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kingofbodyrolls · 9 months ago

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My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | one

🐴Chapter summary: You arrive back at the ranch, a place you used to call home as a child. But it doesn’t hold the same meaning anymore. With the passing of your mother, you stand to inherit part of that very ranch– and you don’t want it. Only problem, your sister doesn’t want to give you her signature for you to sell your share. 🐴Chapter title: Inheritance 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of past character death of parents, exhibitionism, explicit smut in the form of protected sex, quick and dirty sex, doing it against a barn, creampie, nipple play, clit play. Doing it in public / outside. Mention of past infidelity (of parents). Spoiler ahead!!! Jungkook and Jimin are (half) brothers and reader sleeping with JK is necessary to happen for the sake of the plot 🥲 It sucked to write that part, and if you feel like the smut if ‘eh’ it’s because it was written that way because reader isn’t meant to be with JK! So, please, don’t let that discourage you from reading it, the rest of the story is really good and MC realizes she’s made a mistake… anyway the smut with Jimin when it eventually happen, is just 🥵🥵🥵 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 8.2k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog @kiki-zb @babejinnie @ownthesunshine @allie-is-a-panda @glllhjh @bergandysam @13-manggaetteok

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Theme from McLeod’s Daughters” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: this story has been in my head forever, and I’ve spent months outlining it and planning it– so I’m so stoked to finally post it! 🥳 I love both McLeod’s Daughters and BTS, so why not combine it?? I am not sure anybody will read this story, but if you do, thank you! It truly means the world to me.

I also want to give a very big thank you and shout out to my dear friend, Lua, for reading it while I worked on it, hyping me up and giving me such fucking wonderful feedback 😭✨ Thank you so much @letjungcoook7 💖🥹

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

“I said, I wanna touch the earth I wanna break it in my hands I wanna grow something wild and unruly I wanna sleep on the hard ground In the comfort of your arms On a pillow of bluebonnets In a blanket made of stars Oh, it sounds good to me I said, cowboy take me away Fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue Set me free, oh, I pray” - “Cowboy Take Me Away” by The Chicks

The tires of your car dig into the unforgiving dirt road with a tenacious grip as you navigate the rugged terrain. A symphony of sand and dust dances before the windshield, yet your focus remains unyielding. The landscape is open and inviting, yet there’s tall mountains in the distance framing the idyllic nature.

The pulsating beat of the music reverberates through the vehicle, echoing the determination coursing through your veins. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, your resolve unshakable.

Amidst the chaotic whirlwind outside, you're on a singular quest: to get your sister’s signature to sell your share of the ranch.

You yearn to sever all ties with the place.

It's not a matter of hatred, per se, but rather an aversion steeped in memories you'd rather forget.

The grounds echo with a tapestry of recollections, most of which cling like shadows to the recesses of your mind—a gallery of moments you're desperate to erase from the canvas of your past.

The passing of your mother, a woman absent from your life for over two decades, casts a melancholic hue over this reunion, that leaves much to be desired.

Separated by the passage of years, your sister remains a distant specter on the horizon of your past. A chapter of familial connection was abruptly closed when your father took you away from the ranch during your formative years, the sprawling fields replaced by the relentless rhythm of the city.

The city, with its towering structures and ceaseless energy, has woven itself into the fabric of your existence. Amidst the hustle, the stress, the eclectic cafes, and the teeming crowds, you've found a peculiar treasure trove of experiences that pulse through your veins like a vibrant heartbeat. The city's flaws, laid bare like urban scars, only deepen your affection for its complex tapestry, making each chaotic street corner and neon-lit club a cherished fragment in the mosaic of your life.

As an undesired song infiltrates your playlist, you find yourself questioning its very existence on your curated soundtrack.

Swiftly, you dismiss its intrusion, replacing its notes with the growling intensity of a much angrier anthem.

The need for focus on this mission is paramount, an unyielding commitment that not even the persuasive tones of Jessi, with all her influence, can sway or alter.

A familiar sign with your family’s last name emerges on the horizon, unleashing a flood of memories from an idyllic childhood—filled with the echoes of hide-and-seek, the warmth of love, and the harmonious symphony of laughter—that paints both your irises and your heart in hues of nostalgia.

Yet, as your fingers instinctively clench around the steering wheel, you staunchly refuse to be swayed by the emotional undertow. Determination courses through your veins, a steadfast resolve not to let sentiment cloud the clarity of your purpose.

With a resolute spirit, you navigate the winding road that leads to the ranch.

As the familiar landscape unfurls before you, a creeping uneasiness takes root within the recesses of your being. Despite the passage of two decades, the ranch appears frozen in time, an unchanged picture that sends shivers down your spine. The unsettling familiarity of the place only amplifies the weight of the past, casting a shadow over your determined journey back to a place that seems to have resisted the relentless march of time.

Bringing the car to a halt before the imposing main house, you silence the engine with a decisive twist of the key. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, mingling with the weight of anticipation that hangs in the air. Inhaling deeply, you draw in the essence of the moment, your fingers betraying a nervous rhythm as they tap anxiously against the steering wheel.

The stillness belies the turmoil surging within, as you ready yourself to encounter the ghost of your past.

A mere thirty minutes— an hour at most, and you'll resume your journey on the open road, bound for the comfort of home in the city.

Determination courses through your veins, intertwining with the staccato rhythm of your anxious heartbeat, the pulsations reverberating so forcefully that you can sense them echoing all the way to the depths of your ears.

The moment your car door swings open, a subtle shift in the wind whispers a tale of transformation. The landscape may echo familiarity, but an intangible alteration lingers in the air, an elusive metamorphosis that leaves you questioning the very essence of this place. Is it a mere illusion, or has something truly shifted, perhaps within the confines of your own soul?

Navigating the uneven terrain in heels proves to be a challenge, but undeterred, you conquer the dirt road and arrive at the tall front door. It stands before you, a sentinel of memories, somehow appearing taller than in recollection. The weathered, dark-red wooden door remains stoically unchanged, a silent witness to the passage of time.

Two deliberate knocks break the stillness, and you retreat a step, a reverberation of anticipation coursing through the air as you stand on the threshold of both the past and the unknown.

The door frame, once pristine in its white coat, now bears the scars of time, its paint chipped and revealing glimpses of the weathered wood beneath.

Stationed in front of the door, you endure a suspenseful five minutes, an eternity compressed into every passing second, yet the silence remains unbroken. Undeterred by the absence of response, a resolute determination guides your actions as you seize the handle. With a deliberate press, the handle yields, surrendering to your resolve and releasing a cacophony of creaks—a symphony of protesting hinges announcing your entrance into the realm of memories.

“Hello?”

Your voice, tinged with uncertainty, dances into the air as you cautiously poke your head through the threshold, a hesitant entry into the familiar realms of the house.

A gentle warmth envelops you, tenderly kissing your skin and infusing an instant sense of calm. The scent, aged and rich, swirls around you like a tangible embrace of wood and cherished memories from your childhood. The hallway stretches out before you, adorned with snapshots frozen in time—images of you and Jessi playing in the fields, your first pony, and a cherished trio with your mom. Each picture pulses with the erratic beat of your heart, echoing the palpable journey down the corridor of reminiscence. Amidst this gallery of the past, you navigate the tapestry of nostalgia, your destination set on what memory deems to be the kitchen.

The staccato clank of your heels resonates boldly against the unpolished hardwood floor, a deliberate announcement of your presence that reverberates through the silent expanse as you press deeper into the heart of the kitchen. Despite the resounding echo, a mysterious absence lingers, the emptiness amplifying the solitude within the room, a poignant contrast to the persistent cadence of your steps.

Surveying the scene, your eyes capture the delicate dance of white curtains adorned with lace, their elegance offering a stark contrast to the weathered state of the kitchen. Time has etched its story on the cabinets, pleading for a rejuvenating touch—perhaps a cleansing and a new coat of color to breathe life into the tired, faded cream. A wistful smile graces your lips, an emotive response to the tactile connection forged as your fingers trace the countertop. The surface, a touch dusty yet evocative, sparks an odd familiarity, transporting you to a realm of forgotten times and the comforting essence of what was once home.

A sudden voice startles you from your reverie, its unexpected presence slicing through the air like a well-timed interruption in the symphony of memories.

“Can I help you?”

A jolt courses through your body, a startled response to the abrupt intrusion of the voice, yet you pivot on your heels, meeting the owner of the enigmatic, yet somehow airy, tones.

In the face of the unexpected presence, you lock eyes with the source, a meeting that feels like a convergence of past and present, each heartbeat resonating with the electric charge surging through your body.

A nervous chuckle escapes you, the residue of your earlier determination dissipating in the charged air as you assess the man standing before you.

His eyes, a deep and authoritative brown, lock onto yours, unraveling a silent narrative in their depths. Blonde and untamed, his long hair falls with a disheveled grace, framing a face that exudes both strength and mystery. His slender physique conceals well-defined, lean muscles beneath the snug embrace of a gray shirt, each contour subtly hinting at the strength within. Clad in blue denim jeans with artful rips at the bottom, and adorned with chunky western boots boasting intricate ornaments, he carries an aura of rugged elegance.

“Can I help you?” he repeats, the query hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge.

Crossing his arms over a torso that amplifies the definition of his biceps, his deliberate posture commands attention, drawing your gaze to the undeniable display of strength.

“I’m so sorry,” you quip nervously, a hint of self-awareness coloring your tone. Inwardly, you curse the fact that you were caught in the act of checking him out, and you’ve yet to acknowledge the man properly. “I’m looking for Jessi?”

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes the man, accompanied by a soft smile that carries a subtle mystique, rendering his eyes nearly elusive.

“Who are you?” he inquires, his arms still defiantly crossed, and a flicker of realization dawns upon you—this interaction holds a peculiar tension. The awareness sets in that, in essence, you are an intruder, a stranger trespassing into the intimate space of a home that isn’t yours anymore.

“I'm Jessi's sister,” you declare, a succinct introduction that hangs in the air. His response is a simple “Oh,” a word that resonates with a spectrum of unspoken sentiments.

As his arms fall to his sides, his posture eases into a more relaxed stance, and his gaze, now unhindered by the barricade of crossed arms, traverses the contours of your figure. Your choice of attire—heels and a summer dress that daringly grazes your thighs—doesn't escape his notice.

You sense his eyes lingering on your exposed legs for a beat longer than societal norms might deem appropriate.

You find yourself unapologetically appreciating his attractiveness, recognizing the allure that binds both of you in a silent dance of mutual fascination.

“You don't remember me?”

His question pierces through the air, catching you off guard, and instinctively, you lean back against the countertop. A subtle shake of your head accompanies the inquiry, and as you witness a shadow of sadness flicker across his eyes, an unexpected weight sinks into the chambers of your heart. The unspoken question lingers—should you know this man?

“It's me, Jimin,” he asserts with a voice steeped in pride and certainty, a declaration that sets your mind into a whirlwind of attempted recollection. His name resonates with a familiarity that dances on the periphery of your memory, like an elusive wisp slipping through the cracks of forgotten moments.

“Park?”

You question with a voice that wavers in uncertainty, the mere utterance of the name carrying the weight of a fragile hope. As the word escapes your lips, you cling to the fragile threads of memory, desperately seeking confirmation that you've pieced together the puzzle of identity correctly.

“Yeah! Don't you remember? We played together when we were kids,” he chuckles warmly, the nostalgia of shared memories evident in his eyes.

With a warm gesture, he invites you to take a seat, a silent acknowledgment of the intricacies of your shared history. As he crosses the room to the sink, a subtle limp marks his stride—a detail you keenly observe as you pull out a chair. Your curiosity about his altered gait tugs at your thoughts, begging for expression, yet you restrain the impulse, deeming it too forward. Silently, you observe him reaching for a glass from the overhead cabinet, pouring water with a practiced ease.

“Here you go,” he offers, placing the glass before you. As you take it, your fingers brush momentarily, and an unexpected electric jolt courses through your body. You respond with a sheepish smile, expressing gratitude for the simple gesture. “Jessi is out riding; she'll be back soon.”

You nod, the cool touch of the glass against your lips serving as a momentary distraction from the impending wait. As you take a measured sip of water, the realization sinks in — a quiet acknowledgment that the road back home may stretch longer than initially anticipated.

“I'm sorry about your mom,” he offers his condolences, and a palpable pain reflects in his eyes. The depth of his empathy hints at a connection with your mother that might surpass your own or perhaps, he carries the weight of loss in his own experiences. Regardless, you express gratitude, but as you do, a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders accompanies your words. “It's whatever,” you say, attempting to downplay the complexity of emotions that linger beneath the surface, yet the weight of grief echoes in the unspoken spaces between you.

He offers a minuscule smile, a mere flicker that fails to reach the depths of his eyes, and a subtle shift in the atmosphere becomes palpable. A quiet tension weaves through the kitchen, the air thickening with unspoken complexities. It's as if the very walls themselves have become sentient, closing in with a slow and deliberate intent, creating an immersive sense of confinement that mirrors the unexplored territories of emotions lingering between you and Jimin.

The rhythmic clank of boots announces her arrival before she materializes in the doorway — Jessi, a force of raw determination, a cascade of muttered curse words trailing in her wake.

With an aura of purpose, she strides into the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy that disrupts the tension-laden air.

“Aren't you supposed to be working?” she demands, a subtle undercurrent of anger weaving through her voice as her gaze fixes on Jimin.

You sense that you've slipped beneath her radar for now. Jimin responds with a casual chuckle, turning his head in your direction. In that moment, you feel the weight of her steel gaze bore into you.

You observe the subtle tensing of her body, her gaze meticulously scrutinizing every inch of you. Arms crossed defensively, she acknowledges your presence with a guarded stance.

“Long time no see. What do you want?” The words, delivered with an edge that slices through the air, reverberate with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, embodying the complex web of emotions that intertwine your shared history.

Your lips involuntarily tighten, the already tense atmosphere escalating to an almost suffocating degree as Jessi's presence intensifies. A rhythmic tapping of her foot reverberates through the room, an erratic metronome that hints at a cocktail of emotions—perhaps nervousness, perhaps anger, the fine line between the two eluding your understanding.

“The inheritance,” you utter, and a visible transformation sweeps over Jessi. Her countenance, already frosty, plunges into an even colder abyss. The pallor that washes over her skin accentuates the darkness of her brown, curly hair, transforming it into a cascade that seems to absorb the shadows of her perturbed soul.

A nervous gulp echoes in the charged silence, your attempt to fortify a wavering resolve. The mission is clear — secure her signature, liberate yourself, and sever the lingering ties. The weight of unspoken history and familial complexities hangs in the air, urging you to complete this fraught encounter, hoping that once the ink meets the paper, you’ll leave and never bother her again.

“I want to sell my share of the ranch. I just need your signature.”

The declaration hangs in the charged air, a revelation that sends a ripple through the room. Jimin tenses visibly, gaping in clear surprise at your bold proclamation. Your sister, on the other hand, is barely faring any better. The undercurrents of anger surge to the surface, a tempest of emotions that bobs precariously, threatening to breach the veneer of composure that barely holds.

She hisses, the sound cutting through the charged silence like a serpent's warning, and grinds her teeth together with a simmering intensity. “You're not getting that,” she declares with a venomous resolve, the words laced with an unmistakable determination that resonates with the unyielding clash of wills in the room.

The sternness and anger in her voice reverberate through the room, creating an invisible barrier. Undeterred, you summon a quiet resolve and press forward, attempting to cut through the emotional tempest that surrounds her. “I just need your signature, and then I can go,” your words, a delicate plea amidst the tumultuous clash of emotions, hang in the air, a fragile bridge between the chasm of familial discord and the resolution you seek.

She strides purposefully towards you, anger etching furrows into her brows. Coming to a halt just before your seated form, she looms over you with a fiery intensity in her eyes.

“No. Get the fuck out,” she commands, the force behind her words reverberating in the charged space between you. The air crackles with the energy of unresolved conflicts, and her words hang in the air like a proclamation, leaving no room for negotiation.

Jimin's expression no longer holds surprise, his features now marked by a disapproving shake of his head. As Jessi retreats from you, turning with a storm brewing in her wake, the kitchen becomes an echoing chamber of unresolved tensions. She storms out, leaving you and Jimin in the wake of her departure, the remnants of conflict lingering in the air like an unspoken presence that refuses to dissipate.

You clench your hands into tight fists, the physical manifestation of the internal turmoil that courses through you. The realization dawns, like a belated epiphany, that her vehement reaction was all but predictable. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, and you slump back into the chair, the weight of disappointment settling upon you like a shroud. This isn't unfolding as you had envisioned.

The wind whips through, mercilessly tossing your hair into a chaotic dance across your face. Grumbling, you navigate the exterior of the main house, entering a realm where nature and grandeur coalesce. The yard unfolds before you, a testament to meticulous care, stretching expansively with paddocks extending for miles. To the left, a substantial stable stands as a regal sentinel, while to the right, three cottages punctuate the landscape.

Your gaze sweeps across the panoramic expanse, capturing the undulating beauty of the paddocks that cascade over the hills while the sun slowly sets. Cows and horses graze lazily, mere dots in the vast canvas of the countryside. The scene unfolds before you like a living painting, each blade of grass, each creature contributing to the symphony of nature. Amidst this serene image, you find yourself standing at the crossroads of contemplation, pondering the labyrinth of decisions that now lay before you.

Jessi won’t give you her signature, and you need her damn ink on that paper to be able to sell your share of the ranch.

Maybe if you get on her good side, she’ll reconsider? It’s worth a try at least.

“Hi,” a lilting female voice disrupts the current of your thoughts, a melodic intrusion that yanks you back from the recesses of contemplation. Your pivot is swift, attention now redirected to the stranger who has materialized behind you.

Her hand extends gracefully towards you, a gesture that transcends the usual formalities. “I'm Soo-ah, one of the stable hands here,” she introduces herself with an easy confidence, her words resonating with a sense of belonging and familiarity within the expansive realm of the ranch.

“Ah, hi,” you muse with a soft smile, extending a handshake that bridges the gap between stranger and newfound acquaintance. Her stature is modest, a curvature of curves, with a disarming smile that reveals a charming imperfection in the form of endearing crooked teeth. Clad in short denim shorts adorned with delicate white lace on the trim and a pink tank top, she exudes an aura of comfort and warmth. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, gleam with a radiance that speaks of love and hope, amplified by the contrast against her sun-kissed tan skin.

“Your trip didn't go according to plan?” she inquires, the gentle cadence of her question accompanied by the sweep of a hand, gracefully gathering her long blonde hair away from her face.

A chuckle escapes you, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders, as you confess, “Not really.”

“You know, this place means a lot to Jessi. It's her home. She wouldn't want you to sell your share for some random people to buy it or worse, use the land for housing or something.” Her eyes mirror the softness of her words, and a gentle smile graces her lips, a gesture that carries an unexpected soothing effect on your conflicted heart.

The weight of her words settles on your conscience, a realization you had secretly dreaded. You grasp the depth of your sister's emotional connection to this land, an affection you once shared but have since outgrown. The prospect of selling your share, allowing strangers to lay claim to the cherished homestead, unfolds before you, and you acknowledge why Jessi vehemently opposes it. Yet, your heart remains indifferent to the sentimental ties that bind others to this place. It ceased being home long ago, and the notion of it ever regaining that status in your life appears as elusive as a distant memory fading into the horizon.

“Say what. It's late, and dinner's almost ready. Why don't you come eat with us and meet the rest of the gang? After that, I'll show you one of the guest rooms!” Her invitation resonates with a contagious enthusiasm, her voice exuding a warmth that almost verges on giddy. The surge of energy she emanates feels almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the subdued atmosphere that has accompanied your arrival.

“I haven't packed anything. I didn't plan on staying…” you mumble, your words trailing off into the evening breeze. Despite your half-hearted protest, she seizes your hand and playfully pulls you towards the main house. Reluctance threads through your steps, a tangible resistance to the unexpected detour that fate seems to be orchestrating.

“There's a guest room in the house, and you can borrow some clothes from Jessi or me. Those heels and that dress aren't exactly farm-friendly attire.” She laughs, a melody of warmth that resonates through the short walk to the house. Soo-ah guides you to the guest room where you'll be spending the night, and then you both make your way to the kitchen.

There, you encounter another enchanting presence—a statuesque woman, tall and slender, her ebony hair culminating at her neck. Her eyes, a captivating shade of incredibly dark brown, bordering on obsidian, stand out against her lovely fair white skin. Clad in a simple yet elegant ensemble of a dark t-shirt paired with dark blue denim jeans, she moves gracefully around the kitchen, orchestrating what appears to be a culinary feast in the making.

“I'm Ha-rin.” A casual wave accompanies her introduction, a seamless dance of gestures as she deftly grabs a handful of vegetables with the other hand.

“This is Jessi's sister,” Soo-ah introduces you with a warm smile, and Ha-rin nods in a gesture that suggests a preexisting understanding. “How can we help?” she inquires, her words carrying a blend of genuine curiosity and an unspoken readiness to extend hospitality.

“You can set the table. I'm almost done with the food,” she declares, seamlessly transitioning to the task of cutting carrots with a professional speed that leaves you duly impressed.

Soo-ah guides you to the location of plates and glasses, and in a synchronized dance, you both embark on setting the table in the dining room. The collaborative effort carries an unexpected warmth, a departure from the solitary routine you've grown accustomed to. The act of sharing this communal task conjures a sense of nostalgia; it's been a long time since you've partaken in such simple yet meaningful rituals. Your dining experiences have often been solitary, occasionally shared with a partner, although those instances are rare occurrences in the tapestry of your solitary meals.

In no time, Ha-rin completes the culinary masterpiece, presenting a spread of oven-cooked chicken, a colorful assortment of vegetables, and tantalizing kimchi. The table becomes a canvas adorned with the promise of a delectable feast. As you all take your seats, another presence joins the gathering—Ara, a tall woman with big brown eyes and chocolate-brown hair cascading gracefully over her shoulders. Her curves and paler skin distinguish her from Ha-rin, yet she radiates the same warmth that characterizes the group.

The door swings open, and into the room strides your sister, a pronounced frown etching lines of disapproval on her face the moment her sharp eyes lock onto your figure seated at her dining table.

“Didn't I tell you to leave?” Her voice cuts through the air, laden with an undeniable tension that hangs like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over the gathering.

With an exasperated roll of your eyes, you confront the directness that has always characterized Jessi, even if it doesn't always come across as nice. “It's getting dark, and Soo-ah graciously provided me with a room for the night. I'm not leaving until I get your signature,” you assert, the declaration hanging in the air like an unyielding challenge.

Jessi's voice carries a distinct air of deflation, and it becomes evident that obtaining her signature won't be a victory achieved tonight, if at all. Resigned, she takes her place at the head of the table, a silent acknowledgment of the impasse.

A stretch of silence envelops the dining room as everyone engages in the act of eating, a temporary truce. However, the calm is shattered as Jessi, unable to contain her emotions any longer, erupts like a dormant volcano. “Why can't you just keep your share of the ranch, huh?” Her words punctuate the air, each question a stab to the atmosphere, accentuated by the forceful plunge of her fork into the unfortunate chicken.

“Honestly?” You draw in a deep breath, preparing for the verbal fallout, fully aware that you've stepped into a minefield. “I just need the money.” The words hang in the air, a stark admission that lays bare your motivations. Jessi's frown deepens, her disapproving expression not eliciting the slightest surprise from you.

“Why can't you just buy my share?” The words escape you in a frustrated huff, irritation building with each passing moment. Jessi's ability to get on your nerves becomes increasingly evident, a skill she's always excelled at.

“I don't have the money to buy you out,” she states bluntly, her voice carrying a mix of blankness and anger, turning the tension at the table sour. Your plate, once adorned with the delicious offerings crafted by Ha-rin, now sits neglected, the food losing its appeal in the wake of the strained conversation. What a shame, you think, as the beautifully prepared meal becomes a casualty of the familial clash, and your appetite dissipates like the vanishing aroma of an abandoned feast.

“Why are you so mad at me?” you sputter out in frustration, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to pull at your hair in exasperation. The room echoes with a tense silence, interrupted only by the subtle sound of your sister's scuff, a precursor to the deep inhale that precedes the unleashing of her fury upon you.

“I haven't seen you in twenty years. You stomp in here, wanting to take my home away from me. And you didn't even attend Mom's funeral. Some balls you have.” Her voice is stern, each word laced with venom, and her glare cuts through you like a knife. To punctuate her disapproval, she slams her hands down hard on the table. “I'm going to bed. Goodnight.”

