#cs season three

[000marie198]

Oh-! I get why this Chaos Sonic was so much easier to beat!

Listen, Beepo could talk, this one can't. One of the major reasons Sonic was unable to make a dent on Beepo wasn't just its battle prowess and agility. It was the words!

Chaos Sonic constantly kept saying things that specifically either riled Sonic up or hurt him emotionally. He couldn't focus on the fight because he was focusing on what he heard, and CS struck to kill with what he said.

Words hurt more than swords afterall

[takadasaiko]

I've been rewatching Once Upon a Time lately and nearly a decade later, Quiet Minds still pisses me off. It's like Eddy and Adam went 'Hmm. We want Hook to be with Emma. What's the quickest and least thought-out way we can get Neal out of the way?' and instead of employing their reasoning and writing skills or even half a thought towards the deeper story being told they just said 'I know! We'll have Rumple absorb him, drive him mad, and then fast forward through reconciliations and bypass true emotion for cheap tricks! It'll be great!'

Bloody absurd. Only reason I bothered to continue on past that episode on the rewatch is for OutlawQueen. Because heaven knows they didn't know what to do with Rumple or Rumbelle for the most part after this.

[inke-ri]

idk if it's me being up at 3am during a night shift but something about the pilot of Once Upon a Time still really punches me in the gut, especially when the music picks up, the clock hand finally moves, and Henry smiles.

[loafysainz]

DADDY DUTY | CS 55

carlos sainz x fem!reader

no warn

I got inspired by a request where Charles/Carlos gets sick, and their y/n takes care of them—but I made a version where Carlos takes care of his baby instead. Thanks for the idea, sender! 🤍

Carlos had just come home from a long, exhausting F1 season. The moment he stepped into their house late at night, all he wanted was to collapse into bed. But as he entered the bedroom, his gaze softened.

There she was—Y/N, peacefully sleeping, curled up under the blankets. The dim glow from the bedside lamp illuminated her face, making her look even more delicate. Carlos felt a tug at his heart. She looked tired. No, more than that—she looked exhausted. And of course, she would be. She was carrying their second child, and pregnancy had been tough on her.

Instead of getting ready for bed immediately, he knelt beside her, just watching for a moment. His fingers brushed against her cheek, gentle and slow, as if afraid he might wake her. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then leaned in, pressing the softest kiss on her forehead. She didn’t stir, just let out a quiet sigh in her sleep. He smiled, a mix of love and guilt weighing on his chest. He had been away for too long.

After a few more seconds of just looking at her, he finally stood up and headed to the bathroom to shower. But even after cleaning up, he didn’t go to bed just yet. There was someone else he needed to see.

Carlos walked down the hall and pushed open the door to his daughter’s room. There she was, his little girl, fast asleep in her tiny bed, her long lashes resting against her chubby cheeks. She was three—almost four—but still his baby.

He crouched down and kissed her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, unable to help himself. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake up.

“Te extrañé, princesa,” he whispered, running a hand through her soft hair.

With one last look at his daughter, he finally returned to the master bedroom, climbing into bed beside Y/N. He wrapped his arm around her, careful but firm, holding her close without pressing against her stomach. She let out another soft sigh, unconsciously shifting closer to him. Carlos let out a deep breath, finally feeling at home.

***

The next morning, Y/N woke up first. She turned to see Carlos still fast asleep beside her. His face was relaxed, but the exhaustion was evident—dark circles under his eyes, the slight furrow in his brow even in sleep. Her heart ached a little. He had been running on fumes, and now that he was home, he finally allowed himself to rest.

Not wanting to disturb him, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Carlos stirred slightly, but instead of waking up fully, his arm tightened around her waist. His voice was raspy when he mumbled, “Stay a little longer. Still wanna cuddle.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh. He sounded so clingy, so unlike the Carlos the world saw. “I need to make breakfast,” she whispered. “our daughter will be wake up soon.”

Carlos groaned but didn’t let go. “Five more minutes. Please?” His voice was still thick with sleep, and he was being so dramatic about it.

Y/N sighed but smiled. “Fine. But just five.”

He hummed in approval, but before letting her go, he tapped his lips—a silent request. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully but leaned in, pressing another soft kiss against his lips. Only then did he loosen his hold, allowing her to slip out of bed.

But just as she stepped out of the room, a loud wail pierced through the quiet house.

Y/N’s heart dropped. That was their daughter.

She hurried down the hall and into her daughter’s room. The little girl was sitting up in bed, face scrunched up as she sobbed. Y/N’s concern deepened when she pressed a hand against her forehead—warm.

“Oh, baby,” she murmured, stroking her daughter’s back. “What’s wrong? Does something hurt?”

Her daughter only cried harder, arms reaching up. “Mommy… I want a hug…”

Y/N’s heart twisted. But she couldn’t. Not while she was pregnant.

“Baby,” she said softly, rubbing circles on her daughter’s back. “Mommy can’t hug you right now, There’s a baby in Mommy’s tummy. But how about I hold you in my lap instead? Will that be okay?”

But the little girl just wailed louder, her tiny fists gripping Y/N’s shirt. Tears pricked at Y/N’s eyes, hating that she couldn’t give her baby what she wanted.

The noise must have woken Carlos, because within seconds, he was at the door, hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was alert despite just waking up.

Y/N looked up at him, concern written all over her face. “She’s got a fever. And she wants to be carried, but I can’t…”

Carlos immediately crouched beside them, his hand brushing over their daughter’s forehead. He clicked his tongue. “You’re burning up, princesa.”

Their daughter sniffled but shook her head when Carlos reached out. “No… want Mommy…”

Carlos let out a small sigh, but instead of getting frustrated, he softened. “I know, sweetheart. But Mommy has to be careful with the baby, remember? How about Daddy carries you instead?”

The little girl whined, hesitating, still clutching onto Y/N. Carlos pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “Come on, just for a little bit? Mommy will still be here, I promise.”

After a few more sniffles, she finally relented, reaching for Carlos instead. He lifted her easily, cradling her close. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles on her back. “You scared Daddy for a second there.”

She buried her face in his neck, still sniffling. Carlos rocked her gently before looking at Y/N. “I’ll take care of her. You go rest.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, I’ll get the thermometer and some fever patches.”

Carlos didn’t argue. He just kissed the top of her head. “Okay. But after that, you rest.”

Y/N gave him a knowing look but smiled before heading off. Meanwhile, Carlos sat on the bed, still rocking their daughter gently, whispering soothing words.

[r3starttt]

STOCKINGS

PAIRING: Abby x Reader

SUMMARY: You made her a stocking

CW: tlou universe. sfw. fluff. lev included!! cs Abby is such a boy mom and ughh cute.

NOTE: For this fic Abby did not try to go and look for the fireflies again so the last fight with Ellie did not happen.

*Can you tell I love acts of service... can you tell I wrote this while listening to music for indigo...

TAGLIST: @twopeoplee @greysontheidiot @sapphic-ovaries @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @1-800-fantasy @prwttiestbunny @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @abbys-muscles @lott6i @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @fakevalentine

The cold floor hit your bare feet as you tiptoed your way toward a small chair near the bed, reaching for an old hoodie to shield yourself from the chill. Abby was still asleep, her steady breathing and quiet snoring letting you know she was deeply wrapped in the comfort of her cocoon. You didn’t have much time, though—she would wake the second the bed grew too cold and her arm could no longer find you, desperately pulling you closer to warm herself.

She lay on her stomach, one arm draped across the mattress, reaching into the warmth you’d left behind. The white sheet beneath her, its soft folds matching the pine-green ones above, held her gently. Loose strands of hair from her thick braid fell against the sides of her face, barely brushing her skin with each soft exhale. Her eyebrows, usually so bold, were peacefully soft, and her lips—plump and rosy—mirrored the flush of her cheeks. You couldn’t resist leaving a soft kiss near her ear, a gentle touch before you left the room.

Each step toward the door made you regret not putting on socks last night—maybe Abby’s old slippers would do. With your steps now messy and hesitant, you made your way downstairs. The worn wood creaked slightly beneath you, the house itself groaning in the quiet of the morning.

You had eventually made yourselves comfortable in this small house nestled in the heart of the woods, large enough for the three of you—Abby, Lev, and yourself. Together, you had worked tirelessly to make it a safe and secure place, not just from the infected, but from other, more dangerous people. You had made it a home.

You ensured that everyone felt welcome, particularly Lev. You took every opportunity to talk with him, to teach him what he hadn’t yet learned, and to share the things you loved—books, music, art—while helping him discover his own interests. And with Abby, your love deepened with every day she returned from her small patrols, always bringing back something for Lev—a plushie or a trinket—and for you, perhaps a new vinyl to play. She would ask you to show her the record, and later, you would listen together, the soothing classical music filling the house while you shared a quiet dinner.

As the months passed and your future materialized in the present, you found yourself gathering small gifts. It would be Lev’s first holiday, and Abby’s too, at least with you. The first time you would all celebrate Christmas together. You wanted it to be special, a way of thanking them for everything they had done for you. All the words Lev had shared when he realized you were just as broken as he was, and how, despite it all, he allowed you into his life. And Abby—your way of giving her the love she had always shown you, in the form of the most precious gift.

You knew Abby would appreciate it—celebrating the season was something she had learned from her father. She had told you once that receiving a gift was the way she could feel loved, a reminder that she was not a monster. And you wanted to show her that—wanted to remind her that she was seen, that she was loved, and that you all had each other.

Since the weather had turned colder, you’d offered to join in the patrols, even begging Abby to let you go outside. She always insisted it was too dangerous, but you knew you could take care of yourself, and somehow, you managed to sneak out on occasion. You gathered small things—some fabric, trinkets, and a few essentials. And when Abby took Lev to care for the animals you’d gathered, or when she napped after lunch, you’d use your quiet time to craft their gifts.

It wasn’t too difficult, given that they were often busy—Abby tending to the animals or decorating the little pine tree you’d dragged home from the nearby woods, with Abby’s approval, of course. You had to be careful, though, not to trust too easily that they would be distracted. But it worked.

The sight before you made your stomach flutter, like a child eager with excitement. Three stockings hung from the mantle, each chosen with care—yours in the middle. Beneath the homemade tree, a few gifts waited for everyone—unwrapped, because there wasn’t enough paper, but neatly arranged, placed with care just as the stockings were.

The next task was to light the fire, to warm the house and prepare breakfast, just as you had for months. It was small, but it had become part of your routine—after all, lunch and dinner were a family affair, something you all shared.

Once the food was ready, you made your way upstairs. The light from the cloudy sun streamed through the windows, warming the house with its yellow hues. You returned to the bed, noting that Abby was still asleep—though not for long, it seemed, as her lips were slightly parted and her breathing had shifted into quiet mumbling. You sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand and brushing the stray hairs from her face before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Abby... Abs—baby?" you murmured, tracing soft circles on her back, the rhythm calming her as her mumbling slowed.

"Abby..."

Her eyes opened slowly, clearly disoriented by the nightmare and the sudden waking, but you were quick to soothe her. "Shh, I’m here... It’s alright. You were dreaming."

She grasped your hand, groaning quietly before turning to face you, her face flushed with the softness of sleep, her lips plump and cheeks full. The sight made you smile, warmth blooming in your chest.

"Merry Christmas," she murmured, trying to pull you back into bed.

You chuckled softly, brushing your hair behind your ear. "Not yet..."

She rolled her eyes, laughing softly. "Is Lev awake yet?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep as she rubbed her eyes.

"I haven’t checked, but... probably not," you hummed in response, pausing to study her, to savor this moment of quiet contentment with the woman you loved. A slow, peaceful morning like this was a dream come true for many—and here you were, living it.

"Breakfast’s ready," you added, patting her stomach lightly.

You leaned in for a kiss, despite her typical aversion to those unshowered, still-groggy moments. But you couldn’t care less—she was the woman you loved, in all her unrefined beauty, even in these fleeting moments.

"See you downstairs, alright?" you murmured, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

She nodded, but you knew her well.

"Abigail... I’m serious."

She laughed quietly, rolling over and letting her arms fall to her sides as she stretched out. You left the door open as you moved to the curtains, letting the light in while ensuring Abby wouldn’t fall asleep again. You then made your way to Lev’s room, the blue walls of his space greeting you.

