from the fight still coursing through his veins. Beating Graham was more than just satisfactory. Killian felt like he had liberated Emma into a life of more love and admiration than she could ever conceive, and there would not be a single day he wouldn't show her that.

The chime of the elevator had him tearing his body from hers just in time for the doors to pull open and reveal one of the neighbours. Emma innocently gave him a courteous nod, but the man, also an Alpha, couldn't stop his gaze when the flushed, heavenly smelling Omega in front of him whimpered with desire. A warning snarl rumbled from Killian as he stepped through the doorway, the much smaller Alpha shrinking away and retreating along the hall, disappearing through a stairwell door instead, something that had Emma giggling in excitement and clutching Killian’s hand even tighter as he pulled her behind him down the hall.

“Quickly, Omega,” Killian snarled, feeling the buzz of anticipation on his skin as he passed each and every door of his neighbours, all Alpha is nature. “Your scent only serves to entice more Alpha in your direction.”

Emma fell into step behind him and felt the hairs on his forearm prickling to attention under her fingers when her hand slipped around his wrist and pulled him to a stop.

“So?” She challenged, just shy of their front door. “I am yours.”

Killian stepped into her space and she took a step back, the cold panel of the front door shocking her and making a gasp escape her lips. He was so close he could feel her suck the breath from between them and his eyes fell to the softness of her lips, slightly parted in silent invitation of his kiss. Emma heaved a breath and Killian could feel her breasts touching his chest, hot and nipples hard, poking his skin like there was no material between them. He licked his lips, imagining them under his tongue, imagining them and so much more as his eyes shifted to the throb of her scent gland, innocently tempting him to mark her where they stood.

“Not yet,” Killian whispered huskily, his senses on high alert. He heard a door open behind them and smelled the unmistakable musk of an Alpha in rut, coaxed out of his hiding hole by the waft of an unclaimed Omega and the possibility of sating his urges. Killian’s keys were in the front door before she had time to object or even look behind him at the grunting Alpha, Emma was being pushed inside with little resistance, the door quickly locked behind them.

“Alpha?” Emma’s voice was soft and enticed Killian to look at her, feasting on her beauty like a man starved. She had taken a step back from the door, shedding her clothes without preamble, tossing them aside garment after garment until she was gloriously naked in front of him. “What you did to Graham,” she began, swaying her hips as she walked towards him.

“Don’t say his name,” Killian growled.

“How you hurt him,” she continued, ignoring his possessiveness before reaching out and taking his hand. "It got me all worked up."

Killian grinned wickedly, drinking in the sight of her with a predatory state that was further darkened when she slipped his hand between her parted thighs and slowly dragged his fingertip through the slick there. She was so wet it also coated the outside of her lips and a mournful sigh slipped from her mouth when she pressed Killian's finger against her slippery clit.

"If I'd known it would have this sort of effect on you, I'd have beat his arse long before now," Killian growled, letting her ride his fingers.

"Is this...is this…" Emma couldn't find the words she needed, rendered speechless when Killian took over the torture between her legs. His thumb stroked her clit whilst his fingertips teased her opening, the muscles contracting in an attempt to pull his finger inside, desperate to relieve the ache there.

"This is being Omega, aye," Killian finished for her. "This is how your body reacts to your Alpha," he purred, quickening his pace between her legs, the sensitive nub throbbing with every rough swipe of his thumb. Emma's hand clutched his wrist but he did not let up, stroking her in just the right way to coax a very quick, easy orgasm from her that had her gasping for breath and her knees buckling. Killian held her up, driving two stiff fingers inside of her core until slick coated his palm, his other hand stopping her from toppling with a firm grip on her lower back. "This is how your body reacts to me," he growled.

Emma felt like her insides were going to erupt from every orifice, her entire body tingling from head to toe. The orgasm had been small, ebbing away inside of her, muscles gently throbbing against Killian's fingers, but it wasn't enough. She needed more. She needed the burn and stretch of his knot, the full feeling only he could give her and the welcomed pain of their frenzied love making. When her eyes finally fluttered open, her irises a mess of arousal tinted emerald and gold flecks illuminated by her recent release, there was a ferality about her that had Killian pausing momentarily with a sly, knowing smirk.

"There you are, Omega," he praised huskily but before he had any time for any more quips, Emma was pushing against his chest, hard, and he fell backwards against the front door.

Killian barely registered the shooting pain up his spine before Emma was on him, tongue running along the seam of his lips and into his mouth for a ravenous kiss. He strained his neck to push back against her, fingernails clawing at where her clothes once were and leaving welts in their wake. Her kiss was hot and needy and everything he would expect from an Omega in heat but with the clarity and determination of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. The thin barrier of clothing between them was too much. Emma needed his skin on hers and a ripple of lust travelled over her entire body when Killian’s hands framed her face in his hold.

“So wanton,” he teased, licking her lips. Not impressed with him breaking their kiss, Emma nipped at his bottom lip a little too hard, causing him to hiss in pain and tug it from her teeth when he wrenched his head backwards. Killian touched his lip and inspected his fingertips for blood, finding none but raising an eyebrow at her with a sinful smirk. “And so naughty,” he droned darkly.

Emma looked up at him through her lashes, leaning her entire weight against him. “Your naughty Omega,” she purred. She dragged her fingertips through the underside of his jaw, her nails catching on the scruff there and her eyes focused on the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

Killian surged forward and almost knocked her off her feet with his kiss, fusing his lips to hers and wrapping her up in his embrace. Emma leapt into his arms in response, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist and slipping down until the hardness of him was deliciously rubbing her clit. Killian’s hands were on her arse, kneading the fleshy globes as a way to rid himself of the frustration of desire she was causing by grinding against him, but it was futile, and the only relief he felt was when he sat her on the back of his couch and popped open his pants.

Emma giggled excitedly, raking her nails down the front of his shirt, quickly yanking the material up and helping him rid himself of it. Killian growled, the rumble vibrating through her fingertips when Emma clawed through the newly exposed chest hair before her, a hum of appreciation escaping her lips as the soft, raven coloured hair caressed her skin. Killian's muscles twitched, as did his cock, full of blood and yearning to be free and inside of the Omega so intent on suffocating him in her scent.

"What is it?" Emma noticed his hesitation, even in the split second it took Killian to furrow his brow.

"Nothing," Killian lied, letting her balance on the couch whilst he rid himself of the last remains of his clothing. He kicked them away, lest he trip over them later, and took one of her hands to move it to his cock, letting the cool tips of her fingers brush over the velvety soft shaft ever so gently. It felt like a torture but from Heaven itself, and even though he was controlling the pace, the mere thought of marking Emma has his forever would see him spilling himself in no time if he didn’t make a drastic rectification of the topic.

“Don’t lie to me,” Emma cooed, slipping her fingers between his legs where her gentle touch sent all the hairs on his thighs prickling to attention. She stroked at the skin there, inexplicably smooth compared to the rest of his body, and loved the way his cock bobbed in response and his eyes fluttered closed.

Killian gave her a half drunk stare and smirked. “I would never,” he pledged with a hand over his heart.

“Good,” Emma purred, parting her legs a little wider.

Killian watched her slip a finger through her folds before lifting the digit to her lips, slick hanging from it in an elongated droplet of viscous arousal, before she licked it with a content groan, her tongue caressing the slippery tip like it was his cock. A tiny bit fell to her chin and he was on her in a shot, cockhead bumping the inside of her slick covered thigh as his tongue darted out to lap it up, the taste of her on his tongue minute but setting his already heightened senses into overdrive.

“There is more where that came from,” Emma whispered huskily into his ear whilst he busied himself with dry humping her thigh, the slick there more than adequate to avoid the burn of friction for both of them, the tease of entering her a blinding torture Emma always welcomed with him. She cast her eyes down and he followed her gaze, dropping to his knees with her gentle pressure on his broad shoulders until he was eye level with her sex and the scent of her womanly arousal was even more a cross to bear. “Taste me, Alpha. Take what is yours.”

Killian licked his lips and hooked his arms around her upper legs, holding her steady before diving into the apex of her thighs with a feral growl. His taste buds came alive when her essence coated his tongue, sweet, juicy slick pouring from her sex in reposnse to his tongue diving into her core. He held her steady when she rocked backwards, angling her hips so she could soothe the throbbing pain in her clit by brushing it against his nose tip, an action that caused him to retreat from his salvation with a wry smirk.

“Easy, love,” he soothed darkly, skimming his hands over her behind and dragging his fingernails over her skin down to her knees. “We have all the time in the world,” he muttered against her inner thigh as he planted a kiss there.

“I want you now,” Emma sulked and attempted to drag him closer by hooking her heel into his shoulder. Killian looked up at her pouting lips with a fond smile, knowing that he would never tire of anything she did, now or ever.

“And you’ll have me,” Killian assured her, kissing one knee and then the other before spreading her leg even wider for his greedy tongue. “But not before I have you,” he droned seductively, diving back into her sex like a man starved, his hot, stiff tongue diving into her slick laden warmth once more, his eyes only leaving hers when her taste overwhelmed his senses and he had to close his eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” Emma panted in repsonse. One of her hands fisted his hair, grabbing at the darkened locks to hold him in place, having utter faith that he would hold her steady, even when her legs began to shake.

Killian only took her gasps as something to chase, like a dog after a hare, eager to hear her empty her lungs of every last breath she had, suffocating herself in desire, ready to die a thousand deaths if his tongue was how she was to go. Her bones dissolved inside of her limbs, a sudden weightlessness overtaking her and her core clenching at nothing in desperation to feel something. In honesty, she would never feel complete until his knot was filling her up, but for now the mastery of his tongue would have to do, and by the way he was giving every part of her sex his absolute fullest attentions, she was in no doubt of just how much of a master he really was.

Killian hummed in content, stopping for a moment to just take a breath before returning to the ecstasy between her thighs with a new goal in mind. The sharp intake of Emma’s breath told him he had hit the mark, his lips applying just the right amount of pressure as they closed around her clit to steal her words and render her a complete, babbling mess. He loved it. He loved the way her body reacted to him, and when it did, the way she was constantly surprised, like she was learning everything again, like she was experiencing colours or sounds for the first time, only for him to cruelly rip them away with the talents of his tongue, or his cock, and leave her quivering and unable to form anything but a smile. He loved her smile and he loved the way she smiled for him. He just loved her.

She was the finest thing he had ever tasted and he could tell just how close she was simply by the way her slick awoke every single one of his taste buds from their slumber. He didn’t even need to double his efforts, relishing in how easy it was to bring her to another orgasm that would only serve to intensify the sweetness of her slick, on which he could languishly feast on for as long as Emma’s body produced it. Everytime she came it was different and Killian savoured every last drop of her ever hungry for more, he pulled her clit between his teeth, grazing the nub with a featherlight touch that had her careening off the edge she had been balancing on.

“Ki...Killian! Oh my God, Alpha, I’m coming!” Emma screamed incoherently, her entire body quaking as euphoria ripped through her for a second time.

Killian grinned against the wetness of her, broad strokes of his tongue slurping her slick into his mouth where he swallowed it with a greedy groan. His fingernails dug into the flesh of her thighs, holding her sex against his mouth as she tried to writhe away from him, the sensitivity on her clit almost too much to bear. Emma sucked in awkward breaths, her gasps turning to laughter as she smiled much wider than she ever had before, her skin alive, every inch crying out for more of the touch Killian was so carefully denying her as she came down from the high of her orgasm.

“There’s a good girl,” Killian soothed, steadying his licks and pressing kisses to her lips until Emma’s fingers released the clump of hair she was gripping onto for dear life, stroking his soft, dark locks instead.

The praise sent a ripple of warmth spreading through her body and when Killian rose to his feet, cock hard and proud against his deliciously thatched abdomen, Emma grabbed his hips and pulled him to her until he was nestled between her still parted thighs. Killian put up little resistance, only stopping when his erection slipped between her sodden folds and her lips met his in a fiery kiss.

Emma's body reacted instantly, her stomach falling away into the nowhere of desire, her hands clutching his face to hers. Her fingernails clawed at his scruffy cheeks and the sound it made was amplified in her ears, barely audible above the sound of her own blood in her veins, but still so loud she didn't hear the growl that rumbled deep in Killian's chest. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, skimming along the seam of her smile until access was granted, the taste of herself in his mouth sending another, new wave of slick to expel itself between her still trembling thighs.

With a cant of his hips, Killian was sliding his erection through the wetness of her folds, the head of his cock grazing her clit and making her gasp. He gobbled up her sigh, grabbing her hips and repeating his thrust just to hear the sounds she made, breath stole from her lungs with such an intimate gesture, silent and yet saying everything that Killian wanted to convey. He would go to the ends of time if it meant he could hear her mumble profanities and, most of all, his name and title, and so when it came to marking her as his forever, Killian was going to make sure she was thoroughly exhausted with pleasure.

Just how Killian could know her so well, despite hardly knowing her at all, had all become clear. An Alpha would go to Hell and back for an Omega, would even die in some cases, and Emma couldn't even imagine the turmoil Killian had felt inside thinking she was a married Beta and so confusingly addictive. Now her true nature had been revealed, and Alpha law had seen to her sorry excuse of a now ex husband, there was nothing standing in their way of eternity together. Their love was hard, and it had come fast.

"I love you," Emma breathed against his lips, a sheen of sweat sticking their foreheads together. Her breath, still ragged from two orgasms, fogged across his mouth and Emma felt his tongue touch her lips when it darted out in search of her sweet slick that now lingered on both of them.

"And I you," Killian rasped, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'll always love you."

Emma had no words in reply, simply smiling as wide as the muscles of her face would allow.

“There’s that smile,” Killian said in awe. He traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertip, brushing his thumb over the plumpness of her lips before hooking a bent finger under her chin and tilting her head up until their eyes met once more. “You’re so beautiful, Emma,” he purred sweetly. “I am the luckiest Alpha in the world.”

“No,” Emma shook her head. “I’m the lucky one. You found me and saved me.” She watched the quirk of his mouth as his lips curved into a knowing smile, a slight blush colouring his cheeks just visible as he bowed his head. Her palm on his cheek brought him back to her and he lifted his head, grey blue hues meeting hers once more, a sly grin on her face.

“What?” He asked shyly.

“You’re so soft, Alpha,” Emma teased.

“Oh, soft am I?” Killian growled, the coarseness returning back to his voice and the dark veil of craving flooding back into his eyes.

Two firm hands slapped her thighs, pinning himself between them, before snaking his hands beneath her buttocks and hoisting her into his arms. Emma weighed next to nothing and without prompting, her legs wrapped around his waist, his still hard cock rubbing her deliciously and earning him another soft whimper. Emma clung onto his neck, loving the strength rippling under her fingers, her vision a haze as they moved through the room. Killian was sure footed in the way he moved, his destination marked out in his mind and a smirk on his face. Emma’s skin came to life under his hold, the fine, dandy hairs reaching out as her skin tightened under his digits, her anticipation silent but evident and finally quelled when Killian reached the floor to ceiling windows of his apartment and slammed her body into the cold, hard, pane.

Emma shrieked, scrambling to settle her aching skin against the glass, confident Killian would hold her aloft, and he did, until he used her slightly sweat soaked skin to his advantage and let her slide down the pane to where she was quickly impaled on his waiting erection. He buried himself to the knot bulb, toes curling against the floor in his effort, making sure Emma could feel every inch of him inside of her. The silent gasp she emitted told him that she was nowhere near sated, her inner muscles clenching and pulling at his length in an attempt to coax out his knot, something Killian staved off with a clenched jaw.

The chill on her back did nothing to quench the fire inside of her, Emma’s body instinctively reacting to his aggression, slick coating his knot bulb that threatened to slip inside of her. Emma was so wet and couldn’t feel any of her limbs. The only part of her body she could feel was her clit and it was painfully throbbing against his pubic bone as Killian held her against the glass, her only reprieve from the precipice of her impending orgasm was when he added another forceful thrust to his assault. She thought she was dying, held in the void before another orgasm by the way Killian knew her and her body so well, each cant of his hips and drag of his cock an agony she would gladly endure for the rest of her life if he promised never to stop.

The pleasurable pain of his fingernails digging into the flesh of her behind jolted her senses and Emma knew Killian could somehow sense her impending release before she could. He had tripled his efforts, changing the angle of his thrusts so that his cock rubbed her spongy core just right, the steady rhythm of before now gone and a more powerful force overtaking him. Emma cried out with each inflicting ram of his hips, her hand fisting a clump of his hair telling him she was almost there, her orgasm just out of reach, but Killian knew just how to settle her whines and pleas. He reached under her to where they were joined and stretched the apex of her already parted thighs even wider, one last pound from his entire length and just the promise of his knot bulb sending her careening into the abyss.

Emma wasn’t sure how, but her orgasm tore through her with such force she was temporarily frozen, her limbs stiffening when Killian continued to coax more slick from her by massaging her core with his determined thrusts, only slowing his assault when Emma reached the heights of her numbing pleasure and released the hold she had on his hair. Killian lifted his head, intoxicated by the now overly sweet scent of her gland, primed with temptation and dizzy from the way she sighed his title with what little air she had left in her lungs, and kissed the underside of her jaw with a tenderness he didn’t even know he could possess whilst being so close to his own release.

“Please,” Emma whined and he almost lost himself then and there.

“Please, what?” He ground out, pushing his cock inside of her impossibly deeper, his face pressed against her cheek as he inhaled the scent of her.

“Please, Alpha,” Emma begged. “I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

Killian pulled his hips back and then thrust forward with such force that all of the air left Emma’s lungs and the pane of glass she was pinned against audibly shook. He did it again and all of her insides began to tingle again, not the slightest bit recovered from her latest climax, her toes curling and her fingernails scoring lines into his back with such force, Killian could feel the rush of warmth to the lines as his skin broke and blood welled from the scratches. It spurred him on, his ferality within breaking the surface of his resolve, his head bowing and teeth scraping over the now engorged scent gland at the juncture of her neck. It called to him, Emma’s blood singing in her veins, drawing him closer still with its rhythmic thumping and making the points of his canines sharpen in anticipation of marking her.

“You smell so good, Omega,” Killian rasped, letting the point of his tooth nick her skin. “But I want more.”

“More?” Emma asked breathlessly, her core throbbing with need.

Killian pulled his cock out of her to the head and snapped his hips forward again, making her cry out and dig her heels even harder into his spine.

“The more you come, Omega,” Killian purred, licking the sweetness of her blood from her collarbone. “The better you taste.”

Emma whimpered, the darkness in his voice sending a shiver up her spine. “I can’t,” she pleaded, every single cell in her body crying out for his torture to end whilst simultaneously needing it to last forever.

“Come now, love,” Killian cooed, pausing his thrusts and brushing the sweat soaked hair from her flushed face, stroking the apple of her cheek until her eyes fluttered open to meet his. “You’ve got one more in you,” he praised with a dirty smirk. “I know you have.”

A glimmer of a smile graced Emma’s lips and melted his heart.

“See? You know it too,” he teased. Another press of his knot bulb against her sex had her gasping and her gland releasing another whiff of her heavenly scent. “And you want it, love, you can’t deny it.”

“Not here,” Emma whispered, framing his face with her shaking hands.

Their eyes locked and he saw all the last traces of the longing and hopelessness her life had been about until now disappear, and the bright spark of hope and happiness filled the space that had formed. He had done that, or at least he felt like he deserved the credit for it, helping the woman he had met become the Omega Emma was now, held aloft by the sheer will of lust alone, enticing his Alpha urges to the crest of his being. Killian might have signed Graham Humbert's contract to earn enough to live, but in finding Emma and her true nature, he had found a way to survive.

"Alright, love," Killian nodded and with a grunt of exertion he was wrapping her tightly in his arms, face buried into the swell of her gland, and making his way through the empty doorway of his bedroom.