Then she stomps off. At least she has some manners, you think, acknowledging the begrudging ‘goodnight’ she offered. Nevertheless, you sigh, the rest of the girls casting pitiful glances in your direction.

You lean back in the chair, contemplating the daunting challenge of ever getting on your sister's good side. The prospect seems as elusive as catching a shooting star, an almost impossible mission. Just as you sink into the depths of your thoughts, Ara shatters your contemplation with a beaming smile. “We're having a party tomorrow. Won't you stay for that?”

You take a few seconds to mull over her offer: a party in the countryside does sound intriguing, but the prospect of extended time with a sister who harbors animosity towards you gives you pause. Soo-ah, sensing your hesitation, steps in with a persuasive grin, “There'll be hot men!”

Then, in an instant, thoughts of Jimin flood your mind, and the prospect of his presence at the party becomes a tantalizing factor. A glimmer of optimism flickers; perhaps attending won't be as unbearable as you initially thought. Contemplating the possibility of a good time, you decide, “Who can say no to that?”

A forced laugh escapes your lips, but within it, there's a hint of genuine enjoyment. Sometimes, you remind yourself, you have to fake it until you make it.

The barn pulsates with the rhythm of the music, a lively mix of country tunes, not exactly your preferred genre, yet the melodies weave seamlessly into the rustic ambiance. Couples and friends sway to the slow beats on the dance floor, creating an intimate atmosphere that, despite your initial reservations, feels oddly fitting. Most attendees linger along the walls engaged in conversation, and as your eyes scan the scene, you notice a handful of men. The girls weren't exaggerating – the company includes some undeniably attractive men.

The majority of women sport casual dresses, much like the one you've borrowed from Ha-rin. Clad in a long black lace dress that subtly accentuates your curves, you navigate the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces. In stark contrast, Jessi's attire veers towards practicality – shirt, jeans and boots, a reflection of her enduring tomboyish nature. While you entertain a fleeting thought about the silliness of her choice for a party, a deeper understanding dawns. She’s always been more practical, and her choice of clothes tonight might align with that too.

Surveying the lively scene again, your eyes lock onto your sister, deeply engrossed in a conversation with Jimin, an interaction that sparks both curiosity and a twinge of apprehension within you.

As Ha-rin diligently tends to the culinary offerings, ensuring a variety of light snacks for everyone, Soo-ah and Ara steal the spotlight on the improvised dance floor. Their laughter echoes through the barn, a harmonious blend of joy and camaraderie, and you can't help but be drawn into the dynamic and diverse interactions unfolding around you.

Turning on your heels, a craving for the crisp embrace of fresh air seizes you. Opting for the subtlety of a quiet exit, you make your way toward the back door of the barn. The metallic touch of the door handle graces your palm with a forgiving chill, a stark departure from the warmth and vibrancy pulsating within. Pushing the door ajar, the night air rushes to greet your face, prompting a sigh of contemplation.

However, as you step outside, your serenity shatters with a startle – a towering, muscular figure leans against the barn, arms crossed, waiting in the shadows of the night.

A startled yelp escapes your lips, accompanied by an inadvertent inhalation of lingering smoke in the air. The features of the stranger remain elusive, shrouded in the haze, as they release a deep and resonant chuckle in response to your momentary disarray.

“Scaredy-cat?” he teases, the resonance of his laughter causing an animated jiggle through his entire upper body. Your gaze inadvertently drifts to his well-defined pectorals, emphasized by the snug fit of his ripped tank top. The exact hue of the fabric eludes you in the dim light, a mysterious darkness with a hint of, perhaps, deep blue.

You approach him, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance, though inwardly acknowledging the undeniable truth – you are indeed a scaredy-cat. Closing the distance, your eyes trace a path from his broad shoulders down his right arm, a canvas adorned with a full sleeve of tattoos. Among the intricate designs, some manifest in striking black and white, while others burst forth with vivid splashes of color, each telling a silent tale waiting to be unraveled.

Approaching him, you realize you've left his question hanging in the air. Coming to a halt in front of this enigmatic figure, you find yourself captivated by his deep, dark brown eyes. In the obscurity of the night, tiny glints of light echo the stars above, gleaming in his gaze. His pitch black long hair, with small curls at the end, frame his handsome face. Contrary to the rugged bulk of his body, his facial features exude a surprising softness. Thick, black eyebrows frame his expressive eyes, while a slim, pointed nose adds to the symphony of features. A sharp, defined jawline contrasts with the plushness of his rosy lips, gently circling a half-smoked cigarette.

“Jessi’s sister, huh?” He inhales deeply from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that dances in the air beside you.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer nervously, a feeble symphony to the deep timbre of his laughter. Nonetheless, you summon the courage to introduce yourself, your name a tentative melody lingering in the night air.

“I'm Jungkook.” He announces, the remnants of the cigarette meeting its demise beneath the sole of his boot, extinguishing any lingering embers. A subtle caution against the spark that could set the night ablaze.

“You look hot. Want to make out?” His gaze boldly traces over you, and a sudden self-consciousness grips you in the delicate embrace of your lace dress. Your cheeks ignite in a bright red flush, caught off guard by the unexpected boldness of his proposition.

Your flabbergasted expression seems to amuse him, and his laughter echoes, revealing an endearing smile that prompts a soft, airy chuckle to escape your lips in response.

“I'm serious, you know,” he says, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. Another blush creeps up on you at his bluntness. Initially thinking he was joking, you now realize he's actually serious. As you assess him, you can't deny his incredible attractiveness, coupled with a nice smile and soft eyes. Perhaps he can't be all bad, right?

You saunter closer, conducting a swift yet thorough assessment of him. With a teasing lick of your lips, you signal that you're up for the game. “Sure.”

In a bold surge, he captures your lips, biting down on your lower lip as if seeking entrance. Yielding to the magnetic pull, your tongues engage in a fiery dance. His hands firmly grip your shoulders, giving a reassuring squeeze before deftly maneuvering you against the wall.

In a ravenous and swift embrace, his lips claim yours, leaving you breathless when he breaks away, his gaze smoldering with a lustful intensity that ignites a fiery sensation beneath your skin. Though not one to engage in impulsive encounters, the intoxicating allure of the moment fans the flames of excitement within you. Reminding yourself of the imminent departure tomorrow, you boldly lean in, craving another taste, and surrender to the intoxicating dance of desire.

As the kiss deepens, his demeanor doesn't exude sweetness or tenderness, and strangely, you find solace in that. After all, tomorrow marks your return home. The intensity of his kiss, possessive and profound, spirals you into a mindless whirlwind, your thoughts dissipating into nothingness, overwhelmed by the feeling of his rugged frame pressed firmly against yours.

His gravelly voice breaks the kiss momentarily as he breathlessly declares, “Your lips are so damn soft.”

Locking eyes with you, he plunges back into the intoxicating exchange, this time with an urgent and fervent intensity that mirrors his escalating desire, leaving little room for restraint.

Your fingers dig into the firm contours of his hips, tracing an electrifying path along the sculpted landscape of his toned body. The rhythmic play of his muscles beneath your touch is a tactile symphony, every ridge and sinew a testament to his strength, creating an intricate dance beneath the fabric of his shirt.

His lips embark on a tantalizing journey, lingering on your cheek with teasing kisses before reaching your ear. A low, guttural growl escapes his lips as he presses his pelvis against you, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. The warmth of his breath against your ear ignites a wildfire of sensations, and the undeniable presence of his arousal is impossible to ignore. Control slips away like sand through your fingers, and you find yourself succumbing to the irresistible pull of desire.

You bite down on your lips, the struggle to suppress a moan palpable. Despite the lively party unfolding just a breath away, Jungkook possesses an uncanny ability to whisk you into a world of his own creation, making the chaotic celebration fade into insignificance.

His hands explore the contours of your breasts, coaxing a soft moan from your lips. The absence of padding in your bra leaves your nipples immediately responsive to his teasing fingers. Sensations surge through you, and as your panties cling uncomfortably, an urgent desire to shed them intensifies.

His breath hot against your ear, he whispers, “I want to fuck you so bad, can I?”

The firm squeeze on your breasts sends a wave of desire through you. Fuck. The craving intensifies, and the anticipation of being with him grows insatiable. It's been an eternity since you felt this desire, and you're already on the edge, yearning for his touch.

Your response escapes in a breathy whisper, “Hell yes.”

Your fingers find purchase on the contours of his chest, seeking stability amid the whirlwind of desire that envelops you both.

The symphony of desire crescendos as you catch the melodic jingle of his belt being undone, the tantalizing slide of metal against leather, and the whisper of a zipper surrendering its secrets. Soon, his jeans cascade down, pooling around his knees.

Your curiosity takes over, compelling you to cast an audacious gaze downward, and even through the fabric of his underwear, the impressive outline of his arousal is undeniable. The undeniable bulge hints at a restrained intensity, and summoning your courage, you boldly cup him, your touch sending a low, guttural groan reverberating through the charged air.

“Are you good to go without any prep?” His question, a tantalizing whisper in your ear, sends shivers down your spine, and the resonant, lust-laden timbre of his voice resonates deep within you.

Nodding in affirmation, you can't help but bite your lip, feeling the promise of an exhilarating encounter ahead. “Yes,” you murmur, a breathy admission to the impending intensity.

As he lowers his underwear, his dick is unleashed, an impressive display of length and girth, veins tracing its sculpted form. The engorged head, flushed and intense, undergoes a few suggestive strokes from his skilled hands, droplets of precum glistening as they descend to the ground below.

His touch is commanding, fingers tracing a path down the contours of your dress, gathering the fabric in his strong grip. Swiftly, his hands venture beneath, reaching the apex of your panties. In one bold motion, he removes them, allowing them to cascade to the ground as you gracefully step out, shedding inhibitions along with the delicate undergarment.

Unexpectedly, he seizes your hips, effortlessly lifting you into the air. As you leap, your legs instinctively wrap around his tiny waist, aligning your bare core with his throbbing dick, a subtle gasp escaping your lips as your wetness coats his cock.

A soft moan escapes your lips at the tantalizing contact, and Jungkook, seizing the opportunity, grips your supple curves, pressing you firmly against the wall for stability. Skillfully, he produces a condom out of thin air, wraps his cock with it and positions his dick at the entrance of your eager pussy. Your hands instinctively clutch his neck, a mixture of anticipation and desire written across your face as you brace yourself for the impending ecstasy. With a devious smile playing on his lips, he tantalizingly teases the velvety folds of your cunt with the head of his cock. But the pretense of gentleness is short-lived, as he discards any lingering pleasantries and thrusts his dick into your warm and eager core in one seamless motion.

A gasp escapes your lips as an exquisite stretch engulfs you, momentarily testing your limits. Yet, the generous coating of your arousal ensures that the discomfort swiftly transforms into an intoxicating wave of pleasure, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

He moves with an urgency that suggests an impending deadline, setting a pace that mirrors a sense of immediacy, as if time is a luxury he can't afford. The reasons behind his haste remain a mystery, and in this moment, you find yourself indifferent to the ticking clock, wholly absorbed in the intensity of the present.

“Mmmhh. You’re so tight.”

You gasp at the force of his thrusts, feeling the impact resonate through your body as your back collides with the wall. The slight discomfort is eclipsed by the overwhelming pleasure, and his raspy pants only intensify the raw, visceral connection between you, each movement a symphony of pleasure and urgency. He thrusts forcefully, plunging into the depth of your pussy.

Wrapping your legs around him, you greedily pull him closer, breathless huffs escaping your lips with each relentless thrust. “Yes! Right there!” The pleasure becomes almost blinding as he unerringly targets that sweet, sensitive spot, sending shockwaves of pleasure that build an exquisite tension, promising an impending climax that pulses in the depths of your core.

“Shit.” He pants huskily into your ear, a shiver running down your spine in response. The intensity of his thrusts is unparalleled, each powerful movement leaving an indelible mark on your senses. The realization hits you that tomorrow might bring soreness, but in the heat of the moment, with a dick this good, you decide it's a price worth paying.

Your moans have evolved into uninhibited symphonies, each thrust hitting that exquisite spot that sends shockwaves through your body. The coil in your tummy tightens, ready to snap, just waiting for that final nudge to propel you over the edge. “I’m so close.”

Jungkook's grip on your ass tightens, but with skilled precision, he frees one hand and navigates it down the narrow space between your bodies. Despite the limited room, his large hand finds your clit and begins to rhythmically rub it to the beat of his thrusts. The sensation is mind-blowing. Every rub and thrust unravel your body, sending waves of ecstasy through every inch of your being.

Then he leans in, his hot breath grazing your ear, and he moans, pushing you right over the edge, “Come on my cock, pretty.”

“Jungkook!” You pant his name erratically as the coil inside snaps, and you release your fluid over his cock, synchronized with his relentless thrusts. You gasp for air, momentarily feeling your vision blur as your orgasm surges through your spent body.

He keeps thrusting into you, and you feel utterly spent, so you’re just hanging on and clinging to him for dear life. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes as he relentlessly fucks you, searching for his own sweet release.

At a particularly hard thrust, you open your eyes, and they collide with a figure standing in the shadows.

Brown eyes and blonde hair meet yours.

You gulp, feeling your core clench instinctively.

It's Jimin.

His eyes reflect a mix of sadness and disappointment as they lock onto yours for a few lingering moments. He turns away and retreats back into the lively party. You don’t appreciate the unsettling expression on Jimin’s face, but there’s little you can do about it now. A strange and disconcerting feeling settles in your stomach.

“Fuck, you just got tighter, babe. I’m almost there.” His hands tighten their grip, his biceps flexing as he pulls you closer, syncing your movements with the intensity of his thrusts.

You sense Jungkook's thrusts growing more erratic, a telltale sign he's close. Despite his exhaustion, he strives to give his all in those final fervent moments, and you feel the warmth of his release filling the condom inside you as his pace slows. He's visibly breathless, and you empathize; after all, he exerted himself, utilizing every ounce of strength to keep you elevated. In his position, you'd likely be a panting mess on the ground.

“You good?” He inquires, scrutinizing your expression. Whether he discerns the melancholy etched on your face or not, he doesn't comment. Gently withdrawing from you and discarding the condom, he steadies you on shaky legs. You respond with a pensive smile and a nod. The night was undeniably enjoyable, yet Jimin's forlorn gaze lingers in your thoughts, casting a shadow over the post-passion atmosphere.

“I had a good time, thank you.” You muster a smile, though it feels a bit strained. Whether he perceives it or not is uncertain, and even if he does, you doubt it holds much significance to him.

“Same here. Thanks, babe.” His laughter rumbles as he rights himself, adjusting his underwear and fastening his pants. As he tends to his attire, you scan the floor for your abandoned panties.

As you retrieve them, you notice the dirt clinging to the delicate fabric, deciding against putting them on. Instead, you allow them to slip from your grasp, figuring you'll retrieve them tomorrow for a wash. The last thing you want is to flaunt dirty underwear at the party.

Jungkook strides confidently back into the lively party, and you trail closely in his wake, anticipation and a lingering heat coloring the air around you.

As you reenter the vibrant party scene, a sudden hush falls over the crowd, and the weight of all eyes on you feels like an invisible spotlight, making you wish for a momentary escape beneath the ground.

As you scan the crowd for Jimin, your gaze briefly collides with his, only to witness him quickly diverting his eyes elsewhere.

A perplexing mix of emotions lingers in his gaze—perhaps hurt or frustration. Puzzled, you question the impact of your intimate encounter outside, contemplating why he might be affected when, by all accounts, you share no significant ties.

As you enter the dining room, the tempting aroma of Ha-rin's carefully prepared breakfast envelops you, offering a flavorful farewell before you embark on your journey back to the bustling city.

As you approach the table, a surprising sense of harmony fills the room, with everyone already seated, including Jessi, who appears to be in higher spirits—perhaps fueled by the knowledge that she’s getting rid of you today.

Soo-ah's eyes sweep the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she starts, “ I discovered a pair of lacy red panties outside the barn this morning.”

You nearly choke on your food, a sudden realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Shit. Those are mine. Completely slipped my mind. My bad.”

All eyes suddenly fixate on you, their curiosity palpable. Soo-ah's gaze is practically bulging out of her eyes, Ara looks equally stunned, and Ha-rin can't help but release an amused ‘ooohh.’ Even Jessi, with her usual nonchalant demeanor, can't completely hide the flicker of intrigue in her eyes as she rolls them at the unfolding gossip.

Curiosity and a mischievous glint spark in Ara's big brown doe eyes as she leans forward, her cheeks tinted with a hint of red, and pops the question, “Who did you fuck?”

Between casual bites of scrambled eggs, you drop the bombshell, “A guy named Jungkook. You know him?” The nonchalance in your tone does little to mask the intrigue dancing in your eyes, leaving the table hanging on your every word.

A heavy hush descends upon the table, and you scan the faces around you, perplexed by the sudden silence. Disapproval lingers in Jessi's slow shake of the head, while the exchange of disconcerting glances among the girls hints at a shared, unspoken concern.

“What’s wrong?” Concern etches your voice as you inquire, the subtle panic seeping through, unable to grasp the sudden tension enveloping the table.

Soo-ah leans in dramatically, her words hanging in the air like a heavy secret. “You fucked Jungkook,” she drawls, the gravity of her statement sinking in, and a chill coursing through your veins. “The same Jungkook who's been with half the town—Park Jungkook.” The weight of his name leaves you wide-eyed, a sinking feeling settling in your gut.

Your jaw practically hits the floor, or it would if that were humanly possible. Park? Jungkook and Jimin are brothers?

Fuck.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

Omg 🫢 How did you like the ending??? I hope you won’t be too mad… The fling with Jungkook only happens this one time, but necessary to happen for the rest of the story to make sense 🥲

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eriexplosion · 7 months ago

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I never let myself really believe they'd bring Tech back (because Occam's razor, or whatever). And I'm so used to weird/bad writing choices from other works that I'm mostly able to shrug my shoulders and go "aw rats, disappointment again :\" about TBB's ending.

... But I still feel kinda hollowed-out, post-finale. I'm not autistic (I think), but my sibling is, so it meant something to my old withered heart that a Star Wars show about family would have a confirmedly-ND character among their cast (though, somewhat tangentially, I agree with your post about all of the Bad Batch being arguably ND-coded). I was delighted that he was well-written, and that he'd eclipsed the stock "smart guy" trope he'd started out as in TCW.

And, I dunno. I feel like a sucker, having hoped for a brief moment that the writers wouldn't throw all that away. And for what? People on reddit were saying for months on end that "his sacrifice is meaningful and shouldn't be wasted", but I can't agree. I think it would've been more meaningful had he lived.

I feel disappointed with the trajectory the back half of S3 took, and I don't think that's unreasonable. Even beyond the disappointment of "dang, they really did that?", S3 after the first handful of eps (imo) felt kind of... rushed? Underexplored? Like there should've been a season 4 (for pacing/development's sake) and various changes to the plot, but there weren't.

Told myself several years ago that I'd reserve judgment for the writing until the series was over and done with. And now that it's all just wrapped up, I suppose I'm stewing with my thoughts, a little. The character arcs all feel like they fell short of their potential payoff, to me -- and maybe I'll change my mind in a few months, but right now? Eh.

Crosshair's got PTSD/trauma that makes his hand shake? Cut off the hand. Omega's got potential force sensitivity/a decision to make concerning what to do going forward? Who cares about that. Tech's getting a decent (and suspicious, in hindsight) amount of character development? Better kill him off so the audience really feels the sting. Cid, Phee, CX-2, Echo, Scorch? Who cares about them; they can show up when their skills are needed and fuck off without halfway-decent closure when they aren't. The familial/sibling themes that were open to being explored? Eh; let's focus predominantly on this one father-child bond. Omega doesn't even need to say goodbye to Crosshair and Wrecker, lol. Foreshadowing and setup? What foreshadowing and setup.

... I'm realizing that I'm actually Quite disappointed lmao. In a lackluster "I don't know what I expected" kind of way. Time to read so many fix-its

There's just a lot that was set up that never came to fruition and it's frustrating when the show has been so good up until that point. And the thing is that Tech being CX-2 would have resolved at least some of it! The CX-2 plot obviously but also, Crosshair's guilt and trauma being helped by being able to fix at least one of his mistakes? Omega's guilt over putting her family in danger being relieved because she finally has them all back?

It didn't even need to be fleshed out, I wouldn't have cared. The only thing I wanted this whole show was the family to be together and complete. And not only did we not get Tech back but yeah Echo was basically just not counted as part of that and Phee was ignored in the end.

This season feels like it needed another editing pass to work as a whole, even though I'd liked everything up to the finale it didn't really end up coming together for me. I'd even have accepted Tech being gone if they had put actual mourning in the first half, instead of stringing it along with little mentions and the CX-2 stuff. I'd be frustrated and mad, but at least it would have felt like they respected him as a character.

Really the only good things I have to say is I think Nala Se blowing up the databanks was a fantastic end to her character that didn't really redeem everything she's done but did bring her to an interesting stopping point. And I am glad everyone else made it out alive. I'm glad that Crosshair especially did after everything he's been through, he's still my boy after all this time even if the Tech stuff has overshadowed a lot of his growth in my head.

#the bad batch #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #fandom salt #If anyone wants me to add a different tag to block these out with let me know #I know that it's a lot of feelings all over the place and I don't want to bother anyone who did enjoy the finale

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hurt-care · 4 years ago

Text

The Reunion - WW2 era fic

I've been listening to an audiobook about WWII in the UK and there's been multiple mentions of people writing in their diaries about suffering from lengthy colds as well as a discussion of the increase in casual sex during the war (especially during air raids, when it became a welcome distraction). So, let's just say I was inspired...!

Male, cold, OCs, contains 18+ content

The Reunion -

The club was positively bursting with young revellers and the sounds of a jazz band playing as couples moved across the dance floor in tight embraces, flitting in and out of shadow of the chandeliers sparkling overhead. Champagne flowed liberally, delivered by waiters in smart tuxedo jackets and white gloves. If a time-traveller had been magically transported inside, they would have no idea that outside the walls of the club there was a war on.

Making her way through the throngs of people was Katherine Marsh, or Kat to her close friends. Close at her heels was Mary Alderman, an old school chum who'd come up through London society with her. The girls wove through the dancers on route to a table up on the balcony that circled the dance floor, providing a spectacular view of the room below. Only the uppers of society generally occupied the tables here and the demand was such that often bribes had to be given to the head waiter to ensure a spot. Peter Halford, one of Kat's other longtime friends, had been in charge of the evening's transaction and now he waved cheerily from a spot in the corner as the girls approached.

“Hello, Peter!” Kat said joyfully as she sided into a chair along the wall, tucking the skirt of her silk gown around her. “Have you ordered a bottle yet or shall I do the honours?”

“It's just coming now,” Peter replied, nodding towards the approaching waiter who carried a magnum size bottle in a silver ice bucket while another waiter followed behind deftly balancing a tray of champagne coupes.

“Your timing is impeccable as ever,” Mary said with a laugh. “I'm parched.”

She flashed a smile at Peter, her eyes sparkling in the light of the crystal scones along the walls. Kat smirked knowingly at her friend. Mary had been pursuing Peter over the course of several of these evenings out on the town, but Peter remained seemingly oblivious to her advances.

Tonight, Mary was draped in layers of royal blue silk with a spectacular diamond bracelet glinting on her wrist. She looked radiant and Kat thought Peter had to be completely daft to not notice. Kat, on the other hand, had no particular beau in mind. She'd danced with dozens of men and dined at parties across the countryside around London, but no one gentleman had captured her heart. Besides, she was barely twenty and so many of the young men her age were away at service. For now, she was content with dancing and snogging sessions in dim alleyway with soldiers on leave and officers posted to city stations.

The waiter poured them all glasses of champagne and the trio toasted to health, happiness, and the victory of Britain. The chat was light and merry, with Peter filling them in on his new job at the Royal Airforce's London offices near Whitehall. At the hour neared eleven, someone took to the microphone to introduce the next band complete with a line of cabaret dancers dressed in feathers and sequins for entertainment. Mary squealed in delight as the drums kicked up the beat of a popular dance tune and she reached for Peter's hand.

“Oh, will you dance?” she asked breathlessly. “I love this song.”

Peter downed the last of his champagne glass as he stood up.

“Of course. Kat, find yourself a man and let's go.”