He was tangled in blankets, his back to you, but you gently brushed his shoulder, calling out in a soft whisper.

"Lev... morning."

"Morning," he murmured, his eyes still closed.

You smiled, the privilege of caring for this young boy—who still had so much ahead of him—filling your heart.

"Breakfast is ready, alright? Take your time." You caressed his shoulder before stepping out of his room, hearing Abby’s groan as she dramatically climbed from the bed.

"Did you take my shoes?" she called out loudly, too much for the quiet of the morning.

"Yep! I took your slippers," you teased, and Abby laughed quietly in response. She was falling in love with you all over again.

You went downstairs, retracing your steps from earlier, and settled on the couch, waiting for them to come down. Neither of them knew about the stockings or the gifts—it was supposed to be a small, intimate gesture, a simple way of celebrating the season. Just making food together, exchanging small self-made gifts—maybe a letter.

But as much as you were excited, there was a hint of anxiety too. What if it was too much? What if they didn’t like what you had chosen?

"What is that?" Abby’s voice broke you from your thoughts, and you turned to find her standing at the foot of the stairs, still in her pajamas, holding the railing for support.

Her eyes, illuminated in the soft morning light, met yours—she looked so precious.

"Did you seriously make us a stocking?" she whispered, so amused she barely seemed to believe it. Maybe she thought she was still dreaming.

"I did," you said, standing and moving toward her.

"You told me once that you wished someone loved you enough to make you one. I do... I love you."

The words hit her, and you watched as she fought back tears, her jaw clenching, her teeth biting at her bottom lip before she looked back at you.

"I didn’t... Come here." She opened her arms, and you stepped into them, feeling the weight of the moment settle in.

She buried her face in your neck, wrapping her arms around you as all her emotions—fear, love, anxiety—washed over her.

You were real, and so was this. She had someone who listened, who remembered her words, who cared enough to create something special—something that said, "I love you."

And as much as she feared that this day might bring painful memories of her father, the love that surrounded her now was taking up more space. This was hers—this love was real, and it was for her.

You felt Lev coming downstairs, his confused expression slowly softening as understanding spread across his face. You had told him about the stockings, explained what they meant one evening when you and Abby had talked about Christmas traditions.

Lev hesitated, cradling the fabric of the stocking in his hands. He peeked inside, then looked up at you for reassurance. With a nod from you, he carefully pulled out each gift, his eyes brightening with quiet joy.

There was nothing extravagant or meaningful in the traditional sense—but the gifts held things they liked, things they could use, things they wanted. They weren’t

about purpose, but about love. They were a reminder that you saw them, that you loved them, and that they were always safe in your arms.

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | 12.5

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 3k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, infidelity, suggestive/implied smut, indications of a toxic relationship, very broken relationship at this point actually, lots of back and forth, also pls remember i didn't put any hard dates to things that have happened so i couldn't tell u exactly what day, time and season iseul decided to be like this 🫤, crying, yelling, a sprinkle of violence (like a push, slamming hand against the wall, throwing objects), hints of manipulation and gaslighting

—on rotation: oceans & engines - niki | blame - bryson tiller

⇢ POSTDOC | EARLY YR 3

Love does not prevail.

Love does not conquer all.

San used to think it did, but as he's been sitting in his old room at his parents' home, he's realizing that wasn't the case for him. He tries, and he tries. He tries to make himself believe that it still can conquer all, and that it still can prevail. He tries to tell himself that it wasn't him, that he did no wrong. That this was just a fucking dream he's waiting to wake up from.

He tries to believe what he has is still love.

He tries to believe he is still worthy of receiving love and being loved; of not sitting in this heartache for long.

—FLASHBACK

San is exhausted, but he's excited to be coming home a whole day earlier than planned to surprise Iseul. He caught the next flight out as soon as his commitments during the conference had wrapped up, ready to come to his wife and be in her arms. He couldn't wait to hold her, kiss her, and shower her with love especially because they had been arguing lately. It's like that was the only form of communication they knew.

All he wanted was to stop— to make up and to give her everything, to have her back and to just be.. happy.

Why were they even fighting so much?

Iseul felt distant and he wasn't sure how to bring her back. But, he'd try his damn hardest. She was his wife and he loved her so. He would never give up no matter how hard it got.

It never used to be this way.

San picks up Iseul's favorite perfume from the Duty Free and stops by a quick flower stand to grab a small bouquet of roses. He calls an Uber that comes in less than 5 minutes— San gently setting his carry-on bag in the trunk before plopping into the backseat with the roses and perfume sitting on his lap. He texts Iseul as if he hasn't returned, trying to keep the surprise under wraps as much as possible. He's trying to see what she's up to and if she ate for dinner, but she hasn't responded.

Which, again, wasn't entirely uncommon behavior from Iseul.

But, since they had been fighting and arguing so much recently, the pauses and breaks in between texts seemed to be getting longer and longer— a tiny detail he refused to look at because it would unravel the rest of the problems he had been brushing under the rug;

Problems he stuck at the back end of a book.

He texted her close to three hours ago. 

San didn't really know why Iseul was so angry with him sometimes. She argued and she would say things that made him feel like something deep within her resented him more than loved him. He's aware he's not the best with his time management, he's aware that, sometimes, he makes her feel like she comes after everything else.

He's aware.

He'll acknowledge his mistakes and short-comings, but he'll always make up for it. He isn't perfect, but he'll always try. Always.

When the cab pulls up to the house, nothing feels unusual. He feels like he sees Yunho's car parked on the side street a house down, but that wouldn't be too unusual since he's always around. But, it does feel a little weird that he would be here when San wasn't home. The two had been really close as of lately, and it felt like Yunho had gotten closer to Iseul than he had been with San.

Yet, another tiny detail he refused to look into because of all the possibilities.

They could never.

San felt so naive, but they could never.

He gets inside the house and the living room TV is still on. Kinda loud, actually. There's two wine glasses sitting on the counter, both empty with remnants of red wine pooling at the bottom. San sets his work bag down before carrying his carry-on duffle upstairs with him, along with the flowers and perfume.

Funny that they aren't down here.

He climbs up the steps, wondering if Iseul was in the room and Yunho was busy doing something else? He can't come up with anything because there isn't really anything to do up here.

They're still nowhere to be found.

He feels his heart beating out of his chest.

Because he nears their door and Iseul is making those sounds she makes when San makes love to her. Except, she's a little louder this time. Throws in some giggles. At first, San thinks he's dreaming; that there's no way she could be doing this to him right now. 

There's no way. She was his wife.

She would never.

They would never.

Then, the door creaks open from the harsh breeze that comes in through the cracked window of the room. San gets a glimpse of the bed and the sheets are different. Things feel different.

And that's because they are. 

Everything is different, and everything will be different from here on out.

If only San knew that, if only he caught on earlier.

Would've saved his ass from the heartbreak that was about to be catered to him on a silver platter.

The sounds are indeed leaving Iseul's lips, and as soon as San pushes the door open, he almost wished it could have been anybody else if this were literally the circumstances that were meant to find him. If this was going to happen either way, he really wished it was somebody else. Because why is he watching Yunho grip Iseul's hips the way he normally would when she's on top? 

Why is he looking at her the way he is— like she's everything to him, like she holds all the answers he's been looking for, like he.. loves her.

San doesn't even know what to say at first, he doesn't even process this. He just drops his things to the ground, along with Iseul's perfume and the flowers. The thud is enough to make them turn their attention towards the door, immediately pulling on the sheets when Iseul hops off of him.

They look at him in shock.

What was he doing here?

Ironic, San has the same question.

"You two actually can't be serious." He says close to a whisper, a pathetic chuckle leaving his lips because what in the actual hell is going on? "You can't be serious." He repeats, but this time, his tone is laced with disbelief, confusion. Anger. "You can't be serious!" His tone rises.

"W-why are you here? I-I thought you weren't coming home for another day."

"Oh, so that's how you'd be filling in your time while I'm away?" He scoffs angrily. "I should've known, I should've fucking known!" He's yelling now, and he hasn't yelled like this ever. "You couldn't even save me from all this fucking mess?!" He aggressively runs his hand down his face, hands placed on his hips as he paces around. Not even sure where the fuck to look while Yunho and Iseul are scrambling to get themselves together and out of the damn bed.

The damn bed he shares with his wife.

"San— I can—" 

"What the fuck can you explain?!" He grabs the closest thing to him, which happens to be the tiny vase full of fresh lavender that Iseul bought recently and throws it against the wall in pure rage, frustration. "Huh?! What the fuck can you possibly explain, Iseul! Do you think I'm stupid? Do you take me as a dumbass?" He pounds his hand against the wall near the doorway.

He scares himself. 

He has never been this angry.

He has never felt himself feel so different and worked up, almost borderline toxic, in a relationship. It feels so wrong, it feels so unhealthy. Unlike him.

"How long?" He mutters.

"It was just—"

"How long!" He yells again, and it startles Iseul and Yunho.

"A month or so." Maybe he shouldn't have asked. There's so much uncertainty in her tone, she can't even remember the exact time this all began.

It all blended.

It was a blur.

It could've been more. Feels like. Yunho gives her a look and it's obvious.

She's lying.

"I should've known. I should've known. I should've known." San keeps repeating to himself, tears are streaming down his cheeks even though he's more livid than anything.

"I'll just go—"

"No, you stay. I'll go." He almost growls lowly at Yunho.

"San—" Iseul calls for him. All of a sudden. 

"No, don't. Don't call for me because you weren't doing that before. This is it, Iseul. You don't get to call me, you don't get to ask me to do anything. You don't need me! Stick with him since that's what's been happening all along. Aren't I right? You two really deserve each other."

"San." Yunho sighs, slipping into his shirt as San is about to head out of the door. 

"We should really just talk about this—" 

"What the fuck is there to talk about?! What is wrong with the both of you, wasn't that enough of an explanation?" Yunho mistakenly places a hand on his shoulder to try and get him to turn back, but San pushes him with so much force that Yunho stumbles against the drawer and causes a frame to tumble and fall to the ground. "Don't touch me." He glares at Yunho, eyes glazed over as hot tears brim his lids. "Do not touch me ever again. I don't need any explanations, I don't need anything." He swallows the lump in his throat. "I'm done with the both of you." He slips the ring off of his finger and tosses it near the bed, letting it land on the floor as it slips down the sheets. "Have it, Iseul. Take it all. That's what you do best." He is barely able to get out. "I'll come back to grab things when you aren't around."

"San!" She cries for him, slipping on her robe to chase after him. Yunho grabs her by the wrist and tries to stop her, shaking his head as a way to tell her to let it go. She quickly eyes the roses and the perfume near the bed, causing her to snatch her wrist out of his grip. She heads down the stairs and continues to call for San even though he's already in his car and about to pull out of the garage.

She cries as she frustratingly runs her hands through her hair, unsure of how she could try to salvage her marriage.

How could she bring him back?

—END

He checks the time and realizes Iseul won't be around the house right now due to some lab dinner she's attending. He still sees her calendar linked to his and he's close to deleting it, but he needs to grab the rest of his things before he can do so. They haven't really talked about that night because she's good at playing her game. She's tried, and she's tried.

She keeps crying for him, calling for him.

She came back running right after the whole thing. Then, they fought. She ran back to Yunho. 

Came back. 

It makes him so confused and so, so tired to be dancing in circles. He might be dumb for falling for it every time, especially when things clearly haven't changed. Why does he have to fight for a spot with Yunho? 

He was her husband.

He shouldn't have to.

What else could she possibly want from him? 

He was done with this. He was tired, and he was done.

His parents aren't home either [thank god, he can't take another second of them nagging and prying], so he swipes his keys off the counter and leaves with haste. He's trying to avoid a run-in with Iseul because all he wants to do is grab his shit and leave in peace.

He doesn't even know what's gonna happen to the house, he's not even sure if he would want it should she give it up in the end. Every corner is gonna be painted with her face, even Yunho's, when it was meant to be a happy home for two people.

Them.