The freshly washed bed clothes were harsh and starchy against Emma's back as Killian laid her down, letting his cock slip from her core much to both their dissatisfaction. It wasn't long before Killian was silently rearranging her until she was underneath the duvet and finding his spot right behind her, his rock hard cock still ready for its task, nudging between the crease of her buttocks as he nestled in even closer and rested his chin on her shoulder. Emma's hum of satisfaction told him he had done right, but what sort of Alpha would he be if he didn't know what truly made his Omega happy? Or how, after multiple orgasms, what could finally send her into bliss once more and finally get his knot she so eagerly desired.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked softly, the arm slung over her midriff snaking its way to her chest where he wasted no time cupping a perky breast and pulling her back flush against his chest.

"I am," Emma replied, silky smooth chest and body hair caressing her skin. “But I’m still in need of my Alpha.” She wiggled her body, arse grinding against his length, and he growled in response.

“Naughty, naughty,” he purred into the back of her ear. A hand on the jut of her hip stilled her movements whilst his knee nudged between her clenched thighs. “And what do naughty Omegas get?” He skimmed his hand from her hip down over the shape of her stomach, over her mound and between her legs, fingers slipping through the wetness of her slick that had prepared her body for what was to come. His question was met with nothing but a breathy moan and Killian wasted no time in seeking his answer, pulling back his hips and aiming his cock through her legs until he was settled between her sodden folds. “I said,” he repeated darkly. “What do naughty Omegas get, love?”

Emma sighed something incoherent that made him grin wickedly. She reached behind her and fisted his hair, the pleasurable pain prickling over his scalp just making him cant his hips more aggressively. Emma let out a squeak when the head of his cock bumped her clit and a jolt of euphoria shot through her, pooling in her lower stomach and signalling yet another impending climax, something that had Killian’s knot poking out of its sheath before he had even entered her.

“Omega,” he warned with the same blackened tone that had her coming earlier.

“The knot,” Emma sighed, grinding her soaking wet opening over the ridges of his cock, hoping beyond hope that even just the tip of him would slip inside and stretch her wide with deliciousness. “Naughty Omegas get the knot.”

Killian pressed his lips to her scent gland and his teeth ached in anticipation. “Aye, love, they do,” he hummed through his kiss.

A quick move of his hips had the angle changing so that the tip of his cock was finally slipping inside of her, slowly at first to allow her to adjust to his size, but then with a force that had stars pricking behind her eyelids and all of the air leaving her lungs once more. Killian was relentless in pursuit of her orgasm, and he knew, as he was pushing his way into her encapsulating warmth slowly, and agonizingly, that this would be her last. Marking an Omega was always easier as they came undone, the quakes and trembling of climax enough to mask the bite mark on their gland that would undoubtedly leave a scar. But it wouldn't just be a scar. Emma’s mark would tie her to him forever, a reminder that she was more precious than anything she could ever comprehend, and there wouldn’t be a single day of his life Killian wouldn’t be reminded of that by his bite mark on her skin.

With a gentle push, Killian rolled them over until Emma was laying flat on her belly and his weight was pressing her into the mattress. He pushed himself up, his muscles rippling across his back, elbows threatening to buckle when the new angle buried his cock even deeper inside of her. Emma sucked in a breath and he smirked, pushing his hips against her buttocks even harder, his knot bulb parting her cheeks when Emma pushed back against him until he could feel her slick coating his balls.

“Oh, she’s wet,” Killian purred with menacing desire. He lowered his head, brow sweat from his exertion dripping onto Emma’s back, and pressed his lips to her spine, loving the way the tiny hairs covering her skin stretched upwards for his attention. “You’re so wet, Omega. So ready for your Alpha’s knot.”

“And your mark,” Emma sighed, the word changed by a particularly forceful jab of his cock.

Killian stopped his thrusts, sucking in a breath. He’d dreamed of the words Emma had just uttered since the day he had first laid eyes on her. It seemed even his subconscious had known her true nature. Reluctantly he pulled out and sat back on his heels, encouraging Emma to roll over onto her back by gently caressing the delicate bone of her ankle.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asked breathlessly as she rolled over. “Did I do something?”

“What? No,” Killian assured her quickly with a smile. He looked down at his cock, heavy and throbbing in his hand as he stroked himself, the corner of his lips tugging into a smirk. “Does it look like you did anything wrong, love?”

A pink glow bloomed over her cheeks and she shifted her eyes. “Something I said then?”

Killian licked his lips and shook his head in assurance, falling forward and crawling up over her body. Emma welcomed his bulk, her legs falling open to accommodate him and her entire body shivering from the kisses he left over her stomach, breasts and, finally, over the scent gland on her neck.

“I assure you, my love,” he said, nuzzling the divine smelling gland. “There isn’t a single thing you could ever say to offend me in any way?” He peppered more kisses to her skin, his tongue finally licking over the sensitive, heady scented bump just above her collarbone. “Alright?”

Emma’s eyes fluttered closed and she could feel the length of him pressed to her entrance, her body begging for him to cant his hips and fill her up once more. “So, what is it? Why do you shy away from marking whenever I bring it up?”

“I don’t,” Killian whispered into the underside of her jaw as he continued his ministrations.

“You do,” Emma told him firmly but without a hint of malice. She planted her hands on his face, dragging his head up until his darkened grey eyes met hers. “Are you being soft again?”

One eyebrow jumped up on his forehead and his lips pulled into a wry grin. “You love that, don’t you?” Killian teased, nuzzling her nose before pressing his lips to hers. “Look, love, I just…”

“You won’t hurt me, Killian,” Emma interrupted him, stroking the faint line of a scar on his cheek. “You could never.”

He lifted his head again, eyes searching hers for the answer to a question he wasn’t even sure how to ask, a question he already, in fact, knew the answer to. Emma wanted him to mark her, claim her as his for as long as they both lived, but he had never actually done it before. In fact, Killian had spent most of his life actively avoiding the subject, but here, pinned beneath him, was one of the most beautiful, precious and sometimes intimidating Omegas he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Plenty of Omegas had sought him out of the years, but none like Emma. None compared to her enchanting good looks, her sharp wit, or her winsome smile that had beguiled him the very second he had laid eyes on her in person. He wasn’t willing to jeopardize any of those things with the process of marking unless Emma was absolutely sure it was what she wanted too.

“Killian,” she prompted, shaking him from his reverie. “I want this.”

“I’m afraid,” he confessed, the words catching in his throat. “Marking is romanticized by people who’ve no knowledge of how it happens, or what happens, when, in reality, it’s quite different. I’ve never done this before. What if...what if I can’t control my nature and I hurt you? Gods, Emma, I could never forgive myself.”

“Hey,” Emma soothed, calming his rant with a palm pressed to his stubbly cheek. He swallowed hard and let her lift his bowed head until their eyes met again. “I know marking will hurt. I’m not a fool, Killian, it leaves a scar,” Emma said firmly, but her smile faded. “If you don’t want this, I’ll understand. It’s a lot to ask-”

His lips on hers cut off her words and her last connection to reality. Soft, plump, kiss bruised lips on hers made every worry fade away instantly, quickly morphing it into desire that pooled between her legs once more. Killian nudged his cock into her entrance as he kissed her, his tongue mirroring the actions of his hips, a dirty smirk spreading over his parted lips when Emma dug her fingernails into his bicep in anticipation. She was still so wet, ready and aching for the stretch of his knot, her legs unable to spread apart any wider in a silent invitation of his length. One of Killian’s hands found her breast, softly kneading the delicate peak of her nipple with the pad of his thumb until her back arched off the bed into his touch and she whimpered into his mouth. His tongue licked at the roof of her mouth because he could swear he could taste her slick there from their kiss, and his hand continued its journey down to her hip before clutching the flesh and pinning her firmly to the bed.

“I’ll be as soft as I can,” he promised against her lips, angling his hips so that his cock was inching back inside of her.

Emma gasped aloud. “You still want to mark me as your Omega?” She ground out through her pleasure.

“Love, I beat up a Humbert for the right to claim you,” Killian reminded her with a sly grin. When he was fully sheathed inside of her once again, he held fast, letting her body relax around him, the throb of blood in the walls of her core massaging his length.

“Mmmm, don’t remind me,” Emma purred coyly, grabbing his face for another fierce kiss that tested his resolve.

Killian had meant to go slow at this point; to really make sure Emma could feel every single inch of his length and his girth in the hopes she would realise just how important she was to him, and how much he loved, and would always, love her, but the instant her lips were on his the tables were turning and Emma was clenching her core muscles in a measly attempt to pull him deeper, when in reality, all it did was serve to antagonize the feral baser beast within him. The gentle hand on her hip, meant to steady her, changed, fingernails digging into her delicate flesh and scraping ruby lines across the pale surface.

“I absolutely want to claim you, Omega,” Killian growled, breaking their kiss to watch her features as he tortured her with his cock again. He pulled out, hand slipping between them to guide himself inside of her, fingers wrapped around the bulb of his knot to stop it from slipping inside her. “But first, something to relax you, my love.”

“Alright,” Emma agreed in his accent, biting her bottom lip. “You’re knot, maybe? To ease the pain?”

“As the lady wishes,” Killian purred in agreement.

Emma relaxed under his weight, the glide of his cock, coated in slick, a torturous heat that pooled in her stomach and between her thighs. Excessive slick covered her inner thighs and the bed, the languid pumps of his cock causing it to gush out of her in time with her breathy moans, hindered in their expulsion by the grip he had on her waist and his weight pushing her into the mattress. Emma could feel him everywhere, greedy kisses gobbling up her moans and roaming hands skimming over every inch of her skin leaving fire in their wake. The scent gland on her collarbone was itching, swollen and throbbing, trying to temp the Alpha into biting down, her body desperate for Killian to do so and end her agony.

“Please, Alpha,” Emma whined. “Your knot. I need it.” She raked her nails over any part of him she could reach, her vision blurry from his Alpha musk that surrounded her senses and rendered her unable to form any thought other than those of her primal Omega nature. The desire was threatening to devour her whole, and only Killian could take it away.

“Oh, you’re going to get it, Omega,” Killian growled sultrily.

His hand found his cock, his knot almost out of its sheath, and a quick tug had it completely exposed, Emma’s slick coating the straining bulb and sending a shiver up his spine. He just wanted to be inside of her entirely, the feeling of loss far too great having seen her come three times already, but not once on his knot. He wanted the tight contractions of her core around him, his body called for it, and as he slanted his lips over hers and peppered hot, open mouthed kisses down the column of her throat, he could sense her body wanted it too. Emma’s thighs began to quake and the tell tale hitch of breath told him she was close, his efforts doubling in an instant and pressing his searing hot knot to her opening in a temptation she could only beg for.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Mark me, Alpha. Make you yours.”

The sound Killian made was animalistic, the deep, reverberating rumble filling the entire room, but it wasn't enough to drown out Emma’s cries of ecstasy when, with sharpened canines and a feral snarl, Killian sank his teeth into the soft swelling of her scent gland and her whole world turned a blinding white. Her shriek was different to what Killian had ever heard, the sound of her shuddering moan something he would never forget as long as he lived. Killian pinched his eyes closed, willing the feeling to never end, and with a final, forceful thrust of his hips, his knot was pushing past the slippery opening of Emma’s sex and he was home.

Emma went stiff in his arms and the taste of blood filled his mouth, the coppery tang enhanced by the surge of scent from her gland. The beast awoke, finally freed as he’d knotted her, and in a last ditch effort to stay as soft as his Omega liked, Killian skimmed his hand up her forearm and pinned it above her head, sucking on her gland and pushing his hips even harder into her, toes scrambling against the soft sheets beneath his feet, all to make sure that there wasn’t a chance of his knot slipping out as he trembled in pleasure and followed her into euphoria. Emma’s cry was followed by a content giggle, the flesh of her cheeks warming Killian’s forehead as he released his white knuckle grip on her hip and hand, relaxing in the afterglow of their orgasms as the intense tightness that had tipped them over the edge, ebbed away.

It took everything Killian had not to collapse on top of her, instead sinking down onto his elbows and framing her with his bulk, his chest hair sticking to the sweat that shimmered across her body. His head was spinning, the intensity of her scent almost too much. It was different now. It had become indubitably sweeter somehow, the essence of her very being and everything about it reeked of a claimed Omega, but was still indescribably still Emma. With his head on her bosom, Killian inhaled her scent like it was the air he needed to breathe, the sound of her thundering heartbeat the only thing he could hear as Emma cradled his head and stroked his hair.

“My soft Alpha,” Emma soothed, his welcome weight making her smile.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Killian said softly between kisses. With every one he felt the flutter of her muscles around his knot which just prompted him to pepper her skin with more. “You’re glowing, my love.”

“You did that,” Emma said matter of factly.

Killian pushed himself up until he was towering over her again, careful not to tug at where they were joined. “I did?” He teased playfully.

“Don’t play dumb, Alpha,” Emma chided gently.

“Mmm, I like hearing that,” Killian purred, pressing his lips to her scent gland.

“That you’re dumb?” Emma chuckled.

“No, Omega.” Killian growled seductively, staring into the green abyss of her blissful post coital stare. “That you’re mine.”

[emakenz]

SELF INDULGENT HANNIBAL X READER FANFICTION PROMPT

I do not know what this is, if it is a drabble or a prompt or short story, I have no clue. Just thoughts in my head. Storylines that are realistic within the canon of the show. I say self indulgent because it's sort of a self insert of myself, but whatever, I dunno. It's almost 7 AM. I would actually write this as a story or drabble or whatever but I don't have the drive, if I have a thought I gotta write it down right then or it disappears. If I wrote fanfics, they wouldn't make sense because my mind wanders so fucking much. I might still do this someday, I dunno, but if anyone wants a crack at it, be my guest. I encourage it, as I'd love to read this as an actual story rather than... what it is. But if you write it, ya gotta make sure you include the big details I write down. The small details like, the whole Jack thing, that's not too important unless you want to keep it for showing character and/or character development. And ya gotta credit and tag me because I'd love to read it, as it is my brain's own little bundle of ideas. Holy shit I'm writing so much here goddamn. Anyway.

. . .

Hannibal is reader's friend and he has an interest in reader. Reader is an artist, they work as a forensic artist for the bureau. They do what the usual forensic artist does, but they also like to draw the crime scenes. They have a fascination with recreating the work of a suspect, it can help them connect dots and understand the suspect's intentions and ideals of commiting the scene of the crime. Reader is kind of like Will, in a sense, as they are on the spectrum but, unlike Will, they are unaware of it. They are an empath, they view everything from different perspectives and try to understand each side, like Will. But you see, Will only looks into the suspects' minds, but reader looks into the suspects, the victims, and even the witnesses' views. Hannibal finds their insight to be valuable (for his own "hobbies", in his career, and just plain interest, of course).

Reader has trouble with Jack yelling at them for "talking back," though in reader's mind they didn't realize what they said could be considered rude, and this happens more often than not. They can't handle loud noises, and Jack's booming voice messes them up. They tend to avoid Jack because of this, as they usually have an internal meltdown and shut off when he blows up.

An example; reader was explaining how the victim of the killer in a specific scene wasn't really the victim, but that they were the actual killer. Will disagreed, as he views the suspected killer to be the actual killer. Because of Will's insistence that reader was wrong, Jack shut reader off mid sentence by interrupting their defense. Jack trusts Will's insight more than reader's because he's known him longer and Will's always been right, so far, and he didn't want to risk messing up. He didn't want to get the investigation incorrect so he didn't take the chance of listening to reader rather than Will.

(In this scenario, the killer is the victim in the scene, and the person that killed them was the killer's intended victim, but the victim they intended to kill was a serial killer as well -- the victim pulled the ol switcheroo on em. So both Will and reader are right. If this doesn't make sense, please let me know, I will try to elaborate more on this if you're actually interested.)

Jack and reader don't have a bad relationship or anything, it's just a lot of miscommunications and underlying issues (like the reader having undiagnosed autism, not being aware that they're socially impaired can, well, impair their work and relationships. Such as here.) Nobody really notices the odd behavior from reader, as Will is like that too, so they don't question it. They all assume it's already understood that reader is autistic.

Reader isn't like Will when it comes to being social, as they are more reserved (as odd as that is, MORE reserved than Will Graham himself?? It's more likely than you'd think.) and don't fidget around with stuff around them. They don't nose around, they keep to themselves, closed off from everyone and everything. Will likes to roam around Dr. Lecter's office and tinker with stuff in the room, but reader is too anxious and shy to do such. Reader hates it when people come into their space (like their room, even their property in general) and they especially don't like it when people nose around in their stuff. It feels rude to them, so they don't do it to others. They don't consider Will to be rude because he does it though, they only consider it rude when a person comes into their space and does it, as reader would make it clear that they don't feel comfortable with people doing such. They wouldn't want a person unknowingly seem rude to them, they would inform them beforehand, but if the person still does it, then that's rude to reader. Call it being territorial, reader is just cautious about their property.

If reader is in a conversation, and being asked questions about themself, they usually just give short and simple answers. They don't like to talk about theirself. And they especially don't like letting people know them well. They are very cautious about relationships. They don't want to get hurt. They have a major rejection sensitivity disorder. They hate that about themself.

It's not that reader is cut off from the world and dismissive of others, they do like to talk and joke around occasionally. They're sarcastic yet literal, depending on the topic of conversation. They just don't give more input than they believe necessary. They're more of a listener (by that I mean they space out when a person is excessively talking to them. They can only handle so much.).

Hannibal notices reader's quiet, timid behavior and wants them to find some release, therefore he engages in conversations with them, though it is hard for them to keep the conversation going, he still pushes. He wants them to let loose, to trust him, so he can bond with them. He is aware of reader's autism, but he will only bring it up when he deems it's important. He knows everyone else knows and that reader doesn't, but he wants to see if reader would eventually figure it out on their own (they don't, he brings it up to them eventually). He's also aware that reader has anxiety and ADHD, with the occasional depression and mood swings. Reader is somewhat self aware of those parts of themself though, it's not a big deal. Reader doesn't really care about their mental health until Hannibal comes in and becomes Dr. Lecter to reader. They're not actually his patient but he will treat them as such when he feels they need a therapy session. Reader doesn't like the idea of therapy at all, not for them. Hannibal has to be discreet when getting them to open up. It works sometimes. Other times, reader just changes the subject to avoid the topic of theirself. While Hannibal does still have an interest in Will, reader is more of a craving for Hannibal's appetite. Hannibal sees reader as a rare delicacy that suits his taste, but he never gets enough, and he always wants more. Will can satisfy him in his interest, but reader doesn't give in to him like Will does. Reader is more hesitant, even when they are comfortable. Eye contact never ceases making reader uneasy, they can't hold it more than a few seconds, though Will can hold it as time goes on, reader can't. Will and reader's relationship is close, as reader relates to Will a lot, and vice versa. They connect. Reader likes to help with the dogs and assist in fixing motors and even go fishing with him. They're pretty much best friends. They're more open with Will than anybody else, as much as Hannibal envies Will for that, he also likes to learn about reader from Will. Since reader doesn't really open up to Hannibal willingly and knowingly, he uses Will for information. Will gives him what he wants, it's not a secret that they talk about reader often, it's just that reader doesn't engage in their talks so they make do. Whether Will has a crush on reader is a mystery, reader is unaware and Hannibal wouldn't allow it if he did. Will knows that Hannibal likes reader, he knows that if he had a crush, it's more than likely going to hurt him more than anything. Hannibal often attempts to get reader's attention in different ways, but reader never understands the message is for them. Will knows he can't be honest with reader as he's afraid that reader would feel uncomfortable around him if he did. He doesn't let himself crave reader after seeing Hannibal attempt to ease his own cravings for them, and seeing how that panned out, he knows he doesn't have a chance with reader if Hannibal of all people doesn't. Reader doesn't really... understand romance. They are capable of feeling romantic, but they don't know how to identify their feelings, so emotions are never clear for them. They feel everything but they don't understand anything.