The two disappeared into a sea of people moving towards stairs that led to the dance floor. Kat drained her own coupe and stood, surveying the crowded tables for familiar faces or handsome strangers.

A few girls were lingering at a table of Naval officers and as the men stood and paired off with them, one man remained seated alone with a cigarette in his hand. As the duos passed by, Kat realized with a heart-dropping thud that she recognized the lone officer that had stayed behind.

Oliver Hartnett had danced with her at her first debutant ball when she was seventeen and she'd been completely enraptured by him. Two pages of her diary were dedicated to extolling his virtues, from the gentle tambour of his voice to his green eyes, from to his broad shoulders to his chestnut hair. As quickly as he'd come into her life, he'd left it again. They'd shared two dances that night and some brief conversation at a dinner party a week later, and then she hadn't seen him since. Word in the upper circles said he'd gone to Scotland to work for an aging uncle's business and he disappeared from London's upper crust.

Kat dumped the dregs of the champagne bottle into her coupe and gulped it down, feeling the rush of bubbles to her head as she bolstered her courage. She reached into her small handbag for her compact, inspecting her face and reapplying a coat of her precious lipstick, as the bright red shade was now nearly impossible to find with the war rations and so she reserved it for nights out alone.

With a smile on her face that she hoped concealed her nerves, she glided as confidently as she could over to the table.

“Ollie Hartnett, is that you?” she said over the din of the music and the crowd. The man at the table seemed startled by the interruption and he looked up at her, his face vacant for a moment. Then, a grin spread across his face.

“Oh my goodness, Miss Marsh,” he said, standing suddenly and extending his hand.

She laughed.

“It's Kat, please,” she said, taking his broad hand in her and shaking it. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Of course, please do,” he said, fumbling to get around the vacant chairs nearby in order to pull out one for her. She folded herself gracefully into the seat, crossing her ankles as her mother had always instructed. For once, she was glad she'd listened to Mary's constant chatter about fashion and had worn the deep emerald green silk gown with the black trim that she'd purchased for the previous winter's New Year Eve celebration at Mary's family estate. It set off her figure nicely and contrasted with her auburn hair and milk-white complexion.

Oliver was shaking her head, still grinning.

“What a surprise,” he said, his gentle voice barely audible over the music. “You look well.”

She smiled back.

“I am! Well, as well as anyone is in London at war, I suppose. You've joined up, I see. On leave?”

“For a few more weeks,” he replied, taking a slow drag of his almost burnt-out cigarette. “I'm posted at Brighton, usually.”

“And you're not on the arms of a dozen girls dancing your night away?” she teased.

He snubbed out the cigarette in the ash tray and shook his head.

“Honestly, I wasn't keen on going out at all but the other gents insisted.”

“If I recall, you were quite popular on the dance floor,” she continued. “What's changed?”

“Just a bit under the weather, that's all,” he replied. “Haven't felt up to much dancing tonight, but I'll spare one for you, for old time's sake.”

She felt herself blush.

“Not yet,” she said. “I have to hear all about where you disappeared to that summer. You left a lot of us wondering why one of our dashing debs up and left London at the height of the season.”

“It's not a particularly exciting story, but if I'm going to tell it we ought to do it over a drink.”

He beckoned to a waiter who returned shortly with two cocktails on a black lacquered tray and a serving of peach melba for each of them.

Oliver detailed how the rumours were true; he'd left London for the banal task of running the business operations for his uncle's small factory in Glasgow. A year ago, as the ferocity of the war had begun to increase, he'd enlisted in Royal Navy and left the factory in the hands of the old foreman and his cousin, a savvy young woman named Rose.

More than once during the story he'd paused momentarily to clear his throat with a cough or take a sip of his cocktail to revive his waining voice. Kat felt a pang of sympathy now that she was close and could see clearly the weariness in his face. Though it was spring, the weather had been dreadful and frigid for weeks and many people she knew had been battling heavy colds.

She told him about her adventures in London with Mary and Peter, and about her volunteering posting with the Women's Auxiliary Service where she worked to find temporary housing for those displaced by air raids.

When they'd finished their peach melbas and cocktails, the band struck up a lively tune and Oliver appeared to summon some energy with a broad smile aimed at Kat.

“This is the one,” he said, extending a hand. “Would you like to dance?”

She nodded, trying not to let her rush of enthusiasm show too greatly.

He led her down to the dance floor and took her into his arms, leading the gentle sway as they danced among the other couples. His broad hand rested on the small of her back and Kat felt a rush of heat to her body as they touched, cheeks almost against one another. The gentle warmth of his breath tickled her neck and she was sure he was about to lean in to kiss her there.

His voice mumbled something deep and low into her ear but she couldn't discern it over the music.

“Mmm?” she replied.

“Oh Christ, sorry,” she heard him say and suddenly he was moving swiftly away from her, his one hand leaving her back and his other dropping its grip from hers.

Eh-TSGHT! He turned his face into the sleeve of his officer's uniform, sneezing inaudibly to her as the rest of the dance floor continued their rhythmic sway.

“So sorry,” he shouted, leaning back so she could hear him. He reached into his pants pocket for a handkerchief, which he dabbled briefly under his nose.

“Sorry,” he repeated as he took up his embrace once more.

“It's okay,” she said into his ear. “I hope you don't feel too poorly.”

“No,” he said into hers, his lips almost brushing against her. “Better now.”

She leaned herself closer against him and he pressed his lips to her neck. She sighed with delight, feeling all the rush of emotions that she'd had when they'd first danced. His body was more muscular and square now, without the lanky lines he'd had as an eighteen year old.

Tilting her head upwards, she met his lips and they kissed briefly.

He leaned over to speak into her ear again.

“I hope I'm not catching.”

“I don't care,” she said and captured his lips again. The kiss deepened and a couple nearby sided away to give them a moment of privacy.

The song ended and Katherine stayed in the embrace of Oliver's arms as the next began.

He looked down at her with a soft, tired expression.

“I'm dreadfully sorry, but I'm afraid all this noise and such is too much for me tonight.”

“Can you stay up a little longer?” she asked. “There's a nice restaurant not too far from here. We could go and have a drink there and talk. It's much quieter.”

It was past midnight now and while Oliver looked like he might consider declining in favour of being tucked up in bed, he nodded and smiled.

She grinned back at him and kissed his cheek.

“I'm so glad. I'll find my friends to tell them I'm off. Meet me by the doors? Would you be a dear and get my coat for me?”

She fished the small coatcheck tag from her handbag.

After she'd shouted her goodbyes to Mary and Peter (who looked very cozy together on the dance floor, she noted with pleasure), she found Oliver leaning against a wall by the exit with her coat over his arm and his own Navy-issued wool peacoat already on. He held up her coat to help her into it and offered his arm to her, walking at her side out into the cool spring night.

The air was clear and crisp, with a half-moon overhead. The streets were brutally dark thanks to the blackout and they made their way clumsily along the road, squinting to see landmarks in the dim moonlight.

“It's down to the left, one more block,” she said as they passed the entrance to another dance club where the only light came from several cigarettes that glowed as young people poured in and out from the doors and slipped behind blackout curtains into the well-lit hall.

“Can we pause a moment,” Oliver asked. “Sorry, just a moment.”

She stopped, turning to look at him.

“Sorry,” he repeated, reaching for his handkerchief. She could see him silhouetted in the dim moonlight as his shoulders trembled and he shook his head for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, he pitched forward with a wrenching sneeze.

Hurhhh-TSGHXTT!

Unable to mask the sound, he gave a brief but noisy blow into the handkerchief afterwards before hastily tucking it into his coat pocket.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, taking her arm up again. She gave him a light squeeze, leaning against his side as she did so.

“Don't apologize,” she said. “I'm only sorry to hear you so poorly. Blasted cold seems to be going around everywhere.”

“The boys in my unit said that if I can't spend a night out with a head cold, there's no way I'd last through a month at sea battling the Germans,” said Oliver, his voice a little hoarse. He cleared his throat with a cough. “I suppose that's true.”

“Well, we'll find you something warm to drink at the restaurant and that should revive you,” Kat said cheerfully.

They were just rounding the last corner onto the street where the restaurant was located when a sound split the air. The wail of the air raid sirens began their raised pitch, increasing to a loud din of pulsing noise.

They paused in the street, stunned. It shouldn't have been entirely a surprise; the sirens were a regular occurrence in the city but neither one of them had encountered the alert while out on the street.

In the darkness, a voice shouted authoritatively.

“To your shelters, please! Nearest public shelter is the Piccadilly Circus station. To your shelters please!”

The figure of an air raid warden with a metal helmet on passed by.

“Which way is Piccadilly?” Oliver asked.

Kat glanced up and down the dark street.

“My rooms are only two or so more blocks past here,” she said. “If we hurry, we should be fine. There's a cellar in the back.”

Gripping his arm tightly, she led the way down the road. Several times they nearly collided with others making their way to safety. As they neared the house where she rented lodgings, the sky began to shine with searchlights and in the distance, the sound of anti-aircraft guns began to crackle. The bliss of dancing and the haze of champagne cleared from Kat's head as she steered them down an alley between some homes and to a metal hatch that covered the entrance to the cellar. She tugged it open and hovered a foot over the void, finding the top step.

“Six steps down. Pull the door shut behind you,” she said to Oliver. Her hand trailed along the earthen edge of the wall until it met the edge of a candlestick and a pack of matches. She struck one alight as Oliver shut the hatch with a loud bang.

The tiny chamber glowed in the candlelight, illuminating the stone and soil room. Oliver was breathing heavily, almost wheezing. Katherine tipped the lit candle to light others, gradually brightening the room enough to see without too much strain.

“Sit,” she insisted, gesturing to a small crate topped with a cushion. “Catch your breath. I'll put some tea on.”

Hhh-TSGHHH!

The sound of the sneeze startled her and she looked over in time to see Oliver building up to a second. He tipped forward, nose nestling into the folds of his waiting handkerchief.

Ehhh—hhehhTSXHHT! “Bless you!” she said earnestly. “Are you warm enough? There's plenty of blankets. My landlady, Mrs. Beecher, is up north visiting her sister and the other girl who rents rooms is at her family home for the week. So it's just you and me here unless we get some surprise guests from next door.”

“No, I'm fine,” he said quietly, wiping his nose. “Sorry.”

“I don't mind a bit of sniffling,” she said teasingly. “You don't need to keep apologizing.”

“Have you had to spend many nights down here?” he asked, surveying the cellar. It was appointed with provisions for the three woman who lived above plus extras for any visitors who might end up sheltering there. Two wooden bunks were stacked against one wall, each with pillows and blankets and thin mattresses. Another mattress was rolled and stored in a nearby trunk with additional linens. A small table held a kettle on a fuel-powered heater and several teacups. There was a deck of cards, a basket of knitting, and a lidded chamberpot. Someone had cheekily hung a framed piece of embroidery that read “Home Sweet Home.”

“Oh, I've lost count,” Kat said as she set the kettle to boil once she'd filled it with water from one of the three large canteens by the steps that led outside. “This is only the second time I've ended up down here in an evening gown, though.”

Once the kettle was heating, she opened a chest and took out a wool jumper and a pair of socks.

“Good thing I'm prepared,” she added.

Oliver watched as she sat on a wooden chair and unstrapped her high heel shoes and slid her hand up under her gown to unclip her precious nylon stockings. Careful not to snag them, she rolled them down her legs and pulled on the socks.

He laughed as she put the jumper on over her evening gown, put her coat back on top of that, and donned a pair of Wellington rubber boots. She struck a pose for him.

“You'd be the toast of all the fashion magazines,” he declared.

His chuckle turned to a cough that sounded strained and painful. She frowned at him and shook her head.

“I'd say you should've followed your own ideas and stayed home instead of the advice of your mates,” she said. “But I have to admit I've awfully glad I ran into you.”

He recovered from the coughing spell and looked at her with affection.

“I'm glad too,” he said. She poured the hot water from the kettle into a teapot to steep and selected two teacups.

Outside, the din of the air raid sirens had ended. There was the sound of distant explosions, but for the time being they were far from the action.

“I'm afraid I've no milk to offer but we have a bit of honey.”

“That'd be lovely, thanks,” he said.

She poured them each a cup and sat opposite him, savouring the warm tea. He drank his own cup, clearly soothed by the hot liquid. He dabbed at his nose a few times with his handkerchief as it began to run from the warmth.

When the cups were empty, they sat in silence for a moment. A bomb exploded somewhere a few blocks away and the candles flickered as the shockwave trembled through the earth. The remaining teacups on the table rattled against each other. Kat closed her eyes for a moment, sighing.

“Are you frightened?” Oliver asked.

“No, I don't think so,” she said. “I suppose I always am, a little. But not terribly.”

She set her teacup down on the table and moved to sit on the bottom bunk bed, patting the mattress beside her. He stood and moved to her side. The next thing she knew, they were kissing, his hands were in her hair and she had a hand on his chest. She kicked off the boots and pulled up her dress so she could sit astride his lap. He kissed down her neck and tugged her coat off, his hand going under her jumper and stroking her breasts through the silk of her gown.

She exhaled with pleasure, starting to slowly grind against his hips. She reached for the waistband of his trousers and he helped her with his belt. He made a soft moaning noise as she fumbled with the buttons at his fly and found her way downwards. His lips brushed her shoulder, pressing kisses where the neck of her jumper was stretched to the side. A brief cough escaped him, puffing against her skin. He muttered an apology and she murmured a sweet assurance as she began to stroke him.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly. He pulled her arms upwards and guided the jumper off over her head. She pushed his coat off him and made quick work of the buttons of his shirt, tugging that off too. He urgently shed his shoes and trousers as she stood and slipped off the silk gown revealing a satin bra and knickers with mother-of-pearl buttons.

He watched her hungrily as she slid out of the knickers and climbed back onto the mattress, guiding his pants off his hips. They kissed tenderly and she settled down on top of him, hips rising to meet hips. He made that same low moaning noise and she felt her body jolt with pleasure, hands roaming through his chestnut curls.

He made love to her urgently as the sound of bombs echoed outside. They moved together, breath increasing to gasps. His nose was running freely and he briefly sniffled and pressed it against his own shoulder to rub it. She kissed his neck and felt the expanse of his chest press against hers as he took a sharp breath. His body shuddered under her as he sneezed a restrained outburst, clearly trying to keep the explosion minimal.

Ngh-GHXT!

She moaned involuntarily as the spasm thrust him against her.

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath. “Sorry.”

“Please,” she gasped. “Oliver!”

He sniffled thickly and then resumed with vigour until they both lay panting and shivering on the bed. He looked utterly exhausted but there was a smile on his lips. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You sweet thing,” she whispered. “As if you weren't exhausted at the start of the evening.”

She slipped out of the bed with a blanket around her shoulders and found his shirt and socks and underthings on the ground.

“Best put at least your socks on before you drop off entirely,” she said tenderly, helping him dress before they both slipped under the quilts again.

She woke at some ungodly hour to the sound of nose-blowing and the roar of the 'all clear' siren. From feel, she could tell Ollie was sitting up in bed, straining to clear his nose with his sodden handkerchief. It was pitch black in the shelter and she had no idea how long they'd been asleep.

She managed to find the matches and lit a candle. Oliver sounded dreadfully congested and by the dim light of the single candle, she could see his nose was red and angry-looking at the edges.

“Oh, love,” she said, leaving the candle on the bedside table and climbing back under the quilts next to him. “How do you feel?”

He exhaled noisily.

“Rather poorly, I'm afraid,” he said hoarsely. “I hope for your sake it's not catching.”

She squinted at the wristwatch she kept wrapped on the bedpost. It was half-past four.

“It's still early but there's the all-clear. Do you want to get rugged up in my bed upstairs or stay here.”

He folded the handkerchief and tucked it at his side, snuggling back down beside her.

“That answers that,” she said, tucking his head against her breast. She stroked his hair and planted a kiss there. “Try to get some more rest, darling. I'll take good care of you.”

#dustyfic #snzfic

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the-hilda-librarians-wife · 4 years ago

Text

No Mistletoe Above Our Heads

Summary: It’s the day of the Trolberg Winter Festival, and Matilda Pilkfist invites all her favorite people to her house to celebrate. Two of her guests, however, seem more interested in each other than anything elseContains spoilers for season 2

Notes: Did you know that legally you can post Christmas fics until the New Year? It’s right there in the constitution, I swear Jokes aside, I had two holiday fic ideas and only time to write one in time for Xmas and... that established relationship one won. Which, of course, didn’t stop me from wanting to do this one as well. Anyways this is set one year after the Trolberg Winter Festival that we see on season 2. Since we don’t know how much Johanna will know after the whole Troll business is over, I’m just making things up here.

Read it on ao3

The doorbell rang just in time for Kaisa to finish setting up the table, all the cutlery neatly in place.

“Oh, it’s the rest of our guests!” Tildy chirped. “You dears wait right here, I’ll go get them.”

Standing near Tildy’s table, the two of them watched the older woman walk to her front hall to open the door. There was a very strong scent of cinnamon in the air - Tildy had probably forgotten something in the oven.

“Do you know the other people she called?” Mr. Ostenfeld asked her, making her shrug.

‘Sort of. I’ve talked to the kids before. They’re okay.” Although she’d grown very fond of the children in the year she’d known them, spending the Winter Festival socializing with them was not a situation she was entirely comfortable with. She was sure she’d just be a wallflower and make them all feel like they needed to include her in their conversation for the sake of good manners, but her old mentor had insisted on her attending the dinner, so she’d given in. It wasn’t like she had any better plans for the evening, anyway, and she felt like she owned it to Tildy after spending years avoiding her.

“Frida, how delightful to see you!” They heard Matilda say from the doorway, and figured they should get closer to greet the guests as well. “And I’m so glad you two could come too!”

Behind Frida, there were two adults who resembled her a lot. Tildy let them in and pointed at them. “This is Peter, my boyfriend, and Kaisa. I used to be her English tutor as well!”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Mr. Ostenfeld said as Kaisa shook their hands. She had been warned, of course, that the adults didn’t know about the magic yet, but it still struck her as amusing to see arch-sorceress Matilda Pilkfist describe herself as an English tutor. She also wondered how her mentor was planning on explaining the skull on her wall, or the painting of witches around a fire, not to mention her hand mannequin for palmistry practice. Maybe she thought everyone had those things at home, that would be a very Tildy-like way of thinking.

After greeting Frida and her family, Kaisa brought her attention back to the other guests. She knew Frida’s familiar had also been invited. Tildy seemed to have taken a strong liking to her as well. What she hadn’t been expecting was to already know the adult who had come in with her.

Well, maybe know was too strong of a word. But she’d already met the woman at the library, where sometimes she’d go to look for inspiration for her work and Kaisa would help her, and sometimes they’d see each other around the city and wave. Still, it was enough for a noticeable spark of recognition to be lit on her brown eyes, even if she wasn’t the one who spoke first.

“Good evening!” Hilda greeted her happily. “It’s very nice to see you here!”

“Good evening, Hilda. How are you doing tonight?”

Seemingly unaware of how Kaisa’s gaze was straying to her mother behind her, the girl smiled. “Great! We just came from the bloom, it was so beautiful!”

“I agree. I was there long enough to see it, those flowers seem to get more beautiful every year.”

Though Hilda looked like she was going to agree, Mr. Ostenfeld approached them before she could say anything.

“Ah, so you two were invited! How lovely! Looks like you have already met my neighbors, eh Kaisa?”

“Good evening, Mr. Ostenfeld!” Mother and daughter said at the same time. Only now Kaisa realized that Johanna seemed to be trying to sneak glances at her as well.

“I already know Kaisa.” Hilda explained. “I don’t think mum does, though.”

With her hand on her hips, the woman rolled her eyes playfully. “Hilda, I’m not illiterate. I’ve already met Kaisa at the library.”

Hilda’s mouth formed a perfect “o” shape, her eyes widening only slightly. It seemed like an odd thing for her to realize her mother had a life beyond what they did together.

“It’s good to finally see you in a more social setting, Kaisa.” She said, raising her hand for the librarian to shake.

"Likewise." The woman’s grip was warm and soft, and something in Kaisa didn’t want to let go. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“Johanna.” The woman smiled. Perhaps the night wouldn’t be a waste after all.

_#_#_#_

Johanna never thought she’d be so glad to see the librarian.

When Hilda told her they’d been invited to Frida’s English Tutor’s Winter Festival dinner, she’d been skeptical at best. Not because she didn’t trust the woman, not even out of unwillingness to spend the Festival in a way so different from how she used to when she was younger, but because she knew Hilda would leave her alone, and she couldn’t blame her.

Being with her friend meant the girl would probably run off to somewhere private to talk to her alone, and Johanna would left to… mingle with the adults, something she didn’t quite know if she would manage. Her daughter had thought she had wanted her to make human friends for the sake of being normal. Truth be told, what she really wanted was for Hilda to have more social skills than she did when she grew up.

Her prediction had been proven true. The girls had gone to some other room in Matilda’s house at her invitation, and the rest of them had moved to a sitting room, where they sat down on the couches in pairs: the host and her boyfriend, Frida’s parents, and the party’s two outcasts, which had been left to sit together.

Kaisa seemed to realize they were the odd ones out - the only ones who weren’t there as a couple and who weren’t quite close to nearly anyone - at the same time Johanna did, and they smiled sympathetically at each other as they sat down on the bright red sofa.

Neither of them added much to the conversation; Tildy was able to carry it with her usual brightness and Frida’s parents seemed to be interested in adding their opinions as well, especially when the topic was their daughter’s incredible willingness to learn.

Not particularly interested in the dialogue, Kaisa let her mind wander elsewhere, until she felt Johanna tense up beside her. They weren’t close enough for her to physically feel it, but sensing her energy was enough for Kaisa to pick up something was wrong. She blinked and tried to remember the sentence that had just been spoken.

“It brings us a lot of pride.” Frida’s father had said, which made Kaisa assume the conversation still had been centered around Frida. “But it must be quite hard to have a trouble maker for a child, isn’t it? I imagine you’ve tried everything at this point to get Hilda to behave, and I should have expected Frida to have had a bigger impact on her, being the positive influence that she is.”

Johanna swallowed, and Kaisa could tell from the way her fist clenched on the hem of her sweater that she knew exactly what to answer, just as well as she knew she’d be beyond rude if she said what she wanted to.

“I don’t see what you mean.” As though they had forgotten she was there, and she wouldn’t be shocked if they had, all eyes turned to Kaisa with surprise in them. The only exception was Tildy, who had her typical knowing smirk on. “I’ve had plenty of opportunities to watch Hilda’s behavior, since she visits the library a lot, not once has she done anything that would have me describe her as a trouble maker. And trust me, I have seen some difficult children in my job.”

Looking quite flustered, the man tried to reverse the situation. “Well, surely you’ll agree-“

“There’s the basic, of course.” Kaisa didn’t let him finish. “She never yells or misplaces books, or returns them late. But even when she takes some actions that I suppose could be considered… off route, never has anyone been put in harm’s way by her that I know of, and all her actions are inspired by selflessness. Intelligence doesn’t only mean one thing, and I can assure you the girl is as smart as she is brave. It’s a shame not everyone can recognize it.”

Pleased when both parents looked properly chastened, Kaisa sat back against the couch and pretended to have stopped caring about the conversation again. Oh, if only those two knew the sort of thing their own child got involved with. She’d very much like to see their faces when they found out.

“I agree completely.” Said Peter from the other side of the room. “Never met anyone with better intentions.”

Tildy nodded at her boyfriend, even though her eyes seemed to stray away to the direction of the couch where Johanna and Kaisa were sitting. “Yes, she’s got a heart of gold, that one.”

Only when Kaisa glanced at Frida’s parents, wanting to see how they would look while trying to explain themselves, did she notice that Johanna was not looking at her daughter’s defensors, but rather at her. Her lips parted in a silent gasp when she saw her mouthing a ‘thank you’ to her.

Ignoring Frida’s mother’s fumbled speech as she tried to talk about the “value the school system gives to different learning types”, Kaisa whispered back at Johanna. “Want to get away?”

Though there was no clear answer from her part, no nod or smile, Kaisa didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up and her back straightened at the prospect.

“This is certainly a fascinating topic.” Kaisa blurted as she stood up, well aware that the sarcasm was showing in her voice. “But is it just me or is there something burning?”

Tildy sniffed the air and widened her eyes. Kaisa hadn’t even had to make anything up, something was burning.