San sighs heavily as he makes the trek down to the house, which is kinda far but he doesn't mind the drive. It's peaceful, it's relaxing; it calms his nerves. He blasts his music through the speakers, zipping through the highway and the streets before pulling up to the garage. The house is dark and Iseul's car is nowhere to be found. He quickly slips out of the car and unlocks the door, stepping out of his shoes before climbing up the steps to the room. There are some unwashed dishes in the sink and the flowers sitting in the vase have wilted away.

The candle hasn't been replaced with a new one.

The throw blanket on the couch is falling off the edge.

When he gets upstairs, some of Iseul's drawers aren't completely shut. The closet door isn't closed. Her laundry is still unfolded and at the end of the bed they once shared. Sheets are different again, but this time, they're a dull pale baby blue. The extra sheets her mom gifted them when they had first moved in.

Since that night, Iseul hasn't placed flowers in the room. Their pictures are gone.

The shutters remain close. 

All signs of a broken and cold home.

He tries not to pay attention to the feeling settling in his stomach right now— after all, he's on a mission to grab some things and go. He throws a few things into his duffle bag, making sure to grab some extra socks and boxer briefs to last him until his next trip to the house. He's got enough clothes that he could mix and match with so he thinks he's good.

He thinks he's set, and he thinks he managed to slip by unnoticed again.

Except, he hears the front door shut when he heads down the steps. 

"San?" She asks for him softly. He slowly heads down the rest of the stairs and turns the corner to see her standing there. She doesn't look too happy, nor does she look like she's been able to sleep well recently. But, he doesn't think it's fair to put the blame on him for all of that. She did this to them. "Hey."

"I'm done grabbing clothes, I'll be out of your way—" She stops in front of him and he tries to take another step to the side, which was also unsuccessful.

"Wait, why don't you just stay? Aren't you tired of doing this?" He furrows his brows and subtly shakes his head.

"Aren't you, Iseul? I don't know what you want from me."

"San, I'm sorry." Iseul starts to cry to him, making him tear up in return. But, he can't. He's done. He doesn't wanna do this anymore. He deserves better. He's crying because he's exhausted, not because he wants her back or because he misses what he had with her. It's too much of painful memory to even reminisce about. He is just tired. "Please. I'm sorry, I just want you. I don't wanna do this anymore, I— we can fix this, can't we? We can go to counseling and fix this."

"Iseul, no." He pries her off of him, tears streaming down his cheeks. "No, we can't. There isn't anything to fix."

"Don't say that." She almost whines. "I'm sorry, San. Please just— please don't do this. I'm not gonna give this up."

"What makes you think you haven't already? No." He repeats. "You chose that night and you made your decision. You decided to start that whole thing with Yunho, and you decided to let him stay. You let me go, and I don't deserve all of this bullshit, Iseul." He places his hand out to keep his distance when she tries to grab for him once more. "Why can't you stop? Don't you see how fucked up this is?" He cries. "I don't wanna do this anymore. I'm so fucking tired. So please, no. I don't want this, please stop putting me through this." He begs. The tears continue to stain his cheeks even as he licks his lips and swallows dryly. He watches as Iseul sobs into her hands and falls to her knees on the floor, but he has nothing else to say.

Nothing left of him to give.

"San."

"I'm gonna go." He whispers, gaining the courage to step aside her and slip into his shoes, walking out as the pain burns him deep in his chest hearing Iseul continuously sob into her hands. When he plops into the driver's seat, he tosses his duffle bag off to the side and lets out a shaky sigh. He continues to cry to himself, digging his own head into his hands before he gathers himself and turns on the car. He doesn't think he should drive right now, but he just wants to go home and be in his own peace. So, he speeds off; though, the world feels like it's caving in on him.

For a second, San thought he deserved all of this. He felt so fucking sorry for himself because he thought he deserved every bit of the hurt, the betrayal, that came his way. Every time he thinks about it, it slices his wounds open all over again, and he feels sick to his stomach.

The pain burns.

His chest feels tight.

He almost feels like he can't breathe.

Because in the end, he learned the hard way.

Love does not prevail.

Love does not conquer all.

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[endereies]

FALLING FOR YOU - CS

No Nut November - Day 11

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ When you and Chris go on a hike, you manage to injure yourself slightly

Hiking wasn’t exactly a hobby of yours, while nature always looked so beautiful, you found yourself watching purely documentaries to get the taste of the outdoors. That was until your boyfriend came beaming to you.

“Baby!” Chris practically barged into your room, phone shining brightly in the unlit room. Without a word, he placed his phone in your hands, the screen showing a beautiful trail.

“A new trail at the park got built! It hikes around in a loop and shows off all the autumn trees that are in season. Just like those shows you watch.” He wasn’t wrong, it highlighted the most beautiful trees that were around the huge park central, and for once you were enticed to go.

So, the next morning, on a spontaneous whimsey, you both headed down to the hike trail. For somewhere so new an advertised, you were sure to find a load of people, yet it seemed fairly limited. Neither you nor Chris complained as it gave a more peaceful atmosphere so you could admire the scenery.

The floors were coated in leaves, varying in sizes, shapes and colour. A small collection grew in your arms before too many were being eyes, and even more were crumpling another in our grip. The trail had fenced linings on parts what needed the extra assistance, yet the majority was rocky pathways that embraced the natural range.

“This is even prettier when you’re in person” You looked around the shielded pathway to find blooming trees and flowers line the fencing as if it was a movie.

“Agreed- woah!” Easily distracted from conversation, Chris went slightly off the directed route and picked up a large stick from a tree. With a small yank, it broke off the remaining centimetre of wood and slid down to his feet. Then he picked it up and placed it on his shoulder.

Multiple impressions and giggles followed the pair of you, laughter emitting whenever Chris held facial expressions. The stick was easily three times the height of Chris and caused for several sensible and dick jokes to take place.

With the slight distraction, you stumbled with laughter, hoping to find the fencing to grip on to. When that failed to happen, your ankle forced itself down a sharp edge of a rock, scraping off a layer of skin from the surface.

Immediately, the stick was tossed and discarded down the edge of the pathway. Chris’ frame was quick to be by yours, bending down to where you were sat on the rock. The dirt didn’t matter as you both looked at the sides of your ankle leading up to your skin.

It wasn’t anything nasty, the tint of blood shining though the cracked skin layer, but it gave a nasty sting. A wince left your lips as your boyfriend helped you to your feet.

“Shit, are you alright?” His arm was tucked loosely under yours, letting you push on it if need be.

“Yeah, I am… Just stings like a fucking bitch though.” A tinge of guilt ran through Chris’ brain at the recall of what happened before the fall. “Sorry my love, I shouldn’t have done that.”

You smiled at the thoughtfulness and idiocy of the boy. “Chris, it wasn’t your fault, I clearly didn’t look where I was going. Don’t blame yourself for making me laugh.”

You both fell silent, however when you met eye contact, laughter passed through the air. Once you clarified you weren’t hurt by anything, the stupidity seeped through to your minds.

“Of course, something goes wrong with your clumsiness.” Chris could not keep a straight face as he spoke, not even looking away from you helped.

“Oh shush, I’ll push you don’t there if you’re not careful.

“At least all the races will be won by me.” It hadn’t even been two minutes yet and he was already pulling out the injury card

“You fucking wish.”

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckers @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @zariyamitchell-blog @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @slutf4rmatt @flouvela @lovesturni0l0s @2prcntmilkluvr @ribread03

© ENDEREIES 2024

[wendylianmartin]

Good evening Miss Wendy, a few minutes ago I was talking with a friend about the castle swimmer, and suddenly he told me "I feel like Wendy is trying to tell us something, or she's telling us something and we don't realize it" and from there I remembered, A few weeks ago I was talking to a girl, making theories about Cs, and she told me that perhaps you gave us some hint about something that would happen in Cs with the image that I will put here.

And he told me that sometimes artists made illustrations about their comics or something, and that in that drawing they put things that at first don't make sense, but that as the story progresses they make sense. You published that image in 2021.

And then I told him that the image above might be Kappa.

But then I told him that that image, as it is, as far as I remember, we haven't seen it in Castle Swimmer,

And then I came up with the theory that maybe we'll see her in season four, But in an environment where there are people identical to Kappa

That might answer the question about the scroll that Kappa found in the tree that is with the whales* But I told her that maybe the people who are identical to Kappa are like Galoo's ancestors (The topic she mentioned about some of her ancestors having powers just like her)

When I say that I don't mean that "the ancestors of Kappa" had powers, I mean that some had the ability to fulfill prophecies, just like Kappa Since I do not believe that Kappa is the only enlightened one that exists or existed Since there are prophecies that it is much more than 20 years old (the age that Kappa is, from what you have told us 👀)

(another scroll theory) It would be that, many years before, some Kappa ancestors had met, and among them one who fulfilled prophecies, and that they had created that scroll to be passed down through generations, or they had simply thrown it around, to see who found it (that's what Fizz's sister said when Kappa asked her for help reading it, "we don't know who brought it, nor if it's real*) I don't know if I'm just crazy, or maybe I need to see what happens in season 4 😥

Here is the image that said *

So there is some hidden meaning in this image! There are three figures in the ‘mural’ behind kappa. The one in the middle represents kappa. The one on the left represents Siren and the one on the right represents neth.

The ‘orbs’ they are holding represents the prophecies and also the three hearts they share.

The whole ‘sharing three hearts’ things was an idea I’ve had since the original ‘kappa’ version of the webcomic so it gets referenced vaguely a lot lol.

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: The Witch in the Woods (3/?)

Summary: “If it’s aid of a magical sort ye seek, then you’ll be wanting to find the witch in the woods.”

A/N: Marking off another bingo square - shhhhh, I don't care if it isn't spooky season any longer. I go where the muse leads.

Shout out to @kmomof4 for giving this a once over and for putting up with my wild ass plotting for potential future installments.

Rated T (for now?) / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One / Part Two

Part Three

Begrudgingly, Emma pulled her lips away from the pirate's. Though she would love nothing more than to give in to the temptation that had been simmering between them since he strolled into her cottage, she had to keep her wits about her. She had been burned by charm and guile before and could not risk being wrong about the man currently making promises with grand gestures of his own, regardless of what her instincts were telling her.

“That was…” the pirate murmured, chasing her lips with an eager and desperate need to claim them once more.

“A one time thing,” she told him, vanishing from his grasp and rematerializing on the deck below where she could look over the side to the shimmering water they were currently sailing over in midair.

“Have I done something to vex you?” the pirate - Killian Jones - inquired, not quite able to mask the disappointment in his nonchalant tone.

“No,” she replied, her attention still set on the waters below. “I just cannot afford for either of us to get distracted. There is too much at stake. For both of us.”

A moment of silence passed before the pirate hummed and said, “Too right, love. Forgive me.”

“You hardly need my forgiveness,” she said, turning around to finally face him and startled by the fact he was no longer at the helm but casually leaning against the mast with his arms and ankles crossed. How had he moved without her notice? She must be more distracted than she thought.

“Perhaps not.” He shrugged and uncrossed his arms, his fingers toying with the tip of his hook as he added, “But what I do need--” he hedged, his eyes flicking up and connecting with hers in a way that had her breath stilling in her chest. “--is an explanation.”

“An explanation?” she parroted. “An explanation of what?”

Pushing away from the mast, he sauntered towards her, the movement of his hips and the sway of his great coat mesmerizing her as he approached.

“An explanation of how your boy ended up in Pan’s clutches,” he said, shaking her from her fascination. “If I… we… are to get him back, then I need to know your past dealings with Pan.”

“Why?” she asked defensively.

“Pan is cunning,” he reminded her. “I must know his motives for taking your boy so I can be prepared for any and all scenarios. Any tricks he may have up his sleeve. Plus,” he added, his gaze intense and earnest, “the reason for why Pan took him may well help narrow down where on the island he is keeping him. The more I know, the better chance we have in finding and rescuing the lad.”

Emma scrutinized his features and demeanor, her eyes flickering between his, looking for any sign of duplicity between his words and his intentions. Finding his motives to be pure, she let out a heavy breath and confessed, “It’s a bit of a tale.”

Glancing up at the constellations above them, Killian assured her, “We’ve got some time.” Bringing his eyes back to hers, he suggested, “Perhaps it is a tale best shared over fortifying spirits? I have a wide variety of night cap offerings in my quarters.”