Hannibal does get reader to give in but it takes a lot of time and effort to pry them open. Once reader is bare, they become insecure and vulnerable. They panic and get scared, and shutdown. Hannibal is a therapist and he knows how to handle this, though, and helps reader. He becomes their guide. Reader thrives off of independence but Hannibal slowly takes their need of independence away, having reader rely on him more and more. It makes him feel powerful. His cravings are nourished at this point in time, he's more addicted than ever, and reader is the center of his world. I guess you could say Hannibal is yandere-esque, not my intention but that's the vibes I'm getting from this. He's overprotective and possessive of reader once he has them under his wing.

What attracts Hannibal to reader is the same reason he's interested in Will. He enjoys having someone clever enough to understand him, to climb over his tall walls. Reader doesn't mean to do this, reader just sees him, and unlike Will, accepts him immediately. Reader never disliked Hannibal, reader's just cautious, as I've stated time and time again. Something about reader's mix of strong empathy but lack of understanding compels Hannibal. Reader sees and infers well enough (guessing close enough to what others think) but they can't really grasp it and latch onto it for theirself. They can't understand the feelings, but they can guess on them, and they can sure as hell feel em. They have trouble explaining stuff to others, and they try to always compare something to something else. They see something as a different thing than what others see. (An example, reader sees the shape and color and texture of a giant hotpocket in the ground, while others see a patch of dirt where grass hasn't grown) (I don't mean they literally see a hot pocket but they make the connection that it looks like a hot pocket) (that example is specific, as it is personal experience LMFAO)

This being said, they can be wrong a lot of the time when they try to infer a killer's intentions, as they sometimes just can't see the intentions being anything else than what they see. They have to rely on others for reference, to mimic their thinking patterns and then make a final guess at the killer's intentions. That's why Will and them connect so easily, as Will usually thinks straight AND helps reader figure it out in their own view. They help the team with investigations for other perspectives while Will helps with the "finalized" guess on the case. If this doesn't make sense, I can give another example, as I don't really know how else to word this. I doubt anyone will actually read any of this and I'm fine with that, I'm just rambling about my ideas. I swear to god though, if someone takes this idea without credit (in general, like the big picture of it) I will cry so so hard you will drown in my tears. Deadass.

Enjoy my rambles ig :)

[darling-i-read-it]

Feelings

Will Graham x reader x Hannibal Lecter

Word Count: 900

Warnings: general bad writing, spoilers for hannibal, 

Author’s Note: it is a mess. It is. I can’t tell if it makes sense. Good luck reader I appreciate you trying

Summary: you and Will see Hannibal after he’s arrested 

Genre: fluff

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Will grabbed your arm and you turned to him, quietly. He could see the vulnerable look in your eyes. He noticed that look in his own eyes but it was rare that it was ever on yours. He supposed that was the problem with Hannibal Lecter. Will himself had felt that vulnerable trust with Hannibal beside him.

The thing that had brought you together.

“Do we have to?” you whispered. He nodded solemnly. He knew that you were acting like you didn’t want to but he also knew you desperately wanted to see Hannibal. He had been so long since you, Will and him had been together at Masons home. It was supposed to be where you parted ways but you and Will couldn’t leave each other. 

No matter how much you eagerly wanted to never think about that time again you couldn’t ever see Will Graham again.

“You know we do.” 

You looked into his eyes and touched his chest lightly, nodding. An understanding washed over you.

“I’ll book the flight then.” 

He watched you leave into the bedroom of the home you shared with him. He thought about the relationship you had with Hannibal that was the same thing he had with Hannibal. 

The three of you, peas in a pod until Hannibal had gotten into trouble.

It was only the next day that you held Will’s hand outside Hannibal’s room. You wouldn’t go in yet, not until you got the go ahead from Alana. She walked over to you and put her hand swiftly on your shoulder. The suit she was wearing looked good on her, as did the confidence she was holding.

“If he for one second makes you want to leave just do so,” she said more to you than Will. You were friends with Alana before everything happened. 

You and Alana shared Hannibal in your memories. The more intimate memories that Will hadn’t gotten. But Alana was never one of his favorites. Even she knew that.

“Don’t worry,” you promised. “It isn’t anything we haven’t handled before.” 

“Doesn’t matter. Sometimes old tricks can haunt you.”

“Speaking from experience, Doctor Bloom?” Will asked and you nudged him. You gave her a kind smile.

“May we?” She took a deep breath and nodded, gesturing for you to go in. You let go of Will’s hand to grab the doorknob but it was quickly back in your grasp by his volition. Hannibal saw the two of you walk in and stood up from his desk so quickly the chair nearly stumbled.

“Will. Y/N,” he spoke, his voice light. “I’m happy you’ve come together.” Will wanted to get right to the point but in order to do so he had to let go of your hand which he wasn’t prepared to do just yet. 

“Hello Hannibal,” you said gently. He looked you up and down.

“You both look well.” 

“Wish I could say the same,” Will said, biting his lip. You didn’t nudge him this time but you wanted to.

“I must say, even with the circumstances I was quite hurt I wasn’t extended an invitation to the wedding.” He paused. “Alana gave me pictures. You both looked stunning.” 

It was a weird thing for him to bring up but you ignored it and let go of Will’s hand before pulling out the papers for the Tooth Fairy case. Will and Hannibal watched you as they once had before, with careful, loving eyes. You slapped the papers lightly with your hand.

“We aren’t here to talk about a wedding,” you said. Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. A murderer is on the loose. Tell me, have you done your skill in a while Will?” Will shook his head stoically.

“I’ve been living a happy life that you almost stole from us.”

“With plenty of dogs,” Hannibal pointed out. You cracked a smile.

“Plenty of dogs yes,” you said. 

“Y/N has always been a sucker for strays,” Hannibal said. Will grabbed your arm before you were able to give Hannibal the files.

“Is that why you think she liked you?” Will questioned. You gave Will a look but he was on a path and there was no way to drag him off of it.

“I believe she liked me because my mind was complex as yours and you were incarcerated at the time,” Hannibal said. 

“And you suppose it’s the other way around now?” Will deflected. Hannibal shook his head.

“She didn’t marry me.” 

You put the files down into the tray.

“I liked you both at different times but that doesn’t excuse you liking each other.” They both snapped to look at you but you didn’t flinch. “There’s a murderer on the loose Hannibal and we need your opinion.” 

“You wanted to see me.” “Your opinion Hannibal has nothing to do with mine or my husband's feelings for you now or in the past.” 

Hannibal grabbed the papers and flipped them open.

“Of course not.” 

You nodded.

“Of course not.”

[cheerfullycynicalfandom]

I will say my peace about this episode and move on... And, so I don’t have to say it after every line, this is all my opinion. :) BIG LONG SPEECH. 

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR REVOLUTION OF DARLEKS!!! 

Let’s talk about the writing. Chris Chibnall has had good and bad episodes, just as all the Doctor Who writers have. I think his first season was shaky at best and only saved by Jodie’s commitment to her roll and her acting ability. However, he did one thing that had me hoping he was going to get better: The Rosa Parks episode. 

THAT episode was old Doctor Who - you could feel it in the way the history was dealt with, in beautiful swell of music... I had a glimpse of what the newer seasons of Doctor Who were capable of right there, and I wanted that so badly. Doctor Who, for me, has always been that bright light at the end of the tunnel. It’s always been about hope, about the people around you, and about never giving up. (He did the same thing again with Nikola Tesla. I have a whole speech about how he should do more historical moments since he does them so well, but that’s a whole different problem) 

Let’s look at Spyfall for a minute. The Master? He nailed the Master’s return! The way he constructed O, the way the two mentioned their past. (The chemistry between Jodie and Sacha is magical and I wouldn’t give that up for anything. Their acting, if anything else, was off the charts). He did that really well! In this case, he nailed a new story arch there! The suspense in those two episodes were off the charts, and I was really impressed. Was that due to my amazement at two brilliant actors? Perhaps. But at least I couldn’t tear my eyes from the screen. 

I could go on about Chibnall’s writing, but let’s just say that, in general, it’s neutral, solid 5/10. But, also, so reactive. Because of the new female Doctor, we couldn’t just have neutral. The audience needed some of the best episodes that Doctor Who was produced to not get any whiplash of a female Doctor, and that’s why being neutral wasn’t enough and we see people complain about Jodie’s ability and all that. 

He picked up on the second season. I think the pacing got better, the cast was learning how to react to each other, some plotlines hit better... We were getting there. Chibnall was getting confident and pushing the boundary now... And pushing... And pushing...

And born was The Timeless Child. 

*Phew*. There’s so much to say about this, isn’t there? So many different reactions and critics and just pandemonium. Did Chibnall push to far too fast? Probably. Did I necessary like the Timeless Child? I’m not sure. But if done right, I might have forgiven him. 

The Timeless Child didn’t JUST rewrite Doctor Who... It rewrote the Doctor’s story. The soul of Doctor Who changed. “I’m just an idiot in a box” wasn’t true anymore, was it? It wasn’t this normal (loosely used) person that raced through the stars and had brilliant, amazing adventures. Now it’s a “I’m a god” and “She’s special” and “the chosen one.” The Doctor wasn’t the audience anymore...She’s unattainable and unrelatable. 

And that’s why so much was resting on this New Year’s special. Chibnall had to prove to me that he could handle this big revelation and make it GOOD. 

This episode... And hear me out on this one... This one was the worst one yet.

Here’s the problem. Chibnall gave a plot that was reused and, honestly, boring and not well done. “Oh no! The Daleks! How scary!” Right? I mean, how many times have we’ve seen them. AND EVEN THE PLOTLINE WAS REUSED. It was a cheap shot and the issue I have with the main plot is that IT COULD HAVE WORKED. 

The Doctor said “I don’t know who I am” a bunch of times, and yet is faced with an enemy she is very familiar with - her most hated enemy, the baddest of the bad. DRAW ON IT. Be a writer and make the comparison to that. And, no, not with a one liner. 

The audience needed a Doctor that was angry (the action, not just saying “I’m angry”). We needed the Doctor that was, as the Master said, broken. We needed to understand how much she was struggling with the news. Needed someone that was worn down, and in need of reminding who she is. Chibnall had to use Jack and the fam, not herself, to come to that conclusion. He needed the Doctor to be vulnerable and then be built up by the people around her. To remind the audience that, yes, she is suffering, but she’s the same through the people she loves. 

And we didn’t get that! We got upset companions and an even more upset Doctor. We got some thrown together plot. We got people we couldn’t relate to... I wanted to see Ryan and Graham learning how to live without the Doctor, wanted to see Yaz suffering and losing hope in herself without her... Again, when they reunited, it should have been all of them gaining strength from each other or, hell, ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT WHAT THEY WENT THROUGH. 

Hey, he succeeded with some things, I’ll give him that. Using Jack as the Doctor’s escape helped with that... Mentioning Rose and past stories helped. It shows that he loved the other Doctors just as much as we have...And I enjoyed those times!!! He is really good with mentioning past things (look at the Master plotline) and having some really good moments between characters... 

But it didn’t prove that he can handle the Timeless Child, and that’s the scariest part for episodes to come. 

[wykart]

Oneshot fic where I try to piece together Thirteen’s character post spyfall part 2, and extend the episode’s final scene. (read on ao3)

The Promise

She stands, bathed in blue, with three pairs of eyes boring holes into her back. Inquisitive eyes, reproachful, skeptical. Dissatisfied. She thinks that’s probably fair enough. 

Behind her, the ship puts on a pale imitation of its usual golden hue – which is partly her fault, because the strength of her anguish resonates within the temporal engines. The ship mourns with her. It had been her home too. 

She’s taken on more than she can handle; three humans – she hasn’t had to deal with that many at once in a long while. It’s exhausting, because behind her back, they talk. They conspire. They formulate attacks in the form of questions and furrowed brows. It’s her against them, and it has been for a while now. Her against them; how had it ever come to this? Friends or enemies? She’s always found it difficult to tell the difference. 

It would be easy, perhaps, to drop them back on Earth, waltz off with a grin and a lie through bared teeth, and never return. She’s done it before. 

But the promise she made claws at her, raging at her behind pale eyes. Eyebrows; with his lined face and harsh expression – easy to intimidate, with a face like that. Easy to lie.  She craves that mask of lines, that icy stare. Maybe if she still wore that face, they wouldn’t ask so many questions.

He wanted to die, old Eyebrows had, and she’s starting to think that maybe he had the right idea. “Be a Doctor,” She had promised, but she doesn’t feel like the Doctor anymore. It all just feels like a game. 

And what was the rest of the promise? Never be cruel, never be cowardly... oh, but she is a coward – she’s been afraid of the dark since she was a boy, and she’s been running for – how long? About three thousand years, half of her assures (more like four and a half billion, the other half answers). And – though this is harder to admit – she is cruel. She’s crueller, colder, older. Be a Doctor, but the Doctor is a lie. Now more than ever, she’s hiding behind a title. For the first time, stranded without her friends, marooned in history, the cruelty had boiled over, and she’d found that she was full of so much of it that it scared her, but she couldn’t stop it from spilling out. At least the Master knows he’s cruel, he revels in the fact. She is something worse, because she’s convinced herself that her cruelty is some sort of justice. Some sort of twisted kindness, because the rules of time are not hers, and she is just a traveller. Walking away, in Montgomery and the Punjab, leaving a young boy to burn and a horde of innocent creatures to starve, that was cruel, but it was necessary, because sometimes she loses. Because the rules of time were never hers. 

Wiping Ada’s mind should have shaken her, it should have reminded her of  pleading eyes and words of power; Donna, Clara, Bill. But it didn’t. (If you ever stop, I think the universe might just go cold). And what if I go cold, she asks no one, what happens to the universe then? 

Always try to be nice. This one, she has down to an art. She can’t remember ever being nicer. She’s bubbly and hopeful and sweet - at least, when her friends are around. When she’s putting on a show, because the Doctor is a lie. Even when she’s cruel, she’s sweet. She’s nice. All wicked smile and steely eyes, teasing. A trickster’s stare. It was fun, at first, the youth, the constant movement and chatter and quirky quips. It was fun, because they didn’t question her. She revelled in their awe and their reverence in a way that filled her with sour guilt. She kept herself mysterious, confident, infallible. Vague. She stuck to the rules, when her friends were around. No weapons, no interference. Hasn’t she already seen where breaking the rules can get her? She is just a traveler; not a god or a monster or an impossible hero. Not anymore. She’s holding herself in, but the shell is too small. Jagged edges of her past jut through the edges of her silhouette, so she keeps her friends distracted. She keeps them moving and she never stays for tea, because the quiet is when questions are asked, and linear time makes her head ache and her fingers twitch. She’s hooked on the adventure. The lie. (It is Clara, she answers an old question, weary, it is like an addiction). 

Never fail to be kind. But she was always failing. She’s told her friends who she is, using empty words robbed of their usual pride and significance. Her voice and her manner had been waspish, impatient. Cruel. (There, happy?). Their unending curiosity, their kindness, it grated against her in a way that told her she was becoming something awful. She holds them, her new best friends, at arm's reach, and never closer, because she knows what happens when she lets herself get too invested. 

Oh, and never tell anyone your name. Well, that’s one promise she can keep - because everyone who can understand the cadence of her true name is dead. Killed by the only other person who still knows it. She will never be able to tell anyone her name again. 

Laugh hard. She’s done all sorts of laughing.  Triumphant exclamations of wonder, because she’s just a traveller, and everything is new to these dark eyes, everything inspires hope. Belly-clutching, strained reels of laughter when her friends are cracking jokes. When they’re travelling, never stopping, never still. The real sort of laughter comes when she’s alone. Low, cruel chuckles to the enemy that roil in her gut, that make her feel alive. Wind whistling through newly spun blonde hair, cold air against new bared teeth, old tattered clothes hanging loose as she shed the one she was before. It was a good feeling, intimidating. Darkness biting through the nice. 

Run fast. She’s faster than ever. She’s running so fast that she can barely keep up with herself. Hands always moving, fixing, tweaking, tinkering. Mouth running off at a hundred miles an hour spouting tidbits and anecdotes that even she isn’t sure are truth or lie. That night on the train, she had hit the ground running, and hasn’t stopped since. Not until she’d taken a trip home, and she’s stopped dead in her tracks. All the adrenaline she’s been running off it gone, now. All she has is anger. 

Be kind. And that’s the most difficult part of all. Nice is just a show you put on to the people around you, and pretending is easy. Kindness is deeper, and difficult to fake. Difficult, especially, because she can feel him – the Master – in the back of her mind like an itch, gloating. The ghost of a laugh, bright and spitting and maniacal, because this is exactly what he wanted. Where he is, that dark, dead dimension, the walls are thin. He can see her. Exiled to an unknown dimension, foiled and hopeless and alone, he’s still won. Laughing. Gloating. (Why would it stop). He tore apart the life she’d been building, ripped away the veil to show a glimpse of her true face; to her friends, and to herself. And she hates him. She hates him so much she wants to scream. Who is he but a reminder that it can never, ever stop. The grief and the running, and her, growing colder by the moment. A snarl twists at her face. She’s all anger, prowling, body wracked with energy that makes her want to break something, break him. The thought only makes him laugh harder. 

“Doctor?” A voice that doesn’t come from inside her head. A voice without the bite of the telepathic. Simple, human. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s Yaz. The Doctor turns, blinking against the golden light of the console and its amber pillars. Graham and Ryan stand under its canopy, concern knotted through their features. Yaz is closer, because she’s the only one who’s brave enough. Her eyes are wide and dark and kind. The sort of kind she hasn’t been in a long while. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just tired, it’s been a long few days.” Five days, five planets. No trouble, just relaxing. She did it for them rather than herself, because her ideal vacation involved a lot more running and danger and mystery. Instead of sickly sweet ice cream and soft golden sands, she craved blood and ash, the slick oil and grease of weathered machines, the smell of fear and panic. The calm and emboldening feeling of being in charge, weaving together a solution, saving the day and bounding off on the next adventure. The past five days have been hell, because hell is quiet. Hell is being left to your own devices and thoughts and left to stew out in the sun like the the rocks baking on the shoreline by her faded luxury deck chair. Decaying. And all the while, his laughter, echoing inside her skull. 

“Doctor?” The voice tries again, impatient. 

“Hmm?” She murmurs, absently meandering back towards the console, looking for something to tinker with. Something to do with their hands to make herself look busy. Behind her back, she feels them shifting, casting glances at each other that speak a thousand words. Inwardly, she sighs. Friends or enemies? 

Graham is the first to venture forth. “Look, I, err, we” – he amends, and nods pass between her friends, still behind her back – “we’ve been meanin’ to ask you something.” Of course it’s him, the most skeptical. She sees the way he looks at her, the way he worries. It’s true that she prefers the company of the young, because the young haven’t yet had the chance to learn what old eyes look like. They don’t recognise those eyes in her. “Why are you travelling with us, I mean really…” Because you were there. You were human and you were there and I was lonely, she doesn’t say, because that would be cruel.

“Yeah, and who are you? We’ve tried asking’ so many times but you always dodge the question.” Ryan cuts across, emboldened. She turns around, away from the nothing she was doing with her hands. She stares at them and tries to look nice, but fails to look kind. 