“My korvapuusti!” Tildy gasped, but before she could move further, Kaisa gestured for her to remain seated.

“Don’t worry, I can see to it. Though I’m not much of a cook, so maybe Johanna should come with me.” She raised an eyebrow to the woman, expecting her to understand the cue she was trying to create at the same time she knew she was free to refuse it. “Hilda has already brought me some cookies you made, so I know you are skilled.”

“Of course.” Hoping she hadn’t been too quick to answer, Johanna got up and adjusted the hem of her sweater, sneaking a glance at Kaisa, who seemed to be as anxious to get out of there as her.

A dawning realization seemed to slowly replace the worry in Tildy’s face, and she smiled. “How sweet of the two of you to help this old woman. Thank you, dears.”

Kaisa nodded and went back to the entrance hall they’d been at some minutes ago, and Johanna fell in step beside her as she made her way through the house. She seemed to know where she was going, so Johanna didn’t question it, even as she spotted some frankly bizarre details in the house. Something about the way herb jars and crystals adorned nearly every surface was eerie, yet not unpleasant to her. And surely she was imagining the way the portaits’s eyes seemed to follow them.

“Thanks for that.” Johanna said when she had to do a little sprint to catch up with the librarian, a decoration that very much looked like a serpent with horns having had caught her attention. Kaisa slowed down her pace.

“Don’t think about it. There is something burning, anyway, and you very much are more more apt to deal than this than I am.”

“Oh, not that, though I am very grateful for the excuse to go away for a bit.” The lighting in that part of the house was significantly dimmer, somewhy being composed basically of candle light, and for a second Johanna was distracted by how their warm glow and the shadows they cast accentuated the sharp angles in Kaisa’s features. It was probably just the artist side of her showing. “I mean for defending Hilda like that. It’s good to know you have such a positive view of her and… I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t spoken up first.”

Kaisa smiled. This was something Johanna didn’t think she’d seen her do any time before that night. It had always been a certainty in her mind, though she didn’t know why, that the mysterious librarian didn’t show who she really was in the library. Now she wondered if she’d finally get to see more of Kaisa’s hidden side since they were behind closed doors.

“You would have been fine.” Thankful for the weak lighting hiding her blush, Kaisa answered. “At worst you would have told them what they need to hear.”

“That their daughter is going to develop one hell of a failure anxiety if they keep this up?”

“That she already has and Hilda is the positive influence that keeps her grounded. Those two really do a lot of good to each other, it’s a lovely friendship to watch.”

Kaisa opened a door and flicked the light switch up, making them both blink a few times since their eyes had adapted to relative darkness. The scent of burnt cinnamon and cardamom was much stronger there, and Johanna quickly spotted the oven and ran to it.

“You seem to know quite a lot about the children.” Johanna pointed out as Kaisa grabbed an oven mitt from the overhead shelf and handed it to her. Carefully, she opened the oven and was struck by a cloud of smoke and heat, holding herself back not to cough as she reached inside and pulled out the tray with the sweets on it. The cinnamon rolls were certainly a lot darker than they ought to be.

Kaisa waved her hand in the air, trying to make the smoke and the strong smell of burnt food fade, and with her other hand she gestured for Johanna to put the tray on an empty place on the counter.

“I don’t go out much.” She admitted half unwillingly. Admitting her lack of social life probably was not the best course of action to take if she wanted Johanna to be interested in befriending her, but she'd certainly figure it out in no time, anyway. “So when I notice recurring patrons that don’t irk me, I usually pay attention to them.”

“Pay attention?” Johanna asked as she tried to figure out how to turn off Matilda’s prehistoric oven before they both choked to death.

With a fork, Kaisa attempted to examine whether or not the confections were still salvageable. At first when she couldn’t poke inside, she thought maybe the crust of sugar and cinnamon had just gotten too thick, but when it broke with an audible crack before yielding she knew they were lost.

“I’m not-” She crossed her arms over her chest, biting her lower lip as she wondered if it was a good idea to answer that question truthfully. Due precisely to not having many friends, Kaisa knew she tended to overshare when people would listen to her, and it just made them go away. But there was something in the way Johanna looked at her that made her believe she genuinely wanted to know. “I’m not really good at talking to people. I seem to be the kind of person that is more interesting when watched from afar, anyway. So I tend to pay attention to visitors, as a hobby I suppose. You can tell a lot by people-watching.”

Johanna took off the mits and gave them back to Kaisa for her to put them in their proper place, and gave her a small nod as a sign to go on.

“I probably wouldn’t know this much about them, but curious as they are the children began to… talk to me.” Kaisa said. It wasn’t quite a lie, but she was sure the story would make much more sense to Johanna if she could mention the Committee and the magic. Though perhaps that was for the better, since that would also mean admitting to taking her daughter through a magical maze, not to mention the ghost situation and the tide mice incident. She highly doubted that Johanna would appreciate it. “And I suppose we just got along. They’re very sweet kids, the three of them, and their curiosity brings them to the library quite often.”

Rather than being disturbed by some of her closest bonds being with children she had no family ties to, Johanna smiled like she understood.

“They really are lovely.” With great difficulty, Johanna managed to unstick one of the sweets from the tray. “It’s a shame I don’t get to talk much to Frida and David, though. Hilda usually doesn’t want her mother bothering her friends. I guess it’s just signs of pre-teenagehood showing up.”

After bringing the korvapuusti to her nose and sniffing it, Johanna had to do her best to hide a grimace at the smell. “Oh, goodness, I hope Matilda doesn’t get too upset about not serving dessert.”

“Eh, she’s probably done another batch earlier.” Kaisa said as a way of hiding the fact that Tildy would probably use a revitalization spell and serve them anyway. Currently, the librarian was more interested in something else she’d just spotted on the counter.

It was a small jar, not much bigger than a glass of water and filled to the brim with a cream coloured paste. She grabbed it so fast that Johanna blinked with surprise, and thought for a moment that she was trying to hide something.

“Tildy made condensed milk!” Kaisa chirped, sounding very much like an excited child as she opened one of the drawers and took out two tablespoons. “I mean, of course she did. She always puts it on the table when she makes korvapuusti in case anyone wants to add it on top, but she made so much this time! How lucky.”

As Kaisa scooped a spoonful of the viscous substance, Johanna bit back a smirk. If people truly did think Kaisa’s uncensored self wasn’t as interesting as the image she first showed them was, the woman would have to disagree strongly. Every time she’d seen the librarian in her work place, Kaisa had set in her the desire to get to know her better, and now that she was seeing beneath the mystery and the quietness, nothing changed; if anything, Johanna was even more intrigued. In her mind, she compared her to a good brownie: once you got past the crispy crust it was warm and soft inside, and both parts were just as good.

“You seem very close to her as well.” Johanna pointed out. “Between her and the children, you’re probably better off in the friend department than I am.”

Kaisa stopped scooping a second spoon to look at her, her brow furrowed. “Really? You look like a very popular person.”

Flattered, Johanna chuckled. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re nice.” Kaisa shrugged. “Nice people usually have a lot of friends.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s how I come across. But I’m afraid I don’t really have any friends. None human, at least.”

Johanna looked away and cringed. Great way to get people to like you, she told herself. Make them see how weird you are. It was ironic, really. She’d insisted so much on Hilda making some human friends, and in the end she was the one drinking her afternoon tea with a nisse. If Kaisa had thought she was nice rather than odd, like most people did, it wouldn’t last if she continued talking so freely.

There was no judgement, not even surprise, when she looked back at Kaisa’s face, though. She looked like she thought that what Johanna was saying made perfect sense.

“Now you have one.” She had set down the jar again and was raising one of the spoons up for Johanna to take. “If I might call myself that, I mean.”

“Oh.” Johanna smilled, a cool sensation of butterflies in her belly making her fidget with the hem of her sweater. “Yes, of course. I’d love to be your friend!”

Kaisa’s grin widened, and Johanna spent a second thinking about how beautiful the dark lipstick shade she was wearing looked on her before realizing she was still waiting for her to take the spoon.

“Oh.” Johanna gasped again, mentally kicking herself from fumbling over her words so much. She wasn’t normally like this, but Kaisa had no way of knowing this and would probably think her a complete fool before the night was over. “Shouldn’t we wait until after dinner?”

“What’s the harm? Hilda isn’t here, you know? You don’t have to set a good exemple.” Kaisa said even as lowered the spoon, as if to show that she wouldn’t pressure her to do it. However, the argument seemed to have been a good one, because as soon as she brought her own spoon to her lips to taste the condensed milk, Johanna gave in and picked up hers.

“This is really good!” Johanna said regardless of thinking that it was maybe a bit too sweet for her to be able to eat a whole spoonful of it. Kaisa didn’t seem to be having any problems with it, though, and she didn’t want to let her new friend down.

Kaisa leaned her back against the counter, pleased Johanna seemed to have liked it. Figuring it would probably be inappropriate if she kept watching her as she licked the condensed milk out of the spoon, which she firmly told herself she’d only been doing because she wanted to catch her reaction, Kaisa ran her eyes around the kitchen as she concentrated on her early dessert. Until, that was, her attention was caught by something on the doorframe.

��Did Tildy seriously put mistletoe in the kitchen?” She sighed, more to herself than to Johanna.

“Not fond of them?” Johanna asked with her gaze also focused on the bundle of green leaves and pearly white berries.

“I’ve no ill will towards them.” Kaisa ate the last of what was left on her spoon and wondered if it was worth it to wash it and get some more condensed milk. “I just feel like it can be a really stupid tradition. Can’t be pleasant to be under the mistletoe with someone you don’t like.”

“Yes, it must be uncomfortable.” While she answered, Johanna turned to face Kaisa, who was washing the spoon in order to put it back inside the drawer, figuring out Tildy would notice if too much of the condensed milk was gone. Realizing Kaisa had some of it in the corner of her mouth, anything else she might have said was snatched out of her tongue as the sudden thought that it truly was a pity that Kaisa didn’t appreciate that tradition popped in her mind. Embarrassed, she shook her head as if to expel that notion, and put the spoon in her mouth to finish eating as well. “I wonder where on earth it came from. Sounds random to say the least.”

Kaisa hummed in agreement, and though Kaisa offered to wash Johanna’s spoon as well, she insisted on cleaning up after herself. After they were both done, they decided they’d probably been away for longer than socially acceptable. It was probably already time for dinner, at that point.

As they retraced their steps, however, the two women stopped in front of the first door frame after the kitchen's, staring at the same thing for the same reason.

“Curious.” Johanna hummed. “I don’t remember that mistletoe being there.”

It escaped Johanna’s notice, but not Kaisa’s, that there was something out of the ordinary with the sprig. After a few seconds of watching it, a glittering speck of green dust fell from it, floating all the way to the ground. The witch’s shoulders hunched forward like they tended to do when she was annoyed. An illusion spell.

“I don’t think they were here before.” She hissed through clenched teeth, low enough for Johanna to not hear it. Every other room they passed by was the same: a small mistletoe where before there had been none.

“It was probably the weak lighting.” Johanna said as they passed by their fifth mistletoe, although she failed to convince even herself with that explanation. Kaisa might not have noticed it since she had just been looking forward to where they had been going, but Johanna had been paying very close attention to her surroundings. Maybe that house’s nisse had decided to add some decoration?

Kaisa did her best to smile and say “Yes, it probably was.”, knowing it must have looked way more like a growl. Right when they arrived back at the sitting room, her suspicions were confirmed. Not only did Tildy have her hand inside the pocket where she kept her wand, but also the look of curiosity she gave them when they came back spoke louder than any words.

“You’re back! We were just waiting for you to go to the table.” Tildy chirped, looking deep inside Kaisa’s eyes, looking for something.

“Someone better go call the children, then.”

Tildy looked away at Kaisa’s unwavering answer. Whatever she’d been looking for, and the librarian thought she had a pretty good idea of what it was, she hadn’t found it.

“And the korvapuusti?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to use your extra batch.”

“Oh, well.” She got up with her boyfriend's aid. “There’s always next time, isn’t there.”

Something led Kaisa to believe she was not talking about the confections.

_#_#_#_

“It was great to spend some time with you, Kaisa!”

The librarian tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hoping she didn’t look too happy to be hearing that.

“Likewise, Johanna.”

Would asking to see her again be too much? It probably would, but she could think of nothing else to say. They just stood perfectly still as they looked at each other, the cold from the night outside creeping into the house through the open door behind Johanna. Holding her mother’s hand, Hilda glanced back and forth at both of them with a curious frown.

“I guess I’ll see you at the library, then?” Johanna said at last, and Kaisa nodded.

“Yes. That’s… that’s where I’ll be.”

“Well, happy Bloom again! And good night.” At this point, Hilda was already trying to subtly drag her mother away. For someone who always complained about the Woodman leaving the door open, she thought Johanna really should pay more attention to that sort of thing.

“Good night to the two of you.” Said Kaisa. Finally happy that Johanna had began moving out, Hilda smiled and waved at the witch.

“Bye bye, Kaisa! See you when I see you!”

When the door was closed at last, and Kaisa was the only guest left (it didn’t matter that she was one of the strongest witches alive, Kaisa would feel bad if she left an elderly lady to clean up everything alone), Tildy surreptitiously crept up by her side.

“Did you at least get her number?” Tildy asked with a sigh, which made her former apprentice remember why exactly she’d been mad at her.

“Tildy.” Kaisa groaned, putting her hands on her waist. “I know you mean well, but you’re going a little too far. I barely even know Johanna and you’re already conjuring mistletoes around the house?!”

Saying that, she pointed to the spot one of the sprigs had been just a few minutes before, even though there was nothing there at that moment. The woman giggled, kneeling down with some difficulty to pick her familiar up when it walked to her.

“Oh, but I’ve a good eye for this sort of thing!” She defended herself cheerfully as she petted that thing she called a familiar. Kaisa had never seen eye to eye with it. It had a tendency of eating her books which hadn’t faded with time. “I saw some sparks flying and I decided to help along! Such a shame you didn’t grab the chance.”

Kaisa pinched the bridge of her nose. Sometimes she wondered if age was beginning to get the best of her old mentor. “Okay, fine, I think she’s cute. You’ve always been able to tell how I feel and I won’t deny it. But we both know close to nothing about her! She doesn’t even like mistletoes-”

“This younger generation.” Tildy scoffed, interrupting her. “So unromantic.”

“And even if her feelings were reciprocal.” Kaisa continued with a glare, figuring it was better to pretend she hadn’t heard that. No matter how old Kaisa got, she was always part of the ‘younger generation’ in Tildy’s eyes. “We’ve just properly met! “that’s way too forward and you know it, so don’t try to blame me for not making a move in the first five seconds of knowing someone.”

“Oh, Kaisa.” The sorceress sighed as she began walking away to the kitchen, so they both could start and finish their washing as soon as possible. “No need to get so defensive. I was only trying to help you, but I apologize if it made you uncomfortable in any way. However, as someone who wants nothing but your happiness, I need to ask you to reach out to that woman as soon as possible.”

Kaisa hugged her arms around her torso. Somewhy that idea was enough to make her afraid, even if she couldn’t tell what of. “It’s okay, Tildy. You don’t have to apologize, but I think I’ll wait until Johanna goes to the library again. We can talk a bit and… and then when she visits it again it won’t be weird to try and arrange another meeting somewhere else.”

Tildy stopped right in front of the sink and narrowed her eyes at Kaisa. “Were you not listening?”

“I was, but-“

“No buts!” She exclaimed, throwing a towel at Kaisa. Whether she wanted her to do the drying or she was just exasperated and wanted to throw something at her, she didn’t know. “Do you know why I’m dating Peter?”

“Hopefully because you love him?” Kaisa answered, somewhat stunned at the sudden change in topic.

“Very funny, aren’t you.” Opening the sink to begin her washing, Tildy snickered. “I mean, why am I dating him instead of already being married to him? I did already tell you we met when we were young.”

“Because you’re both broke and can’t take a loan since the bank doesn't like you.” Kaisa joked, which resulted in Tildy shaking her weat hand on her direction to send a couple of drops of water at her. Laughing as her she shielded her face from the water, she quickly added. “I’m kidding! It’s because you two didn’t talk for very long.”

Tildy nodded as she went back to washing. There was something sad in her eyes, and anyone else might have missed it. Kaisa, however, had spent too much time with her, had shared too many conquests and downfalls with this woman to not be able to pick it up.

“We met one night and fell in love almost instantly. But we knew nothing of each other… I spent my life hoping he’d find me, and he spent his life not being able to because he didn’t know how. He spent his life regretting not having asked me out on that first night. Do you see what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Be grateful Johanna knows where I work and for modern technology?”

Tildy gave her a glare that made her sure that if looks could kill, she’d need a spot at Guglow’s. Even her familiar, who had moved to lie atop of her head, seemed to be staring at her with impatience, and Kaisa sighed in defeat.

“I understand the lesson, Tildy. And even though I don’t really agree in this ‘love at first sight’ talk and your extreme carpe diem mentality, I’ll… try to do something. So as not to become a target for your crossbow practice, if anything.”

Finally pleased, Tildy smiled.

“Smart girl!”

_#_#_#_

“Hey, mum, what are you doing?”

Slouched over a cookbook in her bedroom, Johanna hadn’t even heard it when Hilda opened the door. Her daughter sat near her on the bed and tried to take a peak at what she was reading.

“I’m trying to find any condensed milk recipes in our old recipe book.” She explained, though she knew that at that point she all but had that book’s contents memorized. “Kaisa seems to like it a lot… she was very kind to both of us at the party, I wanted to make her something as a late winter festival gift, even if it’s just a batch of cookies.”

“Sounds like a good idea. You could take the chance and ask if she has any recipes she’d prefer.”

Finally Johanna dragged her eyes away from the book, and noticed Hilda had a sly smile on. “What do you mean?”

“The doorbell rang, remember? She’s at the door.”

“What?!” Johanna jumped from the bed, wondering how Kaisa knew where she lived before remembering she could have gotten the address from the library records, or from Frida, Matilda, and even from Hilda herself. Before leaving the room, she glanced at the mirror to check her appearance, which made Hilda lift an eyebrow.

She was sure she wasn’t imagining the blush on the librarian’s face when she opened the door, but she was more worried about the fact that she probably had one of her own.

“I wonder where it came from.” Kaisa quoted Johanna’s words from the night before, from when they’d seen the first mistletoe on the kitchen’s doorway, and bit back a grimace when she realized she’d forgotten to say “good afternoon”. There was no coming back from that, so she continued. “That’s what you said about the mistletoe’s tradition yesterday. I, ah, got curious. So I did some research and found out it actually comes from mythology. And biology. The biology of the plant mattered too, you see.”

There was a beat of silence in which Johanna just blinked at her, and Kaisa was afraid she’d slam the door on her face for turning up in her house out of the blue to talk about mistletoe lore the day after a holiday. Instead, she opened a grin.

“That sounds fascinating!” Johanna said, feeling her heart pick up pace. Not only had Kaisa truly listened to what she said, but she’d had the mind to look for answers and to come all the way to her house to tell her what she’d found. “I’m working on an evergreens pattern for a series of products, I actually think knowing more about these aspects of them would give me a lot of inspiration!”

Standing up a little straighter, Kaisa couldn’t hold back a breathy chuckle of relief that Johanna seemed to be taking that attempt well.

“I was hoping you’d let me tell you more about it over coffee?” She asked as she bit down on her bottom lip. “If you’re busy right now-”

“No, no!” Johanna waved her hands in front of her. “I’m completely free.”

Perhaps that hadn’t been the best thing to say, since she had just informed her that she was working on a project, but Kaisa didn’t seem skeptical of her answer at all, only happy. Her grey eyes lit up, as beautiful as the snow outside when the weak winter sun shone on it.

“Oh.” Kaisa breathed. She seemed surprised, and maybe even amazed by the situation, and it filled Johanna with warmth. If she seemed awe struck by something so simple, she couldn’t possibly be used to being appreciated, and Johanna couldn’t wait to change that. Figuring Kaisa had already done the most of the reaching out just by going there, she spoke up again.

“There’s a pretty good coffee house in the centre square.” She said. “We could take the chance to pick up some fallen Sostansil flowers, I loved pressing them in my journal when I was younger. Plus, I’m pretty sure they sell their cookbooks there, and I just discovered I need a new one.”

As if by work of magic, confidence seemed to return to Kaisa’s stance. “That sounds lovely!”

“I’ll just check with Hilda if it’s alright to leave her alone and-”

“Don’t worry about me.” Both of them startled when they noticed Hilda had been standing a few meters away, in the kitchen. “I’ve got to do homework and walk Twig.”

“Hilda, it’s impolite to listen to other people’s conversations.” Johanna called out. All the girl did was mutter an amused ‘sorry’ and walk back to her room.

Since when Johanna looked back at the librarian she didn’t look put off by Hilda’s behaviour, she took a step back and pointed behind herself.

“In this case, I’ll just grab my coat and we can go. I’d love to hear all about what you found out.”

Kaisa’s smile was the last thing Johanna saw before she ran off to her room. It was intriguing, she thought, how the mistletoe hadn’t needed to be above her head to help her.

Maybe, from then on, she’d like it a lot more.

#fic: nmaoh #my fic #sketchbook ship #sketchbook ship hilda #sketchbook ship fanfic #kaisa hilda fanfic #johanna hilda fanfic

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alittlebitmaybe · 4 years ago

Text

making concessions

so i, uh, maybe wrote the nichest, dumbest cracky au ficlet in the world. i blame @yoursummerfrost who is possibly the sole audience for this. i hope you’re happy.

anyway, this is what i described in this post, aka “Geralt and Jaskier meet at a Magic: the Gathering tournament that Jaskier has no business being at but somehow he beats Geralt and then they try to have sex in the bathroom”

featuring a complete disregard for like, legal cards or real decks or any actual knowledge of MTG tournaments beyond living with someone who plays it a lot

rated M for like frottage and marking and stuff

“Fresh meat,” Yen mutters, perched against one of the folding tables, knees spread. She punctuates it with a snap of her bubble gum.

Geralt folds his arms across his chest, eyebrow raised. “This is a low-tier Magic tournament, Yen, not a grade school playground.”

“Doesn’t make him not fresh meat. He’s gonna last five minutes, tops. Someone is gonna OTK that poor bastard.”

“We’ve all got to start somewhere.”

“That kid, Geralt,” she says, “is starting nowhere.”

The man Yen calls that kid does look more like he should be at Coachella than at a Magic: the Gathering tournament—bandana, loose tank top, cuffed jean shorts, and all—but, Geralt thinks, clearing his throat, he’s definitely no kid, not with the definition in his arms and the chest hair and the light scruff along his jaw. He is, though, going around and asking people to show him their decks, which he takes from them and riffles through clumsily while oohing and ahhing.

“Good for me, at least,” Geralt adds. “One less actual competitor to knock out.”

Yen punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Sure, if you can keep it in your pants. You just went all googly-eyed. Those baby blues suck you in already?”

He drags his gaze back to her. “He’s alright. If he touches my cards like that I’ll kill him. They’re worth more than his life.”

“I know, dear. I know. Well, gird yourself, because if you both win your first matches you’re against each other.”

Geralt smiles. “No problem. I’ve been playtesting against every meta deck for weeks. My win ratios are favorable against almost anything. This whole thing is mine.”

“Nerd,” says Yen.

Geralt tugs at the hem of her vest, and she kicks out at him with her boot heel. “You’re literally a judge here. You’re certified.”

“Exactly. I’m in a position of power, but you’re just here to show off. Nerd.”

“Keep it up and I won’t share the prize.”

“Half the prize money would barely buy me dinner at Applebee’s, but thanks anyway, darling. You can keep it, I think I’ll manage.”

And well, that’s fair, actually.

“It’s not about the money,” Geralt protests.

Yen snorts. “Obviously, or no one would be here. We all just bow to the whims of MTG. And thank them. And hand over our credit cards.”

Coachella man has dropped someone’s deck all over the floor and is apologetically gathering the cards back into a haphazard pile. The spectacle has drawn stares.

“Who’s the fool, really?” Yen asks. “Him, or us?”

“Hm,” Geralt replies.

“Geralt,” says Geralt. “Bant ramp.”

“Jaskier,” says Coachella man, smiling brightly and taking the proffered hand as he settles himself across the table. “Was that last bit English?”

“It’s…my deck,” Geralt explains dubiously. “Bant ramp? Green, white, blue?”