Emma arched her brow and tilted her head at him in an accusatory fashion. Raising his hand and hook in supplication, he professed, “I swear to be on my best behaviour, love. Nothing untoward, I assure you.”

Again, she waited for any hint of deception or ulterior motives to make their way to the surface, but her waiting was in vain. It seemed the pirate meant what he said and he only wished to hear the tale that had led to her acquiring his services. So he might be sufficiently equipped to meet his end of their bargain.

Their bargain, she scoffed silently to herself. Another bargain. Another deal. Another accord made with an unsavory sort.

She just hoped that by the end of their journey, the story they would make along the way would not become yet another cautionary tale.

“It all began with my own folly,” she told him, gesturing towards what she assumed was his cabin and following after him, only continuing after she’d crossed the threshold into his quarters.

“I was young and foolish. Only thirteen and new to my powers with no one to train me.”

Killian poured them both a portion of spirits then invited her to take a seat at the stateroom table. Sinking down into his own seat beside her, he turned his body into hers, and encouraged her to continue.

“Worried what I might do if I did not get my powers under control, I sought help from the one person I knew I should not.”

“Who was that, love?” he asked.

His gaze was tender, his posture open and relaxed. He must have sensed reliving this tale would take its toll on her and was, therefore, doing all he could to make her feel supported and secure. She appreciated it more than she could say, which was why it pained her to see the change in him when she answered.

“The Dark One,” she stated, hollowly. “I made a deal with the Dark One.”

~/~

Fifteen years ago…

The frigid, winter wind sliced through Emma, chilling her to the bone and making her teeth chatter. She tightened the thread-bare shawl around her small frame and mustered the courage that had waxed and waned many times over on her way to the clearing.

She knew it was mad, but what other choice did she have?

Drawing in a deep breath, one that set fire to her lungs and nearly froze her vocal chords, she closed her eyes and cast all caution to the biting winds.

“Dark One, I summon thee!”

The ground beneath her began to shake. Birds that had been roosting in nearby trees squawked and screeched as they took flight, fleeing the area on quick wings as scampering sounds of creatures rustled through the brush made their own escape. From the dais, a black, viscous mire began to seep up from the grates and form into something the approximate size and shape of a man. When the dark ooze receded, a cloaked figure remained.

The figure of the Dark One.

Pulling back the hood of his cloak, the vessel of the Darkness appraised her for a moment before snapping in a sharp, irritated tone, “I haven’t got all day, dearie.”

Repulsed by the unnatural shimmer of his skin and the way his eyes seemed to pierce into her very soul, it took Emma a moment to find her voice.

“I… I’ve come to seek your help. I’ve come to make a deal.”

“Believe it or not,” he quipped with a disparaging and scornful expression, “I had worked that out for myself.” Stepping off the dais, he began to circle her as he questioned, “What makes you think I would be interested in making a deal with the likes of you?” When he stopped in front of her, his serpent-esque eyes searching the fearful jade of her own, something in his demeanor shifted. “Oooooohhhhhh,” he drawled, his interest sharpening in an unsettling way. “I see. Finding it difficult to wield all that new found power, aren’t you, dearie?”

“Y-Yes,” Emma stammered, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact and dropping her gaze to her feet.

“And you have no one to train you? No one to take you under their wing and care for a whittle cygnet such as yourself?”

The beast’s taunting tone ignited a spark of anger within her and before she could do anything to try and stop it - not that it would have mattered, seeing as her lack of control was why she was there in the first place - her magic pulsed and caught one of the trees on the edge of the clearing on fire.

“Oh, ho!” the Dark One cheered, clapping his hands together in a maniacal fashion. “You are a wonder!”

“No!” Emma shouted in parts fear and frustration. “No, I’m not! I’m a danger! I don’t know what I’m doing! I didn’t even know I had magic until--”

“Until you came of age at your last birthday?”

“Yes,” Emma replied, chewing on her lip briefly, before sharing, “I turned thirteen this past fall, and suddenly…” She held up her hands, the glow of her magic always present within her palms, like a powder keg ready to explode at even the slightest spark. “I was turned out of the place I’ve been raised since I was an infant and have nowhere to go. No way to make a way for myself, unless…”

“Unless?” the Dark One prodded, his countenance coiling like a snake ready to strike, his nose twitching as though he could smell the desperation coming off of her.

“Unless I can find a way of harnessing my magic so I can use it to make a living. Please,” she begged. “I’ll give you a portion of my earnings for however long you wish if you’ll help me master my power.”

The Dark One brought his hand up and placed it thoughtfully against his face, giving off the appearance that he was considering her proposal.

“As much as I would love to take on another apprentice,” he began in an insincere tone. “I’m afraid my dance card is full.”

“Wait!” Emma cried when he lifted his hand in preparation of whisking himself away. “Please! There must be something you can do. Some magic you can provide that will help me. Name your price. If it is within my ability to give, then it is yours!”

“Anything?”

“Yes!” Emma agreed. “Anything.”

“Well,” the Dark One dramatized. “There is something I could give you to help bring your magic to heel.” A swirl of dark smoke with shades of deep purple and maroon manifested in the Dark One’s palm. When it dissipated, a small scroll, tied with a black ribbon, was left in its wake. “This,” he said, holding up the scroll and shuffling it through his fingers, “contains an incantation that will immediately calm your powers and give you mastery over them as though you’d spent decades in training, but,” he clipped, tossing the scroll into the air and catching it tightly in his fist. “I warn you. It comes with a steep price.”

Wetting her lips, Emma eyed the end of the ribbon peeking out from the Dark One’s clenched fist and asked, “Whatever it costs, I’ll find a way to pay it.”

The Dark One’s face contorted as a wild, sinister grin spread across his face. “I do love a desperate soul,” he sneered, holding out the scroll for her to take.

“What about the price?” she asked, taking the scroll and holding it tightly within her grip.

“When the time comes,” he said, a disturbing gleam shimmering from his reptilian gaze. “I will come to collect.”

“Why can’t you collect it now?” she asked, wishing to be done with the entire affair and not relishing the idea of ever having to see him again.

“You’re not yet ready to provide me my price,” he told her, his eyes flicking downward then hurriedly back up again. “I dare say it’ll be a few years, but fear not…” He backed away, slithering towards the dais as he gave her one last promise, “I always keep my bargains.”

Smoke engulfed the Dark One, leaving behind only the echo of his impish giggle and the sinking feeling with Emma that she may have just made a terrible mistake.

~/~

“What was the price,” Hook inquired, knowing it had to have been something horrible, something reprehensible if the crocodile had refused to disclose it at the crafting of their deal.

Throwing back the reminder of the drink he’d poured for her, the witch sucked in against the burn it likely left in her throat and replied, “My first born child.”

“What?” Hook exclaimed, shooting up from his seat so he could pace the length of his cabin. He never considered that her son was a mere infant, nor that the Dark One would have enlisted Pan to--

“He’s not a baby anymore,” Emma told him. “He turned ten this past summer.”

Unaware that he had said those things aloud, Hook scratched at the back of his ear and sheepishly apologized.

“I am sorry for my outburst.” Resuming his seat he asked, “If the Dark One did not come for the boy when he was born then--”

“I learned of his scheme and managed to hide myself away before he was born,” she said. “Despite his attempt to manipulate and entrap me into paying the price.”

“I do not understand,” Hook responded, his confusion pinching his brows and underpinning his words. “How did the Dark One manipulate and entrap you?”

Emma reached over and picked up the decanter he had placed upon the table and refilled her glass. After setting it back down, she stared at the way the amber liquid swirled in its container before imparting, “I suspect he kept tabs on me somehow,” she said in a faraway voice. “It’s the only way he could have known of all the proposals and propositions I’d received and rejected. The only way he could have discovered that I had no intentions of ever marrying or having a child, thereby making it necessary to send someone with the intentions of wooing me, bedding me, and impregnating me so he could claim his precious price.”

Seething, Hook inquired between clenched teeth, “Who? Who did he send? Who did that to you, love?”

“His son,” she supplied, her eyes still lingering on the swirling amber.

“Baelfire?” he blurted out, absolutely stunned.

A sentiment she also shared, evident from the way she blanched and flicked her gaze up to his.

“Y-You know him?”

“Aye,” he told her. “That is… I knew him. Once. When he was a boy not much older than yours.” Shaking his head, he poured himself another drink and mused, “I often wondered what had become of him after Pan let him go, but never would I have imagined--”

“Let him go?” Emma interjected. “What do you mean, let him go?”

“From Neverland,” he answered. “Bae landed there some time after his father had abandoned him in a portal. He remained for many years until, one day, Pan instructed me to return him to the Enchanted Forest.”

“When was that?”

Hook shrugged and tried to calculate the time. It was difficult to keep track of such things when time stood still in one realm and moved differently between others.

“Nevermind,” she said, waving off her question. “It does not matter now, I suppose.”

“Aye,” Hook agreed. “Although, given what I knew of what Baelfire thought of his father, I find it difficult to believe he would work with him to betray you in such a way.”

“I know little of their relationship,” she told him, hollowly. The wall he’d seen her erect several times within their brief acquaintance was once more established upon its foundation in an attempt to separate herself from the emotional turmoil threatening its ramparts.

“All I know is…” She swallowed heavily then took a fortifying breath so she could continue on with an unaffected tone and composed countenance. “He took me for a fool. Made me believe his declarations of love were sincere and his desire to spend our lives together was real.”

In spite of her efforts, he could see her struggling, her eyes glistening with angry tears she refused to let fall, her last few words choked off by the tight ball of emotion forming in her throat.

“When did you learn the truth?” he asked, keeping his tone as gentle as he could despite his own feelings of outrage.

Clearing her throat, she turned her face upward and blinked back the treachery blurring her vision before bringing her gaze back to his. “I overheard him one night,” she began in a clipped tone of rancor. “He was talking with someone in the other room, but when I peered around the corner, I did not see anyone. It took me a moment to realize he was communicating through mirror magic.”

“Mirror magic?” Hook replied in surprise. “The Bae I knew abhorred magic.”

It struck Hook that this fact should have been the tip off that there was something fishy about their relationship. The lengths to which the lad had gone to flee his father and avoid Pan, both powerful purveyors of magic, not to mention his wariness of Tink, a former fairy, had made the boy’s feelings on the subject quite clear.

“Yeah, I, uh… learned that later,” she told him with a slight shake to her head as she mused, “I still don’t understand how he was able to deceive me for so long.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself, love,” Hook replied, a pang of guilt stabbing him in the gut. “He was an excellent pupil whilst in my charge and I can only imagine the lessons Pan and his father taught him after he left my tutelage.” Running his tongue over his teeth, he shifted in his seat and confessed, “I taught him all I knew of piracy and… duplicity and skulduggery are part and parcel of a pirate’s life.”

The feel of her hand over his snapped his gaze from the floor to their hands to her eyes, bright green and swirling with understanding, forgiveness, and a measure of amusement.

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Captain,” she parroted back to him. “I’m normally very good at knowing when someone is lying to me… even pirates.” With her other hand, she reached into the front of her bodice and produced a pendant etched with a swan motif. “And after Baelfire’s betrayal, I made sure to never fall victim to whatever tactics he used to skirt that skill.” Holding out the pendant between them, she said, “So, I enchanted this charm to alert me of when people aren’t being honest. To remind myself never to trust blindly again.”

Hook watched the pendant swing from her grip with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, love.”

“Don’t be,” she responded, tucking the pendant back into her bodice and pulling her other hand from his. “It’s kept me and my son safe… or rather, it did for a time.”

“Aye,” Hook sighed, grieved at the loss of her touch. “Tell me more about that. You said you overheard Bae communicating with someone over mirror magic. Who was it?”

“His father,” she told him with a heavy dose of disgust on her tongue. “Although, I did not know the Dark One was his father at the time. I simply heard him telling Rumplestiltskin that the deed was done, and in a few more months, my debt would be paid.”

“Tell me you turned the traitorous bastard into a toad,” Hook sneered, taking Baelfire’s treachery personally for a number of reasons.