“‘Cause we’re putting’ our metaphorical foot down, Doc,” Graham says, with a hint of a smile. Keeping it light. “We’ve been talkin’, and we think, if we’re gonna keep on travellin’ together, we should get to know who we’re travellin’ with.” There was a time when they wouldn’t have dared. They were so caught up in the adventure and so scared that it was going to end that they would never have asked her that question, not when she’d been so adamantly obvious about dodging it. They were afraid to lose her, but now, they know just how much power they hold. Her against them. They know she’s lonely, that she needs them just as much – maybe more – than they need her. Running from grief, from abandonment, from boredom. Human problems. Simple reasons. The other reason they are asking now is, she knows, because they’re afraid. She slipped up. All that time carefully calibrating the ultimate TARDIS experience; controlled, self-contained adventures, and never to those voluminous corners of the galaxy where the people knew her name; in reverence or in fear, because she’s just a traveller. Now they know that she can make mistakes, that she has a history, old enemies. It scares them, because they wanted, needed to believe that she was infallible. It made following her seemingly arbitrary and ever-shifting rules all too easy. Now, suddenly, travelling is difficult. Scary. Real.

“Not that we don’t want to keep on travellin’ with you,” Yaz assures her with that officer calm. “We just think we’re entitled to know a bit more, seein’ as you know us so well.”

“And I don’t mean some made up words that don’t mean anythin’ to us” Ryan says. Gallifrey, Kasterberous, Time Lord – what did any of that mean to them? Nothing, especially when her voice had been so cold, deflated, deflective. Trying to make them feel guilty for daring to ask. “I mean, why are you runnin’?” What a question... Of course, he doesn’t realise what he’s asking, the gravity of it. Boredom or exile or fear – or a mixture of all three. (And why, he asks, with his eyes, not his mouth, because he can’t quite articulate the feeling, why do we trust you?) It had been going so well. In her head, the Master laughs some more, and she doesn’t know whether he’s really there or if she’s imagining it. 

“And who were you before we met you?” Yaz asks, eyes softening, begging her. “Who were you before that night on the train?” It’s the final question that makes her muscles seize up and her eyes go cold. It’s what makes the anger bubble to the surface and the laugher break from background noise to a shrill cackling inside her head. She had been a white-haired scottsman, and she made a promise. A contract, and she’d broken every clause. 

“Why should I have to tell you?” She snaps. Maybe the ferocity should surprise her, but it doesn’t. Cruelty is becoming normal, for her, something that’s always lurking there, just below the surface. Yaz steps back from her stare, shocked. “I’m just a traveller, didn’t I already say, I’m nobody. Isn’t this enough for you?” she pleads, and he laughs. “Aren’t you having fun?” a different angle, because they can’t deny that. It’s been fun, it’s been lighthearted. It’s been good.  “Why can’t you just let me be this?” her voice comes in strangled, breaking gasps, because there isn’t just cruelty under the surface, there’s grief as well. “Why can’t you just let me leave it all behind?” The ship rages beneath her; lights flashing, sparks spitting, crystalline pillars spiralling with blue and harsh red. It casts them all in shadow. The remnants of her voice rings out in the hollow space, the ship whirring back into silence, echoing her, understanding her like none of her new friends ever will. 

In the silence, Graham hums, his mouth folded into a line. Ryan is staring at the ground, chest rising and falling with subsiding panic. Worse, though, is Yaz, because she’s staring right at her. There’s no fear in her eyes, just kindness and a twisted sort of satisfaction. Her face says ‘I was right,’ and in her cruellest moment yet, the Doctor hates her for it. 

“I’m sorry – I…” she knows what she has to do, and all her previous faces are looking at her in disdain. In disgust. Shut up, she swats their images away. They aren’t her, not anymore. The Doctor is a lie, and she is just a traveller. “Yaz, I’m really, really sorry,” she whispers, voice like silk. Beckoning. The girl can’t resist. 

“I know, it’s okay,” Yaz smiles, walking forwards. But the Doctor isn’t apologising for what she said, instead, she’s apologising for what she’s about to do, because she won’t get the chance after it’s done. More faces; Donna, Clara, Bill. Ada. She ignores them, and takes comfort in the cruelty of the act. 

The Doctor reaches out, and Yaz leans in to her touch, thinking that she’s offering comfort. The Doctor places outstretched fingers against her temple and searches her mind. As she sifts through her timeline, the act pressed into the space of a moment, it occurs to her that she could pick apart the strands of her memories and pluck out the parts that don’t fit. The doubts, the fear. The time she spent in that horrible dimension; lost and alone in the endless forest. She could make her better. The ship hums a dissonant note; a warning, and she realises that she isn’t quite that cruel. Not yet, anyway. She only takes the past minute. It’s barely a touch upon her mind, barely a dent, so she stays conscious. Yaz sways for a moment, dizzy, while the Doctor strides over to the two boys. They aren’t paying attention. They’re talking amongst themselves in low, harsh whispers. Behind her back. Her against them. 

There’s a moment when they notice her purposeful steps clanging against the metal floor, and they look up. They see her expression; flat and cold. Unyielding; and their eyes flash with fear. Graham opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, she raises both hands towards their heads. She takes Ryan in one hand and Graham in the other; outstretched arms reaching, the pads of her fingers running over the surface of their thoughts as their eyes brush closed. She could take back the memory of the Master, the panic on the plane, the bone-burrowing fear of being on the run - but she doesn’t. She thinks she will regret it later, when she’s grown a little colder still. 

In their moment of confusion, time rewinding, she takes her position at the top of the stairs. The blue light on her face feels right, it feels honest. She waits for their eyes to open and adjust, once again trained on her back, and she walks away before they can pose their carefully constructed questions. She leaves them standing under the fading gold of the console, sharing those transparent, conspiratorial glances, forming a new plan to get her cornered. Her against them. She makes a new promise, and the promise is this; they can never know. You are nobody. You are just a traveller. 

The Doctor is a lie, and they can never know. 

[let-it-raines]

another kind of green (7/10)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: mature

a/n: I apologize for the wait on this one. I’m obviously super spacey lately because I forgot I was supposed to be posting this story🙈

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2| 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

-/-

Emma didn’t notice the leaves change.

Yesterday, she swears that she looked outside and all of the trees were full of deep green leaves and that the grass on the ground was an equally vibrant shade. Today, however, there are brown leaves on the ground and orange and yellow leaves hanging off of limbs, and the grass growing next to the sidewalk is browning the slightest bit. She blinked, and the days changed from early September to mid-October.

How in the world?

Where did all of the time go? Wasn’t she just doing a local commercial (her least favorite kind of job) for the autumn festival that’s happening downtown? How is time for that to already be happening? They shoot those weeks and months in advance.

“On your left,” Killian calls out, and Emma doesn’t flinch. She’s used to it.

“You’re late.”

“Traffic.”

“You walk here.”

“A hell of a lot of pedestrians, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t slow down her pace, letting her legs keep powering her through this run. She’s on mile two, so Killian really is late. They’ve been getting up and going running a little after six most mornings for the past month. It’s far earlier than Emma would ever normally do it, but she likes having a running partner surprisingly enough and Killian has to go to training at eight every morning. It’s either this or run by herself so that every step is pretty much agony.

Just like she didn’t notice the changing leaves, she never really noticed how Killian wormed his way right into her run.

(At least he buys her smoothies…most of the time.)

(He’s grown fond of his mango one as well, and sometimes she does foot the bill.)

Emma turns to the side to finally look at him. He’s dressed in a pair of joggers and a BPD training sweatshirt he has to wear to the Academy, and he must be leaving directly from here instead of heading back to his apartment to take a shower.

She ran into Graham while grocery shopping last week. He was with his girlfriend, so she didn’t talk for a long time because that’s awkward as hell and she wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, but she did learn that Killian told Graham that their marriage wasn’t something intentional. She’s not really sure when or where or why, and while something like that would normally piss her off, she’s relieved that the guilt of Graham finding out she got married like that is off her shoulders.

She’d forgotten about seeing him until she saw Killian’s sweatshirt. Graham had one just like that, and life seems to like bringing things back around for her. Maybe she should ask him about talking to Graham, or maybe she should just forget about it and move on.

Everyone else seems to have done so.

“You want to race?”

“Huh?” Emma asks, blinking away until Killian comes back into focus. She’d totally zoned out.

He raises his brows before reaching up to push his hair off his forehead. “Do you want to race me, love?”

“Please,” she scoffs, turning away from him to focus on what’s in front of her, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma quickly turns to him again. His smirk is obnoxious, and she’s not about to pass that up.

“First one to the bench with marks from where that guy sat on wet paint wins, okay? Loser buys smoothies.”

“You’re on. When do you want to – bloody hell…”

She doesn’t hear the rest of his curse, and she does know that it’s a curse, because she’s already increased her speed and is sprinting as fast as she possibly can. It’s at least half a mile until that bench, maybe a little over, and Emma can run that far this fast without any issue. Her problem is that Killian, even though he was slower than her when he started, has started to catch up to her. His strides are already longer than hers, but with his speed catching up after so much training, she needs every advantage she can get.

Smoothies aren’t something to play around with.

He’d be so obnoxious if he won.

Killian’s on her heels for every step of the run. His muttered words and the panting of his breath hover just behind her, and she knows that if she were to suddenly stop running, he’d stumble over her. But she doesn’t stop. She lets her legs and her lungs burn and keeps going until she gets that adrenaline high that she’s been searching for. It’s been elusive lately, most of her runs dragging along at a snail’s pace, but this isn’t a long run anymore. It’s a sprint to the finish line.

Very literally.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

The bench is in her sight now, the poor markings left behind by someone who ruined their pants by sitting in wet paint last week, and she propels herself forward to get there before Killian when she feels a hand on her wrist, tugging her back, until she’s falling to the ground, her elbow hitting hard against the grass until she rolls over onto her back and feels the weight of Killian on top of her.

“What the fuck?” she grunts. All of the breath has been knocked out of her, and Killian’s entire body pressing down on her doesn’t help. “What was that for?”

“Sorry,” Killian grumbles, propping himself up on his elbows to lessen his body weight. His cheeks are flushed a slight pink, and his hair is falling over his forehead in sweaty sections. It makes him look younger than his usual penchant for styling his hair off his forehead. Maybe her brain just isn’t functioning correctly and he looks exactly the same. “Are you hurt?”

“I imagine my ass and my elbow are going to be bruised, but other than that, I’m fine.”

“You were about to be run over by a bike, love. Did you not hear me calling you or the incessant ringing of the bell?”

“Uhhh.”

“Exactly. I saved your life, and I think a little gratitude is in order. I do normally prefer to do more enjoyable things with a woman on her back, after all. Of course, you would know.”

His brows quickly wiggle across his forehead, and when his tongue runs over his bottom lip, heat curls between Emma’s legs that has absolutely nothing to do with how sweaty she is from running.

“Just like our marriage, I’m wiping that part from my memory.” “Ah, but you weren’t drunk for it. You actually remember it. Tell me, darling, what was your favorite part of that night? Was it when my mouth pressed into your neck in the hallway or was it when it pressed into another rater delicious – ”

“Okay,” Emma mutters, pushing her hands up against his chest until he rolls off of her and onto his back on the grass, “that’s enough of that. I haven’t eaten yet today, and you owe me a smoothie.”

Changing the subject. She has to change the subject.

“I don’t believe you won the race.”

“I was going to if you hadn’t tugged me down and nearly caused me to break a bone.”

“I was trying to pull you to the side. You’re the one who went down.”

“Semantics.” “I don’t mean to upset you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team. When it comes to running, of course. I save your life from a horrific bicycle accident, and you, well, I’m not sure what you do.”

Emma sucks in a deep breath before exhaling and twisting her head to the side. Killian’s already looking at her, lips pressed into a soft smile, and he reaches over toward her until his fingers are brushing against her skin as he tucks loose tendrils of her hair behind her ear

Did she just get a chill or was that her sweat drying?

Getting her sports bra off is practically going to be impossible. At least she can do it in privacy.

Sports bras are obviously both the best and the worst.

“I kick your ass in races.”

Killian laughs, finger brushing against her cheek again. Her body is basically a puddle now. “I’ll buy our smoothies, Swan, but you have to agree to let me take you out for your birthday next week.”

“How do you even know my birthday is next week?”

“It was on our annulment papers.”

“Oh.”

Killian twist over until he’s on his side and propping his chin up in his hand and tapping his temple. “I know you may not remember things, at least according to your manager, but I do have an excellent brain up here.”

“I’m ignoring you basically calling yourself a genius because I have to ask: when the hell did you talk to Mary Margaret?”

“Last week. Ariel was talking to her on the phone at a shoot, and they got to talking about how I’m reliable while you are not.” “I have only missed one appointment, but Mary Margaret holds onto that and brings it up every time I almost forget something. It was for an understandable reason, too.”

“And what was that?”

Emma blinks, and her mind catches up to what she just said. Shit.

“It was nothing.”

“Oh, no, it was definitely something. Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Yeah, well, inquiring minds don’t get to know.”

Emma quickly gets up from the ground, moving so quickly that she’s dizzy, but she doesn’t want to be lounging on the grass any longer. People are running by them, dirty shoes near her face, and she doesn’t even want to think about how many animals have relieved themselves where she was just resting her face.

She doesn’t want to think about anything other than getting some calories in her, taking a shower, and meeting Ruby at Flock so they can shoot next month’s catalog of clothes for the website.

“Swan,” Killian calls out, but she keeps on walking. “Swan! Love! Emma!”

“Not in the mood, Jones.”

“You were two minutes ago, and I cannot figure out what I possibly could have done to piss you off in that time.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I obviously did something.”

“Can’t you for once just do what I say and leave me alone?”

“Perhaps if you had actually told me to bloody leave you alone.”

Emma quickly turns on her heels to look at him. She nearly smacks herself into his chest, but she doesn’t need another collision with him, not today.

“Killian,” she says slowly, “leave me alone.”

His gaze doesn’t move away from hers, deep blue staring at her and making her want to back away, but she doesn’t. In the back of her mind, she knows he’s done nothing wrong, that he isn’t the one who’s actually pissed her off, but he’s here. What better excuse is there than that?

“If that’s what you want,” he begins, leaning down and giving her a mocking bow with a flourish of his hand, “then that’s what I’ll do.”

-/-

“This is the smallest piece of fabric I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve seen your underwear drawer, Ems. I know that’s not true.”

Emma rolls her eyes at Ruby and tugs on the top, adjusting it until it covers her boobs. How this boutique expects any normal person to be able to wear this piece of fabric is beyond her.

“It’s ridiculous,” Emma continues, still trying to tug it down, “and this is supposedly a winter sweater. Has anyone here ever actually experienced a winter in Boston? This isn’t going to cut it.”

“Who peed in your Cheerios this morning?”

“That’s a disgusting phrase.”

“It’s obviously very apt today, though.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a liar.”

“No, I’m just cold.”

Emma turns on her heels and walks back out in front of the camera and the white wall as the photographer and the owner of the boutique wait for she and Ruby to be ready. Emma does the standard poses, flipping her hair and fake laughing, and then she trades off with Ruby until they’ve both gone through the entire catalog of clothes that were on the racks in the side of the warehouse.

This is the weirdest job, and she’s honestly not sure that she enjoys it much anymore. That seems like a problem for a day where she’s not already pissed off at the world.

“I will buy you lunch if you tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“Nope,” Emma sighs, tugging on her coat and fluffing her hair out as they get ready to leave the warehouse. “You cannot bribe me.”

“Okay, but what if we go back to my place, and I make Granny’s onion ring recipe?”

Emma stops and turns to Ruby, her eyes narrowing at Ruby’s wolfish grin. “You’re evil.”

“But you love me.” “That’s debatable.”

“Nah,” Ruby sighs, wrapping her arm around Emma’s shoulder, “it’s really not.”

They walk the fifteen minutes to Ruby and Mulan’s apartment, the chill of the air nipping at Emma’s nose, but once they’re inside and the heat is on and there’s that wonderful smell of onion rings and grilled cheese being cooked, Emma’s no longer freezing. She’s warm and calm and maybe she doesn’t have to be as pissy as she has been today.

“So, Mulan says you haven’t come to class in a few weeks.”

Ruby says it casually, doesn’t even bother to turn around, but Emma knows that this is the beginning of her fishing into what Emma has been doing. The woman isn’t sly at all.

“I’ve been doing other things.”

“Other things or…men?”

“Running. I’ve been running, Rubes.”

“Mhm, and you wouldn’t happen to be running every day with a very handsome man that makes me thankful that I am interested in both men and women while poor souls like you only get men?”

Emma huffs into her glass of water. “How could you possibly know about that?”

“Because I, too, avoid my girlfriend’s Pilates studio and like to go running that path sometimes.”

Well, shit. She didn’t think anyone really knew she was doing that.

“We both run. We happen to run into each other. It’s a thing.”

Ruby turns around and arches a brow, cocking her head to the side. “What’d he do to piss you off today? Might as well just skip to that question.”

“He didn’t piss me off.”

“You don’t get onion rings if you don’t tell the truth.” “Screw you.”

“That was the deal.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not very good at keeping deals.”

Ruby sighs and plates another few onion rings before turning the stove off so that the cackling of the grease quiets down. “You’re going on runs with the man that you married.” Emma opens her mouth, but Ruby holds her finger up. “Yeah, I know about that. You know Marg can’t keep things to herself. I also know that if you want to shake him off, you wouldn’t be spending so much voluntary time with him. So did he actually do something to piss you off that I need to kick his ass for, or is this just Emma being Emma?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what that means.”

Emma ignores her and reaches up to take an onion ring only for Ruby to hold the plate away from her. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

Sighing, Emma crosses her arms over her chest and leans back on the barstool. She was pretty sure Ruby was joking about Emma having to talk about her mood, but apparently, she wasn’t.

“Nothing is wrong with me.”

“Yeah, and I’m a rocket scientist.”

“You could be.”

“Emma, do you like your husband? Is that what’s freaking you out?”

“He is not my husband.”

“You’re evading the question.”

“No,” she mumbles, “I’m not, and no, I don’t like Killian. I guess I just slept on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Can I have my onion rings now? The full plate?”

Ruby’s brow stays arched until it falls so it can furrow with her other one. “Do you really not want to talk about it?”

“There’s really nothing to talk about.”

-/-

Emma’s a liar.

She’s a lying liar who lies, but she’s not about to admit that to anyone other than her glass of wine and the can of icing that she’s eating. However many calories she burned today don’t matter because she’s consumed all of them since this afternoon.

It’s totally been worth it.

Mostly.

She can’t binge watch Poldark and not drink wine and eat icing, right? That would just be stupid.

Her phone buzzes on the couch cushion next to her.

Killian Jones: I owe you a smoothie. Is there a chance I can buy you one tomorrow?

Shit. Of course he’s texting her.

And of course he’s being nice.

The man knows exactly how to be an ass. Can’t he be one of those right now?

Can’t she not want to text him back?

Emma Swan: I feel like I should be the one buying you one since I was so bitchy today.

Killian Jones: I wouldn’t say that.

Killian Jones: Because I think you’d murder me if I did.

Killian Jones: And also because it’s not true.

Emma snorts into her wine, taking another sip, and then leaning forward to put the glass on her coffee table.

Emma Swan: It was true. You can say it.

Killian Jones: I’d rather you not kick my ass. You could do it anyways, but training already beat me down today. I’m in a weakened state.

Emma Swan: That bad, huh?

Killian Jones: It was like I ran for six hours without stopping while also having to climb over obstacles and have men my own age yelling at me while twenty-one years old just ran by with no hesitations.

She laughs again before stretching back onto the couch. She should crawl back into bed and get herself comfortable, let herself fall asleep, but this is pretty comfortable too.

Killian Jones: But I love it.

Emma Swan: Yeah?

Killian Jones: It’s awful, but I also feel like I have a purpose, you know? I’ve wanted this for so long.