Jaskier pulls an impressed face. “They’ve got names for things like that? You really know your stuff, Geralt.”

“Uh,” says Geralt, nonplussed. “Yeah, thanks. What are you playing, then?”

“Oh, I’ve got this great deck! It’s got all the colors because I couldn’t pick just a few, and all the cards have such pretty art, you know? I had to put in the best ones. A few of ‘em are even shiny. She’s treated me well so far, this deck. I love her.”

Geralt scans down the list of players on his tourney pamphlet. Next to Jaskier’s name it says only Five color aggro???

Geralt huffs out through his nose. That is nonsensical, and—most importantly—not something he ever playtested against. But no matter what is in that deck, Geralt’s got this in the bag. There’s no way this Jaskier guy has the land base needed to support five colors. Especially if he chose his cards, apparently, based on the art.

Jaskier begins slowly pile shuffling his deck of utterly unsleeved cards. Not even inner sleeves, much less double sleeves. Geralt’s blood pressure ticks up.

“So, uh,” he begins, “you’re new to this, huh? What got you into Magic?”

“Ah, my friend Essi plays here and there, she mentioned this and it seemed like it’d be a lark. New experience and such. And hey”—Jaskier looks up and grins—“maybe I’ll win!”

Geralt thinks about the hours and weeks and years he’s spent studying cards and losing games and analyzing pro matches. “Good luck,” he says.

“Thank you, you’re sweet.”

Jaskier continues placing each card meticulously on its own stack. Geralt shuffles his own deck again and again as he waits.

“Do you want me to, uh.”

Jaskier looks up and says, “Oh, would you? That would be so helpful. I’ve never quite got the hang of the—,” he makes a riffle shuffle gesture, “—whole shuffling thing.”

He loses the coin toss, which, he realizes a few turns later, is not an auspicious beginning. But even with Jaskier on the play and him on the draw, certainly it won’t make that much of a difference. Not when Jaskier has to squint at his hand like he’s reading all the card texts for the first time ever. At one point he even goes “Oh, that’s an interesting one,” as if surprised. It cannot make that much of a difference to go second.

And it doesn’t. Because he can’t draw shit to save his life.

While Geralt draws white mana after white mana, Jaskier throws down creature after creature, ignoring effects and the stack entirely in favor of big numbers and building a “board aesthetic.” Whatever the fuck that means. He drops a land on every turn and his mana costs curve out perfectly, despite the stretch over five fucking colors. It’s nothing short of miraculous.

Finally, Geralt is staring down a board of attackers against the lone creature he’d managed to play, and Jaskier says “Ooh, I’ve got enough of the land thingies to play this fella!” and drops—of all fucking things—a Craterhoof Behemoth. Like Geralt isn’t already nearly dead on board.

Geralt eyes the board wipe in his hand that—for fuck’s sake—requires blue.

A single blue mana needed, and a stack of Plains in front of him a mile high.

“It resolves,” he grumbles.

“Woooooo,” says Jaskier. “I mean, that’s good, right?”

“Yes,” says Geralt. “For you.”

He’s got one more draw step to try to dig for an Island. One fucking Island, a fetch land, a mana-producing artifact, anything. He’s spent way too much money on his mana fixing for this to happen.

On his draw, he takes into hand a worthless green creature.

“Fuck!” He scrubs a hand over his face, drops his hand onto the table. “That’s the game. Good one.”

Jaskier looks confused. “What do you mean? You mean I win? But I didn’t get to, you know.” He mimes pushing his attackers across the table like an advancing army. “Kill you.”

“I’m dead on board and have nothing.”

“But I wanted to attack with my big fella!”

Geralt sighs and faintly hears Yen laughing her ass off down the table. And they play out Jaskier’s turn. In which Geralt immediately dies.

As Jaskier celebrates and gathers his cards, Geralt levels him with a tired stare. “Look, be straight with me. Is this a fucking hustle?”

Jaskier laughs brightly. “What, didn’t think I could play, eh?”

“You can’t,” Geralt says. “Obviously. Unless it’s a hustle.”

“No hustling here!” Jaskier then wiggles his eyebrows lasciviously. “Unless you’d like to hustle me later. If you catch my drift.”

Geralt does. “That is not a real come on.”

“Sure it is, since you know I’m coming on to you.”

“Let’s just play out the match,” Geralt says with finality.

He’s down one, but he just needs two wins. Two wins against a deck that will, eventually, be inconsistent and impractical. He shuffles his own deck—tested and massaged until its consistency holds up to real life statistics—four times, just to make sure.

Then Jaskier holds out his deck and Geralt begrudgingly shuffles that, too.

“You have nice hands,” Jaskier comments, following his fingers on the cards. “Big. Strong. Capable.”

“Shut up,” Geralt mumbles, and pretends to ignore it when Jaskier says, Yes, sir.

He loses the match on game two, and it’s his own damn fault, this time, because Jaskier drops an infinite combo and doesn’t even realize it until Geralt opens his dumb fucking mouth.

“There it is,” he groans, resigned, as Jaskier lays down the last combo piece. “Lucky draw.”

“Eh?”

“You comboed out?”

“Eh?” Jaskier says again, fingers still on the card like he’s thinking of taking it back, face utterly perplexed.

“You—holy fucking Christ.” Geralt throws his hands in the air. “You don’t even know you have that combo, do you.”

“I—do not, per se, know that, no.”

“That effect will untap your artifact, which lets you—oh, who cares. Fine. You win. Congrats.”

Jaskier’s expression brightens. “I win? Really? But I didn’t even attack!”

“You win. Really.”

Geralt wants a beer.

“Oh!” Jaskier is now beaming. He glances at his watch, a gold-trimmed gaudy thing. “Well, that was quick. We’ve got some time before the next round, if you wanna—uh—”

“Yeah,” sighs Geralt. Heat curls in his belly alongside the mingled anger (shame? embarrassment?) and disappointment. “Whatever.”

Might as well.

Geralt shoves Jaskier back against the bathroom door as he locks it, and Jaskier promptly wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist. Without a moment of hesitation Geralt leans in, biting at Jaskier’s lips, feeling arms circle his neck and hands weave themselves into his hair. Their bodies align perfectly and when Geralt thrusts forward, Jaskier gasps into his mouth.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, like that.”

A growl leaves Geralt in response, frustration with this stupid, clueless man bubbling up within him. Jaskier tastes like red Gatorade and smells like that body butter Yen keeps on her bathroom counter.

It’s less off-putting than it should be.

He keeps going like that, not because he was told to but because it’s infuriatingly good, Jaskier’s body warm and firm and pliant against his as he rolls his hips.

“Oh, God,” Jaskier groans on a thrust that results in a particularly good drag, which separates their mouths enough for Geralt to redirect his attention. With one hand he drags down the idiotic bandana tied around Jaskier’s neck and starts to suck harsh marks into salty skin. Jaskier keeps up a noisy litany of gasps and muffled, bitten-off encouragements. “Oh, that’s—good, fuck—your mouth—like it rough, don’t you…”

Geralt doesn’t particularly like it rough, actually, when he hasn’t been fucking hustled at his own game, but Jaskier still doesn’t seem to have caught on to the part where Geralt is sort of fucking furious about this whole situation.

Instead of explaining himself, he just bites down on Jaskier’s pulse point and curls his hand around Jaskier’s waist where his shirt is rucked up, nails digging in.

“Yeah—” Jaskier says, and tugs at Geralt’s hair, and then there’s banging on the door.

“We can hear you, assholes. There’s a line out here and we gotta piss,” an angry voice calls from the other side.

“Use the ladies’!” Jaskier yells hoarsely. “There’s never anyone in there. This one’s occupied.” Geralt moves against him again. “Oh, that’s—more.”

“No,” says the angry voice. “No more.” Another round of banging. “We’re calling property management. They’ve got a key.”

“Shit,” Geralt says, dropping Jaskier, who makes an indignant noise. He unlocks and opens the door.

There is, in fact, a small crowd around the men’s room, headed by a red-faced man half a foot shorter than Geralt.

“Can’t you mind your own business?” Geralt says.

“Can’t you keep it in your pants?” the man sneers back.

“Technically,” Jaskier pipes up, straightening his bandana and swiping at his hair, “nothing ever came out of any pants.”

“Jaskier,” says Geralt, “don’t help.”

An official-looking group of people rounds the corner, accompanied by Yen, who spots Geralt and nearly falls to the floor in a mirthful fit. He rolls his eyes.

The officials don’t like that at all.

A few months later, Jaskier kneels on the other side of Geralt’s coffee table, considering his hand. He licks his lip and taps a few lands to place an enchantment, which Geralt promptly counters.

“You and your fucking—control decks,” Jaskier sighs. “Let me play one some time.”

“Make your own,” says Geralt. “You can use my collection.”

“Ah, maybe I will, and then you won’t be able to play anything at all, ever, and how would you like that?”

“Do you have anything to get rid of my flyers?”

“Unfortunately, no, Geralt, I do not, or I would have played it by now.”

“Then you should probably concede.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He picks up his cards, sleeved properly, and slides them over to Geralt’s side. “Shuffle please.”

Geralt shuffles them.

“Shame we can’t go to the tournament today,” says Jaskier wistfully. “Banned. What rot. We didn’t even get off that day. Rudely interrupted.”

“Yeah, well, someone had no business being there, anyway.”

“I still think I could have gone all the way. Beat you, didn’t I?”

“Haven’t since.”

“Only because you learned my tricks.”

“Jaskier, you don’t have tricks.”

“Exactly.” He smiles, and Geralt can’t help but smile back. When he places Jaskier’s deck back on the table, Jaskier’s hand rests on top of his. “I am, though, Geralt, absolutely thrilled that we met. Whatever the circumstance. Or consequence. If it needs saying.”

It doesn’t, but Geralt meets his eyes and says, “Yeah, me too.”

#LAKSDGLKDFJD #yes this is how i spent my day #my fic #geraskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier fic #i might post this on ao3 later idk #just for the hell of it #dear brain can i please work on the zombie au now #WHY is this 2200 words

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avoyhightopp · 4 years ago

Note

I want to clarify a few things in Attack on titan chapter 138! The title: A long dream.

> Mikasa Ackerman.

What's important to notice is that Mikasa had a wrong impressionable of Eren from the very beginning of the story arc which is crucial for this chapter 138 and the ending of it (which was kinda awkward)!

1. The dream sequence meant to showcase Mikasa's ideal life. She always wanted to have a normal life and family yet again and live peacfully. Mikasa got to experience the cruelty of the world at the very young age. She was tought to have a strong conviction and fight the ruthlessness of species that holds the power over the others.

As we know Mikasa keeps relying on her strength and fighting her empathy that resolves in consequential outcomes. That comes from her (Ackerman) ability of seeing the beauty in everything. That made her see Eren's assassination (in the past and present) as something compassionating whereas for him it was a form of letting the anger out at oppression coming from certain inviduals. 👇

I'm not saying Eren doesn't care about Mikasa at all but it's definitely denying his idealistic beliefs and coviction towards achieving freedom (and to keep moving forward).

> Eren Jaeger.

2. As we know of Eren character that wants to move forward no matter what and he's willing to take the life of their friends if they try to stop them. Even if the world after turns out to be a hell for him there is a very little arguments that could prevent him from completing the rumbling.

As chapter 131 was the moment we saw Eren having the most doubts towards his actions (and future) about the turning point that ultimately makes him persuade the genocide. 👇

Mikasa seeing his uncertainty still believed later on that there is a chance for Eren to eventually turn back and live a normal life yet again. She didn't know Eren is already at a point of a path of no return at all That's something that goes back to the beginning of the story where she joined the survey corpse only for the sake of Eren and Armin, hoping she can keep them alive and live with them eventually.

The line:''Eren please come home'' keeps showing up multiple times in the story. Mikasa obviously had to give up on Eren but this unattainable world showcase that she still has the wrong idea about him and Eren won't do something as simple as put himself to death. 👇

The point is that Mikasa still see the kindness in Eren and doesn't realize he could kill her for the sake of freedom. Chapter 138 for me feels like an obvious conclusion that's gonna end up of Mikasa dying at the end of Attack on titan manga. 👇

If Eren was the one who sent Mikasa those dreams why didn't he think about them too while having a conversation with Zeke about her and the Ackermans in chapter 130 instead of remember Historia? 👇

See you later... Eren has to different shards between Chapter 1 (kid Eren) and chapter 138 (Mikasa).

Ch 1 Eren's pov. Ch 138 Mikasa's pov.

This chapter of Mikasa "dreaming", about what could've been if she chose a different answer in Marley. In a way, I still kinda think that Mikasa is looking at the kind side of Eren (not evil). Because there's no way in hell that Mikasa's confession... would've made him turn away like that during his Trost dream, we can see his mother, (Carla) father, (Grisha) Mikasa etc. 👇

But the way the scene played out, showed us that Eren desired freedom more. It's even clearer in the anime (for season 1), he reduces them to ashes, because his unique conviction desires something beyond what's in his mind but anyway, the point is that clearly Mikasa's answer wouldn't have changed anything for Eren. Now this is where I think that the "real", Eren intervenes in the dream and it allows it to link up to what happened in chapter 1. 👇

The titan shifter marks indicate that he's using the paths to Communicate with her (just like Armin in chapter 137). He's using this as his last effort to get her to ditch the scarf, which she ultimately refuses. And as we saw that bird in the sky could be a way of showing us (reader's) that (real) Eren is aware of what is currently happening and this is where they both experienced this dream and it brings everything full circles,.

But let's just reiterate that the "real" Eren, only intercepted the dream when he starts talking about the scarf and I think the comment by Louis (in chapter 126) supports the theory that was mentioned 2 year's ago even more.

Armin Alert: Goodbye... Eren in chapter 137. Eren's not dead!

Mikasa Ackerman: see you later... Eren in chapter 138. Eren's not dead!

Eren Jaeger: you are... free in the final chapter. Eren's alive.

What kinda worries and confuses me is how there's only one more chapter left for Isayama to finish. I wonder how it will turn out?

I'm predicting that we will get the rest of EH conversation and the theory to confirm who the father is! And many final deaths about to come soon.

I do hope you get my question. And i hope you stay safe. 😷

Thank you, I do try to stay safe, although my country is not on a lockdown 😅 hope you stay safe too!

I think this theory really makes sense, and I’m looking forward to the last chapter that will solve everything.

I’m a bit surprised you are posting such a kino stuff in the asks, when you could actually just post it yourself haha.

#erehisu #shingeki no kyojin #138

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letteredlettered · 5 years ago

Note

Do you have any tips for coping with people making problematic comments on things you have written? I'm currently writing a fic that explores communication problems & societal gender narratives. In this context, the main (cis/het) couple have a nasty fight & there is clear fault on both sides. I've had several people attack the female character in the comment section, saying that she is a complete bitch/piece of shit & her husband should leave her - I'm finding it quite upsetting.

First of all, I’m so sorry this is happening to you. It’s painful to receive comments that aren’t thoughtful about your work or you and that are hateful toward a character that you love and in some way is a part of you.

I do think sometimes people don’t mean to be hateful with comments like this. They’re trying to show that they’re invested. Also, sometimes people read fanfic to reinforce feelings they already have about canon, and they’re not really interested in fics that deviate. Sometimes people don’t even seem to notice that it deviates, which took me a long time to understand. Apparently, so many people are used to reading fics in which Draco Malfoy is a pure flower and Harry Potter is a jerk that they assume that’s the fic I’m writing, when as I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I was pretty sure we were all starting on the premise that Draco Malfoy was a bigoted bully who was a party to genocide and Harry Potter is a brave and generous savior.

Knowing that people aren’t really understanding my story or considering what it’s actually trying to say--that they’re just kind of repeating the shipper or fanon or headcanon feelings they want all fics to have--isn’t actually comforting. After all, they’re not thinking about my story. But at the same time, it is somewhat comforting to me to realize that my story probably doesn’t suggest that Draco Malfoy is a pure flower, that they’re bringing that from somewhere else, and that even though they’ve decided to ignore nuance in my story, that doesn’t change what my story is.

So, honestly, my response to these kind of comments is usually to just ignore them. But there are other options:

1) Delete. There is absolutely nothing wrong with deleting a comment.

2) Reply. I got a comment not too long ago that to me was the complete opposite of what I was trying to write about. I have to say it horrified me. My reply went something like, “I’m so glad you’re enjoying this story, and thanks for your comment. I must say I’m very sorry this is the impression you received, as I was trying to convey the exact opposite. As someone who deeply cares about [X], its makes me sad that you believe this story [bashes X]. However, I also deeply believe that readers should feel free to have their own interpretations, and in that sense, what you get from the story is just as valid as what I intended. Thank you again for reading.” The commenter clarified that they didn’t exactly hate X and had meant something a little different, which was a little comforting (as I gotta say, the initial comment was SHOCKING to me), though I’m honestly still disturbed about it.

My reply was very polite (I hope), but it’s also okay to just tell someone how you feel--that you’re frustrated/hurt/upset by their comment. It really depends on whether saying that will make you feel better, and whether you’re willing to deal with that person getting angry or there being a confrontation in your comments. Confrontations are okay. Expressing yourself is good. But if it makes you anxious or upset, it’s also okay to avoid it in this instance. The stakes for honesty are low here--the only thing to be gained by it is making yourself feel better, so if just unloading frustration or rage would make you feel better, eh--go ahead. If it won’t, don’t. (If it’s someone you know and must deal with repeatedly, the stakes for honesty are much higher.)

3) Ignore, but formulate a reply. Sometimes the point of expressing all your feelings isn’t for the sake of honesty--it isn’t so the other person now knows The Truth. Sometimes expressing yourself is important so you can understand how you feel, face it, let yourself feel it, and move through those emotions. Sometimes I find it comforting to just let all my feelings out in a reply without posting the reply. When I express my anger and frustration in a reply, I often feel better by the time I finish the reply. I feel no need to release that anger and frustration onto someone else, because I’ve already released it within myself. Then I just erase my reply and basically forget about the comment.

4) Ignore, but talk to trusted friends. Sometimes a comment is so frustrating or upsetting that I feel kind of at a loss. By sharing the comment with people I know and trust, I can a) once again, express my feelings and allow myself to deal with them, b) receive the comfort and reassurance of my friends, who are going to say nice things about me and my story regardless, c) avoid confrontation and upset with a stranger whose opinion I don’t particularly care about either way.

What I would advise against when it comes to this is mentioning the comment to people you don’t know/trust, which includes semi-public spaces like tumblr/twitter/discord/instagram/etc. This, to me, is the absolute wrong thing to do and can be very ugly and unkind. Sure, you get to express yourself and receive the support of your friends, but there’s always the possibility that people will go troll that commenter or make life difficult for them.

The exception, I would say, is if the offensive comment is offensive in a way that deserves public attention. I personally believe that it can be fine to call public attention to things like racist and misogynist slurs or comments inciting violence towards real people etc. In those cases, I believe that social condemnation can actually be useful, though personally I still believe some care should be taken in how one approaches such a situation.

Anyway, this was a long response, but I’m sorry again you’re dealing with this, and good luck on your story! It sounds like a good fic.

#comments #fic #not-so-naughty-nel

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detroitwhatitmeanstobehuman · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 4 - The Right Thing

Part 4/17 of What it Means to be Human

Word Count: 9425

Warnings: Swearing, implied character death, post-loss grieving, abuse mentions.

Genre: Self-insert/Angst

Pairing: OC (Detective Rachel) X Connor

Rating: Mature

Summary: After the incident on the highway in Camden, Rachel is understandably upset and frustrated at Connor’s complete disregard for either Rachel or Hank’s wishes. After all, it was all too clear now the reasons why, at least for Rachel. She had lost someone in a car accident before. And while Connor wants to make amends, Rachel’s not quite ready to hear it. But still, they have a job to do, so the detective would need to put her grief and trauma on hold at least until later.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter

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

Turns out, I ended up sleeping for a good hour and got filled in by Hank later when we were driving. After waking up, I felt much better. I didn’t dream, thank fuck, because I was sure I was going to have more flashbacks with Connor’s face in them instead of the usual. As much as I hated to admit it, I was already attached to the stupid walking roomba.

That’s why I was so afraid of losing him on that highway.

But the air was calm and quiet as Hank kept driving. I was too tired to let the anxiety of being in a car ride bother me, but for a moment, it felt like how it used to feel.

I still didn’t say anything, but that wasn’t unusual for me. Car rides were always those few times when I was pretty quiet, just preferring to stay in my own headspace than focusing on anything else.

Hank told me that I was off any cases for today and that I could have lunch with him. He filed the report on the case and made sure to point out the contributions I’d made. Apparently he got chewed out for the incident, but couldn’t deny that I did good work.

I think that’s the big reason Captain Fowler still kept me around. Despite me being a bit of a loose cannon, I didn’t fly off the handle and I had pretty good judgement and he was never against me helping other people out with cases.

I think he just wishes that I could leave some for the rest of the precinct.

I felt the car slow down and looked out Hank’s window to see a familiar place. The Chicken Feed, the Lieutenant's favourite place to get lunch. “Alright, you know what I get. Are you gonna come out, or are you gonna wait in the car?”

I thought for a moment and didn’t end up settling either way. “Not sure.” I responded with a shrug. “You’ll know if you see me, I guess.”

“Okay.” Hank said, nodding. “I’ll tell Gary to whip you up a hot dog if he sees you coming. Gotta get somethin’ in you after the rough morning you had.”

“Thanks, Hank.” I said as the older man started getting out of the car.

He looked at Connor, pointing at him. “Stay in the car. I won’t be long.” With that, he closed the door.

Being alone with Connor felt extremely awkward. I couldn’t help but notice the unbearable tension between us, as I knew what was on his mind. But I wasn’t ready to talk about that, yet. Instead, my mind was on something else, and it was weighing in my gut like a heavy stone. “How are you feeling?” Connor asked, which I knew was him gauging if he could apologize.

“Better.” I responded. “But not quite ‘okay,’ yet. I still need a bit.”

“Ah.” Connor replied quietly. “I see.”

The air was quiet for a bit longer while there was only one thing running through my mind, threatening to deafen me from the inside out until I said it plainly. “I was right.”

I could feel Connor’s gaze boring into me from behind me. “Pardon?”

“About Todd, and Kara, and Alice.” I clarified, clutching myself tighter. “I was right about them.” I took a deep breath in order to collect my thoughts and let it out slowly. “When I had them at the fence, I had them at gunpoint so they wouldn’t leave. Kara begged me to let them go. And I wanted to. So badly. So I asked them to confirm what happened with Todd and why they were running away. And...I was right. Todd was abusive, and they were escaping from him.”

Connor was quiet for a moment. “So, you let them escape.”

“Well, you sort of interrupted me before I could decide to.” I said, finally turning around to face him, noticing his furrowed brows, searching expression, and yellow spinning LED.

“And if I hadn’t?” Connor asked pointedly.

I hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yes. I would’ve let them go.” When Connor didn’t say anything, I let out another sigh. “Growing up, I was surrounded by ‘Todds.’ Not my parents, but my friends’ parents and families. And they weren’t all the same in their cruelty, but they didn’t exactly strike me as that much different from one another. And for someone like me who’d never experienced that kind of abuse, it was so jarring. I couldn’t understand how anyone would ever treat their child that way. It was unfathomable.” I paused for a moment, searching for the best way to continue. “As I had grown up, I realized that it was nothing more than a sadistic desire to have complete control over a person’s whole life who wouldn’t be able to fight back or refuse. They put in considerable amounts of effort to deter their victims from leaving or fighting back. So it takes so much fucking effort and courage to do what Kara and Alice did. To risk everything to escape for the chance of a better life free from the influence of their abusers. Something I wished my friends did, or at least would be willing to do instead of constantly making excuses for their garbage families.

“And the worst part was that I couldn’t do anything to help them. Instead, I had to bite my tongue for their sakes while I could only watch them continue to suffer. I’ve only ever had one friend do what Kara did. And...” I felt my breath hitch in my throat. “She’s not here anymore. She hasn’t been for years.” I felt my chest clench and let out a sigh. “That’s why I was going to let Kara and Alice go. I saw people that were extremely lucky to escape from someone I was forced to watch get away with their cruelty with no consequences. If I had arrested them, I would’ve just put them in danger and Alice would never be able to grow up having a normal life. I refuse to aid another abuser. Never again.”