Emma snorted and scoffed, rolling her eyes before admitting, “I was tempted, believe me, but… I knew I needed him to think he’d won. I needed time to plan my next move.”

She went on to tell him how she had played dumb and waited for the right moment to make her escape. During that time, she’d discovered the lengths he’d gone to, the depth of his depravity and deceit. He’d slipped her a tonic that had rendered her efforts to avoid pregnancy useless; he then used a rudimentary spell - created by his father, no doubt - on her to hide the truth of her condition from her until it was too late.

“By the time I ran, I was nearly seven months gone. It was quite a shock when I finally removed the glamour and could see things for how they truly were.”

“I cannot even begin to imagine,” Hook attempted to empathize. “How did you manage to stay hidden from them? The Dark One’s power is--”

“Blinded by its own hubris,” she told him. “I simply defied his expectations and relied on the common distrust and scorn of the people to assist me.”

“I’m not sure I follow what you mean, love.”

Reaching into the pocket of her cloak, she pulled out a leather cuff and placed it on the table. “The Dark One expected me to use magic in order to conceal myself. Wards, glamours, maybe some blood magic, so… I chose to do none of those. Instead, I used the scroll the Dark One had given me long ago to fashion this-” she tapped the cuff with her finger “-then slipped it on.”

Picking up the molded leather piece, Hook inspected it closely as he inquired, “What does it do?”

“It makes the wearer incapable of using magic by absorbing the power into itself.”

Astonished, Hook’s eyes snapped to hers. “What? You… You…”

“Gave up my magic?” she replied. “Yes. I did.” Taking the cuff from his hand, she put it back in her pocket and added, “I changed my appearance and hid us in plain sight, without my magic giving me away.”

“What of your boy? Surely the Dark One would have means to suss out his own blood.”

The witch gave him a cunning smile before sharing, “I fashioned a similar cuff for him as well. One that concealed his identity from dark magic and grew with him.”

“Did the cuffs not exude a power of their own that may have alerted the Dark One to--”

“Many people own enchanted objects,” she reminded him. “You, yourself, own an enchanted pirate ship and…” raising her hand, palm outward, she focused on his person, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk as she said, “a flask that never empties?”

Hook reached up and scratched behind his ear. “Well, one never knows how long between errands one might be. Would be a shame for the rum to run out.”

“Indeed,” she chortled. The two of them shared a moment of myrth before sobering once more.

There was still more of the tale to be told.

“For nearly a decade we evaded detection, but just before my son, Henry, turned ten years old we were warned that the Dark One and his son had enlisted the help of one more formidable.”

“Pan,” Hook spat out in disgust. Schooling his features, he asked, “Who gave you this information?”

“The Blue Fairy,” Emma answered. “She was the first I called upon for help after I left Baelfire. It was she who instructed me on how to fashion the cuffs.” Taking in a deep breath, she exhaled on a heavy breath, “And it was she who told me the history and connection of the members of the perfidious family I had entangled myself with. The one my son descends from and will forever have to contend with… assuming we are successful in retrieving him.”

“We will be,” Hook vowed emphatically, earning him a sad smile that mirrored the melancholy in her eyes.

Eyes that quickly became piercing as they swirled with a desperate sort of pleading. “Tell me you have a plan.”

“I’m working on it, love,” he promised her. A promise he knew would likely give her little comfort. “I need to know more, though,” he prompted. “How and when was your boy taken? Have you had any contact with him or Pan or Bae or the Dark One?”

“Henry was…” she began, her words strained and choked. “He was taken the eve of his birthday. His entire life, I remained vigilant. On the lookout for any hint of Baelfire or the Dark One. Any spy. Any scout. Any sign that they may have found us or had succeeded in turning one of our neighbors against us. I was focused on people. I never even considered the threat a shadow might pose.”

Hook shuddered at her words. Pan’s shadow. His spectre of an errand boy, an umbra assassin, and silhouette spy. He’d had his own run-ins with the being; ones he would rather not dwell upon. No boy should ever have to face the manifestation of something so unnatural.

“When I went in to check on Henry before turning in that night, all I found was an open window, his leather cuff, and a note.”

“What did it say?”

“The Dark One lies, the Dark One tricks, but Pan always wins.”

An errant tear managed to slip past her lashes and slowly began to trail down her cheek. Catching it with the pad of his thumb, Hook took her face in his hands and vowed, “Not this time, love. I can promise you that. Not this time.”

Part Four - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@bluewildcatfanatic @scotchiegirl @jonesfandomfanatic @idristardis @lfh1226-linda

@paradiselady19 @phoenix-untamed @jackieorioncat @tiganasummertree @snowbellewells

@brucethegirl @superchocovian @jennjenn615 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kmomof4

@the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @zaharadessert @caught-in-the-filter @motherkatereloyshipper

@earanemith @captainodonoghue @jrob64 @djlbg @wyntereyez

@kday426 @gingerchangeling @winterbaby89 @cocohook38

[i-wish-this-was-me]

Favorite fics (Charles):

1.Charles Leclerc:

Deserving (fluff)

Something full (+PG) (Smut)

Him taking your virginity (smut)

So mean to me (smut)

Marked (smut)

Too much (car sex) (smut)

Shut up and make your choice (smut)

Pretty when you cry (smut)

Crying eyes (smut)

Just relax (+CS) (smut)

Love yourself (+PG) (smut)

Riding shotgun (+PG) Part.1; Part.2 (smut)

Charles punishing reader (smut)

True temptation (smut)

Him being jealous (smut)

Jealous (smut)

Fighting lesson (smut)

Real orgasm (smut)

Start again (smut)

Piano lesson (smut)

Dirty boy (smut)

Inked (smut)

Podium finishers (+MV, LN) (smut)

What happens in vegas (+MV) (smut) (love this)

First time squirtig (smut)

Waking up (smut)

Best friends? (smut)

First win of the season (smut)

Personal trainer Charles (smut)!

The blueprint (smut)!

Don't go (smut)

In the car (smut)

Eye contact (+MV) (smut)

Keep going (+MV) (smut)

Wait for you (smut with fluff) (this is so cute and funny, I love it)

A game of red Part.1; Part.2; Part.3 (+CS) (smut, fluff at the very end)

Overworked uni gf (fluff ant the start, smut at the end)

Spanking (suggestive?)

Broken glass (fluff)

Unwanted (sister) (fluff)

30 more minutes (fluff)

Magic in your veins (sister) Pt.1; Pt2 (fluff)

You're the only friend I need (sister) (fluff)

Sleep talking (fluff)

A mean interviewer (fluff)

Once Dance, Chérie (fluff)

A sleepless night in Monaco (fluff)

Night tea and tears (fluff)

Daydream (fluff)

Slipping through his fingers (daughter) (fluff)

Midnight support (sister) (fluff)

You can't do everything (fluff)

Please don't leave me (fluff)

Deal (idk)

Make the world go away (fluff)

Rom-com (fluff)

Our first night in Paris (fluff)

War (fluff)

All you got (fluff)

Hoodie (fluff)

That time of the month (fluff)

Reconciliation (fluff?)

Make a mess (fluff)

Right time (fluff) (this is long and gold)

Childhood friends (fluff)

Making movies out of memories (fluff)

Only you (fluff)

A little teenage dream (fluff)

You're lying, right? Grounded (+LN) (fluff)!

Ghost whisperer (fluff)

Orange peel theory (fluff)

Lessons in anatomy (fluff)

Come here (fluff)

Some extra goodies (fluff)

MASTERLIST

[kmomof4]

12 (Actually 13) Days of Captain Swan Fic Recs!!!

So a week or two ago, @hollyethecurious floated this idea about the 12 Recs of Christmas in order to rec your very favorite fics that new shipmates may have missed and to show authors holiday love. Of course, I literally cannot rec only twelve fics, so I've played with the rules a bit in order to rec favorite authors and fics. Sorry, not sorry, Hollye...

Now, the problem with 12 days is... it's only 12 days. So I had to severely limit myself... And, yeah, you might have guessed, I couldn't limit myself to twelve either. So you'll be getting 13 days. Sorry, not sorry, again...

All that said, the authors and fics I'll be reccing over the next twelve thirteen days are my comfort fics that live rent free in my head and that I go back and reread over and over and over and over again. The ones I couldn't live without if I were stranded on a desert island and could never read a new CS fic ever again. So I hope you enjoy this kinda drawn out fic rec list.

Since it was her idea, Hollye is the first author that I'll rec!! Several of her fics are on that desert island reading list and if you haven't read them, you should!!!

First and foremost is probably my very favorite fic of all time...

Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke - Co-written with @winterbaby89 for my bday in '17, the premise is that Killian succeeded in getting his revenge on the crocodile moments before Regina's curse swept over the Enchanted Forest.

The Legend of Captain Killian Jones - Rated M -

CS Modern AU / CS Halloweek - Myths, Legends, and Fairytales: 

Cursed three hundred years ago to take on ghost form and haunt his family estate, Killian Jones receives a reprieve once every hundred years to take on corporeal form in order to try and break his curse.

A renowned restorationist, Emma Swan takes on the project of bringing the three hundred year old Jones Manor back to its former glory. A manor that is reportedly haunted by the notorious Captain Killian Jones. Good thing Emma doesn’t believe in ghosts.

Varcolac - Rated M - Written for the very first CSSNS back in '18. While heading home to prepare for the coming evening, Killian Jones happens upon a woman broken down on the side of the road. A woman who shifts the entire foundations of his being with just her scent. Killian Jones is a werewolf you see, and the unsuspecting lass has landed herself deep in werewolf country on the cusp of the first night of the full moon. Knowing he must get her on her way for her own safety, Killian offers to fix her vehicle, but things go awry in town when another wolf attempts to stake a claim on the stunning stranger. Now Killian must do all he can to protect the woman, Emma Swan, from a vengeful pack, all while keeping his true nature a secret from her. Turns out, Killian Jones is no ordinary werewolf.

In the Company of Demons - Rated E - After being in the wrong place at the wrong time, bounty hunter Emma Swan finds herself conscripted into working for one of Storybrooke’s most notorious crime families. Tasked with finding a rat that has infiltrated the Jones family enterprise, Emma tries to keep things just business between herself and the all-too-tempting Killian Jones. If she can unmask the rodent, she’ll receive not just a reprieve from the family, but her freedom and a hundred grand to start a new life. But what kind of life? One that exists in black and white, where there is a right way to do things and one must overcome their demons? Or the kind Killian can offer her, where one can revel in the grey areas while enjoying the company of demons?

A Harem of One Series - Rated M - Killian Jones, younger son of Prominent Turkish Businessman, Brennan Jones, meets Lady Emma during the height of the London season just a few weeks before he must head back to Constantinople to take over the family shipping business. Despondent over the fact that he had to leave the woman he loves behind, things get interesting when Brennan tries to give Killian a welcome home gift.

A Mutual Craving - Rated E - The Underworld was one of the seedier, less reputable establishments, even by black market standards. Every facet of the criminal element could be found here on any given night, engaging in all kinds of illicit activities. From the more mundane transactions, like drugs and conventional weapons, to the really shady and oftentimes dangerous dealing of occult, mystic, and poached items of a supernatural nature. Emma Swan was here for an altogether different reasons, however. She was casing the joint. Too bad all her research and intel had failed to prepare for an unusual security measure she had not planned for. One with pale skin, sharp fangs, and a thirst for blood. Her blood... and her body as well.

All of Hollye's fics are fantastic, but these are the ones that I couldn't live without and like I said, live rent free in my head 24/7. I hope you enjoy all these as much as I have!! See you tomorrow!

[jrob64]

A Fortunate Failure

A CS Modern AU One-shot for CS Spooky Season/Autumnal Bingo

Here is my second offering for the Bingo boards created by @hollyethecurious. This one is based on the prompt 'getting lost in a corn maze'. Now I can cross off two spaces on my card.

Special thanks to @hookedmom for her beta expertise.

Summary: At Mary Margaret and David’s annual ‘All Things Autumn’ party, Emma and Killian hope to win the competition championship again. The final event to determine the winning team is escaping the cornfield maze the fastest, but when the two friends get hopelessly lost, they discover that losing might actually lead to the best prize of all. 