Emma’s heartrate picks up, and she closes her eyes and drops her phone to her chest. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t have some kind of great want that’s driven her life. She’s always been a foster kid, someone who isn’t sure what’s coming around the corner, and even when she aged out of the system, she still didn’t know. There was Neal and jail and…he ruined her life. Neal ruined her fucking life. He took away her choice for her life, and even though she’s doing okay now, she could be doing better. It’s not something she wants to think about because a decade has gone by since then, since he abandoned her like most everyone else has, but rarely a day goes by where he doesn’t come up in some way.

But really, it hasn’t been a decade. It’s been three years since he showed up at her apartment door, finding her somehow, and acted like not a day had gone by, like he hadn’t done this awful thing to her and like she must still love him.

She didn’t then.

She doesn’t now.

Neal will always be her first love and the person who loved her first, and what a shame that is.

That’s why she missed her shoot that day. Mary Margaret had been pissed, had gotten angry with Emma for maybe the first time ever, but then she’d sobbed into Mary Margaret’s shoulder as everything in her life felt like it was falling apart.

Again.

And here she is letting Neal worm his way into her thoughts again, into her life. He’s not around anymore. She doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life, and he really doesn’t deserve to occupy so much space. She’s been doing it for years, wearing these pretty white dresses at least once a week and pretending to be someone who could even think about getting married when it’s never been what she wanted, not after him.

Not even with Graham.

Maybe one day she’ll figure out how to move on completely and how to leave Neal in the past where he belongs.

She’s got to get out of this headspace before she drinks herself into an oblivion, so she opens her eyes and looks back at her phone. No one can see her face or hear her thoughts, and even if she is absolutely terrified of Killian Jones, he’s the only thing that’s making her feel remotely safe right now.

Emma Swan: I’m happy for you!

Killian Jones: Thank you, love.

Killian Jones: Did I tell you about the guy who is now wearing an eye patch because of an unfortunate fall on the rope climb?

Emma Swan: This sounds like the beginning of a really bad high school soap opera.

Killian Jones: Oh, but it’s even better than that.

Killian tells her the story, as well as several others from his first few weeks at the Academy, and Emma distracts herself with it, finding that it’s easy to get lost in Killian’s stories. Even texting, he has a way with words that has her easily being swept up into the conversation so that her lips tug at the corners and there’s a smile permanently press into her skin. He’s funny and charming and he deals with her shit even when he shouldn’t. He should run away and never look back.

The thought causes her breath to hitch and her chest to pang and…

Maybe Ruby was right. Maybe she does have a thing for Killian.

Oh shit.

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @xemmaloveskillianx​ @therealstartraveller776​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells  @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​

[peterstanslizzie]

Reacting To: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Season 3 Episode 9)

Emilia is such a monster...

Episode Title: Prahmises

Spoiler Warning: Kindly proceed if you’ve already seen the episode or are able to handle spoilers

1. Dr. Emilia backstory? This should be interesting! We are taken back in time  to when Emilia was a young woman, living with her dad and brother, Liam in a burrow (probably the same burrow Lio and Song lived in). Their dad puts immense pressure on his kids to be part of the generation that will solve the Great Mute Outbreak. 

2. He is especially concerned about Liam, whom he tells Emilia to make sure he stays focused on their mission to bring humans back on top. So this is why Emilia is so determined to cure the mutes; It’s because of her dad and how he doesn’t want his kids to live underground anymore. Despite seeming like a hard-ass, I get why he’s so tough like that. 

3. Back in the present day, we see Wolf stopping Scarlemagne in his tracks to inform him that she’s going to help him kill Emilia. She also sprayed some lavender air freshener to make sure Kipo won’t be able to track their scent. They reach Skyscraper Ridge where they notice that Emilia isn’t there with Hoag and Greta and assume that she’s back on her boat. 

Kipo looks beautiful and Benson looks mighty dapper in his suit

4. Prahm is coming together quite nicely; Everyone is putting the finishing touches on the venue and its decorations. Some of them (including Kipo, Benson and Troy) are already dressed-up. Oooo fancy! However, Kipo is still upset that Wolf and Scarlemagne have ran off to do their thing. She wants to give Emilia a chance but everyone else feels like she isn’t capable of change. 

5. Can’t they just meet somewhere in the middle? Instead of killing her, why not imprison her like I suggested in my last review? I’m sure the humans will be able to understand; They don’t seem to be that pro-Emilia anymore. 

6. Song then tells Kipo of some of the things she heard Dr. Emilia say when she was a Mega Monkey. We then get a flashback of Emilia being awarded with what I’m guessing is a lead position in their burrow’s anti-mute/find-a-cure  research movement. She tells Liam that she wants to get a sample from one of the mutes to develop the cure and they proceed to head to the surface.

7. They split up and eventually, Emilia manages to get a sample from a spider mute. On the other hand, we see Liam hitching a ride from Brad and Amy! He’s really friendly towards them and vice versa. After the rats drove off, Emilia confronts her brother for making friends with the mutes. He mentions after talking to Brad and Amy, they are going to build an amusement park that is a safe haven for mutes and humans. Ahhh, right! So, that’s how Ratland came to be! Too bad it’s destroyed now. 

8. Liam tries to reason with Emilia by telling her that mutes and humans can co-exist on the surface together because what they were taught about mutes was wrong. Emilia then does a complete BITCH move by killing her brother in clear daylight because she doesn’t want him to get in the way of everything they’ve worked for. What the heck Emilia?! I can’t believe she killed her own brother just because he disagrees with her. And it didn’t take long for her to do that. She is messed up! 

9.  Not only is she a killer, she’s a liar because she goes back to the lab faking hysteria by saying that the mutes killed her brother. Girl, bye. I hope Scarlemagne/Wolf ends you. 

10. Basically, what Song heard from Emilia as the Mega Monkey was that she has been lying to everyone this whole time about the mutes killing her brother when it was actually Emilia herself. What a heartless monster. Back to the present; Who the hell died and make Kipo queen? Even after this story, she’s still willing to give her a chance. WAKE UP KIPO! People are capable of changing, just not those who are willing to kill their siblings without much hesitation. Kipo literally went from wanting to drown at least 50 humans on a boat to not wanting to kill the most evil person in Las Vistas. Like can you please be more consistent?

Troy and Benson in these suits is a vision

Aww, a reunion between Label and Zane. I still remember him saving her from getting cured. That was a great moment. 

Aww x2, Amy and now normal rat, Brad. Side note: she called him her best friend. I had to point this out because all this while I thought they were a couple. 

11. The mutes have arrived and it’s almost time for Prahm to start. Meanwhile, Wolf and Greta are fighting each other and at first, it seems like they are evenly matched but Greta ends up kicking her butt. Ouch! Scarlemagne is working up a sweat so that he can use his pheromones to mind-control Greta. After some struggle, he manages to splatter his sweat directly onto her face. Unfortunately, Wolf knocked her out unconscious before he could ask her where Emilia is lol. 

12. The other humans plus Hoag arrive at Prahm with Hoag demanding for his daughter to leave the party. She’s definitely not going to listen to him. I hope Hoag will just drop it and join Kipo. 

13. Okay, is anyone else getting middle school mixer vibes here when watching the humans and mutes trying to have friendly conversations with one another? It’s sooo awkward. Kipo entrusts Dave and Benson to be like the middle-men between the two groups. Troy and Jamack are also forming a team to do the same thing. It’s going to be a competition on who can make more friendships. That sounds weird but okay. 

14. Greta wakes up and instead of using pheromones, they manage to get her to reveal Emilia’s location by bribing her with pancakes. Interestingly, Greta brings up a great point by asking Wolf why she’s wearing wolf skin if she and everyone else is so positive that mutes and humans can be friends. That’s true but every individual group has its own bad apples. Humans can kill other humans too as proven by Emilia. But you don’t see humans trying to segregate from their own race lol. 

15. After listening to Greta, Wolf thinks that if they kill Emilia, this might cause the humans to lose trust towards the mutes. Yes but like I said, why don’t y’all just capture her and put her in jail, just like you did with Scarlemagne? I don’t think doing that would upset the humans. Scarlemagne is actually agreeing with Wolf’s reasoning and they set Greta loose. Ugh, why? Just keep her restrained. 

16. We get back to the socializing between the humans and mutes and things are going too well lol. Like I’ve said earlier, it’s super awkward. Maybe they should play a game together or something instead of trying to force conversations. 

We also get a reprise of Hyun Soo and his groupmates’  catchy Kpop song feat. Doag. 

17. And finally, Hoag is able to see that his daughter is happy dancing with the Korean Narwhal mutes. He then proceeds to join his daughter and dance with her. Thank goodness he changed his mind about the mutes. 

Aww he turned his old blanket into a tie. Cute!

18. Wolf and Scarlemagne are now at Scarlemagne’s Court to look for some Prahm outfits left by some of his old Nobles. He is also reflecting on his past decisions and expresses to Wolf about how he regrets not going after Emilia and not trying to free Song and have a life with her, Lio and Kipo. That’s true but look at what you have now Scarlemagne! I swear, if Scarlemagne dies...I will be so pissed.

19. It’s now night-time and it looks like the mutes and humans are getting along much better. We even see Jamack dancing with the old lady, Mrs. Graham? Troy and Benson are having a cute dance of their own too. Kipo is feeling down because Wolf isn’t around to enjoy Prahm with her, especially since their song, “Heroes on Fire” is now playing. 

20. But look who decided to show up at the right moment. Kipo is thrilled! Scarlemagne then gives his own speech to the mutes and humans to ask for their forgiveness. This in turn, makes the humans apologize to the mutes for the bad things they’ve done to them too:

Such a tender moment

21.  Hoag then feels guilty and tells everyone that he and Emilia had sabotaged the fireworks that were just about to go off so that it will shower everyone with the cure. Phew, that was close! 

So Emilia still has followers! Okay, that makes things even more complicated. I thought this whole issue can be solved simply by locking up Emilia but she’s clearly got the loyalty of some of the humans no matter what.

22. After making this revelation, Emilia and her remaining army decide to make their grand entrance. She’s even dressed for the occasion. The episode ends with Emilia setting up the fireworks to go off and they did. But the episode stops here.

23. 1 more episode left! Ughhh, I’m so sad that it’s all coming to an end. But I’m looking forward to see how this whole show is going to end. I hope I’ll be satisfied with the ending. We shall see tomorrow for when I will post my review of the SERIES FINALE episode! Thanks for reading! Bye!

[teaplease1717]

Pieces of You - Drabble 2

Drabble 2: Gift for Honwaka

Relationship: Todoroki Shouto / Yaoyorozu Momo

Category: Fluff and Slice of Life

Rating: G

Art Link: https://twitter.com/honwaka_zz/status/1153324401296732161

Story Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935277/chapters/63692128#workskin

Thank you to 666-HyuugaNeji-999 and Emberstork for betaing this drabble.

This second piece is dedicated to the wonderful and amazingly talented Honwaka. I love all of Honwaka’s works, and it was so hard to choose which to write about. In the end, I decided on this fluffier piece to celebrate what would have been my wedding day (Aug 29th) if not for Covid.

Anyways, second try at present tense. Hope you enjoy this drabble that got way out of hand.

XXXXXX

“Todoroki-san?” 

Shouto looks up at the sudden sound of his name cutting through the music. His heart skips a beat.

“Yaoyorozu.”

Her expression brightens. “I thought it was you.” She looks around the almost empty subway platform. “Where are Midoriya-san and Bakugo-san? They intern with you as well, no?” 

She’s wearing a printed blue ruffled top and tight fitting skirt. A large, white bag hangs from her left shoulder. And her long, black hair is out of its usual high ponytail. It curls loosely down her back, shining faintly with the telltale signs of a fresh shower. 

She must have just gotten off of her internship as well, he realizes.

Shouto pulls his left headphone out of his ear as he turns to face her. “Midoriya promised his mom he’d go home for dinner, and I think Bakugo went somewhere with Kirishima and Kaminari.”

Yaoyorozu’s expression flickers in understanding. “Oh, I see.” Her white heels click against the grey tiled floor of the subway platform as she moves closer.

“In that case...” Yaoyorozu smiles up at him. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Shouto’s mouth feels dry. “We’re going to the same place."

She hums softly and then straightens, tucking her loose bangs behind her ear. “Still...I don’t want to be a bother if you wanted time for yourself.”

He shrugs with one shoulder, avoiding her eyes. 

“It's fine.” He swallows. His fingers tighten around the handle of his metal hero briefcase. “You’re never a bother."

Yaoyorozu’s eyes widen faintly. Then her mouth curves into a small, almost bashful smile that has his chest tightening. “Thank you, Todoroki-san. I’m – It makes me glad to hear that.”

Shouto feels warmth wrap in his chest, and he looks away as they lapse into silence.

He doesn’t understand why, but lately Yaoyorozu’s presence makes him feel strange. Not in a bad way, but – different. As if he is sinking and flying at the same time.

Shouto reaches up and rolls the loose headphone hanging in front of him between his fingertips. He really needs to remember to ask Midoriya if these feelings are a normal part of friendships or if he’s under the influence of some sort of quirk.

Sudden peals of laughter float down the platform, drawing him from his thoughts. Shouto looks over and watches as a group of girls step onto the platform, making their way closer. They are wearing high school uniforms from another school.

One of the girls catches sight of him, and then quickly turns to the others. They break out into giggles, murmuring quickly amongst each other as they pass. 

Shouto turns his head away and shifts slightly closer to Yaoyorozu. He can feel their eyes on him.

His jaw twitches. 

People have always gawked at him because of his scar or because he is the son of Endeavor, but lately their stares have been intensifying.

He glances down to watch Yaoyorozu rummage through her overly large bag and feels his annoyance lessen.

That is another thing that has happened recently: he can never stay angry for long when around her.

Yaoyorozu's expression suddenly lights up and she pulls out two energy bars.

"I knew I brought a couple." She looks back up to him, unaware of his earlier thoughts.

"Would you like one?" She holds out a bar to him. Her cheeks are still a little red.

Shouto stares at it for a moment before nodding. "Thanks," he says, taking it.

He unwraps the package and takes a bite.

The energy bar tastes like cashews and honey; perfect to replenish her lipids.

“How’s training going with Endeavor-san?” Yaoyorozu asks, once they finish. She licks her fingertips demurely.

He shrugs and crumples the wrapper in his hand. “It’s going.” 

There really isn’t much else to say.

The anger he still feels for his old man hasn’t entirely faded. It lingers like an ember in the back of his thoughts. And only when each day ends, does Shouto realize how it unconsciously strains him.

Still, he knows it is the right decision. If he wants to be a top hero, following the old man is the best option.

Yaoyorou looks up at him. "I'm glad." Sincerity glows in her dark eyes.

It makes him feel strange, like she is reading his soul. Shouto looks away and clears his throat, sliding his hand into his jean pocket.

“You’re - with Majestic?” he asks after a second, his voice hesitant.

She nods happily and Shouto feels instant relief that he got it right. 

“Yes.” Yaoyorozu straightens proudly. “It's been a very good experience. Majestic-san is a wonderful teacher and I’m learning a lot, but...” Shouto watches as she brings a hand up and yawns. “I’m so tired by the end of the day.”

Shouto feels his lips twitch up at the side. “Yeah, me too,” he admits.

Small vibrations shake the platform and a woman’s voice suddenly announces the arrival of their train over a loudspeaker. 

Shouto’s fingers tighten around the handle of his metal briefcase as the train stops in front of them.

The doors slide open and he follows Yaoyorozu into the car.

It’s almost empty. A few sleepy businessmen sit scattered on the otherwise vacant lime-green benches lining the walls of the compartment. Yaoyorozu moves to a free section and sits down, adjusting her bag on her lap.

Shouto drops into the seat next to her. He sighs as he places his suitcase on the floor, between his feet, before straightening and leaning back in the plastic seat.

The doors close with a ding, and the train rocks slightly as it pulls out of the station and towards U.A. Golden hues suddenly flood the compartment from behind his head as the train exits the underground station.

It is getting late. He pulls out his phone and clicks the power button.

Almost eight.

If it wasn’t the peak of summer it would already be dark.

He looks out the window; bright orange and red tones brush across the sky as the sun dips towards the cloudless horizon. Shifting, Shouto glances back towards Yaoyorozu as she covers another yawn.

He watches her absently hug her white bag closer.

The bag is stupidly large, and looks like it’s for groceries, but the fabric and blue lettering scrolled across the side make Shouto think it’s expensive.

Designer? It wouldn’t be surprising, Yaoyorozu is from a wealthy family after all. 

A tip of red peeks out from the top of the bag, catching Shouto’s attention. Realization strikes him. Is that what she keeps her hero outfit in?

It doesn’t seem the most practical, but he knows Yaoyorozu to always be practical. Shouto tilts his head back to stare blankly at the advertisements lining the opposite side of the compartment. 

Thinking about it, Shouto’s only ever seen her carry around a small shoulder bag before. She must need to bring a lot of stuff to and from school if she needs a bag that big. He knows women in general need more things to get ready then men. The bathroom he shares with his sister back at his family’s house is evidence of that.

“What are you listening to, Todoroki-san?”

Shouto blinks as her voice draws him out of his thoughts. He looks down at his phone. He forgot the music was still playing. 

Shouto taps the screen. The name of the band flashes across the top.

“BTS,” he reads.

Yaoyorozu’s expression brightens. She clasps her hands together. “Oh! To be expected of Todoroki-san,” she hums, her eyes turning into twinkling crescent moons. 

The air around him suddenly feels constricting.

Shouto looks away and clears his throat. “Uraraka told me to listen to them,” he forces out. His voice sounds tighter than usual.

"Well, I’m glad.” Yaoyorozu leans closer. “They’re one of my favorite bands. Which song of theirs is your favorite so far?” Her eyes glitter.

Shouto’s heart beats faster.

“I don’t know.” He looks back down at his phone and taps on the screen again. “I’ve only listened to their first couple of songs.”

Yaoyorozu’s eyes widen marginally and her grin widens. “Let me know when you’ve listened to Black Swan - it’s my favorite from their newest album.”

Shouto hums, scrolling through his phone. He finds the name. He hasn’t listened to that one yet. Or he did, but wasn’t paying attention. “Sure.”

Yaoyorozu studies him for a moment before closing her eyes. Shouto looks up as she abruptly begins to sing. 

Her voice is a soft soprano.

“Do your thing. Do your thing with me now.”

The train suddenly feels empty, like it is just the two of them. 

“Do your thing. Do your thing with me now. What’s my thing? What’s my thing, tell me now…” 

Her eyes flutter open and she smiles up at him, her cheeks flushing abashedly. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” she almost whispers.

Shouto’s lips twitch. “Which one is that?” His voice is lower than usual to match hers.

Listening to Yaoyorozu sing feels like a secret; something intimate only for his ears. It makes his insides warm pleasantly – like the night of the Eniichi festival, when she had told him that she wasn’t just anybody. That she was his classmate and friend.

“It’s the main chorus from the song I just told you about, Black Swan.”  She ducks her head, tucking her bangs behind her ear. “I highly recommend it. It’s built around the quote by Martha Graham: A dancer dies twice – once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the more painful.”

“I see.” He reaches up and rolls the headphone hanging in front of him between his fingertips. His eyes meet hers and an idea strikes him.

“Here,” he says, picking up the headphone. “We can listen together.”

Yaoyorozu blinks and then her eyes widen as the red on her cheeks deepens. “Todoroki-san,” she gasps.

Shouto tilts his head to the side. He’s seen people share their headphones with one another before, and although he knows he isn’t the best at picking up on social cues, he doesn’t think he is overstepping on this one.

“You like them don’t you?” he presses, holding the headphone out towards her. “I’ll only listen if you listen with me.”