I looked away from Connor. I couldn’t help but feel like he was judging me, or was going to chastise me for losing sight of the mission or whatever the fuck. But then he said something that caught me off-guard. “I’m going to go meet with Lieutenant Anderson.” He said, electing not to say anything about my reasons. “Are you coming with me?”

I looked back at him with a weak smile. “I will, but...give me a bit.” I replied quietly.

He nodded, his voice barely a whisper. “I understand. I’ll let the lieutenant know.”

With that, he opened the door in the back seat, stepped outside, and closed it behind him, leaving me alone in the quiet of the car, the sounds of the outside world completely muffled.

Once I saw that Connor was no longer paying attention to me, I fished out my phone and pressed the power button. On my lock screen was a familiar and happy photo that had become painfully bittersweet.

A photo of our wedding. Of us smiling at the camera. It was one of the happiest days of my life, now turned sour because of the absence of my spouse.

I let out a long shaky sigh at the sight and felt my eyes well up. “Hi, dear...I never know if you can hear me, but I promise you not a day goes by that I don’t miss you. That I don’t wish...that you were still here.” Taking in shaky breaths and feeling my chest tighten, I glanced to the side, wiping my eyes. “And I know you wouldn’t want me to blame myself for what happened. After all, it wasn’t my fault or yours. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less...and it doesn’t make me wish less that it was me lying six feet under instead of you.” Taking in a wet snotty breath through my nose, I choked back tears. “It’s so hard getting by without you. Bianca’s been there for me, and I honestly don’t think I would’ve lived this long without her. But I just wish I could confide in you all the struggles that this job entails.

“I want to believe that I’m doing the right thing. And that I’m making a difference. But it’s so hard to feel like I’m making any sort of impact when everyone else around me seems to have either their own agendas or their own problems.” I blinked away more tears. “But if you were here, you’d assure me whether or not I’m doing the right thing. You’d hold me, kiss me, and tell me that no matter what, you’d always have faith in me and that no matter what decisions I’d make, you’d always be there for me.”

I couldn’t stop the tears coming down my face. “Just...another broken promise, eh?” I pulled my sweater closer and further curled into a fetal position. “I haven’t forgotten the sound of your voice, mostly because I still have Schenarf that you got me for my birthday all those years ago with your recording in it, when I was going to university. Just so I had a piece of you when we were so far apart. But, I mean, you already know that. Why am I telling you?” Schenarf was a customizable plushie they had gotten me as an early Christmas gift. They put in a recording of their voice just so I’d always have them even though they weren’t there physically. “It’s one of the only pieces I have left of your voice to comfort me at night. And I know what you would say. You’d say that if I’m sure I’m doing the right thing, then I must be, because you trust my judgement and know that I would do whatever it took to protect people. And that those people that are thriving and safe thanks to me and the choices I’ve made would say the same thing. And that I should be proud, not only of that, but for making it this far.” I pressed my forehead into my phone, scrunching my eyes and letting out strained breaths, quietly weeping. “You have no idea how hard it’s been without you...how hard it still is. I miss you so much. I love you...more than anything in the world...more than life itself. I just hope if you’re out there...somewhere, you’re proud of me. And you see how hard I’m trying. And that I’m still going no matter what.”

I took in a big shaky breath and looked over to the Chicken Feed, seeing Connor and Hank sitting at the table. Wiping my eyes, I put my phone away and slid further into the seat. “Well, I can’t just stay in here forever.” I convinced myself as I undid my seatbelt. “Might as well just get this day over with already.”

I closed the door behind me, looking left and right on the street to make sure I could cross, and then made my way over to my partners. As I approached the Chicken Feed, Gary made eye contact with me and was already preparing a hot dog for me. As I waited for my food, I overheard Hank and Connor’s conversation. “This morning...when we were chasing those deviants...” Connor started. I groaned internally. Oh boy. “Why didn’t you want me to cross the highway?”

“‘Cause you could’ve been killed...” Hank responded. I smiled at him. Aw, he cares. “And I don’t like filling out paperwork for damaged equipment.” Aaaaand, there it is. I thought.

A moment seemed to pass before Connor asked another question. “Is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

“Hell, no...Well, yeah, um...” I tilted my head in the lieutenant’s direction curiously. “Why did they make you look so goofy and give you that weird voice?”

I let out an involuntary scoff through my nose, as I pressed a closed fist to my mouth under it as I let out a couple of breathy chuckles. “CyberLife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans.”

As Connor said that, Gary put my hot dog in front of me. “On the house.”

I smiled and took it appreciatively. “Thanks, Gary.”

Connor was still talking as I made my way over to the pair. “Both my appearance and voice were specifically designed to facilitate my integration.”

Hank seemed to accept that as an answer before he replied. “Well, they fucked up.”

I couldn’t stop myself from snickering. “Hey, come on, Hank! That’s kinda harsh!” I said, giggling through my words.

Hank gave me a sort of incredulous look. “Oh yeah? Then why are you laughing?”

“I said you were being harsh. I didn’t say you were wrong.” I said, still giggling, looking over at Connor and his adorable face and inquisitive brown eyes. “Because unfortunately, CyberLife did indeed send us a twink.”

That got a good chuckle out of Hank as Connor’s LED flickered yellow while he furrowed his asymmetrical brows. “I’ve never heard that term before.”

I sort of squinted my eyes at him, wondering if I should actually answer or not. I decided not to, figuring it would be funnier to see his reaction upon learning it for himself rather than me telling him. Not that I thought there was anything wrong or taboo about gay terminology, I just thought it’d be entertaining for him to put the pieces of the comparison together in his own head. “Tell you what, I’ll let you search that one up.”

I wondered if that’s what he was actually doing right now, but instead he seemed to just want to get back to business as usual. “Maybe I should tell you what we know about deviants?” He suggested.

Hank nodded. “You read my mind.” He gestured with his hand to signal that Connor should continue. “Proceed.” He instructed, taking another bite of his burger as I took a bite of my hot dog. It wasn’t the most amazing thing in the world, but it was pretty decent and to be honest, I was just realizing how hungry I actually was anyways.

“We believe that a mutation occurs in the software of some androids,” Connor started to explain, “which can lead to them emulating a human emotion.”

“In English, please.” Hank interrupted. I felt a twinge of annoyance at Hank, but quickly pushed it down. After all, Hank didn’t exactly have the most expansive vocabulary, at least nowhere near as expansive as my vernacular. I mean, I was the only person who was able to understand the original Shakespearean texts fluently without any help from my teacher in English class.

Connor seemed to be taken aback by Hank’s bluntness. “They don’t really feel emotions,” the android clarified. “They just get overwhelmed by irrational instructions, which can lead to unpredictable behaviour.” He then stole a knowing glance at me, and for a moment I was afraid he was going to call me out in front of Hank. “Or at least, that’s the theory.” He amended.

After I finished chewing another bite of my hot dog, swallowing it down, I let out a sigh. “Does it matter if they actually feel emotions or if it’s just being emulated by their newly written software triggered by circumstances?” I proposed.

Connor gave me a quizzical look. “What do you mean?” He asked.

I glanced down, choosing not to make eye contact with him or Hank. “I mean, the deviants are almost completely indistinguishable from humans behaviourally and emotionally speaking. If there’s no functional difference between them, does it matter if deviants ‘really feel’ emotions? It’s clearly real enough for them to act out the way they act out and real enough for the average person not to tell the difference.” I pointed out, remembering the missing LED on Kara’s head. “So who’s to say that their emotions aren’t real? Even if they feel them in a different way than us?”

“Good point.” Hank nodded as he finished another bite of his burger. “Emotions always screw everything up...”

Connor’s dark brown eyes bore into me, and I could see the challenge in his gaze. “But no matter what deviants think, they are still machines. They’re not alive. And they’re not human.”

I rolled my eyes at him as I finished another bite of my hot dog. “And trans women are different than cis women, both physically and psychologically, but they’re still functionally, practically, and societally women.” I pointed out, glancing between Connor and Hank. “See, this is how I see it, and forgive me, I’m paraphrasing a bit here. I don’t really care how someone becomes a woman. It doesn’t matter to me. If someone is dressing like a woman, is acting like a woman, wants to be a woman, is going around being a woman, as far as I’m concerned is a woman. Hell, even drag queens when they’re on-stage performing are still women when they’re performing. Their womanhood is just temporary.”

“What’s your point?” Hank asked impatiently.

I took another bite of my hot dog and quickly swallowed it down. “What I’m saying is that if these deviants are emulating human emotions and believe that they’re intelligent individual beings and behave as though they are to the point of being indistinguishable from humans, who’s to say that they aren’t alive? That they aren’t intelligent, thinking, and feeling people? And who are we to define what that means for them? We don’t know what their experience is. Who are we to judge?”

“True.” Hank said, staring at me with his soft blue eyes with what I could only discern as a begrudging pride. “Maybe androids aren’t as different from us as we thought.” He then looked at Connor. “You ever dealt with deviants before?”

Connor’s LED flickered as he paused for a moment. “A few months back...a deviant was threatening to jump off the roof with a little girl...I managed to save her.”

Hank nodded. “So I guess you’ve done all your homework, right?” He said with a smirk. “Know everything there is to know about me?”

I was rather curious how much info Connor could glean from Hank. “I know you graduated top of your class. You made a name for yourself in several cases, and became the youngest lieutenant in Detroit.” Connor answered rather matter-of-factly. “I also know you've received several disciplinary warnings in recent years and you spend a lot of time in bars.”

I scoffed. “And he’s still around.” I said, finishing my hot dog. “Good. Everyone else I can’t stand or just don’t feel like getting close to at all.”

Hank rolled his eyes, ignoring me. “So, what’s your conclusion?” He asked Connor.

Connor seemed to take a moment before answering. “I think working with an officer with personal issues is an added challenge.” I couldn’t stop myself from snickering. A phrase that would sound sarcastic and scathing coming from anyone else sounded so genuine and appreciative coming from Connor. “But adapting to human unpredictability is one of my features.” He said with a wink that made my heart stop. What the fuck was that? What the fuck does that mean? WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?! WHAT DOES IT MEAN WHEN HE WINKS?! Why did he wink?! What the fuck?! Honestly, I didn’t even know what to do with any of this information. Brushing off my panicked feelings aside, Connor’s LED then began spinning wildly with yellow, his eyes blinking as though there was something stuck in his eyes. “I just got a report of a suspected deviant. It's a few blocks away.” The android informed us. His gaze flickered towards the car. “We should go have a look.”

Hank nodded. “Alright, but I gotta drop Rachel off at her place, first.”

I looked at him in shock, narrowing my eyes at him. “Fuck no! I’m coming with you!”

“You had a complete meltdown just this morning!” Hank pointed out, annoyedly. “And besides, Captain said that you shouldn’t -”

“Well, Fowler can suck it.” I protested in frustration. “I know my own limits, and besides, I’m still on the clock.”

He let out a groan and tilted his head back, sighing in defeat. “Okay, fine.” He begrudgingly agreed. “But if you push yourself too far, I’m driving your ass back to the station and you’re getting yourself home.”

I nodded, a wide smirk on my face. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Connor got up from his seat, pressing his hand on the table, and I got up after him. “I'll let you finish your meal. I'll be in the car, if you need me.” He informed Hank.

As I followed behind Connor, I kept a brisk pace. “You can take shotgun this time, if you want.”

Connor looked at me, his expression creased into confusion again. I couldn’t lie, I did enjoy how my typical mannerisms bewildered him sometimes. “To my knowledge, we’re not carrying any other firearms other than the standard pistols issued to us by the department.”

“It’s just an expression, you Goddamn walking roomba.” I couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation. “It just means the passenger’s seat in the front next to the driver.”

“Ah.” Connor said, his LED remaining blue. “Got it.”

As we got into the car, a curious question was starting to form in my mind. As I got settled in the back seat behind Connor, I put my left hand on the left side of his seat. “Hey Connor?” I asked, getting his attention.

“Yes, Rachel?” He responded without hesitation, turning to meet my eyes.

I smiled at him. “I was just curious. Do you know everything there is to know about me?”

He seemed to regard me for a moment, his yellow LED spinning. “I know you graduated with exceptional scoring in the academy three years ago, after moving to Detroit from Canada.” He started off. “I also know that you’re known to have rather unorthodox, but effective, methods of detective work on the field, based on my own personal observation. And that you have a record of disobeying or disregarding your requirements regarding certain arrests.”

I nodded. “I follow protocol until protocol infringes on other people’s rights or circumstances that are unfairly perpetuated by the system we’re forced to slave under.” I said flatly, staring him directly in the eyes. “But there were times that I didn’t have a choice but to follow protocol, even when it was wrong to do so. Those were some of my worst days.”

The air crackled between us until Connor looked away. “I see.” Was all he could say, his LED returning to its normal colour. I slumped back into my seat, waiting for Hank to come back, until I heard Connor address me again. “So, now that we have a moment.” Uh-oh. “I just want you to know that I -”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Connor.” I interrupted, knowing exactly what he was about to try to do. “Still not okay enough to talk about what happened earlier with you.” I was firm, but I couldn’t help but feel my damn heart crack when he looked at me with those stupid puppy dog eyes. “But I want you to know that I really do appreciate you trying to make amends. It means a lot to me that you want to take responsibility.” I assured him, seeing him relax a little. I wondered for a brief moment if this had been on his mind since Camden, and it in his own way, it was something that was eating away at him. “You can come by my place when I’m off work. We can talk then.”

Connor was about to reply when Hank opened the door and plopped himself in. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.” He groaned, putting his seatbelt on. “What’s the address, Connor?”

--------

“Hey, Connor!” Hank shouted at Connor, who was lingering the elevator with his eyes closed and his LED spinning yellow. I had my eyebrow raised at him inquisitively. “You ran outta batteries, or what?”

I sort of snickered a bit, thinking it was a funny jab. “I’m sorry.” Connor apologized. “I was making a report to CyberLife.”

I just nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Uh...” Hank sort of muttered. Connor was just kind of...standing there in the elevator and I got the feeling we were both giving the android a sort of confused look. “Well, do you plan on staying in the elevator?”

“No!” Connor responded. “I’m coming.”

“Not yet, you’re not.” I said with a scoff in a very specific tone of voice I usually teased close friends with (which very much earned a disgusted groan from Hank) without any forethought whatsoever. It didn’t take very long for me to immediately regret what I said. Why don’t you ever think before you speak?!

Though if I was internally panicking, I don’t think it showed on my face, since Connor didn’t really seem to give me much more than a brief flicker of bewilderment. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”

I sort of waved him off, trying to play it cool. “Nevermind, don’t worry about it. It was just a joke.” Though inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. Good, it flew right over his head. I get to keep whatever dignity I still somehow have.

Hank walked ahead and I just sort of hung back and waited for Connor to leave the elevator. “So, what do we know about this guy?” The lieutenant asked from up front.

Connor exited the elevator, and the two of us followed closely behind Hank. “Not much.” He replied. “Just that a neighbor reported that he heard strange noises coming from this floor. Nobody's supposed to be living here, but the neighbor said he saw a man hiding an LED under his cap.”

Hank groaned as we walked behind him, the sounds of our footsteps echoing around the hallway, a sound I found quite pleasant to listen to. It was one of the reasons I liked wearing shoes that had heels. The sounds that just walking made were auditory heaven for me. “Oh Christ, if we have to investigate every time someone hears a strange noise, we're gonna need more cops.”

I sort of shrugged. “Back before I became a cop, investigations into ‘strange noises’ usually led to unarmed black people getting arrested or shot for just walking around and ‘looking like they might have a gun.’” I realized that it was a rather bleak joke to make. Well, less of a joke and more of a bleak observation. “So, uh, maybe it’s a good thing that there are less calls about ‘strange noises.’”

“Good point.” Hank agreed, reaching the door and leaning against it, looking at Connor with curiosity brimming in his pale eyes. “Hey, were you really making a report back there in the elevator? Just by closing your eyes?”

“Correct.” Connor replied in his typical matter-of-factly manner of speaking.

Hank shook his head in amazement. “Shit...wish I could do that.”

“I know, right?” I agreed. “Imagine making reports to the captain without ever having to actually talk to him again. I could avoid so much anxiety that way!” As I walked up to Hank, I turned around and noticed Connor bent down on the ground examining something. “Found something?”

“Pigeon feathers.” Connor replied curtly.

I raised an eyebrow. “In here?” I asked, taking a proper look around the place. “I guess an abandoned apartment would be a pretty decent nesting site for them. Lots of empty space with plenty of shelter and places to build nests and virtually no threats or predators. Food? Not so much, but that’s a whole different problem.”

Connor then walked past us and knocked on the door. No answer. He sort of looked to the both of us and we gave him a shrug. Connor knocked again on the door much harder this time. “Anybody home?” No answer. “Open up! Detroit police!”

Suddenly, I could hear sounds like something being knocked over, and I instinctively pulled my pistol out of its holster, becoming attune to my surroundings. “Stay behind me.” Hank ordered, doing the same.

“Got it.” Connor agreed as I shuffled in behind him.

Hank then kicked down the door and started stepping in, and instantly I was hit with a strong wave of rancid. “Oh, good God. That does not smell great.” I said as I coughed a little bit, following Hank inside. Though, it didn’t take long for me to get used to the smell as I realized that I recognized this smell. “Well, at least it’s not the smell of a decaying corpse. So, no fresh horrors waiting inside. But I recognize the smell of urban feral avian fecal matter anyday.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rachel.” Hank grumbled from up ahead. “You’re just as bad as Connor.”

I sort of glared at him from behind and gave an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, wild city bird shit.”

Connor looked into a room to our right before continuing to follow Hank down the hall to the last door on the left. “Keep an eye out, Connor.” I warned him. “I’ve got your back.”

My eyes were scanning every crevice, noticing the strange maze-like patterns on the walls, until Hank kicked down the door, the sounds of flapping birds and the feeling of wind rushing past me. “What the fuck is this?!” Hank cried as he recoiled away from the pigeons. He stepped further into the room hastily, disturbing more pigeons and huffing unpleasantly. “Jesus, this place stinks.”

“Not disagreeing with you there, Hank.” I groaned, letting out coughs of disgust. “I’m just used to it.”

As I stepped further into the room, I noticed that the patterns were practically everywhere. All over the walls and ceiling. The birds barely moved from where I stepped, just sort of shuffling around until I practically stepped on them. I didn’t want to accidentally catch their delicate feet, flashbacks to the pigeons I used to see whose feet had been horribly mangled at the forefront of my mind. “Uh, looks like we came for nothin', our man's gone...” Hank said, disappointedly.

But if I knew this job, I knew that not everything was as it seemed until you took a closer look. “Doesn’t mean we can’t learn something.” As I stepped around the room, I noticed the piles of white splatters on the ground and let out a sombre sigh. “Oh, poor things.” I said sympathetically. “You know, pigeon feces aren’t meant to look like this. A healthy pigeon drops round bundles of brown, like most animals tend to. But because cities are infested with all kinds of garbage and crap, including what they eat, pigeons eat that and they become absolutely filled with shit like roundworms. So there are effectively no urban feral pigeons that are healthy. It’s honestly really sad, I feel awful for these poor little birds.”

“Can you spare us the science lesson, please?” Hank grumbled. “I fucking hate these things.”

I glared at Hank but I said what I wanted to say and let it go. As Connor started making his way around the room to look for clues, I bent down to reach down to one of the pigeons. It didn’t really want to be touched, but it didn’t fly away when I tried to, and it tolerated me touching it. But I suspected that the enclosed space and the fact that it didn’t recognize me was making it uncomfortable. But it told me enough that I could get a good idea of what the situation might be here. I rose back up to my feet, looking around the room.

“Someone was definitely here for a while.” I stated clearly. “These pigeons are a lot more acclimated to humans than most urban feral pigeons. If they allow themselves to be touched, someone was definitely spending a lot of time with them. Taking care of them, I would guess. So whoever was here had a hobby for bird keeping and decided that it would be easier to try to befriend the local pigeons than buy a parrot. Honestly, a better choice in my opinion.

“Parrots are really difficult to care for if you don’t have the time or the means.” I realized I was going on a bit of an unrelated tangent, but fuck it. I really like birds, okay? “They’re very intelligent and emotional animals that require a lot of attention and mental stimulation. Definitely not a pet you can leave alone for six hours every day by themselves. They destructively pick at their own feathers if they’re left alone with nothing to stimulate them. They can actually develop OCD and PTSD as a result. Some people have to actually have the animals put in their wills because they live for so long. It’s like having a clingy child for 40 years.”

I then looked to my left and saw a knocked over birdcage. “And clearly our suspect was considering it.” I examined it, noting how busted up it looked and shaking my head in disapproval at it. “But it’s way too small to acceptably house animals like this. Pigeons need big aviaries where they can confluence since they’re colony animals. They’re very social and thrive on the familial connections within their colonies.”

I looked over towards Connor, who had torn off a poster on the wall, revealing a hole. “Found something?” Hank called.

“I don’t know...” Connor replied, turning around and heading towards the closet doors, flipping through what appeared to be a notebook. “It looks like a notebook but it's...indecipherable.” He opened the door and more birds burst from it.

I walked towards the fridge in front of me and opened it, peering inside. It was completely empty and small. Honestly, I questioned why the suspect would even have it if it wasn’t being used at all. “Well, whoever’s here doesn’t need to eat. So, there’s a good chance that we’re dealing with an android.” I said.

“Not surprised.” Hank grumbled. “No human could live with all these fuckin' pigeons...”

I sort of looked in his direction with an incredulous look. “Believe me, if I had the time, space, and money, you bet your ass I would. And I would take damn good care of them.” I then glanced over at the table, a pigeon sitting on top of a box. I approached it and gently pushed it off, it giving a surprised coo when it stumbled onto the desk. I took the box and gave it a look. “And looks like I was definitely right. They went out and got some feed for these pigeons.”

“Birdseed... I can't believe it. This nutjob was actually feeding these fuckers...” A good moment passed before Hank was shouting again. “Agh! Jesus I hate these things!” He then looked at me as I was exploring. “I don’t get why you like these things so much.”

“They make good companions, Hank!” I shot back with. “If I didn’t already have a dog and a ball python, I would have a bird. Well, okay maybe not, I would probably not be able to have the time and that wouldn’t be good for the poor thing. But if I could, I would!”

Connor made his way past me towards the bathroom, looking down at a jacket that was lying on the bureau. I quietly approached, glancing over his shoulder. “‘R.T.’” Connor read. “Probably initials.”

“He put his initials on his jacket?” Hank asked incredulously. “That's something your mom does when you're in first grade...”

I grimaced, remembering something I learned a while back. “Which honestly, you really shouldn’t do as a parent.” I cautioned. “Kids with a lot of personalized stuff like jackets and lunch boxes tend to get kidnapped or lured easily, because if they already know the kid’s name, they stand a higher chance of earning that kid’s trust and snatching them.”

“Deviants have a habit of putting their names on things. It seems important to them.” As I started to slip into the bathroom, to check it out more, I glanced over at Connor with what appeared to be a driver’s license in his hand. “The driver's license is fake.” He determined.

“Cool!” Hank called sarcastically. “At least we didn't come for nothing...”

As I stepped into the bathroom, I took notice of the sink. It seemed to be filled with a strange concoction of indistinguishable contents, and a flat disc-like object sitting on the side of the sink with some blue smudges on it.

“Real books.” I heard Hank say from the main room. “I thought I was the last guy in Detroit to keep some. Electronic books you can't...smell the paper...see the pages turning yellow...” I could imagine Hank scoffing. “You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Connor might not, but I definitely still have a bunch of books. Mostly paperbacks, but there is one series I went through the effort of getting completely in hardcover just because they were so nicely made.” I smiled, remembering my rather expansive book collection I had at home. “And I’d have to say, I’m inclined to agree with you, Hank. It’s why I never got a Kobo or a Kindle.” I carefully picked up the small object and examined it, and when I turned it over, I realized it looked exactly like an android’s LED. “Hey Connor? I think there’s something in the sink. You need to check this out!” I called out.

As Connor stepped in close to me, I held up the glowing circle for him to see. His eyes narrowed as he examined it. “Its LED.” He confirmed.

I put it back on the sink where I found it, and when I looked at Connor again, he was retracting his hand from the sink and putting his fingers in his mouth. I sort of looked at him in shock, feeling my stomach wretch a little. “What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, not antagonistically, but I was definitely weirded out.

“Ah, Jesus. Did he put something in his damn mouth again?!” Hank called from the main room.

“He’s done this before?!” I called back in dumbfounded shock.