Rating: T

Words: 3553

Can also be found on Ao3 and ffn

*********

Killian Jones finishes buttoning his shirt and checks his reflection in the mirror. Plaid flannel really isn’t his thing, but he’s trying to get into the spirit of the evening. Besides, when Emma Swan extends an invitation and tells him to wear plaid flannel, he will do it.

He will do just about anything for Emma Swan…except admit his feelings to her.

“Coward,” he whispers to his reflection. “If you don’t tell her pretty soon, she’s going to find someone else to date.” He doesn’t know if he could stand watching her with another guy like he had to when she dated that idiot Neal. Then he had to do it again when she went out with Walsh a few times, before she found out he was an egotistical liar.

Grabbing his black leather jacket from the hook on the back of his bedroom door, he double checks that his keys are in the pocket, then walks out the door and jogs to his car. He told Emma he would meet her at David and Mary Margaret’s farm at three o’clock and he doesn’t want to be late. That would be, in his brother Liam’s words, bad form.

As he drives, he hums along to the songs from his playlist. He chose every song on it because they remind him of Emma. Bloody hell, he has it so bad for her!

When he reaches the farm, he parks beside Emma’s yellow Volkswagen bug and sees that she’s still sitting behind the wheel, looking at her phone. She doesn’t seem to notice that he’s there as he gets out of his car and closes the door. He moves around the back of his car and taps on her window, causing her to startle and look up at him with wide eyes.

Killian could drown in the deep pools of Emma’s gorgeous green eyes.

*********

Emma could drown in the deep pools of Killian’s gorgeous blue eyes.

She’s frankly just so sick and tired of hiding her feelings for him. Her brother urged his friend Killian to move to Storybrooke three years ago when he was getting over a bad breakup. At that time, David told her the Brit needed friends, so that’s what she became. Now, she’s stuck in ‘friend’ mode, but oh, how she wishes she could move into the ‘girlfriend’ category.

At one point, she thought she could get over her feelings for him by dating other guys, but that turned out to be a terrible idea. Neal was a complete imbecile who thought women were inferior beings, and Walsh was an arrogant jerk. She sometimes wonders if she chose to date those two because in the back of her mind she knew that nothing would ever develop with either of them.

Killian Jones is the only man she wants to date, but he has no interest in being in a romantic relationship with her. So she settles for being his friend, because that way, at least she gets to spend plenty of time with him.

Tonight is Mary Margaret and David’s ‘All Things Autumn’ party. It’s highly anticipated by everyone in town and is one of Emma’s favorite nights of the year. For the first few years of the annual event, she sat back and watched as couples competed with each other in numerous events - cornhole, a scavenger hunt, as well as piggyback, wheelbarrow and burlap sack racing. Mary Margaret always tried to get her involved, but Emma was perfectly happy watching, laughing, and keeping score.

Once Killian moved into town, they decided to team up. Emma is even happier to finally be participating. It doesn’t hurt that most of the competitions require physical contact. She also enjoys sitting beside him during the hayride and around the bonfire at the end of the evening.

The best part, in her opinion, is trying to get through the cornfield maze the fastest. The first year she and Killian participated together, they were the winning team. He was so excited, he wrapped her up in a hug and spun her around until they were both dizzy. It was the best feeling in the world.

Now, as he stands outside her car, looking at her with those blue, blue eyes, she’s more than ready to have that feeling again.

*********

“Are you ready, Swan?” Killian asks, stepping back so she can open her car door.

She climbs out and stands in front of him, sliding her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “I was just studying a diagram of the cornfield maze. I think I’ll be able to mauever us through it in record time.”

“Is that so?” he questions with a teasing grin. “Could you be seeking revenge for last year when Ruby and Victor beat us by fifteen minutes?”

“I still think Mary Margaret led Ruby through the maze before the party that night. There’s no way they could have gotten out that fast,” Emma grouses.

The two of them start walking toward the huge red barn, which is the hub of the autumn-themed festivities. “Why would your sister-in-law show favoritism to Ruby?”

“Because Ruby is her best friend and can talk Mary Margaret into anything. Plus, she knows I wouldn’t cheat.”

“And studying the diagram beforehand isn’t cheating?” Killian asks cheekily.

She gives him a side-eye glare. “That’s called preparation.”

“Is it, indeed?”

“You should be happy your partner prepared so well.”

I’m just happy to be your partner, Killian thinks. Out loud, he says, “You’re the most competitive person I’ve ever met, Swan.”

“If you’re gonna keep making remarks like that, I might have to find a different partner.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

She rolls her eyes at him, making him grin again. They walk into the barn, where their senses are immediately inundated with the sight of fall decorations, smells from the abundance of food laid out on long tables, and sounds from spooky music coming through speakers and the large crowd already gathered.

Mary Margaret spots them immediately and grabs David’s hand before she heads their way. “Emma! Killian!” she greets exuberantly. “I was afraid you were going to miss the scavenger hunt!”

“I thought it didn’t start until three-thirty,” Emma says. “It’s only three o’clock right now.”

“You have to have something to eat first. Oh, you should try David’s chili! He added a secret ingredient this year.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s nutmeg,” Emma teases. “It might work in his pancakes, but I really don’t think it will work in chili.”

David chuckles. “It’s not nutmeg, and it’s not really that secret. I just used some of the jalapenos Mary Margaret grew in the garden last summer. We canned several jars of them.”

“He dices them up to put in the chili,” Mary Margaret gushes, gazing at David like he discovered a way to live on Mars. “Isn’t that clever?”

“Very clever, Mate,” Killian says quickly, giving a small tug on Emma’s sleeve. He’s pretty sure she is just about to make a sarcastic remark about Mary Margaret’s over-the-top adoration of her husband. Emma looks at him with a smirk and he’s convinced he was correct.

“Well, get yourselves something to eat,” David says. “We have some last minute things to take care of before the games begin.”

“One of them better not be showing Ruby through the corn maze,” Emma grumbles, as the couple walks away.

Killian laughs. “Perhaps we should aspire to keep Ruby within our sight at all times. Will that set your mind at ease, Swan?”

“No, because then we have to look at her hanging all over her new boyfriend, Jefferson. Victor was no catch, but at least he was only about a five on the weirdness scale. This guy is at least a thirteen.”

Killian’s grin couldn’t be much bigger as they head to the tables to load their plates. He’s looking forward to having a fun-filled evening with all of his friends. And with the woman he loves.

Someday soon, he’s going to have to tell her how he feels.

*********

Someday soon, she’s going to have to tell him how she feels.

Seriously, she doesn’t think she’s going to be able to keep pretending much longer, especially when he keeps giving her that heart-stopping smile. Plus, he keeps touching her; just little touches that send shivers up her spine. His palm on the small of her back, a brush of his hand down her arm, fingers combing snarls from her hair, sitting close enough for their thighs to touch.

It’s going to drive her crazy, but she never wants him to stop.

“Swan?”

“Hmm?” she hums.

“Is there something wrong with the food? You’ve hardly eaten a bite.”

She looks down at her plate, her fork hovering over it. He’s right - she hasn’t eaten anything. She has gotten too caught up in her thoughts.

“No, I was just…thinking about the scavenger hunt, I guess.” She scoops up some macaroni and cheese and sticks it in her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she adds, “I stuck everything I thought could possibly be on the list in my bug today. I swear, if Mary Margaret has tampons on the list again, I’m going to strangle her. That was so embarrassing last year! Especially when Ruby asked if a used one counted.”

Killian nearly chokes on the drink of water he had taken. “I’m sure Mary Margaret won’t make that mistake again,” he says after clearing his throat. “She turned beet red when Ruby asked that question.”

Once everyone is finished eating, the list of items to find is passed out and the hunt begins. There is nothing embarrassing on it this time and Emma is elated that she, in fact, does have a few of the items in her car. She deflates when Belle and Will turn in their completed list just as she and Killian locate the final thing they need, but gets over it quickly when she sees how happy the other couple is to receive the prize of two movie passes.

“Second place isn’t shabby, Swan,” Killian says. “It still earns us two points toward the overall championship.”

They rack up more points by coming in third in cornhole, first in the piggyback race, and second in the wheelbarrow race. They fail to place in the burlap sack race when they get their feet tangled together inside the sack and fall, then are disqualified for trying to roll across the finish line. Emma doesn’t care. She is laughing so hard while laying on top of Killian, who also has tears of laughter running from the corners of his eyes.

Before the final competitive event of the night, everyone loads up on David’s flatbed wagon, lined with bales of straw, then he tows them around the farm. Mary Margaret joins him in the cab of the tractor and turns so she can see her friends enjoying themselves, telling jokes and stories, laughing and cuddling together.

Emma scoots as close as she can to Killian and is thrilled when he drops his arm across her shoulders. She tentatively rests her forearm on his thigh and relaxes when he doesn’t pull away. They remain that way for the rest of the ride.

Emma is content taking in the autumn colors of the leaves lit by the waning rays of sunlight. When one particular maple tree catches her attention - so bright with red and orange leaves, it looks like it’s on fire - she turns to see if Killian is looking at it, too.

He isn’t. His eyes are on her, a soft smile on his lips. She has the distinct feeling he’s been looking at her for a while, instead of enjoying the scenery. “Aren’t the trees beautiful?” she asks.

“Aye, lovely,” he agrees, though he never takes his eyes off of her.

“I love the way the sun makes the colors so vivid. Orange, red…”

“Gold,” he adds, as she feels him sifting strands of her hair through his fingers.

“Killian,” she says with mock exasperation. “You’re not even looking at the trees.”

He blinks rapidly, then pulls his eyes away to look around. Clearing his throat, he says, “Mary Margaret and David are very fortunate to own such a beautiful farm.”

“Yeah, they are. David always wanted to live on a farm when we were growing up.”

They make small talk until the hayride is over. When they disembark, Killian offers her his hand to help her step down, but once her feet are on the ground, he doesn’t let go. She feels his thumb slowly stroking over the back of her hand, sending tingles across her skin.

He’s never held her hand like that before and she feels a sudden rush of hope that maybe he does think of her as more than a friend.

*********

Emma doesn’t pull her hand away from him and he feels a sudden rush of hope that maybe she does think of him as more than a friend.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her during the hayride. The way her golden hair glowed in the light of the sunset was mesmerizing. When she called him out for not noticing the colors of the trees, it was all he could do to focus his attention on them. Their beauty couldn’t compare with hers.

His hope is also fueled by the way she sat so close to him and seemed to enjoy having his arm wrapped around her shoulders. It felt very nice, very natural. It felt like something he would like to do on a regular basis.

As he stands in front of her, he has the overwhelming urge to admit how he feels, but knows it isn’t the right time or place. When that will be, he has no idea. He just knows he is sick and tired of hiding his feelings for her.

His turbulent thoughts are interrupted by David loudly announcing, “There’s only one competition left to determine the winning team. Grab your partner and come get your flashlights for the cornfield maze!”

“Let’s go,” Emma says, tugging on his hand. “It’s time for us to nail down the championship!”

Killian willingly follows behind her, chuckling at her enthusiasm and determination. He’s happy because in this competition, she is a force to be reckoned with and he’s her partner.

Emma grabs a flashlight out of the basket Mary Margaret is carrying and tests it to make sure it works. Then she takes Killian’s hand again and marches them over to the entrance of the cornfield maze. While most of the couples are milling around and chatting, she edges them to the front of the pack so they’ll be one of the first ones to enter the maze.

When David blows the air horn signaling the start, Emma takes off running with Killian on her heels. Everyone is bunched up until they get to the first division in the path. Most of the group, including Emma and Killian, go to the left, while a few couples split off to the right.

At every intersection, the crowd gets slimmer as they make their choice of direction. Before long, the only ones still going down the same path as Emma and Killian are Ruby and Jefferson. Killian shakes his head fondly as he watches the two women elbowing each other, trying to gain an advantage.

Emma looks back at him and he gives her a thumbs up, his heart swelling at the smile she gives him in return.

*********

Emma sees Killian give her a thumbs up and her heart swells, causing her to give him a smile in return, even though they’re in the middle of a fierce competition.