He watches Yaoyorozu’s expression flicker. He can see the mental gears in her head turning. Finally, she swallows and meets his eyes. “Are – are you sure?”

Shouto nods. Hesitantly, Yaoyorozu reaches out and her fingers brush against his as she takes the headphone. The brief contact shoots through him like an electric shock, and he swallows over a dry mouth. 

Yaoyorozu stares at him for a moment longer before sticking the headphone in her ear. Her eyes move back up to his, and she gives Shouto a small nod.

He looks back down at his phone and hits play. The sound of perhaps a piano and violins start. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

The chorus that she had sung earlier begins and dancers appear on the screen.

Shouto can see why Yaoyorozu likes the song. There is a certain classical element to it that fits her. 

He finds his attention drawn back to her as it plays. Her eyes are half closed and she sways slightly with the beat. Suddenly he knows that this will be his favorite song no matter what it sounds like.

Shouto glances away as the song ends and she lifts her head.

“How’d you like it?” Yaoyorozu asks. Her expression is intent as she studies him.

“It’s good.”

“Just good?”

“Yeah.” His lips twitch up at the side and he feels amusement curl in his chest. “Just good.”

Yaoyorozu puffs out her cheeks. “You’re teasing me now. Did you even listen to the meaning?”

No.

He had not.

Yaoyorozu sighs. “It's about passion for doing something you love and second chances. It's – I feel like I can relate a lot to the message,” she says, sitting back. Her hand reaches up to take out the headphone and Shouto realizes he doesn't want this – whatever this is – to end like this.

He leans forward. "Want to listen to it again?" he asks quickly.

Yaoyorozu pauses and quirks an eyebrow. "Sorry?”

Shouto swallows. His hand tightens around his phone. "Let's listen to the whole album. I'll pay attention this time." 

Yaoyorozu's expression flickers.

"And then I can tell you which song I like," he adds.

She has dark upturned eyes that appear almost black in the fading light. 

Yaoyorozu hesitates for a moment then gives him a small smile and nods. "Okay." 

XXXXXX

The sky is a dark canvas, brushed with blinking and flickering lights that dance like fireflies across the heavens. 

The train car is silent now. All the businessmen have shuffled off at various stops and now it's just the two of them. 

U.A. is at the end of the line.

Shouto glances up at the blinking sign above the automatic doors. Four stops to go. 

A weight suddenly settles against his right side. 

Shouto tenses at the abrupt contact and looks over sharply. 

Yaoyorozu’s body is slumped against his. Her breathing is quiet, eyes closed in the telltale signs of sleep. 

Shouto’s heart skips a beat and then several more as he watches her. He's never been this close to a woman before. And he wonders if the way his heart feels like it is going to burst out of his chest is normal or part of the quirk he may be under.

He swallows as his eyes trace up her nose to the dark lashes that rest like dark smudges against her slightly sun-kissed cheeks. There are dark circles under her eyes that he hadn’t noticed until now. He lets his body relax under her.

She must have overworked herself again.

A strange sense of pride wells up inside his chest that he can’t quite place. 

She always gives her best to everything she does. It makes her an excellent hero, and it’s one of the things he admires most about her.

The train rocks along the tracks, and Yaoyorozu’s head tilts slightly to the side to lie upon his shoulder. They are sitting so close now their faces nearly touch.

Shouto draws in a sharp breath. It was the wrong move.

She smells like jasmine and roses.

Shouto tears his gaze away to look determinedly down at the floor of the train, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. He’s feeling uncomfortably hot.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, activating his quirk. 

Did she do this on purpose? He knows, even as he thinks it, that she didn't. 

She’s just tired. And the train and music lulled her to sleep. Besides, he was the one who suggested they listen to the songs together.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. When he feels in control, he glances back at Yaoyorozu.

She is entirely relaxed, her head resting on his shoulder. Light breaths ghost against his lips.

His hand curls into a tight fist on his thigh. 

He should wake her. Yaoyorozu will no doubt be mortified if she realizes she has fallen asleep on him.

Shouto swallows.

But...She wouldn’t have fallen asleep if she didn’t need it, right?

He has no experience in these types of situations and tries to think what Midoriya would do – as a hero, or as a friend. 

Midoriya would wake her, or self-combust in embarrassment.

Shouto’s stomach sinks at his two options. Obviously, he can’t self-combust, that would be dangerous and would hurt her. So, he’ll have to wake her.

His eyes trace over her features again and his stomach flips at the way the luminescent lights play off her dark hair. 

He can’t deny a part of him likes the fact that she feels comfortable enough around him to fall asleep. It makes him feel...he’s not sure. Different.

Shouto can feel the warmth of her arm through his white shirt, and he finds himself leaning into her.

He’ll wake her. 

It is the right thing to do.

But – perhaps it would be okay if they stay like this for a little while longer.

xxxxxx

Thanks for reading!

[nightshadeshadow123]

Deep down you know she'll always choose the darkness

Dhawan!Master x reader x 13th Doctor

You've always had a dark side that likes to come out sometimes. The Doctor tries to help you in the good path but things aren't always as easy as she wish.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

The Doctor have recently noticed the slip in your demeanor. Something hidden.

The darkness that's hiding deep within your soul. A darkness she's all too familiar with. She've tried to change your ways and have taken you in on her TARDIS.

She remember the day she have founded you on the quite eery planet, more exact Yaz was the one that have founded you and you were trying to kill while she was yelling out for her to save her from you.

That manic glee you had in your (E/C) eyes as you held up a blood covered knife in the air, ready to plunge it into the innocent girls neck. The Doctor have quickly ran to her companions aid and had knocked the knife out of your reach and threw you off Yaz.

She remeber all too well the way you've glared at her, covered in blood of the people you've killed as they lay in an endless pile of bodies.

It have taken so long for her to get you more...stable. And along the way you've managed to both fall for each other and have began dating but The Doctor haven't failed to notice the darkness lurking in the darkest corners of your soul. The manic glee glimmering in your (E/C) eyes when you encounter anything life threatening and plain evil.

The tiny slip up's that you seemed to do on purpose that nearly got her companions killed when you are in dangerous places then pretending to care for them. The Doctor have lost count on how many times Yaz and Ryan have almost died because of you.

She've pondered hours on how and what have caused the noticeble set back. There have to be a good reason and she was determent to find out.

The Doctor have dropped the fam off at their homes, wanting to get you alone for the big confrontation. She was dreading this, fear having a firm grip on both her hearts, fear of the possibility that she might loose you. She's can't handle loosing another loved one once again. She've lost so much already and the possibility of it happening once again might just break and ruin her completely.

"Can I talk to for a moment?" The Doctor caught you in the control room reading a book.

You looked up at her and gave her a warm smile. "Sure thing Doc."

The Doctor nervously sat down next to you on the floor, both you and her leg touching as you close the book you were reading, putting it down next to you.

"What did you want to talk about?" You asked, all attention on the blonde timelady.

"Uh? It's..." The Doctor nervously figeted with her hand before tentatively putting it on your hand that's on your lap, trying to steady her beating hearts.

You looked down at her hand for a brief moment before looking into her ancient old eyes again. "What is it Doctor?" You urged a bit impatiently.

"It's about you." The Doctor admitted finally.

You looked confused yet curious now. "About me? What about me?"

The Doctor looked even more nervous, squeezing your hand gently as a way to stay grounded.

"I've recently noticed...a shift in you." The Doctor began.

You tensed at this, having an idea what she meant.

"Doc-" you began but she hussed you.

"I know that it's the darkness twisting it's way in you. It's well hidden but it's still there, just waiting to be released." The Doctor said in a worried voice, trying to mask it.

You stared at her in shock, knowing full well that it's the truth.

"Doctor, I-" you tried talking but was once again cut off but this time by The Master suddenly appearing out of nowhere, vortex manipulator in hand.

"What the?!" The Doctor jumped back in surprise until seeying who was now standing in front you, seperating her from you.

"Master? What are you doing here?" The Doctor glared at him, slowly getting up.

"Ah, I came here for you're little pet over there." The Master said smuggly, pointing a finger at you over his shoulder, dark eyes full of manic glee as he kept them focused on The Doctor.

"Never! You can't have her. Over my dead body!" The Doctor growled out, making a move to get near you and get you away from The Master but he shoved her to the ground easily.

"Ah, ah. Not so fast Doctor." The Master chidded down at her, wagging a finger at her.

The Doctor let out a low growl, trying to get up again but The Master stomped a foot on her chest, keeping her down.

"Let me go!" The Doctor tried to struggle but couldn't get away as she take in pained breaths.

"No can do dear." The Master grinned down at her menancingly. "I won't stop until I'm dead."

Pure malice burning in his dark eyes as he smirked down at her, enjoying her pain, fear and anger greately.

"Please just leave us alone." The Doctor tried to beg but The Master only added more pressure to the foot on her chest, making her wheezed out golden orange regeneration energy as she desperately tried to claw away his leg.

Fear engulfed both her hearts even more, fearing what The Master might do to her and (Y/N). What did he even want with you? She've noticed the way he was always eyeing you back when he was pretending to be O and they haven't know it was The Master. He was always eyeing you with a certain dark look and seem to stuck close with you. He have even tried to get you to leave with him when they were on Barton's plane but The Doctor have managed to get you to stay.

"Wha-what-do yo-u want wi-th her?" The Doctor wheezed out more golden orange regeneration energy with each pained breath she used to talk.

The Master let's out a manic laugh. "Oh, isn't it obvious? I want her to rule by me, destroy with me and end every little piece of your happiness you oh so desperately clung to. I've seen her hidden dark side and I want to free her of you." He growled out, adding a bit more pressure to his foot on her chest with each setence he spoke.

"Sh-e'll n-ever go wi-th y-ou!" The Doctor glared at him, a fire burning deep within her eyes and soul.

The Master chidded down at her once again with a bored expression, head tilted to the side slightly.

"Oh Doctor, deep down you know she'll always choose the darkness." The Master growled out smuggly, relishing greately in her pain as her eyes began to sink shut, teethering on the brink of consicious and unconsciousness.

Just before the darkness consumed her she saw a blur and the forced pressured on her chest dissapearing with a startled yelp falling from The Master as she finally passed out.

♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

The Doctor let's out a pained hoarse groan, bringing a hand up to rub at her eyes.

"Wha? Where?" The Doctor looked up at the roof at what looks like her TARDIS medical room as she lay on her back before bolting upright when the memories came rushing back hitting her like a wall of bricks as her hazel eyes frantically searched around the room in fear until her eyes landed on you.

"(Y/N)?" The Doctor rasped out, catching your attention.

"Doctor!" You exclaimed happily and rush over to her, leaving the book to fall on the floor with a loud thud.

"You are okay." You hugged her gently, being careful not to hurt her chest.

The Doctor hugged you tightly, burying her head into your neck and hair, desperately holding you as if you'll dissapear at any moment.

"You are here? I thought you would've left with The Master." The Doctor asked confusedly, yet glad and reliefed that you are still here.

"No. I'm here to stay. I'd never leave with him." You smiled down at her, running gentle fingers through her blonde hair soothingly.

The Doctor relaxed into your embrace, sighting in content.

"For a moment there I though that you would've really leave with him. I was scared." The Doctor admitted in a vulnerable voice, tightening her hold around your waist.

"I would never leave you unless you really want me to." You said, fearing that she'd want you to leave after the conversation that was so rudely interrupted.

"I don't want you to leave ever. I know of the dark side you try to hide but I promise I'll help you overcome it. I can't loose you too. I know there is a good side in you. You care about me and I've also noticed the slight care you've tried to mask when Yaz, Graham or Ryan got too hurt because of you." The Doctor assured you gently, voice still hoarse.

"What happened when I passed out? Did The Master hurt you in anyway?" The Doctor asked, worriedly looking you over for any injuries.

"No Doc, I'm okay. I just snapped when he hurted you and the way you looked so helpless." You gently kissed her forehead.

"I was scared that he might have hurted you more or even kill you and I just rammed into him, knocking him away from you." You explained to her, fingers running through her hair once again.

"He got angry and started yelling but he didn't hurt me. He said that we'll see him soon again before dissapearing." You smiled down at her when she pulled you back into a hug, burying her head into your neck and hair once again.

"I'm glad that you are okay. And figured much, we'd never really see the last of him. He sticks to life like a octopus." The Doctor chortle lightly.

"Yeah, a very stubborn octopus." You agreed, chuckling with her.

You both sat like that, holding each other close and fell asleep like that, The TARDIS making a content beep while switching the lights off and just hovering in space peacefully.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Whew man, this laid in my drafts for days not even half finished and I had no idea where the hell I was going with this but wanted to end in angst and turn The 13th Doctor dark but then again I couldn't let The Doctor suffer. I actually had a lot of fun while I was writing this even though I've strayed completely from the plot I had in mind. Something still feels missing ←_← →_→ will delete if this isn't good and I might get a better plot idea with this. Also sorry for wrong wording or spelling, english isn't my first language

[tvobsessed96]

Top 10 TV Episodes of 2019

10. Marvel’s Runaways- Season 3, Episode 10- “Cheat the Gallows”

I’ll be the first to admit that Runaways is not a perfect show. I didn’t like season 1 all that much, mostly because Pride’s motivations and ultimate goals were too poorly defined for my tastes. I’m not expecting a big expositional villain monologue, but I at least need to understand what the villains are trying to accomplish and why. Otherwise, it’s hard to get emotionally invested. Having said that, season 2 was a marked improvement, and I wound up falling in love with this scrappy bunch of kids anyway. Which makes it all the more disappointing that the season that proved Runaways could be something great if it tried ended up being its last. I enjoyed season 3 a lot. The writing was better, the performances stepped up to match, and as annoyed as I am that the evil alien family trying to kill everyone plot was dropped unceremoniously without a satisfying explanation partway through the season, the battle with Morgan le Fey was filled with enough danger and tension to make up for it. But rather than choose that climactic battle as my entry for this list, I went with the messy, emotionally fraught aftermath. “Cheat the Gallows” could have been a simple, somewhat patriarchal story about a man going back in time to rescue the woman he loves, but it ended up being about a family clawing its way back together after wrestling with a shared trauma. Which, come to think of it, is pretty much exactly how the show started! Talk about coming full circle. The episode also ended up being a bit of a meditation on time itself, as the older versions of the Runaways contemplate the fact that Gert’s death led them down the paths that made them who they are. Once that’s erased, so are they. This realization gives the Runaways, mostly Nico, a chance to think about what they would have done differently, leading to a powerful scene in which Nico talks with her past self and pleads with her not to make the same mistakes she did. I bet we’ve all wished we could do that at one point or another. I also like that the episode ends with the sense that, with Gert saved, the Runaways might just be okay. Even if the note left for Alex by his murderous older self adds an ominous note to the whole thing.

9. So You Think You Can Dance- Season 16, Epsiode 15- “Live Finale Winner Announced”

So You Think You Can Dance continues to be the best reality competition show no one’s really talking about. Cat Deely has been robbed of her Emmy for best host too many times, but I digress. This show is always the highlight of my summer, and season 16 was no exception. Another season of amazing choreography, amazing performances, and a truly deserving winner that I can’t really be mad about, even if I was rooting for other dancers just as much. It was another really fun season, and I can’t wait for season 17! There’s a reason Fox keeps renewing this show despite the ratings, is all I’m saying.

8. Emergence- Season 1, Episode 9- “Where You Belong”

It’s true that the first half of Emergence’s freshman season was a bit uneven. The writing isn’t quite as compelling as it could be, and it does rely on some sci-fi cliches. But I’m a sucker for a good found family story, so I stuck it out. And I’m certainly glad I did, because the mid-season finale was pretty great! An excellent sense of stakes, and enough tension to keep you on the edge of your seat without skimping on the sweeter moments. It culminates in one of the most brilliant twists I’ve seen on TV since The Good Place! I’m curious to see what the rest of the season will bring.

7. Veronica Mars- Season 4, Episode 3- “Keep Calm and Party On”

I’m willing to bet that this will be the most controversial pick on the list, for several reasons. No, season 4 of Veronica Mars was not as good as its first, and I have problems with the way Rob Thomas and Kristen Bell handled the fan response to the ending. And that’s before we get to the episode itself. Many long-time fans of the series took serious issue with the extended party scene in this episode, given that Veronica was drugged and raped at a party in high school. There’s also her mother’s own history of alcoholism to consider. But while I absolutely sympathize with those concerns, Veronica’s decision to let loose and party still feels understandable to me. Given everything that’s been going on with the bombing case, she's searching for some kind of release. And if there was a year where the desire to just forget about the world for a while, past traumas be damned, felt all too real, it was 2019. And that’s why “Keep Calm and Party On” makes the list.

6. Single Parents- Season 1, Episode 23- “Ketchup”

Will and Angie are clearly the Jess and Nick of Single Parents, which is fine. But part of me is sort of hoping they don’t get together, because their friendship is pretty great. In this episode, Will takes Angie to a terrible fast food restaurant to confront Graham’s dad about abandoning her while she was pregnant. Will ends up using a bunch of food metaphors to explain to Derek what an amazing mother and person Angie is, and it’s fantastic! Add that to Douglas and Poppy realizing their feelings for each other, and you’ve got an episode that’s as completely hilarious as it is completely sweet. If you haven’t watched this show, check it out! It’s pretty delightful. 

5. Stumptown- Season 1, Episode 3- “Rip City Dicks”

Stumptown was the best new show this fall, hands down. The first half of its first season didn’t end quite as strongly as it started, but it gave us some fantastic episodes along the way. “Rip City Dicks” is one of them. Dex is hoping to apprentice under veteran PI Artie Banks in order to earn her license, but gets a cold, hard dose of reality when he sells out their client and her child to make a quick buck. Dex does learn a valuable lesson from it, though. Exactly what kind of private investigator she doesn’t want to be. The episode ends with an amazing, very feminist monologue from Dex promising Candace that she’ll get her kid back. It’s a fantastic performance from Cobie Smulders, and I’m really looking forward to the rest of the season! If you’re not watching Stumptown, you’re missing out.

4. This Is Us- Season 4, Episode 7- “The Dinner and the Date”

America’s favorite cry-worthy family drama gave us plenty of great episodes this year, including a much-anticipated origin story for Beth Pearson. Out of all the possible options, I ended up choosing “The Dinner and the Date” as my entry for this list. On one hand, you’ve got a sweet story of young love set against the backdrop of Philadelphia. On the other hand, you’ve got a young Black kid trying to form his own identity in a way his white adoptive parents just can’t understand, no matter how hard they may try. It’s a beautiful episode, and I look forward to seeing what 2020 brings for the Pearson family.

3. Marvel’s Cloak and Dagger- Season 2, Episode 10- “Level Up”

Honestly, I could have chosen any episode form Cloak & Dagger’s stellar second season for this list. There’s the near-perfect three episode run of “B-Sides,” “Vikingtown Sound,” and “Two Player.” There’s also the dark, thought-provoking Emma Lahana showcase that is “Shadow Selves.” But I ended up choosing the finale, because it felt like such a perfect culmination of everything the show had been doing up to that point. Tandy and Ty take on every obstacle Andre throws at them with an abundance of grace and an unshakable faith in each other. The choice to have them literally fight each other’s demons was inspired! But the most powerful moment comes when Tandy gets the chance to confront her late father after everything she’s learned about him since his death. She tells him in no uncertain terms that she, and only she, gets to decide how big a part of her he is. She says that the only thing she can do in the face of adversity is level up. If there’s a lesson to take into 2020, it’s this. If you think you aren’t strong enough to face what the world sends your way, level up. Turn your dagger of light into a sword of light. Stare oppression in the face and say, with your whole being, “Not today.” Disney and Marvel made a big mistake in cancelling Cloak & Dagger. Huge.