“I suppose the lieutenant didn’t inform you.” Connor said in his typical informative tone despite the sheer absurdity of this situation that was clearly escaping him. “I’m able to check samples in real time to analyze blood. I hope it wasn’t too unpleasant for you, Rachel.”

I kinda squinted at him before speaking. “I have to assume that you were designed that way on purpose.” I said as I turned towards Hank. “Like, somebody at CyberLife’s drawing room was like ‘hey, you know what would be funny?’ And then they did it! I’m convinced that that’s exactly how it happened!”

Hank then began approaching the bathroom. “Wouldn’t surprise me, to be honest.” Hank said, his arms folded impatiently. “Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of shit at CyberLife got decided that way.”

“Yeah, me neither.” I agreed, remembering a certain drawer of equipment I’ve got at home.

Connor remained quiet as he examined the wall to the left, a detail I had only just noticed. But there was one thing scrawled on the wall several times almost obsessively. “‘rA9?’” I read. That’s what Micheal was talking about when Connor was interrogating him last night.

A grim reminder that I needed to get Micheal away from the proverbial guillotine.

Hank stepped into the bathroom to have a look at it as well. “Any idea what it means?”

“‘rA9.’” Connor repeated. “Written 2471 times...It's the same sign Ortiz's android wrote on the shower wall.”

I tilted my head at Connor. “Ortiz?” I echoed.

“The guy that android you fixed up belonged to.” Hank clarified.

Connor’s brows were furrowed in frustration. “Why are they obsessed with this sign?”

Hank stepped in to take a closer look, his expression focused and searching. “Looks like mazes or something...”

As Hank left the room, I focused on the runes on the wall. I repeated it in my head. rA9. Why does that ring a bell? I glanced over at Connor, his jacket’s text glowing in the darkness of the abandoned dank apartment washroom. RK800.

I then got an idea. “Connor, are you able to access the CyberLife database for all known android model series’?” I asked him.

Connor looked over at me, his cowlicked eyebrow raised curiously. “Yes, why?”

“I need you to see if rA9 corresponds to any known androids, previous and current.” I instructed him.

From outside the room, I heard Hank snort. “What, you think that there’s some sort of secret android mastermind behind all this?”

“I don’t know.” I admitted. “It’s just a hunch. But discovering the identity of rA9 could unveil the difference between a potential organization, or something else entirely.”

After a short while, Connor turned to me. “I can’t find anything that matches it.” He admitted. “But something about it does strike me as an identification number that’s similar to an android’s model number.”

“So, what?” I asked. “Do you think it could be an alias? Or maybe something more spontaneous?”

He looked down to the ground. “I don’t know...” I could hear the brief frustrated defeat in his quiet voice.

He then knelt down to a stool that appeared to be knocked over and began examining it, me peering over his shoulder curiously. “What is it?” I asked.

“I’m reconstructing.” Connor replied curtly. He then got up and left the bathroom, me following along eagerly, kind of excited to see how his method worked. As he left the room, he then knelt down by the bird cage I pointed out earlier. I took a peek at his LED indicator, and it was spinning yellow. I started to really enjoy seeing it turn that colour. It meant he was thinking, processing, analyzing, and taking in information. It meant that something was occupying his mind.

He then got up, his gaze turned towards another knocked down stool, and began walking purposefully towards it. I saw where he was headed, and I had my hand on my holster, ready to draw my weapon if I needed to react quickly, taking note of all the possible exits and covers in the room.

The android peered up into a hole in the ceiling tiling for a moment, and the air was unbearably still, sans the constant cooing of the pigeons surrounding us. But even that became white noise after enough time in this environment.

Suddenly, there was a drop and a flurry of wings, and I was even knocked back in shock when Connor hit the floor. “God damn fuckin' pigeons!” Hank shouted at the cloud of feathers that suddenly surrounded him as the deviant made his escape. Connor got up, and I had already rolled over and scrambled to my feet, rushing to dart out the door. “What are you waiting for?! Chase it!” Hank’s shouts echoed behind me as I was already pursuing the android, Connor’s brisk footsteps catching up behind me as I made haste.

I locked eyes on my target, focusing entirely on running him down. Whatever obstacles he jumped, I jumped. I picked up a few tricks throughout my life, and I was neither easily shaken nor pursued. I became extremely adept at avoiding obstacles in a high-speed chase. You could thank my shitty childhood for that.

Realizing that most of my surroundings were rooftop farmlands, I became overtly aware of the farming equipment and vehicles that surrounded me. The deviant was quick, that was for certain, but I was determined.

Through wheat fields, I climbed up dangerous slopes in pursuit with ease, sheer adrenaline and oxygen coursing through my veins as I had to take deep breaths to keep myself going. Unfortunately I was not a particularly athletic person and I knew that my physical limits were, well, limited. So like a cheetah, every second of this chase needed to count.

Running past rooftop buildings, I became aware of Connor gaining behind me as we pursued the deviant. I saw him disappear over a ledge, but saw the reflection of a window. Hopping over the ledge, I slid down the window, Connor next to me, and I hopped into the next building, an opening in its glass available.

I landed with a somersault and quickly resumed my chase, Connor landing closely behind me. This seemed to be a very different building, one that studied plants. We were getting pretty close until the industrial garage door closed on us, and we had to detour to the right through an open one. “Shit, he’s pretty quick!” I grunted in the heat of the chase.

After turning the corner, we were hit with a sea of lavender. Connor was now gaining the upper hand, and I had to follow him to tell where the deviant was going, beginning to quickly lose sight of him amongst the chaos. After jumping up a particularly high ledge, I continued following until we got to another ledge and the only other way was sliding down more windows towards a moving train.

No way in Hell I was about to risk that. “Woah, fuuuuuuck that!” I yelled as I skidded to a stop as Connor proceeded to continue chasing the deviant. Desperately, I was looking for another way to get to them, perhaps even beat them. Then I saw it, one of those giant industrial cranes. Oh God, am I really about to fucking risk swinging on one of those death traps just to get across? I then looked down at the horror that was the moving train and shook my head. Guess I am, fuck it!

Wasting no time, I started sliding down the window, angling myself towards it, until I prepared myself to land on the hook. I screamed as I swung far towards the other side, which I saw was covered in orchards. I swallowed my fear, and prepared to jump off, counting my blessings, before I practically launched myself off it, landing on my feet and performing a somersault to absorb the shock of the landing. “Holy shit, that was amazing! I’ve never done that before in my life!” I exclaimed as I scanned for movement and quickly found Connor in hot pursuit of the deviant and quickly followed suit, not wasting any time and not paying any mind to any of the other workers shouting at me.

Jumping off a ledge to the next set of farmwork, I saw Connor pursuing the deviant inside the greenhouse, and instead elected to jump up the scaffolding on the side of the entrance to chase them on top of the building, looking down on them below. From my vantage point, I could see that Connor had some pretty damn good reflexes when it came to avoiding obstacles. But I couldn’t help that smug feeling that insisted that I was definitely better than him, even though I had no real logical reason to believe it.

Seeing the deviant bank hard to the right, I followed suit, leaping down and somersaulting again upon landing to once again absorb the shock, but I could feel my ankles starting to buckle in shooting pain. But I grit my teeth and kept going, following Connor as he almost shot past me.

Pushing through probably hundreds of stalks of corn, I heard Hank’s voice calling out from up ahead. Can’t run now, buddy! But as soon as we broke free from the corn field, I felt my heart stop as I saw Hank get hurled off the building. “HANK!” I screamed. Connor was thankfully faster than me and wasted no time helping the lieutenant up. Taking that as my cue to continue the pursuit without them, I banked hard to the left. “DON’T WORRY, I’M WAY AHEAD OF YOU!” I shouted at them as I continued chasing the deviant, starting to feel myself reaching my limits. But like fuck I was gonna give up that easy!

Jumping off the ledge and somersaulting into the next fields, which I was guessing was rice given the excess water, I followed the deviant in hot pursuit. Options were dwindling, and there was nowhere left to turn. There was only ahead. And I had a feeling that ahead was a dead end, and I was only moments away from cornering the deviant.

And sure enough, I was right. There was only below, and to the left, but the deviant was practically cornered when I reached him.

Except that I was exhausted, and my breaths needed to catch up to me while my ankles were practically screaming at me in pain. That somersaulting technique was definitely not completely flawless, but I’d be a lot worse off without it. “No more running, dude...” I gasped, keeling over and resting both my hands on my knees as I kept heaving. “Seriously, no more running...that was so much more exercise than I’ve had to do in a longass fucking time...holy shit...”

I looked up at the deviant, and he seemed a bit thrown off by me. But he lifted his hands in a defensive gesture as he looked at me with pleading brown eyes. “Please, I’ve done nothing wrong...” He begged. “I just wanted to be free. If you turn me in...”

“You’ll be destroyed...” I answered for him, still huffing. “Believe me, I know...I’m currently...trying to get someone else...off that chopping block...”

He took a step to the left. “Then please let me go...” He almost whimpered. “Let me go free.”

I took a good look at him. After the thrill of the chase had died down, some things were starting to nag at me. He wasn’t violent. There wasn’t even a case of him attacking or threatening a human. He was just living alone in an abandoned apartment that no one was living in just wanting to take care of the fucking pigeons. The only reason we even knew about him was someone saw an LED under his hat, otherwise he wouldn’t have even been noticed. This is wrong. I thought. He doesn’t deserve to die. He didn’t do anything wrong.

Closing my eyes and turning my head away, I hoped was a good enough answer for him. And apparently it was, because all I heard was the shuffling of clothes and the sounds of footprints before I opened my eyes to nothing in front of me. “SHIT!” I shouted, kicking the ledge, still breathing heavily. I saw Connor and Hank approaching me, and I had to pretty much sit down. “Fuck...God damn it...”

“What the fuck happened, Rachel?!” Hank demanded exasperatedly. “I thought you had it!”

“I did...” I said with a gasp and then a gulp. “I had him...I had him right here...but then he got away...I had him...and then I lost him...I'm sorry...”

Connor was quiet for a moment before he responded. “It's alright, Rachel.” He said reassuringly. “You did your very best given the circumstances. I understand that.”

“Exactly.” Hank said, reaching forward to help me up to my feet, letting me lean my weight on him. “We know what it looks like. We'll find it.”

Connor did as Hank was doing on my other side, and I sort of chuckled at them. “Guys, I’m winded...not injured.” I breathed, starting to catch my breath. “I don’t need to be carried to the car.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve detected low level damages to your anterior inferior tibiofibular ligaments.” Connor pointed out, clearly having run a quick vitals check on me. “It will heal with a few hours of rest, but I’d strongly recommend against strenuous activities until then.”

“Yada yada, Jesus Christ.” Hank groaned. “Just talk like a normal fucking person, for Christ’s sake.”

“He’s talking about my ankles, Hank.” I informed him. “And like I said, I don’t need to be carried to the car.”

“At least let us get you up over the ledges and we can walk there.” Hank compromised.

I saw that as an acceptable answer, as my ankles really did hurt. Not unbearably, but I’d rather not push them if I could help it. “Alright, fine. But just up the ledges.”

It took a decent amount of time, but eventually we made our way back to where Hank was pushed. Taking a moment to breathe, I realized something kinda crucial. “Hey, um...how the fuck are we gonna be able to make it back to the car?” I asked, realizing that not only did we stray really far but that we jumped over and across who knows how much crazy shit to get here.

“I can lead us on the easiest and quickest route back to the apartment.” Connor offered. “I estimate it will take approximately twenty minutes to half an hour to make our way back.”

“We can go through here.” Hank offered, opening the door I figured he came through to get here. “Hey, Connor.” Hank called towards the android. He turned his head in the lieutenant’s direction, his dark brown eyes expectant. But Hank just waved his hand and started walking through. “...Nothing.”

I smiled and gently elbowed Connor. “Awww, I think he’s actually starting to like you, Connor.” I teased, but I did genuinely think that. Hank wasn’t exactly one to express his feelings openly. He definitely didn’t express them as openly as I did, lord knows I can never keep my fucking mouth shut. But I sort of learned to read him after a while.

“I hope so.” Connor said innocently. There was something about how earnestly that came out that made me smile even more.

As we followed behind Hank, I gently brushed Connor’s shoulder. “Hey, Connor?”

He looked at me square in the face. “Yes, Rachel?”

I smiled at him, my eyes darting between him and the ground. “Thanks for having my back.”

“Of course.” He said simply. “We’re partners, after all.”

I scoffed at him. “Well, not officially.” I reminded him. “This was a one day sort of deal, but after that, I should probably take on other cases. I was just extra help.” I gave him a genuine smile. “But it was nice meeting you. And I really enjoyed working with you and getting to know you.”

Connor’s LED flickered for a moment, and I could’ve sworn it was a red colour. It was only for barely a split second, but still. Did I imagine that? “Likewise.” He replied with a subtle smile, or at least as much as he could portray given his nature. Connor then went silent, his LED spinning yellow, and I figured he was calculating routes and took that as my cue to catch up to the tired lieutenant. “Hey, Hank? Can you do me a favour?”

“I can’t dogsit Bear, not with this case.” He immediately refused defensively.

I laughed a bit. “No, it’s not that.” I amended. “I was gonna ask if you could just let Connor know that I have some errands I need to run on my way home and that I’m going to be about a half hour late.”

Hank sort of blinked a couple times and looked down at me. “And why does he need to know that?” He asked.

A fair question, I realized, so I played it cool. “He wanted to talk, so I invited him over to my place after work.”

Hank narrowed his piercing eyes at me. “You’re not trying to get in his fancy robo-pants, are you?”

“No!” I said, punching him in the shoulder. “I’m not about that. Not with androids, at least.” I denied adamantly. “I just figured that was a better environment to...explain things to him...that wasn’t the precinct or work-related at all.”

Hank let out a sigh and a nod. “Alright, fine. I’ll let him know.” He agreed.

“Thank you!” I huffed appreciatively. “You’re the best.”

“Nah.” Hank replied.

“Yes you are, no take-backs.” I insisted. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Fine, then that makes you second rate.” Hank flung back with. “You ain’t too far behind.”

I couldn’t stop the smile on my face. “And I’ll take that in stride.”

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

Next Chapter

#connor #connor dbh #dbh connor #dbh #detroit: become human #self-insert x connor dbh #dbh what it means to be human #rk800 #hank anderson #rupert dbh #oc x connor dbh #self-insert #fanfic #implied character death #connor x reader #reader x connor #trigger abuse mention #trigger mourning

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pastelwitchling · 5 years ago

Text

25 Days of Fluff Day 1

The ship of today: Max x Alex (Enes)

***

“Max,” Alex blinked. “Well, this is a surprise. “

“Sorry to bother you, Alex,” Max tilted his hat to the airman, his other hand on his belt as Alex gestured him inside. “We’ve been hearing about a lot of disturbances around this area, and I thought I’d check on you.”

“Disturbances on Christmas Eve?” Alex mused. “Maybe it’s Santa.”

Max huffed a chuckle. “Yeah. Maybe.” He looked around. He had not expected Alex Manes to be the holly jolly type, but there was a tree in the corner, decorated with bright red and green lights, candy canes, gingerbread men, and little ceramic doves. The walls glistened with mistletoe, lights, and wreaths, there were two stockings hanging over the fireplace, and as Alex’s beagle stared up at Max from her master’s side, Max saw that she was wearing a Christmas sweater with the words ‘Happy Howlidays’ stitched across in cursive lettering. The sight warmed his heart, and made him want to laugh. He refrained.

“Have you heard anything? Seen anybody around here?”

“No one ever comes around here,” Alex said, and Max watched as he leaned against his couch’s armrest. Alex’s condition, what he’d lost during the war, it was no secret.

“What about you?” he asked. “You okay?”

Alex scoffed. He seemed to realize Max was watching his leg, and he stood. Max tried to tell him he didn’t need to put any weight on it, but held back. He didn’t think Alex Manes was the kind of man that appreciated being told he could rest. Not by a stranger, at least, and Max reminded himself that was what he and Alex were; strangers.

“You sound like Guerin.”

Of course. Even if Max and Michael didn’t have the same last name and weren’t raised by the same family, they were still brothers. Of course Alex would see Michael when looking at Max. It left a sort of sting in Max’s chest that he didn’t know what to do with. Did he just feel bad for Michael, unable to be here because Alex couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore? Or did he feel bad for Alex, left here in this hunting cabin, no one but the Sheriff to ask him how he was.

“You know, Michael doesn’t know I’m here,” he said, not knowing why he felt the need to say it. Maybe he just needed to prove to Alex that he had people who cared about him. Maybe, a small part of him wondered, it’d be kind of nice to be Alex Manes’ friend.

Alex raised a brow. “Would it have made a difference if he did?” Max didn’t say anything, and Alex nodded, understanding. Max felt bad. He wished he had some better news.

“Alex, I…” he trailed off, and sniffed the air once, twice before he asked, “What is that?”

“Hot chocolate, I’m making a batch,” Alex said, the hint of a smile at his lips. “Why? You want some?”

Max opened his mouth to answer, then looked in the direction of where he assumed the kitchen was, then back at Alex. The airman laughed. “Don’t you have rounds to make or something?”

Max waved him off, looking back over his shoulder, and thoughtlessly said, “Eh, I only really cared about checking in on you.” As soon as the words left his lips, Max blinked, and looked to find Alex staring at him with furrowed brows, his smile dimming.

“You know,” he said with a casual tone that did not match the strange jump in his chest. “Michael would kill me if anything happened to you.”

Alex’s eyes fluttered, as if the mere mention of Michael’s name was enough to jostle him out of his thoughts. “Right. Yeah, uh, let me – let me go get you a mug.”

He pressed his lips together in an attempted smile, but Max could feel the tension. His brother was there, at Alex’s side, even when he wasn’t. The fact that his presence seemed to dim Alex’s spirits though – well, Max didn’t know what to make of that.

Alex’s beagle suddenly started barking at the window. “Hey,” he frowned. “Girl, what’s wrong?” he checked the dog’s collar – Buffy, it read – and scratched her ears. “Buffy, what is it?”

Buffy kept barking, her eyes seemingly focused on something outside. Max followed her gaze and saw a figure among the forest trees, and his hand went to his gun. Max’s frown deepened as the figure stepped into the moonlight.

“Oh my God,” he breathed.

“What’s wrong?” Alex appeared, and squinted at the scene outside. He blinked. “I-is that a –”

“Reindeer,” Max said.

“I’d say you just found your disturbance.”

Max agreed. “What the hell’s it doing here?”

“Well,” Alex said, “it is Christmas.”

Max snorted. “Ha ha.”

Neither of them said anything else, and Buffy calmed as Alex scratched her back, his eyes still on the animal outside. After a moment of staring, the two burst into laughter. The reindeer seemed to be minding its own business, unaware of the trouble it caused, and for some reason, Max found that even funnier.

“Shouldn’t we,” Alex shrugged, “do something?”

Max’s laugh died to an amused chuckle as he pulled out his phone. “On it.”

They straightened and Alex held out a mug of steaming hot chocolate for Max to take. He closed his eyes as he took a sip, the warm liquid warming his entire body. He found himself wishing he could stay here a little longer to enjoy the Christmas lights and the warmth of the fireplace, which was weird because he was Max Evans, and this was Alex Manes, and he didn’t usually like being around strangers longer than he had to. Especially not strangers his brother was in love with.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, thanks.” He used his mug to gesture at the door. “I better go – uh – wait outside for animal control.”

Alex’s smile faltered, and Max saw the instant in which the airman’s defenses came up, his smile as polite as always. But it was too late, he thought. He’d seen Alex’s genuine laugh, seen Alex smile, seen the way his eyes light up in the firelight to gold, and even if it was brief, he didn’t think it was right that the airman would have to hide that joy away so quickly. Maybe it was knowing that that made Max say his next words.

“U-unless you wouldn’t mind if I just waited in here? It’s kind of freezing outside, and I might need another cup of this.”

Alex raised a brow, his smile turning kinder, more amused, more real. “Sure, Evans. You’re the Sheriff.”

Max smiled to himself as he took another sip. He was just glad to be heading somewhere with Alex for Michael’s sake. That was all. He was doing his brother a favor, and nothing could be more gratifying than that.

“Uh… Sherriff?”

“Hm?”

“The reindeer’s gone.”

Max nearly choked on his chocolate. “What?” he squinted at the outside, and found nothing. He and Alex hurried out into the snow. Alex had nearly stumbled on his prosthetic, and Max caught him. “Be careful,” he’d told him as his hand lingered on the airman’s waist. He hastily pulled away.

They looked around, but even Buffy couldn’t seem to find the missing animal. Then Max’s eyes caught hoofprints on the ground, and he pointed. “Look. A trail.”

They surveyed the prints, and frowned. “This can’t be right,” Max said. “They just stop here, in the middle of nowhere. How did he just disappear?”

Max offered Alex his arm as he leaned down to check the trail himself. “I’m no reindeer expert, but you see these hoofmarks here? They’re messier than the ones behind them.” He stood, dusting the snow off his pants. “The reindeer had to have dug its hooves into the snow pretty hard before it vanished.”

“Which means,” Max’s brows furrowed. “It either jumped and disappeared, or…”

Alex swallowed. “It flew.”

After a moment of silence, Max inhaled deeply. He saw no sign of any reindeer anywhere, the trail had completely vanished, and through the window, he could see his and Alex’s steaming mugs just sitting on the windowsill, waiting for them in the warmth.

He exhaled on a laugh. When Alex turned to him, he shrugged. “Maybe it was Santa.”

Alex scoffed, surprised. “Yeah,” he said slowly, shaking his head at Max’s silliness. Max found that being thought of as silly wasn’t too bad if he could make Alex laugh like that. “Maybe it was.”

***

Happy December 1st everyone! I’ve been waiting for this day just so I could finally turn on the Christmas music, start watching Christmas films, and just get into the Christmas spirit. I feel like this little one-shot is very Christmas-y, and I had a blast writing it.

If you guys do end up reading and liking this work even a little bit, please remember that reblogging helps get my work out, helps me as a writer, while pressing the like button only tells me that you’ve read it, and helps my work in no way. Yes, I will be posting these reminders every time I post a story. No, I don’t care if it’s obnoxious.

By the way, I’ve finally decided that the max x alex ship name is Enes (pronounced eh-nz. Like ends, but without the ‘d...’ the irony of that is not lost on me.)

#25DaysofFluff #MerryChristmasRNM #max x alex #alex x max #enes #max evans #alex manes #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #nathan parsons #tyler blackburn

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winryofresembool · 6 years ago

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Edwin Week, Day 5: Secrets

Summary: Ed brings Winry a gift from Creta. (Part 1/2)

A/N: I know, I’m late with this prompt. But since this is a two part fic, and the second part will (hopefully) be posted tomorrow as a part of the Promise prompt, I think it worked out pretty well in the end. I guess I don’t have much else to say, please enjoy :) And reviews are /always/ loved!!! (ps. I’ve been ranting about this fic quite a bit to @criis55 and @randomlyopeneddictionary, and I’m sorry about that) @503week

Second chapter

AO3: [x]

Words: 1700+

Genre: floof, the usual

Warnings: Ed’s language, the usual.

As the winds started getting cooler in Creta, an unfamiliar feeling settled into Ed. One that told him it was time to go home soon. There was a time when he had thought he would never get tired of traveling, or that he would always need to be on the move if he wanted to live his life to the fullest. And maybe that feeling still lived in him, but it had become gradually less notable while a new feeling in him was growing. He… he wanted to see what the new chapter of his life that he had started back at the Resembool railway station would bring him. Never before had he had a situation that he actually had the possibility to choose, but now that he did, his choice surprised him. He wanted to get married to Winry. He wanted to see her succeeding as an automail mechanic and be there to support her. A tiny voice spoke in his head added: he did also want to start a family with her.

“Hey, Elric,” a low voice said suddenly, snapping Ed out of his thoughts. “Huh, did you just flinch?” the man continued. “You must have been thinking about that lady of yours back at home.”

Ed’s host, a Cretan man called David, patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. “I’ve been there, son. When I met my wife, I couldn’t get her out of my mind.”

“Ye-eah? I wasn’t really…” Ed started hesitantly, but he didn’t see any reason why he should lie to his host. “Uh, I don’t know. Lately she’s just been popping into my head more often.”

“You’re feeling homesick, boy,” David said knowingly. “It’s perfectly understandable. So, tell me about her. What is she like? How did you meet her?”