The further they go into the maze, the darker it becomes since the tall corn stalks block out most of the moonlight. The circle of light their flashlight throws off isn’t enough to illuminate more than about a four foot diameter in front of them, which is a little disconcerting.

When they reach another fork in the path, she exchanges a challenging look with Ruby, then grabs Killian’s hand and heads in the opposite direction as the other couple.

“Are you quite sure this is the way to go?” Killian asks.

“When I looked at the diagram, I counted the number of right and left turns. I’m pretty sure this one was supposed to be to the left.”

“I trust your judgment, Swan.”

They walk on for several minutes, making a few more turns. Their pace gradually slows and finally comes to a stop.

“Is something wrong?” Killian asks.

Emma stands stock still, turning her head back and forth. “Do you hear anyone else?”

He cocks his head and listens intently. Then he shakes his head. “I don’t hear anything.”

“That means either we’re way ahead of everyone else or…”

“Or we’re lost?”

She turns to face him. “Yeah. I think we should have turned the same way as Ruby and Jeff back there.”

“We can head back…” he begins.

“No, let’s just keep going. There’s probably more than one way out of here.”

They continue on in silence, except for the crunch of the flattened corn stalks under their feet. At every intersection, they discuss which direction to go. After another ten minutes, Emma comes to a stop. “I think we’re hopelessly lost. I’m sorry, Killian.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry, Emma.”

“I was so sure I could lead us out of this maze before anyone else, but I failed.”

He steps in front of her, his face nearly obscured by shadows. “The night isn’t over yet.”

“Do you really think we can still win?”

He moves a little closer and she tilts the flashlight up so she can see his face more clearly. He is looking at her fixedly, an ambiguous look on his face.

“There’s more than one way to win tonight,” he says quietly.

“Do you have a way to fly out of here or something?”

He chuckles. “No, nothing like that.”

“How can we win, then?”

He takes another step forward and reaches up to cup her face in his hands. She draws in a quick breath, a hopeful thought entering her mind.

Is he going to kiss her?

*********

He’s going to kiss her.

He looks deeply into her eyes, hoping to see acceptance. Even in the dim light, he finds it. She wants this, too.

Leaning in, he tentatively touches his lips to hers once, twice. When he pulls back slightly, she follows him, her lips chasing his. He takes advantage of the opportunity and draws her into her arms to kiss her again. This time, the tentativeness is gone, replaced by eagerness and passion.

Gods, how he’s longed for this day, imagined it so often. And now he knows - reality is so much better. Her lips are pliant, soft and sweet.

He hears her whisper something and murmurs, “What did you say, Love?”

She rests her forehead against his, her breath ghosting over his lips. “It’s about time.”

He pulls away a little, blinking in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?”

“If it’s half as long as I’ve wanted to kiss you, it’s a very long time.”

She gives him that heart-melting smile he loves so much. The one she seems to only give to him. “Do you remember the first year we won the cornfield maze and you picked me up and spun me around?”

“Aye.”

“When you set me down and looked at me, for a second I thought you were going to kiss me. Ever since then, I wished you would.”

His brows shoot up. “That long ago?”

“How long has it been for you?” she asks.

“From the moment I met you.”

Now her brows climb up her forehead. “Seriously? I thought you were getting over a breakup and was only looking to make new friends.”

“I did want to make new friends and wasn’t looking for anyone to date but you…there was just something there…a spark between us. At least, on my part.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m a bloody fool and a coward. Even when I saw you going out with those two wankers, I couldn’t work up the nerve to tell you how I felt. I guess I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same and it would make things awkward between us.”

“I was an idiot to go out with them. I thought if I found someone else, I could get over my feelings for you. It didn’t work.”

“I’m very happy it didn’t.”

“So…what do we do now?” she asks.

“Well,” Killian smirks, swaying her back and forth in his arms, “now I suppose we should find our way out of this bloody maze.”

She wraps her arms more tightly around his neck to pull him closer. “We don’t need to be in any hurry.”

His eyes grow comically wide. “Who are you and what have you done with Emma Swan?”

She playfully slaps the back of his head. “Shut up and kiss me, Jones.”

He happily does as told.

Ruby and Jefferson end up winning the team competition, but Emma and Killian win each other. That is, by far, the sweetest prize of all.

*********

Thank you for reading! Be sure to check out all of the great stories and art in the CSSpookyAutumnalBingo2024 collection on Ao3.

Tagging:

@qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @cs-rylie @wyntereyez @kmomof4

@hookedmom @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper

@lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic

@eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426 @julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling

@andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @anmylica

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @zaharadessert @lyssapup27

@undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @xsajx @jackieorioncat

@teamhook @soniccat @jarienn972 @softkilly @kymbersmith-90

@apiratewhopines @hollyethecurious @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate

@caught-in-the-filter @stahlop @veryverynotgoodwrites @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @earanemith @superchocovian @idristardis @captainswan-kellie

@beckettj @killihan-jones

[fuckiingloser]

masterlist 💞

currently only write for cillian murphy & his characters!

all fics on my page co-written by my good friend/pookie bear @cherrycranes 🩷

requests closed as i’m working on a few rn!

all fics will have smut :)

last updated: Feb 10th, 2025

Neil Lewis (watching the detectives):

Make You Purr

Dream Girl - part one - part two - part three cs..

Jonathan Crane (batman begins):

Observed

Davin Mcderby (sunburn):

20 Minute Break

Jim Ryan (the delinquent season):

A Real Man

Thomas Shelby (peaky blinders):

A Proper Thank You

Private Show

Emmett (a quiet place part 2):

Real Cowgirls Ride

Robert Fischer (inception):

The Arrangement

coming soon…

Raymond Leon (in time):

coming soon…

Chris (free fire):

The Perfect Gift

Michael Mccrea (perriers bounty):

coming soon…

Damien O’donovan (wind that shakes the barley)

Religious Experience

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

CS Winter Bingo--Square 6 (bundled up for the cold): A Match Faked for Christmas, ch. 5 of 5

Hi there and happy holiday season!  In an attempt to continue procrastinating my season 4 rewatch drabbles–and to not feel guilty about it–I decided to participate in the CS Winter Bingo event.  I received nine winter/holiday related prompts arranged in a square like a bingo card.  My mission is to make a bingo by writing at least three of my prompts before winter is over, but I’m hoping to do better than that!  I’m hoping to finish all nine!  Given the nature of the event, you can expect a lot of fluff (but then what else would you expect from me, after all?)  I’m hoping to keep them short as well, but I’m usually not nearly as successful at that.  And without further ado, let’s play CS Winter Bingo!

Rating: G

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list):

@jennjenn615 @laschatzi @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @kmomof4

@linda8084 @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82

@therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @anmylica

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @i-will-sing-no-requiem @bluewildcatfanatic @laianely

Word count: 2071

Today’s prompt: Fake Dating: Holiday Edition

Other chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma closed her door and then sunk back against it.  She was so epically, massively screwed!

After THE KISS (she couldn’t help but think of it in all caps), she and Killian had left the party rather hastily.  Ruby’s catcalls and innuendos about what they were off to do ringing in their ears.  They’d walked in silence across the street, and it wasn’t until they were in front of her door that Killian hesitantly spoke.

“Swan, perhaps we should talk about what just–”

She cut him off with a huge, exaggerated yawn, stretching her arms over her head to complete the effect.  “I’m exhausted.  I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Nevermind that it was only 8:30 pm.  She had to get away.  Had to.  She couldn’t have this conversation now.

She saw the disappointment flash in his eyes for a moment, and then it disappeared.  He took a step away and pasted a determined smile on his face.  “Good night Swan.  Sweet dreams.”

She assumed he headed back to his own house then, but she couldn’t know for sure.  She didn’t wait around to find out, merely let herself into her own home as quickly as she could.

And now here she was.

Emma was running.  She knew she was.  That kiss had been….she didn’t even know how to describe it.  It was addictive.  It made the whole party fall away.  There was no one else in the world but her and Killian at that moment.  She’d swear she’d heard bells ringing, angels singing, felt a bright, warm light cover them in glory.  She was pretty sure she’d touched heaven.

Emma groaned.  This was not her. She was mentally spouting so many cliches, she’d have probably made Mary Margaret blush.  What was Killian doing to her?

There had only been one time in her life that she’d fallen so fast and so hard for a guy.  She’d been sixteen when a much-older Neal had convinced her that she mattered.  That she was loved. That she had found home and forever and all of that crap.

And then he’d taught her a lesson she’d never forget.  He’d not only left her, he’d literally left her holding the bag for his own crimes.  Sent her to the slammer for almost a year.

What she’d learned?  Love was a myth.  Forever was a fairytale people told themselves to make themselves feel better in the midst of their crap lives.

Her brief relationship with Walsh years later–which had ended when he had an affair with a woman who had a truly bizarre fettish for flying monkeys–had only cemented her belief.

She really knew how to pick them, didn’t she?

And so she’d vowed to protect her heart.  Look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt.  How had she let Killian slip past her defenses so thoroughly in only a week?

If she let this continue, if she didn’t cut things off cold turkey now, when things went south with Killian, it was going to hurt like a son of a bitch.

Something told her it might already be too late for her.

The tears sprang to her eyes, and she let them fall, as she moved away from the door, heading toward her master suite.  She’d take a long, hot bath, and then go to bed, and tomorrow….tomorrow she’d avoid him like the plague–and she’d keep it up until she got him out of her system.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She was woken bright and early Christmas morning by the ringing of her doorbell.  Emma groaned, covered her head with a pillow and tried to ignore it.  Maybe whoever it was would get the hint and go away.

Riiiiiing!  Knock!

No such luck.

Breathing threats and murder, she tossed off the covers and padded to the door.  A woosh of cold air greeted her as she opened it, and he was there, covered in a thin coat of snow, wearing a delighted grin and bearing a steaming mug of something that smelled of coffee and chocolate and peppermint.

“Merry Christmas, Swan!” he said delightedly!

Unbidden, her eyes traveled to his lips and her heart stuttered.

It turned her annoyance into something approaching rage.  “Killian, we’ve talked about what happens when people wake me up at the butt crack of dawn.”

He grinned mischievously as he pushed past her into her home, blew out a breath and muttered something about the cold.  “Indeed.  I believe the consensus was that my murder could be avoided by bribing you with hot, festive beverages.”

She smiled in spite of herself.  Couldn’t help it.  How he managed to convey both childlike wonder, devilish mischief and steaming sexiness all at the same time was a mystery to her.

“I really should just kick you out on your ass, you know,” she said, her voice conveying affectionate exasperation.

He shrugged, handed her the mug and began the long process of removing hats and scarves and gloves and coat.  She barked a laugh at the sight of the ugly Christmas sweater beneath.  It depicted a pirate ship full of festively clad pirates singing “Yo, ho, ho, ho!  Merry Christmas!”

The ridiculous garment seemed to break whatever was left of the tension between them, and easily, almost effortlessly, they fell into the pattern they’d been following for the past week–talking and laughing and simply enjoying each other’s company.  Emma made him pancakes and he cleaned up after them.

She’d been afraid the next time she saw Killian, he’d insist on continuing the conversation he’d started when they parted the night before.  She’d been afraid he’d insist they talk about THE KISS and what it meant and where they went from there.  Instead, he seemed to have judiciously chosen to ignore it; pretend it had never happened.

But it was there, always there between them, an unspoken presence both delightful and terrifying.  They’d have to talk about it eventually, Emma knew that, but today was Christmas Day.  That was a conversation for another day.

“Forgive me for stating the obvious, Swan,” he said, after their breakfast was over, “but it snowed last night.”

She grinned.  “I noticed.  Looks like we got quite a bit.”

“I bet there’s at least 6 inches out there and it’s still coming down!”  A child who’d just found out he had a snow day from school couldn’t have sounded more excited.

“Why doesn’t it surprise me that you like snow?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he said.  “It’s pretty and it’s fun…and then when you come in from the snow, you get to warm up.”

He wiggled his eyebrows in exaggerated flirtation at that, and she laughed.

“So how about it, Swan?” he said.  “What say we build a snowman?”

“A snowman?” she said with a grin.  “Killian, I haven’t built a snowman since I was like ten.”

“Well then’d I’d say you’re past due, love.”