2. Good Trouble- Season 1, Episode 8- “Byte Club”

I hope anyone who thought Good Trouble wouldn’t be as powerful as The Fosters is really embarrassed after these first 20 episodes, and I mean that in the best possible way. Good Trouble is everything a great spin-off should be. It keeps the spirit, heart, and progressive mission of the original show, while also feeling like its own distinct entity. It introduces an amazing cast of new characters to love, without forgetting to check in on the old ones every once in a while. “Byte Club” has to be the best offering the show’s given us so far. Facing rampant gender and race discrimination at work, Mariana rallies the women of Speckulate to come up with a set of tips to help them assert themselves in the workplace. The advice they come up with is solid, and actually really useful in real life. But it’s made even more powerful when Mariana points out that women in professional spaces shouldn’t have to jump through all these ridiculous hoops just to get recognized for having an idea! And that’s not the only powerful feminist moment of the episode. Callie discovers that the reason Rebecca ended up as a clerk for Judge Wilson is because her previous judge sexually harassed her, and her powerful family refused to do anything about it other than get her out of there. I’ll admit that Callie had no right to insert herself into that situation and guilt Rebecca into coming forward in the following episode, but it’s still an amazing scene featuring excellent performances from Maia Mitchell and Molly McCook. I’m so excited for more Good Trouble in the new year!

1. The Good Place- Season 3, Episode 13- “Pandemonium”

The final season of The Good Place has been fantastic so far, and several of the most recent episodes almost made this list. But at the end of the day, “Pandemonium” is the kind of episode that makes me want to make television. To make something that will touch other people the way this episode touched me. I could go on and on about the beautiful love story between Eleanor and Chidi. But instead, I want to focus on the final scene, in which a distraught Eleanor calls Janet into her office and demands the answer to, well, everything. What does it all mean? Because if there’s no greater meaning, then the universe is just made of pain, and Eleanor can’t accept that. Janet’s response is what really makes the scene sing, so I’ll quote it here. “If there were an answer I could give you to how the universe works, it wouldn’t be special. It would just be machinery fulfilling its cosmic design. It would just be a big, dumb food processor. But since nothing seems to make sense, when you find something or someone that does, it’s euphoria.” To which Eleanor replies that all she can do is “embrace the pandemonium” and “find happiness in the unique insanity of being here, now.” And then she steels herself, opens the door, and welcomes her soulmate who has no idea who she is into the afterlife. This is the same philosophical bent that made me adore Angel so much, and it works just as well here. This episode aired all the way back in January, and these sentiments got me through awful headline after awful headline in 2019. Catch up on The Good Place if you haven’t already. It will be going off the air soon, and our lives will be all the worse for it.

[voidgremlin]

An oath to Hope

Doctor who human au fanfic

Chapter 1: I think I met a shooting star.

“Park Hill enter D, presumed TWOC with IC1 (‘individual of white skinned European appearance’) female”

A junior officer with dark brown hair in a tight bun turned her head expectedly to her colleague, a lean man with messy brown hair and an as well messy beard who winked at her. He was her senior for her training and couldn’t help but smile at his antics.

“Patrol 7 on it.”

PC Khan asked “What is TWOC ?”

“Well… It is… mhm. I guess it is when someone lose their car keys and try to jimmy their way in. In the dark of the night ? Something like that.” Kenny said with a thick Scottish accent.

“So it’s vehicle theft ?”

“I mean… We can’t assume thievery right away, it is a presumed Taking without owner’s consent ! And who need cars nowadays ?”

Yasmin chuckled “You would be surprised on how many would contradict you sir.”

“By the way, isn’t Park Hill where you live ?”

“Oh my stars ! It is ! We got to go very quickly !” She exclaimed quickening her steps to the car. “I am driving sir.”

“Alright but no need to call me sir !” He said throwing her the keys .

As Yasmin Khan drove them to the potential crime scene. Her senior started to lean in his chair ignoring seatbelt and his legs unto the tabletop of the car. Rambling about the nightshift hours and it made his skin itchy that it could be his alleged time sickness, it only made Yasmin roll her eyes in silence.

Arriving to the Park Hill estate illuminated by the yellow light of many street lamps. Yasmin quickly made her way on the parking lot searching for the thief. Be it was quiet, it looked like nothing.

Agent Coinneich Tàileach or better known as Kenny ran by her side.

“Why are you running PC Khan ? You know this TWOC might be just ten racoons under a coat ?”

“A what”

“Racoons. Or a ghost … who knows ?”

“It is definitely not ghost” Yasmin pointed out to a Pontiac blue car with the highlights on, illuminating another car, trunk and hood opened, wires spilling out with a short woman arms full of sludge, blonde hair tied up in a lousy ponytail.

Yasmin knew that car, it was her neighbor’s and she pulled out her flashlight directed to the woman’s face.

“Hi ?”

The woman turned her head toward Yasmin and to be plainly honest she got a quite beautiful face.

“Hi !”  Oh scratch that ! Now the woman smiled and she got now a way more pretty face and Yaz could feel her face burning up.

“What…” The junior agent turned to her senior who seemed quite interested about the whole situation and wasn’t about to help with it. “What are you doing ma’am ?”.

“I. AM. UHM. NOT. CARJACKING.”

“Sounds like you are.”

“No ! I am repairing ! The car it made a sound like RATATATATATATA for quite a while !” she made wild gesture while making the sounds as loud as possible.

“Madam you need to quiet down a bit, it is 2 a.m.”

“Who ?”

“You.”

“Oh ! Madam is me ! Alright yeah ! I will shhhhh” she made the motion on her lips, her smile still so beautiful.

Yaz made a few step toward the woman, noticed a grey coat lying on the ground next to O’Brian’s car. The blonde woman was jittery and not making eye contact.

“Anyway, car was making a noise and the man who drives it seems to not want to get her to a mechanic soooo I brought a mechanic !”

“Who ?”

“Me ! It could have been bad ! Maybe explosion bad ! Like BAM no mister Graham ! And yeah, we don’t want that !”

Yasmin frowned at the mention of mister O’Brian name but didn’t pursued, instead looked at the mechanic, she was a little gaunt, didn’t seemed to have slept in while.

“You know, you could let the car alone for tonight and I know mister O’Brian” Yasmin said while motioning to her chest. “I will tell him about the car and we will get it fixed. Alright ?”

But the woman didn’t listened. She went right back into the car, mumbling to herself. “No, no, no I can do it myself, I am able to do it. I can fix it. No more sounds !”

Kenny looked at Yaz and encouraged her to keep talking to the mystery while he called to the station to inform of the lack of thievery, pretending that it was neighbor being an asshole. Yasmin walked beside the mechanic whose hands kept shaking. She won’t be able to fix anything.

“Hello, my name is Yasmin.”

The woman kept her eyes down to the motor, making a fist to hide her weakness.

“Hi, I’m Nadzieja.”

“So what is wrong with the car of the old man ?”

It made her smile. “Well, the sound is because the serpentine belt is getting loose and it if breaks it would… Just break everything else.”

“Alright, it seems like a big problem, how can I help ?”

She looked at her like Yaz said some kind of magic. “Oh I love you, you sounds brilliant !” then proceeded to instruct to her how to change the serpentine with clear instruction which Yasmin tried to follow with a lot of mistakes. But she  learned a whole lot and finally succeeded when the morning started to show.

“Oh my bloody stars ! We made it ! We saved the car !” Nadzieja screamed in victory when the motor roared with a bloody sound.

“Yeah !” Yasmin smiled, tired, sweaty but victorious.

The scream made birds fly away and woke up the poor colleague who was trying to take a nap. He made a weak fist bump into the air in support. They slowly cleaned up their mess, the mystery woman’s hands weren’t shaking anymore and Yasmin felt like she made the universe a little more brighter.

“So do you wish we accompany you to your home ?”

“Uh ?”

“Your home ? Do you live in the estate ?”

“Oh no !” She said while putting off the highlights of the blue car. “I sleep in there !”

“In your car ?”

“Yeah ! I travel a lot ! So… “ she slapped the wheel of the car “That is my home.”

“I… ok ?”

Nadzieja nodded to her wildly. “That being said officers ! I wish you goodnight !” and laid down in the back seat, holding a yellow blanket to her chin. Not bothering with the smudge and the sweats. They both looked at her sleeping with strained smiles. Before going back to the police station with heavy steps.

Kenny took over the driving this time around having benefited from his little nap. PC Khan kept thinking about the woman, how tired she seemed, stressed out, she wanted to do right by someone she didn’t know about, shouldn’t know about.

“I have address of some woman shelters if you want.”

“What ?” Yasmin asked.

“For the surprise mechanic lady, when you go back home, you could give her address of shelter or association so she can find some housing.”

“Oh yeah. Thanks ! That’s a great idea !” pulling out her note pad, taking down the addresses.

“You are welcome my dear padawan.”

They returned to the station, putting back their equipment and the senior agent got called in the S.O. office to explain why the hell they were away the whole night. Yasmin wanted to explain but Kenny told her that he could handle it.

Yasmin Khan returned home exhausted but hoping to see her again. Reaching the parking lot she spend an hour in it, searching for the fated blue car. But the car was gone and she was gone to Yasmin dismay.

Yasmin was welcomed home by her family slowly waking up and the odor of fresh coffee, she decided to go directly to sleep, anxiety toward the woman she barely knew gnawing her insides. Her mom kissed her forehead seeing her worried but the magic of a mom kiss didn’t helped with the sleep. The beautiful woman was gone probably dealing with her issues on her own, definitely had it handled, like she couldn’t handle the car motor engine with her shaky hands or the lack of sleep or eating. What if she got into a car accident ? What if she got hurt and no would know her name. Would someone help her if needed ?

“Gosh darnit”

In any case sleep eluded her so she decided to spend the rest of the day, to her parents dismay, searching for a Pontiac blue car in the town of Sheffield. Hoping, dearly hoping to find her. At least see her safe.

The blue car was parked in front of the old building next to the hospital. The sight of it made the blonde woman shiver. But it wasn’t why she was there. She stared at the front door and saw a tall woman in a blue and gold dress getting out. She seemed well and healthy. Nadzieja followed with her eyes, the woman leaving and sighed in relief. One day she will be able to talk to her.

She searched everywhere, on her sister bike, wandering the streets like a madman. Asking florist and people at the counter of coffee shop, she even went by the aforementioned women shelter and yet nothing. No leads, no trace. The woman vanished. Hours went by and her body couldn’t handle much more exertion. She returned home with quiet sob of frustration.

It is only when she reached the parking lot that she saw, the beautiful blue car, standing exactly where she left it. She approached nearly throwing to the ground the bicycle seeing through the windshield, the older woman writing through what seemed to be a diary. She was so pretty.

She softly knocked on the window, blushing. Nadzieja looked at her with surprise and a smile.

“Hi !”

“Hi. I was wondering if you wanted a cuppa of tea ? I live nearby.”

She was dreading a negative answer, after all she was only a stranger who met a few hours ago and she must look like hell with the lack of sleep and her hair… Gosh she forgot to fix her hair !

“You are Yasmin ! My brilliant assistant ! I remember you.”

“oh !”

“You seems like a wonderful person and I would love to drink some tea at your place !”

Yasmin beamed, to hell the little information she was supposed to share with her, to hell duty or sleep. All she wanted now was to be with this beautiful shooting star.

[ashwritesstuffies]

Soul Meets Body Joshua Graham x Arcade Gannon

Got this idea at the ripe hour of 5:50am while talking to my artistically brilliant friend Angel @gangnome. This is loosely based on the ending of New Vegas where Arcade went exploring. I like to think he found himself fascinated with finding new reading materials. Naturally he finds himself following this bandaged hunk who at  Happy reading you precious bastards!)

I want to live where soul meets body and let the sun wrap its arms around me,

And bathe my skin in waters cool and cleansing and feel, and feel what it’s like to be new.

The reddening ex-follower had been walking for hours on end. He’d left town when his Enclave identity was revealed, only seldom did he look back. Usually he cursed the sun and the sky and the highly irradiated desertscape he found himself trapped in. His idea was simple, when put on paper. Explore and study, find a place where he can thrive on his naturally high intellect. He’d told only Six where exactly his first trip would be, definitely not because he wanted backup.

He was headed to what was left of New Canaan. As he said to Six, his trip was to sift through the wreckage for what might even resemble a book he hadn’t yet read. Through the mountain spotted areas leading into Utah he went, until an ambush of White Legs remnants proved nearly life-threatening. At the near sound of someone attacking, he was caught off guard. Losing his footing found him sliding down the hillside into a body of cold, clean water.

The sounds of a .45 pistol firing kept his attention away from the horrendous fall. Against all better judgement he sat up in the water to watch what must’ve been fourteen men get blown to pieces by one man.

“Weird flex, but okay,” sarcasm flowed naturally from the blonde man’s mouth.

“They would’ve killed you, but okay,” the burned man’s wit was just as sharp it seemed.

He helped the man up and got him to the camp. He even stayed by his side while the smock-clad man self-administered first aid. After his wounds had been cared for, the leader asked him to stay a while. They spent many hours in deep conversation. From that he learned why his ex-companion had been wary to come back. It was, honestly, unsurprising to find out his old pal Six had helped overthrow nearly the entirety of their rival gang. That was always up their alley. He adjusted his glasses before making his own proposal to the ex-legionnaire. He couldn’t talk, he’d been in the enclave since he was a child. He helped the sick in his own way, mostly by teaching others how to fix their most common issues for themselves. All-the-while affections grew between he and his newfound friend.

At first it was a common admiration. then like a miracle Arcade had found a certain, less irradiated plant that had some numbing properties. Man might think it insane but the scientist found himself the first test subject. In an era without sunblock, sunburns were seldom helped out and certain cancers enjoyed taking lives to those without some form of protection. Applying the bark along with some ash seemed to cool off those pesky burns though. Proud he found himself looking to his heavily burned friend.

“So, um,” he had no idea how to say what he needed to say. “You’re in…. Constant pain, Joshua?”

“I can handle it, why,” he didn’t even look up from his holy book.

“I discovered something that might possibly help,” how in the hell did he get nervous offering this hunk help? The world may never know.

“Absolutely not,” he shut his book, stood from his perch and walked away.

This baffled the would-be medic. “Wait, what the actual hell?”

The New Canaanite stopped, “I said no, this is my cross to bear.”

Naturally the blonde haired gent had to go follow his friend. There was no way in hell, or on Earth he would let another person suffer if he could help it. There was an old saying, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.

Cause in my head there’s a greyhound station where I send my thoughts to far off destinations where they may find a chance of finding a place where they’re far more suited than here.

The crusade went on for two weeks until the older man caved. He couldn’t help cracking a smile  at the idea that anyone would gladly want to help the likes of him. On a particularly painful day he sought out the medic he’d somewhat employed. The binding bandages on his wrists towards his fingertips were the first to go as Arcade prepared his solution. If it could stop the places where rope burned into skin from stinging like death maybe he’d ask for more help.

“You ready to be subject number two in my notes,” a strange, unretractable statement the man lightly tanning man regretted instantly. “ That was… Um, Here.”

He gently took the hand of his acquainted and applied a small, rectangular-ish splotch of the sticky mixture. After it’d been painted on the reaction was nearly instantaneous. A hushed oh followed by a genuine smile inevitably met the top list. Breaking the silence himself, the bandaged man admitted.

“I expected nothing,” it was a small, pseudo-complement. “It actually stopped some of the pain.”

“You’re kidding, right,” he half expected everything he worked for to end in vain.

“For once, no, you actually helped,” yet again with the wit. It was accompanied by a grin that was nearly visible between bandages.

“Wow, finally, I can die happy tomorrow,” they shared a laugh as he realized he’d not yet let go of the charred hand he held.

That night the two sat a bit closer to eat dinner. Joshua told stories and things were oddly calming. No attacks neither animal nor tribal. The stars spotted the sky like bright freckles the moon was but a silver thumbnail up above. In the flickering firelight beneath the blanket of the endless sky the two’s conversations lasted well past the morning’s sunrise. On bedrolls, adjacent practically, they theorized everything. Each of the two men drifted off to slumber courtesy of the other’s voice.

The next day woke the acting leader after a few good hours of rest. He glanced over to the person who’d kept him company. It was unfamiliar, to feel this way about someone else after all he’d done. He had to, in his thoughts, find a way to figure out what exactly the feeling was. Like some sort of trial. He’d not the foggiest of ideas about the possibilities. When the blonde awoke there was cooked food and silent bible reading. Obviously he thanked the blue eyed food-bringer who’d been wearing onto his heart. In response the man’d been quick to pass the love onto someone else, claiming one of the Dead Horses had cooked. Protest threatened to fall from his lips at the blatant deflection of affection.

I cannot guess what we’ll discover when we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels,

But I know our filthy hands can wash one another and not one speck will remain.

An unexpected guest came and went. Turned out several of the friends he’d left back in the Mojave were a bit worried about him. An expedition lead by Six to see if the Arcade Gannon they knew was still alive and well. Luckily for him, things were more than swimmingly. Six months had come and left bringing to his feet the very man of his dreams. He, of course, hadn’t said anything about it to the person of his affection. Six pulled their friend aside, seemingly knowing everything.

“It’s Joshua isn’t it,” their years of wingmanning had given them natural insight. “You’ve got the hots for him.”

“Who the hell do you--” he began to argue then stopped himself. “Yeah, honestly I’m taken.”

“By Josh,” they’d played only to get chastised lovingly by their friend.

When they’d left taking with them the rest of their gang, he had ample time to confess his affections. Six had pretty well insisted that if he thought this was it to jump. The last part was, in the semi-professional opinion of the ex-follower, was inconceivably hard to actually do. Little did he know, the one he had fallen for, too, was in deep in the emotional department. The blue eyed, swat-vested male sat beside his childhood friend. Intensely conversing over heaven, hell, and choices the men made.

“Daniel, have you ever thought of taking a lover,” it sounded hundreds of times better in his head.

“I have, why do you ask,” it was unlike the friend he knew to talk openly of feelings. However, that’s exactly what they did.

An hour or so brought forth the kind of confidence in the ex-legate he had long since forgotten. His loving friend hand fed him a pep-talk and together they assembled a bouquet of flowers. They were to be brought by the burned man to his crush. His gifts were met with gifts of sweets from the rosy cheeked blonde. Chocolate Frosted Fancy Lads, the kind of confirmation he so clearly sought. Words couldn’t capture the beauty of the entire moment. A well needed hug, however, was an offer neither could refuse.

“You got me flowers,” first to break the silence was the handsome scientist with lacking social skills. “I don’t know what’s worse, my chocolate offerings or-” Their lips met once, then twice, breaking the sentence before it could be complete.

I do believe it’s true that there are roads left in both of our shoes,

But if the silence gets you then I hope it takes me, too.

A month found the two happy in love. Given the upcoming holiday Arcade longed to see his friends. Every year he’d spent with the courier and their friends Raul would play his guitar and sing once popular christmas songs. Lily loved to decorate the home, it was all lovely. He couldn’t wait to share these traditions with his man. The one he once dreamed would swoop him up. They’d be proud and it made him so soggy with sentiment.

He talked about them a lot to his man, as did the fiery leader about his friends and the tribals. First they’d spent three days searching nearby cities for gifts. Useful or not the forest eyed man only ever became sappy during the holidays. It was like, a hidden feature of himself only few could see. Once he’d spent well over a few thousand caps on a crapload of repairs needed in the Old Mormon Fort. The look on Julie’s face when she saw actual huts being built to replace some of the tents. From then it kind of snowballed.

“So, you’re sarcastically devoted to your friends,” asked the one he’d been info-dumping history to well into their walk home.