“It’s cold!” she whined.

“We can bundle up,” he wheedled.  “Come on Swan!  If you can’t act like a child on Christmas morning, when can you?”

She felt the last of her resistance fading, and she sighed exaggeratedly.  “Fine! But if I get frostbite, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

There was that smolder again.  “Never fear, Swan.  I’m more than capable of keeping you warm and keeping frostbite at bay.”

She shivered in reaction, her gaze moving once more to his lips, currently ticked up in a saucy smile.  Good lord, the man was going to be the death of her, but what a way to die!

Five minutes later, clad in two hats, a pair of gloves topped by a pair of mittens, a fluffy red scarf and her heaviest coat, Emma headed outside with her neighbor.

After building not one but two snowpeople, (Emma insisted that the second one was a snowwoman.  It was only fair.) Emma had stepped back to admire their work.  A moment later she felt a snowball pelt her in the middle of the back.

“Oh no you did not!” she said, grinning and then stopping down to fashion her own missile.

“I’m afraid I did, love,” he grinned utterly unrepentant.  “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

What she did about it was fire a snowball directly into his (far too handsome) face.

And with that an all out snowball war broke out, but never was a war fought with more laughter or playful taunts.  Ten minutes later, Emma picked up her newly made snowball and ran full tilt toward Killian.  Just before reaching him, she slipped, falling directly into him.  Her momentum toppled him, and the long and short of it was Emma found herself sprawled on top of Killian, both breathing hard, both looking into the other’s face with intensity.

The desire to lean down and kiss the hell out of him was so strong, it took everything inside Emma to pull away, wipe the desire from her face and offer him a hand up.

He looked disappointed for a fraction of a second before the grin returned.  “Truce?” he asked, offering her his hand.

“Only if you make me some more of that hot cocoa you brought that first day.”

“Done!” he said.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few minutes later, Emma sat at her counter, watching as Killian puttered around her kitchen preparing the requisite cocoa.  I’m gonna miss this, she thought as she watched him stir.

A pang went through her at the thought.  How was she going to go back to her boring, ordinary life before Killian?  It was like The Wizard of Oz–how Dorothy lived in a world of black and white, and didn’t even realize it until she’d gotten to Oz and suddenly saw all the colors.

How did one come back from that?

What if….what if she didn’t?  What if she let this thing between them play out?

The thought scared her…but so did the thought of cutting him out of her life completely.  Could she trust him?  Was she willing to take the leap of faith and find out?

“Swan?” Killian asked tentatively as he set a steaming mug of cocoa before her.  “That’s quite a tragic look.  What’s troubling you?”

She took a long swig of the sweet, creamy liquid, buying herself time, but finally she decided the time to be a coward was at an end.  She met his eyes.  “It’s Christmas, so I guess that means we’ll need to ‘break up’ soon.”

Was she imagining the disappointment on his face?

“The thing is,” she said, glancing away and then determinedly looking back at him.  “The thing is, I…I’m not sure I want to.”

Surprise replaced the disappointment in his eyes.  “Swan?  What are you saying?”

“I don’t know!” she burst out.  “I’m not ready for labels or making things official or whatever, but I don’t want to lose what we’ve had the last week.  There’s something there between us…at least…at least I think there is?”

His eyes gentled, and he reached over and took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.  “There is,” he answered simply. “And for my part…well, if I’m being honest, by the time I left your house on that first day I realized I was going to want more than fake dating.  Love, I know you’re afraid.  I don’t know why, although I hope you’ll tell me in time, and I haven’t wanted to push you, but if you want to know where I stand…I’m in it for the long haul.”

Emma dragged in a long breath waiting for the fear to come.  “Killian, if we start…something…between us and it goes bad, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.  Not again.”

He brought his free hand to cup her face, letting her hair trail through his fingers in the gesture.  “Emma, I don’t know the future.  I don’t know what lies before us, but I can tell you this.  I’ll always, always be at your side.  I’m all in.”

She looked intently into his eyes, searching for lies, searching for deception.  She found none.  “Then,” she said, meeting his eyes.  “Then I am too.”

His smile rivaled the sun that had just broken through the clouds, and then he leaned in and kissed her.

Six months later, David and Mary Margaret received a “save the date” for Emma and Killian’s wedding, coming up on the following Christmas Eve.

David figured there would be no living with her after this.

The End!

[thestoriesthatweweave]

"It's three seasons old, at least," said Phillip, in a pained voice. "What sort of provincial backwater did you buy it in?" "The Little Dover Dress Shop." Visander bit out each word, fuming that he knew the answer. "It still has an empire waist," said Phillip, a kind of agony on his face. "You know, here we have fashion, we don't just go about wearing robes for ten thousand years." "I care nothing for your human fashions, worm," spat Visander.

Dark Heir by CS Pacat is a comedy. Or, in other words: if book 3 is not a married-life sit-com between Phillip and Visander I riot.

(In other, other words: there are so many fantastic romantic dynamics in this book, but the one couple I have imprinted on like a baby duckling is the queer murder-machine with tunnel vision stuck in the body of a Victorian ingénue and his husband Who Really Does Not Want To Be Here and can endure his wife being "a dead man from a defunct world" but draws the line at him not dressing for dinner.)

[inchidentally]

About teammate relationships being pr. Do you think this pr teammate relationships are also a part of football?

I'm so sorry I'm a fake sports fan so apart from F1 and hockey I don't know anything about other sports!

and like just to say honestly the PR thing is SO overblown about F1 bc the teams actually love a rivalry so long as the cars don't end up in the wall. it's great PR and usually is great for pushing and motivating their drivers. I think recency bias has made ppl think that DTS/DR/Liberty Media basically post-Bernie F1 has had some major overhaul in wanting friendly personalities and friendships etc but it's just not the case. F1 is inherently not a "friendly" looking sport bc it's incredibly elitist, woven deep into extremely uhhhh not PC and human rights-violating political establishments and public as well as private business - and to simply gain entrance to F1 requires millions poured into just one driver's career at each stage of their racing career. and tbh even the drivers who've gone for sponsorships outside of racing are choosing luxury brands etc so they're not needing to appeal to the general public.

there are maybe three drivers who are wanting an image that appeals to the wider public but the rest are absolutely fine with for the most part being openly remote and private or strategically showing just enough to the public to seem open but actually remaining very private. it's absolutely nothing like team sports and honestly not even similar to most other racing bc up until Liberty it was a walled city of a sport. PR is truly optional and scandals/salaciousness/fighting will always generates way more engagement and press attention than friendships and wholesomeness. F1 is entirely finance-driven (even moreso than other sports where public affection is any kind of priority) and if PR friendships or a friendly image meant literally anything then you wouldn't have drivers getting dropped from the sport mid-season or PR-darlings waiting in the wings after F2 in favor of F1 nepo hires and drivers who bring major regional or corporate sway with them.

backmarker teams like St-ke and W-lliams utilize PR more simply bc they need to keep sponsors happy and it's easier for drivers who are barely even aiming for points to have no tensions or public scrutiny to make it uncomfortable.

it's why I always point to how - regardless of what their private relationship is - CS and CL have always been fully on the same wavelength about their image as teammates in terms of managing what the public sees and how to negotiate periods of tension. weirdly enough they're the only case of two teammates actually utilizing their joint PR skillfully and intentionally BUT that being the case because a genuine friendship and respect runs through it. if they fully disliked or were even just disinterested in each other then they wouldn't bother and would run with the rivalry with the occasional bit of social media thrown in. Ferrari especially doesn't give a fuck if the public think they're "friendly" or "relatable" as a brand lsdfgsljafgljsagfsaljf. the C2 stuff has been a great unexpected little addition but they'd have been just as happy if they agreed to do a few stiff little challenges and the occasional ad but otherwise hated each other.

which is what's funny abt seeing the wild sht going on bc ppl can't grasp LN and OP having a solid and respectful working relationship but totally different approaches to PR. LN is open about how he's wanted to build his brand and his own company and the double edged sword of being such a public and accessible figure - PR for him is both a nightmare and savior bc the more extreme and blindly devoted of his fans are actually the biggest threat to his peace of mind and public identity. they start to take over his public perception w their opinions being so amplified by sheer numbers and insane devotion.

which is why someone like OP who represents a much more typical F1 driver who sees this as his career for as long as he can have it and PR as just a necessary evil that you hire a person for, ends up making those insane fans misinterpret THAT approach as some kind of devious Machiavellian PR... instead of literally being the opposite. he's literally said that he's ok or at least resigned to having to be a public figure as a part of the job and therefore also public about certain other people/things in his private life, but he draws the lines firm and very very reserved even from his own fans. esp when compared to someone like DR and LN and CS who at least appear extremely accessible to fans.

which is why in a totally different way, the LN/OP partnership works just as strongly as CS/CL one - bc OP doesn't care about publicity beyond Mark's advice and his sm person's requests and LN is already having to perform an extremely precarious PR dance w too many of his fans feeling v comfortable and entitled to him to the point where they make bold statements and opinions about his innermost thoughts and mental health as if speaking on his behalf. poor MaxF regularly has to help him run that gauntlet by subtly reminding fans about boundaries and that yes LN is indeed capable of experiencing emotions in rational ways !! and that he's fully capable of gaining perspective after the heat of a race !! and that fans deciding to run hate campaigns against people on Lando's behalf is not healthy or sane behavior !! (again, said much more subtly and skillfully than that)

then you've got OP who was hated the second he arrived in F1 on behalf of fan-favorite DR, got a brief respite while he was still notably behind LN, and now has gone back to being hated on behalf of fan-favorite LN. his mom is a fully random bit of fan popularity but even there, she's not consistent with it and doesn't go to races or otherwise make her life or feelings known publicly. there's zero "strategy". she doesn't defend him or coddle him and is known for lovingly roasting him. even choosing the RFP for an interview was hilarious bc she went w an outlet that makes gags about her son and favors the drivers she also likes and apart from saying how she raises her kids to be decent and kind she didn't say anything that particularly "sold" OP bc she just admitted he's weird (in a good way!!) but not naturally super emotive or sentimental. it's not the kind of stuff a mum who was PR-instructed or trying to make the public blindly adore her son would say. it's a very Aussie down-to-earth not-the-end-of-the-world approach to her son chasing an insane career that frankly stresses her out most of the time bc it's so dangerous.

whereas LN has had publicity following his life since he was small and it was decided that his dad would represent the family publicly but everyone else would be visible but otherwise private. the same strategy was applied to all of LN's friendships bc some were like MaxF who didn't mind being public facing and then a lot of them are visible but not known beyond their names. but it's so easy to see what a non-stop crazy dance LN has to do with his PR bc just when it feels like it's within his control, the delulu over intense fans latch onto smth and start flooding comment sections and crossing lines and assuming they have his blessing w all of it.

which is why it's perfect that OP is so inaccessible and relatively remote/uninvested in a public image bc having the hivemind of a rabid fanbase against him can never strike too deep or too personal since fans have never been permitted to any of those parts of OP's life. (I mean, technically they could ofc get even worse than this but then we're into legal action and race ban territory)

and it's also why they've both been so smart to adopt OP's methods when it comes to their relationship as teammates and pull all of their downtime and private conversations out of the public eye and and only mention them in passing. bc in the same way, whatever insanity fans project onto their relationship will never hit too personal bc they don't have access to any of it. CS/CL choose to make a lot available to fans bc they both know how to control and work that into being beneficial but not damaging. LN/OP choose to keep a lot private bc a large part of LN's fanbase is extremely unwieldy and OP has no interest in pandering to PR beyond strictly necessary. if they had to negotiate both of their images throughout all of this it would be complete chao.

and it's ironic bc the fans currently engaged in the online warfare against OP don't at all see the parallel w how LN was treated by DR's fanbase when they were teammates - and how those two were friends at the same time as frequently being at odds within the team etc. but I mean to be that kind of fan you're not capable of seeing that kind of behavior pattern ig ?? idk I couldn't fathom gunning so hard for men let alone rich men so I'll never understand !

aaaaaanyway tl;dr the notion of PR in F1 is negligible and a lot of fans are very very confused about when they're actually being blatantly pandered to and when a relationship or driver is being genuine lasfgsjlagfljg