“Pretty much, I hate them, but they’re the greatest,” he didn’t mind clarifying as his lightly calloused hand brushed the bandaged fingers of his boyfriend’s hand.

They’d commandeered a shopping cart from the side of the cracked road to carry back supplies and gifts. Among a bit of the salvage were a few sweaters untouched for the most part save some fallout and dirt. When they arrived back to camp, the green eyed man jokingly suggested Joshua try on the sweater proclaiming ‘Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal!’ To humor his love, he actually slid it over his shoulders and head. When he turned to ask how he looked, he was met with laughter and cheers. After such a display it was only natural that the blonde man bore his sweater with a one headed radstag.

“I look ridiculous,” he couldn’t help but laugh at himself and his decisions.

“We both look ridiculous,” who was the natural leader to not laugh with his love. “It’s an everyday thing, the sweater just emboldens it.”

“You ready to head to the Mojave,” there was excitement and adventure-lust deeply lacing his tone. “Your friends are going to love this, dear.”

The road back to the strip was actually rather lax, the only things daring to step up were Viper gang members who just wanted everyone to ‘stay as far as possible the fuck away from our post’. The burned man himself saw to it that no one occupied the post anymore, all it took was one shot whizzing past Arcade’s head. The shock on that blonde man’s face when the bullet grazed by was enough rage-fuel to set the building aflame but that he did not do. For miles afterwards the usual chatter was replaced with a calm, collected silence between would be married men.

Across the state line a ways into Nevada the green eyed blonde actually spoke up, “so you know you didn’t have to kill them, right?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted in response. “Until they shot at you, then all bets, my love, were so far off.”

“Okay, but next time we could always tactically evade getting attacked,” he knew in his heart that some people just could not be reasoned with.

That being a cold hard fact never stopped the small twinge of regret he would seldom get for the fallen. There wasn’t another word until they reached New Vegas proper. It was a bit of a surprise to find that the ex-legate had never seen the strip. The best friend of Mr. couldn’t make medicines from desert plants met them near the entrance to Crimson Caravan. Upon first sight of their old doctor companion returning was like seeing the first snow of a nuclear winter, except less death and more excitement.

Hugs were passed around like a peace pipe, then they were off again to the strip. It never occured to Six that they were the sole reason some of their friends actually made it onto the strip. Next stop was the Lucky 38’s presidential suite. Inside the old casino, many decorations were being strewn about with purpose. Ed-E had the wasteland equivalent of mistletoe and was flying around with great purpose. Stopping once in a while to get his friends to smooch. For a piece of AI tech, he sure had a way of putting people together.

The day for gift exchanging was upon them, Christmas some called it. Six just called it ‘give me what you wanna and I have some stuff for you’ day. After Joshua gave his first holiday sermon to his newfound friends, the building seemed live. In the cafeteria the salvaged securitrons had a line up of actual decent food. There was enough booze to tranquilize a young deathclaw. Then, after eating well over everyone’s weight in festive goodies they finally traded presents.

From Arcade to Six was an ample amount of stimpaks and some festive combat armor. In return he received an old textbook that talked about native plantlife in the areas. Joshua had given them all bibles, jokingly. His boyfriend’s hand in his he delivered the “you’re all sinners let’s party” speech.

“Hemhem,” spoke up an old brotherhood scribe. “Where’s mine?”

The smile that spread the width of green eye’s face was gorgeous. A true treasure for those who saw it, “hold on junk junkie I’ve got what you need.” He tossed a blue and white dress her way. “Did you think I’d let my gays go without?”

“You’re a  dork, Gannon,” Veronica hugged her wouldbe wingman. “How did you know I liked the color blue?”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to walk around in gourd colors,” they shared more than their fair share of laughter. “Unless you’re like, into that sort of thing.”

Their sentimental shitchat was cut off halfway when the Courier brought in a runt gecko. They introduced the seemingly harmless pet, Squishy. That night was spent with great happiness. When it was time to hit the sack, it wasn’t surprising to find Joshua and Arcade comfortably snuggled up in one of the few rooms. They’d be sure to make this tradition a yearly thing. Finding the crappiest gifts possible and getting the same in return was more than anyone could ask for in the company of both boyfriend and best friends.  

So brown eyes I’ll hold you near ‘cause you’re the only song I want to hear,

A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere.

A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere..

[aliceviceroy]

Rachael Denhollander’s college-aged abuser began grooming her when she was 7. Each week, as Denhollander left Sunday school at Westwood Baptist Church in Kalamazoo, Mich., he was there to walk her to her parents’ Bible-study classroom on the other side of the building. He brought Denhollander gifts and asked her parents for her clothing size so he could buy her dresses. He was always a little too eager with a hug. The Denhollanders led one of the church’s ministries out of their home, which meant the man would visit their house regularly, often encouraging Rachael to sit on his lap, they recalled.

The man’s behavior caught the attention of a fellow congregant, who informed Sandy Burdick, a licensed counselor who led the church’s sexual-abuse support group. Burdick says she warned Denhollander’s parents that the man was showing classic signs of grooming behavior. They were worried, but they also feared misreading the situation and falsely accusing an innocent student, according to Camille Moxon, Denhollander’s mom. So they turned to their closest friends, their Bible-study group, for support.

The overwhelming response was: You’re overreacting. One family even told them that their kids could no longer play together, because they didn’t want to be accused next, Moxon says. Hearing this, Denhollander’s parents decided that, unless the college student committed an aggressive, sexual act, there was nothing they could do.

No one knew that, months earlier, he already had.

One night, while sitting in the family’s living room, surrounded by people, the college student masturbated while Denhollander sat on his lap, she recalls. It wasn’t until two years later that she was able to articulate to her parents what had happened. By that point, the student had left the church. Moxon was furious that her church community hadn’t listened. But she never told anyone what had happened to Rachael. “We had already tried once and weren’t believed,” Moxon says. “What was the point?”

Today, Denhollander can see how her church, which has since shut down, failed to protect her. But as a child, all she knew from her parents was that her abuse had made their church mad and that she wasn’t able to play with some of her friends. She blamed herself — and resolved that, if anyone else ever abused her, she wouldn’t mention it.

And so when Larry Nassar used his prestige as a doctor for the USA Gymnastics program to sexually assault Denhollander, she held to her vow. She wouldn’t put her family through something like that again. Her church had made it clear: No one believes victims.

Across the United States, evangelical churches are failing to protect victims of sexual abuse among their members. As the #MeToo movement has swept into communities of faith, several high-profile leaders have fallen: Paige Patterson, the president of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, was forced into early retirement this month after reports that he’d told a rape victim to forgive her assailant rather than call the police. Illinois megachurch pastor Bill Hybels similarly retired early after several women said he’d dispensed lewd comments, unwanted kisses and invitations to hotel rooms.

So many Christian churches in the United States do so much good — nourishing the soul, comforting the sick, providing services, counseling congregants, teaching Jesus’s example, and even working to fight sexual abuse and harassment. But like in any community of faith, there is also sin — often silenced, ignored and denied — and it is much more common than many want to believe. It has often led to failures by evangelicals to report sexual abuse, respond appropriately to victims and change the institutional cultures that enabled the abuse in the first place.

Without a centralized theological body, evangelical policies and cultures vary radically, and while some church leaders have worked to prevent abuse and harassment, many have not. The causes are manifold: authoritarian leadership, twisted theology, institutional protection, obliviousness about the problem and, perhaps most shocking, a diminishment of the trauma sexual abuse creates — especially surprising in a church culture that believes strongly in the sanctity of sex. “Sexual abuse is the most underreported thing — both in and outside the church — that exists,” says Boz Tchividjian, a grandson of Billy Graham and a former Florida assistant state attorney.

As a prosecutor, Tchividjian saw dozens of sexual abuse victims harmed by a church’s response to them. (In one case, a pastor did not report a sexual offender in his church because the man had repented. The offender was arrested only after he had abused five more children.) In 2004, Tchividjian founded the nonprofit organization Godly Response to Abuse in the Christian Environment (GRACE), which trains Christian institutions in how to prevent sexual abuse and performs independent investigations when churches face an abuse crisis. Tchividjian says sexual abuse in evangelicalism rivals the Catholic Church scandal of the early 2000s.

Diagnosing the scope of the problem isn’t easy, because there’s no hard data. The most commonly referenced study shows how difficult it is to find accurate statistics. In that 2007 report, the three largest insurers of churches and Christian nonprofits said they received about 260 claims of sexual abuse against a minor each year. Those figures, though, exclude groups covered by other insurers, victims older than 18, people whose cases weren’t disclosed to insurance companies and the many who, like Denhollander, never came forward. In other words, the research doesn’t include what is certainly the vast majority of sexual abuse. The sex advice columnist and LGBT rights advocate Dan Savage, tired of what he called the hypocrisy of conservatives who believe that gays molest children, compiled his own list that documents more than 100 instances of youth pastors around the country who, between 2008 and 2016, were accused of, arrested for or convicted of sexually abusing minors in a religious setting.

The problem in collecting data stems, in part, from the loose or nonexistent hierarchy in evangelicalism. Catholic Church abusers benefited from an institutional cover-up, but that same bureaucracy enabled reporters to document a systemic scandal. In contrast, most evangelical groups prize the autonomy of local congregations, with major institutions like the Southern Baptist Convention having no authority to enforce a standard operating procedure among member churches. This means researchers attempting to study this issue have to comb through publicly available documents.

That’s what Wade Mullen, the director of the M.Div. program at Capital Seminary & Graduate School, did as a part of his PhD dissertation. He collected reports of evangelical pastors or ministers charged with a crime in order to understand how evangelical organizations respond to crisis. Over 2016 and 2017, Mullen found 192 instances of a leader from an influential church or evangelical institution being publicly charged with sexual crimes involving a minor, including rape, molestation, battery and child pornography. (This data did not include sexual crimes against an adult or crimes committed by someone other than a leader.)

His findings help explain a 2014 GRACE report on Bob Jones University, one of the most visible evangelical colleges in the country. The study showed that 56 percent of the 381 respondents who reported having knowledge of the school’s handling of abuse (a group that included current and former students, as well as employees) believed that BJU conveyed a “blaming and disparaging” attitude toward victims. Of the 166 people who said they had been victims of sexual abuse before or during their time at BJU, half said school officials had actively discouraged them from going to the police. According to one anonymous respondent, after he finally told the police about years of sexual abuse by his grandfather, a BJU official admonished him that “[you] tore your family apart, and that’s your fault,” and “you love yourself more than you love God.” BJU officials declined to comment for this article.

After he finally told the police about years of sexual abuse by his grandfather, a BJU official admonished him that ‘[you] tore your family apart, and that’s your fault,’ and ‘you love yourself more than you love God.’

That same year, 18 volunteers, staff members and interns at the Institute in Basic Life Principles (including many underage girls) accused its founder, Bill Gothard, of sexual harassment, molestation and assault. Gothard had enormous sway over a small but tight-knit collection of evangelical home-schooling families around the country. One of those families was the Duggars, stars of a TLC reality television show. Josh Duggar, the eldest of 19 kids and former executive director of the conservative Family Research Council’s political action group FRC Action, lost his job after reports that he molested four of his siblings and a babysitter as a teenager. For years Duggar’s abuse stayed hidden as his parents and an Arkansas state trooper — now in prison himself on charges of child pornography — declined to disclose the crimes. (The suit against Gothard was dropped. Duggar’s actions are now outside the statute of limitations. Neither responded to requests for comment.)

Sovereign Grace Churches (SGC), an influential chain of congregations, many located on the East Coast, allegedly failed to report sexual abuse claims during the ’80s and ’90s to the authorities and caused secondary trauma to victims through pastoral counseling, according to an extensive investigation by Washingtonian magazine. In one instance, an SGC pastor allegedly told a wife whose husband sexually abused their daughter to remain with him. When she asked how she could possibly stay married to a man attracted to children, she was told that her husband “was not attracted to his 11-year-old daughter but rather to the ‘woman’ she ‘was becoming.’ ” Two years into the husband’s prison sentence, SGC pastor Gary Ricucci wrote in support of his parole using church letterhead, and the church welcomed him back to the community after his release.

The wife no longer attends. Asked to comment on these episodes, SGC Executive Director Mark Prater emailed a statement: “We encourage all of our churches to immediately report any allegations or suspicions of abuse to criminal and civil authorities, regardless of state law or the passage of time.” He cited a program implemented in 2014, the “MinistrySafe child safety system,” that teaches member churches how to deal with reports of abuse. Ricucci — who, like other local pastors, does not answer to SGC officials — did not respond to requests for comment.

The evangelical defense of God-fearing offenders extends to the political realm. Franklin Graham, CEO of the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, said President Trump’s “grab them by the p—y” comments and other crude language didn’t matter because “all of us are sinners.” During Roy Moore’s recent Senate campaign, a poll conducted by JMC Analytics of likely Alabama voters found that 39 percent of evangelicals were more likely to vote for Moore after multiple accusations that he’d initiated sexual contact with teenagers when he was in his 30s. “It comes down to a question [of] who is more credible in the eyes of the voters — the candidate or the accuser,” Jerry Falwell Jr., president of the evangelical Liberty University, said at the time. “… And I believe [Moore] is telling the truth.”

Jerry Falwell, left, president of Liberty University, said he believed Senate candidate Roy Moore instead of the women who accused him last fall of sexual misconduct. Moore, right, lost a special election for Senate in Alabama late last year after several women said he had made sexual advances toward them when they were teenagers and he was in his 30s. (Falwell: Alex Wong/Getty Images; Moore: Jabin Botsford/The Washington Post)

It was the same message 7-year-old Denhollander heard: Stay silent, because the church won’t believe you.

Why are so many evangelicals (who also devote resources to fighting sex trafficking or funding shelters for battered women) so dismissive of the women in their own pews? Roger Canaff, a former New York state prosecutor who specialized in child sexual abuse, tells me that many worshipers he encountered felt persecuted by the secular culture around them — and disinclined to reach out to their persecutors for help in solving problems. This is the same dynamic that drove a cover-up culture among ultra-Orthodox communities in New York, where rabbis insisted on dealing with child abusers internally, according to several analysts.

But among evangelicals, there is an added eschatological component: According to a 2010 survey by the Pew Research Center, 41 percent of Americans believe that the end times will occur before 2050. In some evangelical teachings, a severe moral decay among unbelievers precedes the rapture of the faithful. Because of this, many evangelicals see the outside world as both a place in need of God’s love and a corrupt, fallen place at odds with the church. (“New Secularism is an attempt to undermine and destroy Christianity,” warned a headline in Christian Today a few years ago.)

This attitude could explain the 2017 case of an assistant pastor at Agape Bible Church in Thornton, Colo., who was convicted and sentenced to 13 years in prison for repeatedly sexually assaulting an adolescent girl. The police investigation revealed that church leaders and the girl’s father agreed not to contact the police because the “biblical counseling” received within the church was sufficient to handle the case. According to an officer who interviewed the father, “His interest was in protecting the church and its reputation more than protecting his daughter.”

Partly, church leaders tend to circle the wagons out of arrogance. “I’ve worked with churches across the theological spectrum, from fundamentalist to progressive,” Tchividjian says. “They say: ‘I’m the man God’s placed in charge. I have the Bible. I know how to handle this.’ ”

But another, less visible problem is the overall attitude toward sex. Sexual sin is talked about constantly, and extramarital sex is considered a heinous moral lapse. (A student at Patterson’s seminary who told him she’d been date-raped was disciplined for being in the man’s room) It stands to reason that churches don’t want to air an epidemic of wickedness among their flocks.

When congregants believe that their church is the greatest good, they lack the framework to accept that something as awful as sexual abuse could occur within its walls; it is, in the words of Diane Langberg, a psychologist with 35 years of experience working with clergy members and trauma survivors, a “disruption.” In moments of crisis, Christians are forced to reconcile a cognitive dissonance: How can the church — often called “the hope of the world” in evangelical circles — also be an incubator for such evil? “Christians must decide whether to give into the impulse to minimize the disruption of the abuse, or let themselves see a serious problem in their community and deal with it,” Langberg says. “It’s when they find out if they truly believe what they say they believe.”

As an adult, Rachael Denhollander once again found herself at the center of one of these disruptions. The church she attended, Immanuel Baptist in Louisville, was actively supporting former SGC president C.J. Mahaney’s return to ministry. Mahaney had been asked to step down from his role in 2011 because of “various expressions of pride, unentreatability, deceit, sinful judgment and hypocrisy.” In 2012, a class-action lawsuit held that eight SGC pastors, including Mahaney, had covered up sexual abuse in the church. Mahaney and the SGC claimed vindication when a judge dismissed the lawsuit for eclipsing the statute of limitations. In 2016, Immanuel Baptist Church repeatedly invited Mahaney to preach at its weekend services.

Denhollander says she told her church’s leaders this was inappropriate, as Mahaney had never acknowledged a failure to properly handle allegations of sexual abuse under his leadership. But the church ignored her, and when Denhollander went public with accusations against Larry Nassar in the Indianapolis Star, a pastor accused her of projecting her story onto Mahaney’s. When she persisted, he told her she should consider finding a new church. (Maheney did not respond to requests for comment.)

“It is isolating and heartbreaking to sit in a church service where sexual abuse is being minimized,” Denhollander says. “The damage done [by abuse] is so deep and so devastating, and a survivor so desperately needs refuge and security. The question an abuse survivor is asking is ‘Am I safe?’ and ‘Do I matter?’ And when those in authority mishandle this conversation, it sends a message of no to both questions.”

At an untold number of Christian churches and institutions, the silence on sexual abuse is deafening. Statistically, evangelical pastors rarely mention the issue from the pulpit. According to research from the evangelical publishing company LifeWay, 64 percent of pastors said they talk about sexual violence once a year, or even less than that. Pastors drastically underestimate the number of victims in their congregations; a majority of them guessed in the survey that 10 percent or less might be victims. But in 2016, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention found that 1 in 4 women (women make up approximately 55 percent of evangelicals) and 1 in 9 men have been sexually abused. There is no evidence suggesting those numbers are lower inside the church.

Those who do publicly preach on sexual abuse are often stunned by the response. Kathy Christopher, a pastor to women at Christian Assembly Church in Los Angeles, first spoke on the topic while sharing the story of her own abuse. Immediately, fellow survivors opened up about their experiences, Christopher says. “Sadly, my story was not an unusual story. It was heartbreaking to see how many people needed to talk about this trauma in their past.”

When a judge sentenced Nassar for molesting hundreds of young girls, Denhollander was there; she spoke at length in the courtroom, reminding Nassar that the Christian concept of forgiveness comes from “repentance, which requires facing and acknowledging the truth about what you have done in all of its utter depravity and horror, without mitigation, without excuse, without acting as if good deeds can erase” it.

It was a word of warning for a community that, writ large, has been complicit in minimizing or enabling rape, molestation and emotional abuse within its walls. Denhollander also said that one of the prices she paid for calling out Nassar was losing her church, referring to her experience at Immanuel Baptist.

When the pastors there saw Denhollander’s statement, they began to understand the damage they had done. In a statement released by email this week, the board said the church had sinned in its treatment of the Denhollanders and had sought their forgiveness. (Denhollander says she accepts the apology.) Officials also said that SGC pastors will no longer be speaking at their church while accusations against them remain unanswered. “In the last few months God has increased our sensitivity to the concerns of the abused,” the statement reads. “He has called us to look at our own shortcomings as pastors. He has allowed us to seek and receive forgiveness from those we have failed.”

Immanuel Baptist Church faced a choice, the same one before many American churches today: Face the sin in their midst and make the church a place that follows the biblical command to care for the powerless and victimized — or avoid the disruption and churn out another generation of silenced victims who learn, like Denhollander did, that the church isn’t safe.