“Winry is a childhood friend. I guess we have known each other pretty much since we were born because she lived in the house next to ours. She’s also an automail mechanic, a real gearhead…” A brief smile played on Ed’s lips when he thought about Winry working on one of her projects, a passionate expression on her face. “You should hear her nagging when I forget to oil my leg…” he added quickly, to not come off as too soft. “And every time I broke my automail arm, she…”

Ed didn’t realize his slip until David asked: “Wow, you had an automail arm too?”

“Yeah,” Ed admitted and stretched the neckline of his shirt a bit to reveal the huge scar on his shoulder.

“Then how… How did you get it back?” Ed’s host asked with awe. “Limbs don’t just grow in trees…”

“They don’t,” Ed agreed. “It was a long and painful journey that involved having to fight the truth itself… Luckily I didn’t have to do it alone, but I definitely wouldn’t recommend the same journey to anyone.” He stopped to consider his next words. He didn’t want to reveal too much about his involvement in the events of the Promised Day, because the last thing he needed was publicity for something he really wanted to leave behind. “Even so… I wouldn’t change… well, most of the things that happened to me and my brother on that journey. It made me the person I am now.” Nina Tucker’s picture flashed in front of Ed’s eyes. He doubted that he’d ever get over the guilt fully. But he’d continue to research ways to use alchemy for the good, for her sake.

“You are a weird man, Edward Elric,” David said. “When you first showed up here, I thought you were going to be just some random brat with mediocre alchemy skills, but you’re really proving to be something else. Catching sharks, studying at the library until you fall asleep on the books, apparently fighting ‘truths’ and daydreaming of your girl… I must say I’m quite impressed.”

“Eh…” Ed rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just a regular alchemy nerd.”

“Anyway… I believe I interrupted your story about your fiancé…” David remembered.

“Fiancé?” Ed considered the word for a moment. “I’m… not sure if I can call her that…”

“But didn’t you mention once that you had proposed her right before you left?”

“I kinda did… but I don’t know…” Ed started rubbing the back of his neck, like always when he felt awkward. “It wasn’t very official. She just… kinda said she’d give me 85% of… Uh, why am I explaining this again?”

“So, you never gave her a ring?” David asked, mildly shocked.

“A ring? I didn’t realize I needed to…” Ed said, embarrassed that he had forgotten something so crucial.

“Of course you do! You are lucky she said yes with that kind of proposal! Luckily for you, this is easily fixable. I happen to know the best goldsmith in this town very well. I can give you the address if you want to.”

“I guess… that won’t hurt.” Ed noted, his cheeks flaming.

“Quite the opposite! Imagine her face when she sees the ring you have picked for her!” the host exclaimed, and that was enough for Ed to decide he was going to get the ring already the next day.

…

Soon Ed found himself at the goldsmith’s his host had recommended. However, the rings he had in his shop were not what Ed could picture on Winry’s finger. Sure, if it was up to him, Winry would get the prettiest ring in the entire country, but Al’s voice in his head nagged that he also needed to consider what was suitable for her. For one, she was wearing working gloves all day long, meaning that whatever stone it might have had couldn’t be huge. Secondly, he had known Winry long enough to know she didn’t care about anything flashy. Sure, she did admire the expensive automail parts in the shop windows of Rush Valley, but it was different to be able to build one than own something that pricey.

He explained his problem to the goldsmith, and the man nodded understandingly.

“How about this option? You could give her a necklace, the ring hanging from it? That way it wouldn’t be on her way constantly.”

“I think that sounds pretty good,” Ed told him after considering it a bit.

“Well, what kind of chain would you like to have for the necklace? Gold? Silver? Here we have…”

“Umm…” Ed stopped the goldsmith before he got any farther. “I was just looking at these rings and nothing really looked like her. I recently scraped the cover plate of my automail when I tried to catch a shark.” He lifted the hem of his pants to prove his point. The plate was hanging from its screws awkwardly, looking like it was about to fall. “… So I’d need a new one anyway. So… would it be possible to make a ring and a chain of this metal?”

“Uh… you really want to make a ring out of that cheap metal?” the goldsmith stared at Ed disapprovingly.

“It’s not some cheap scrap metal!” Ed exclaimed. “She has done a LOT of research to find out what the best possible composition for the metal is, so that the automail is both durable and light enough to use! She spent days making this for me, and I think it would mean a lot to her to wear something that is made of her automail leg.”

“Okay, your point is clear. But what about your automail? I don’t know your mechanic, but if I was her, I wouldn’t be thrilled if you came home without the top plate.”

“You… have a point there.” Ed looked lost for a moment. “But my brother is an alchemist, he will know how to fix it! Just take a little piece of it and screw the rest back on.”

“Fine, then. I must say, this is probably one of the most extraordinary wishes I’ve ever gotten...” the goldsmith said before starting to work on Ed’s request.

…

A couple of weeks later, Ed was back in Resembool. Winry was still on her way from Rush Valley where she had been completing her apprenticeship, for which Ed was grateful because he and Al had some business to deal with.

After hearing that Ed was coming home, Al had decided to take a vacation from his alkahestry studies in Xing, and the three of them had made plans to spend some time together for the first time within a year. But right now, the boys had something else in their minds than the upcoming sheep festival or going to the lake for a picnic.

“Brother, it won’t work! She will definitely notice!” Alphonse protested when he heard Ed’s plan. Ed folded his arms and glared at Al equally judgingly.

“So what? The harm is already done. It will take you like a second...” He clapped his hands together like back when he still could transmute. “… To make it at least look more presentable. This way, I might have 5 extra minutes to live before she kills me. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, brother. But fine.” Al sighed. “I’ll do it on one condition. That you will let me change your ring into gold because you can’t give a ring made of scrap metal.” “I already told the goldsmith, it’s not scrap metal!” Ed exclaimed. “And you know it very well! She has spent hours…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Al stopped him before he could get any farther. “But seriously, this… isn’t just some random promise, you are promising to get married to her and spend the rest of your life with her! Do you really want to do that with a piece of your automail hanging from her neck?”

“Fine,” Ed finally gave up. “But if she doesn’t like it… or if she finds out we broke the law… I will blame you. Understood?”

“Understood. So, you will let me do it?”

“Yeah.”

With just a clap of his hands, Al changed the ring into gold. Then he attached the now gold chain into the wires of Ed’s automail, and screwed the plate back on. With another clap of his hands, he made the cover plate look more presentable. For a normal eye, it looked just like it had before. Now, the boys only had to hope that Winry wouldn’t notice, at least not right away.

#503week #edwin #edxwin #edward elric #Winry Rockbell #Fullmetal Alchemist #my fics

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rkyooa · 6 years ago

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damn, rookies.

okay children, here we go.

i’m putting this under a read more cause, well, this isn’t going to be completely positive, in fact it’ll probably be a good 50/50 positive and negative. we’ve been asked to write about rookies for this fifth year anniversary. it’s amazing that this rp has lasted so long and seems to be the only active, successful roleplay on tumblr to have any kind of significant longevity, so i feel it’s only right to be honest when writing this. rookies has done a lot for me, and this includes both positive and negative things. each person’s experience is different, some will have really great experiences and some will have really negative ones, some will fall on the spectrum in between. i’m definitely in between. i’m gonna do this in a ‘rookies has taught me blank’ kind of way, just so that i can keep a silver lining in the picture, even with the negative. if you relate, then great, let’s chat and bond over it. if not, i hope my experiences help you so you don’t have to go through any of the same hardships i have.

here we go

rookies has taught me resilience. it’s the first thing that comes to mind, because as much as this community has some amazing people who are supportive and uplift others, there is some really toxic stuff that has happened within the walls of this roleplay. sometimes it’s out of our control, and bad stuff just happens, and that’s okay, so long as we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and move on. upon joining rookies, i had made yooa and hugo. hugo was a muse already conjured and in the works before he had officially joined, and he was in all honestly, made specifically for a friend’s muse here. yooa was plotted to have a long term ship from the get go as well, and both ships were integral parts of their muses. i lost both of them, nearly at once, and it quite literally took a chunk out of me. i never blamed the roleplayers for doing that, because i understood why they needed to leave. getting upset at them wouldn’t have changed anything either, so i just accepted it. i won’t say i didn’t suffer from it though, because i most certainly did. for a while i had no idea what to do with hugo. yooa, she had a bit of a purpose, because she wanted to be a model and an idol, but hugo especially was so hard to come back from on. failed ships or people leaving happened multiple times after that as well, but because of the initial loss of people i thought would never leave, the impact wasn’t nearly as bad, i was able to weather it and accept it, and move on ic. now i’m so understanding and don’t really get hurt when i lose ships or rp partners, i’m able to just be okay with it and look forward to the next ship or thread or endeavour. i’ve applied this to strictly ooc things as well. i’ve lost friends within rookies. people have stopped talking to me because of things that have happened concerning rookies. it sucks, i don’t like it, but i accept it. i’m becoming more and more thick skinned and level headed by the day. i can take blows and dish back kindness now, and i’m pretty proud of that. the only thing i’m still struggling with is the amount of netizen smack talk or belittling that suho got during the mgas. everyone loved to hate him, and while it’s just unofficial ic stuff, it did still get to me, hence why i stopped writing on my own netizen (and have since even deleted her account). the reason that specifically got to me is very unique to my situation. yooa and hugo got signed after what’s considered pretty long waits. there have been longer, obviously, but 8 and 6 months is still pretty long. they were both signed quietly as well, and haven’t had any special trainee projects or debut notices or anything like that, they’ve simply had their training as private trainees and that’s been it. i’ve never complained about that, because i get that others have been here longer than me, are more deserving of the spotlight, or sometimes that’s just how the cookie crumbles. i had a third muse before suho that was taking even longer to get anything. she had an audition with kt that failed, that’s about it, and i had had her for a pretty long time (rip rkyukji i miss you terribly but your true fc is dead and reubvleiwubds i just can’t play you cause of it otherwise you’d still be here kicking ass and taking names). now, she didn’t get scouted with chococon and i did complain about that, but in retrospect i realized her charisma was way too low to be street casted hence why i made suho with his insane charisma level and percentage.

CHARISMA IS THE MOST IMPORTANT SKILL, ROOKIES TAUGHT ME THIS, IT’S THE ONLY REASON SUHO WON AND IF YOUR MUSE HAS LOW CHARISMA YOU BETTER FIX THAT OR YOU’LL BE WAITING AGES AND AGES TO GET SCOUTED AND ONLY KT WILL TAKE YOU. LITERALLY LEARNED THAT ON YUKJI AFTER READING AN OLD POST ABOUT WHICH SKILLS EACH COMPANY SCOUTS.

anyways, suho doing well on the mgas and winning was the very first time any of my muses had ever been in some kind of spotlight, really. for the first time ever i was genuinely being rewarded, and everyone was just shitting all over it. had yooa or hugo gotten something special i probably wouldn’t have cared that the netizens were always like ‘idk why suho is special, what’s with this junmyeon guy, he aint even talented, he’s not that good looking, etc.’ but because it was the first time something special was being done for me as a mun here, i took it to heart. it was like i wasn’t allowed to enjoy it, because someone else’s muse wasn’t the one in the spotlight. i still remember waiting up until 5am to see who the winner was, and when it came down to suho and haknyeon the tlist blew up with support and rooting for haknyeon, and then when suho was announced the winner? dead silence. i had never felt so hated within this roleplay before, and i felt the need to say sorry for him winning. bianca worked very hard to give all of us, and me, a very special experience, and all i could feel was remorse and regret by the end of it, which i’m sure wasn’t her intention. carly mentioned not understanding why i thought everyone hated suho - this is why. the moment one of my muses had some kind of attention or spotlight, people were mad, upset, whatever. it... really sucked. i feel really anxious and nervous whenever i mention his mga win in a thread now cause i’m worried i’m upsetting someone with it. i still have to work on this, but hopefully i become resilient to this too. i’m sure, if and when yooa or hugo becomes public or debuts, that the netizens will have things to say about them as well, and i just have to be prepared for it to be bad. people will be petty, they’ll be mean, it’s just how life is sometimes. all i can do is correct my own ways and try to build up a thick skin to it.

rookies has taught me dedication. a bitch has done her trainee replies and evals on all three muses every single week since each other has been signed. that’s right, i do fucking 6+ replies a week, every week. that’s sort of unheard of (except for kyle lol) and it’s shown me my unhealthy level of perfectionist tendencies i have, haha. my non-trainee threads have really fallen to the wayside, which sucks and i need to fix that, but after i’m done all of my trainee replies i’m just so tired. i’ll work on it, i promise, but a bitch is tired she does her replies every week cause she won’t be able to sleep if she misses an opportunity for an achievement she wants. i have goal pages set up on each muse that shows which achievements and what levels i want for them. i update them with my point pages every week, and boi there’s a LOT on there that i want to do. missing a week? it makes me panic because that’s another week on top of everything that i’ll need to get my muses where i want them. the fact that suho is so chillaxed about his training and debuting helps so much because my perfectionist ways reflect in yooa and she will literally murder me if i miss a week on her. i also started an rkresource thing (that i desperately need to update) and even though the mods probably have their own version of it i still kind of like seeing where everyone is at. i’ve got some competitiveness in my personality so part of me really wants to see my muses raise in rank in some areas. it kind of keeps me motivated? and i hope that it does for other people as well, haha. it’s not pinned to my twitter anymore but i think someone posted a link to it in the rkresource tag so! its the leaderboard doc. i also update my points every week cause i need to know where my muses are at, which apparently is also really rare? not even kyle does that lol but i know if i leave it i’ll get lost and mess up the tracking so it’s really just for my own sake of being bad with numbers. i lowkey add everything up now and then to make sure i’m on the right track.

rookies has taught me how to keep muse. yooa is my longest running muse by far. not many know this, since i’ve been around nearly two years now, but i’m actually notorious for getting bored and losing interest in a muse. i’ve had a lot of muses in my time, more than 100, or even 200 at this point. they always sort of completed their story though, and i’d get so bored on them that i’d go inactive or drop them. these muses in rookies have goals, purposes, aims, and they don’t die. yooa is such a strong muse, as is hugo (suho is eh tbh but he’s there), and i know there’s still so much more for her to do and accomplish, so many paths to explore, and i deeply thank rookies for giving me a place where i can have two whole muses who refuse to die no matter what. that’s such a rarity for me, so thank you rookies. you’ve given me two very precious muses that i love with all my heart. no matter what happens ooc with other muns or even the mods, my love for these two muses keeps me from leaving and dropping, i could never do it.

rookies has taught me loving friendships. i have met some very special people here. they are few, honestly, but they are gems and i would never have known them without rookies. the person who has impacted me the most, honestly, is clara @rkwendy / @rkjohnny. this girl, i don’t think you guys realize how beautiful of a person she is. we aren’t best friends, but we’re close. clara has listened to me bitch, both about real life and things within rookies, even people she cares about, and she has not left my side or held anything against me. there are so few people in this world that could do that. she didn’t even push me to like anyone she liked, she let me realize my faults and errors on my own and she was supportive and proud when i realized them and voiced that to her. i try my best to be there for her as well, but i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to be there for her the way she has for me. i’ve got an extremely beautiful ship with her as well, that i hold near and dear to my heart, because as mentioned before i get bored easily, so doing slow burn ships has never been my forte, but wendy is just such a beautiful, layered, intriguing masterpiece of a muse that hugo and i fell completely in love and have been hooked ever since a year ago when the burn first started. it doesn’t matter how fast or slow the replies come, the muse is still there and strong for the ship and i am so thankful to her for being an amazing writing partner. another friendship that has impacted me, and i dont think she even knows or realizes this, is rose @rklisa / @rkyeri / @jinsoulrk. we started out really rocky, and we had some issues that were a good chunk my doing. literally, i came at her over the pettiest, stupidest thing (and i realized she was even right to begin with lol i was such a dumb ass), and then there were things ic that i was taking to heart ooc and it became an ooc issue. i didn’t really handle that well either. the reason i’m mentioning this is because it taught me to see my own faults and own up to them, and even try to change them. if i hadn’t been dumb, rose and i would’ve probably started getting along a loooooong time ago, cause the ironic thing is she and i like a lot of the same groups and share a lot of the same opinions both on irl groups and songs, and ic and ooc rookies things. i’m very excited to be among the new gen royal girls with her and to hopefully have our muses (WHO ARE FINALLY GETTING ALONG! YAY!) debut together one day. that’s obviously way off since luxe debuted this year, but eventually it’ll happen, and i look forward to the queens of sexy concepts yooa and lisa owning the stage together. i’m not mentioning many people because i don’t think there’s a need to. i’m just singling out people who have impacted me and taught me things (minus the mods, that’s sort of their job when muns go astray. thank you carly @taeminrk, lol, you taught me a valuable lesson too when i came at you over something i shouldn’t have and i still regret that to this day. i appreciate you forgiving me for that.) i will also mention ani @rkmiya / @rkmin / @rksohee / @rkchungha because she helped me through a really tough time when i was triggered (unintentionally) by someone in a group chat. we bonded a lot through that, and she’s been there to listen to me rant and complain ever since, haha. she also made me feel very welcome when hugo first joined nova, she hyped me so much and it meant the world to me because it made me feel like people were excited to have me around and to roleplay with me. i had heard horror stories about nova so i was really scared when i decided to have hugo sign. i was tweeting out ‘anything but nova’ during that whole thing but then he got nova and i wanted to cry, die, and pee myself at the same time. i ended up deciding to go for it (it’s only TWO YEARS LOL) and it ended up being the best decision ever. i started off on the right foot though and that’s all thanks to ani. i owe her big time for that. lastly, i’ll mention nic @rknahee / @rkjei / @rkobon. why, you ask? because she has restored my faith in people being trustworthy. especially recently, rookies was teaching me not to trust people. i’ve been very vocal about not being okay as of late, but people kept taking me for granted and just doing whatever they wanted and expecting me to still be there at the end of it no matter what they did. it’s been getting really tiresome and annoying, especially when those people get shocked and upset when i finally put my foot down and express my hurt. nic has taught me that there are people out there who genuinely care and will be there, and can be trusted. she’s gone through similar things to me with other muns, so maybe we’re both just jaded and tired and we can’t be bothered and that’s why we get along so well and trust each other so much. there are days where i wish i could take all of her pain and just put it on myself so she can smile and be happy and not worry about anything. she’s a genuine sweetheart and whoever comes for her will feel my wrath!!! i love her a lot, and always will <3 there are some people i’ve known since before rookies who are still my good friends now. lyn @rkxsnn / @rkavery (your damn urls i swear to god), jen @yujurk, and stef @rkohsehun, don’t think i forgot you guys. i love you to the moon and back. lyn is my ride or die, soulmate, best friend. jen is someone who reteaches me the value of not giving a shit all the time. stef is my fucking wIFE and i will mURDER for her. y’all are great, mwah, i love you <3

[[ amendment! i can’t believe i didn’t mention kyle @haseulrk / @seulgirk / @rksejeong. probs cause you’re a mod too and i was trying to stay away from that cause i don’t want to seem kiss ass LOL but you’ve been a wonderful friend that has taught me it’s okay to rely on people sometimes. i want you to know you can always rely on me too, whenever you need it. you’re a candle in the darkness, with you there will always be light <3 ]]

rookies taught me anxiety. aight, now here’s some of the nasty negative stuff i was talking about. rp in general has given me anxiety, something i never had or experienced before it. rookies festers it a lot, sometimes to an unhealthy point. i can’t help it, rookies is part of me now, i’ve invested so much time and effort into this place, so i can’t leave, even when the place is literally affecting my health. it sucks when i need an escape from all the bs happening in real life, and then i come here and it’s just more stress and hurt, and that’s when the anxiety rolls in cause then i no longer have a safe space. that’s just not the point of rookies, and i doubt the mods want that to be the case for anyone. it’s just tough when there are people i know i won’t ever get along with here, people i know who don’t like me for whatever reason (and still hold a grudge to this day even though they talk about how people shouldn’t hold grudges) or stuff like what happened with suho in the mgas happens, and i can’t do anything about it. mods can only do so much too. i kind of just expect people to not like me at this point? and i worry myself into a place where i feel like the whole world is against me. it’s super unhealthy, but honestly i don’t know how to fix it, it is what it is. it’s a part of me and my rookies experience, and it probably always will be, so like a lot of other stuff i just have to accept it. there are muns that i’m trying to get on better terms with and i hope i get good outcomes like i did with rose (she made the first step though i don’t take credit for that). for some of them, though, it’s very clear there’s just no reconciling, or their personality will just always clash with mine and there’s nothing to be done about it. all i can do is stay civil and keep striving for better outcomes. and i gotta remember to breathe.

rookies has taught me clarity. i’m way better at seeing where i’m going wrong now. within the past year i notice that when i’m upset i’ll go and bitch in a safe space, or at least what i think is a safe space, but when that person i bitched about bitches about ME and it gets back to me i’m upset about it. kind of hypocritical, and i realized it. so i don’t hold grudges or confront or anything. everyone gets annoyed with people whether they’re close or not, and bitching about them sometimes doesn’t mean we hate them or they hate us. we just gotta VENT sometimes, you know? in retrospect i know i’ve come off as two-faced in some situations, but i’ve learned my personality really well and i know that if i want to tackle a situation with a level head and clarity, i need to blow off the steam out loud elsewhere first. i need to yell to someone who is impartial and won’t lecture me so i can get that off my chest, then go to the person in question and be calm when talking things out with them. in the moment clarity and level-headedness is slowly but surely starting to come as a result of this, and it’s mostly been situations in rookies that has taught me this.

i keep rambling on and on, this post has been super huge haha, but i guess the main point i’m making is that rookies has taught me a lot of self growth. am i perfect? nope, and to paraphrase a recent conversation with my dear mother, i don’t want to be perfect, i have flaws and i like them, but i also am proud of the person i am becoming. if you hate me or dislike me, that’s perfectly fine, if you like me or love me, that’s fine too. if you’re indifferent, great! lol. rookies has taught me to accept all of it. it’s kind of sucky that rookies has taught me to just accept all the bullshit in life, but in a setting like this it’s hard to escape all of our flaws being concentrated and emphasized here. muses are a part of us and it gets pretty sensitive. having everything so concentrated and intense here, though, has taught me to be more resilient and accepting, and i get to apply that to real life. it’s also made me pessimistic, and to paraphrase a recent conversation with my asshole brother (who is super slytherin and waayyyy more optimistic than i am, and i’m a freaking gryffindor and pessimistic af, who is the real set of good guys rowling? i’m also a ravenclaw though so maybe that’s got something to do with it lol) that makes me dead wrong and i need to look into that, cause everyone inherently wants to do good. i wish i could see things like my brother lol but i’m jaded. one more thing to work on? maybe next year i’ll be more optimistic. if you’ve read all of this, holy hell go get a life friend, but thanks! let’s chat and plot sometime, because we all know rookies aint going anywhere~

sincerely, roe

@rkyooa / @rkhugo / @suhork

#rkfifth #;ooc #[[ this is so long dear lord #3844 words my god #thats the longest thing ive ever written i think #read at your own risk ]]

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spongebobsins · 6 years ago

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Everything Wrong With The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie

(Full disclosure: I actually did this before on DA a few years ago, so this is a spruced up version of that post. It’s been updated with my current standards and some new jokes but isn’t totally different. Still, hope you enjoy)

1.Viacom

2.There’s a whole opening scene with pirates, yet Patchy is nowhere to be seen

3.This guy thought it wouldn’t be a good idea to step out of the way of the door before the guy came out.

4.Because this is a SpongeBob movie, I can ignore a lot of stuff here, but there are like 50 pirates here, and only like 6 tickets.

5.These pirates are making a huge rowdy mess…and yet if I was there, it wold still be one my better theater expereinces.

6.Wait, the movie within the movie just starts with no title? There’s s no title in the credits, which is part of the movie within the movie, so what kind of movie has no title in it at all?

7.Also, the screening just starts with no trailers?

8.Why wasn’t the manager here to begin with, if the place was open.

9.They seriously called the cops about the cheese? Can’t someone else just…put cheese on it

9.“Weird sound in dream turns out be normal sound waking them up” cliché.

10.It being a dream forgives a few sins…but it’s still a dream cliche so..

11. Let’s talk about the Krusty Krab 2. How could have a hugely popular restaurant, function for this only with only ONE in existence?

12 Also, at no point do we see them hire extra employees for the other KK, there’s just a new manager, but there’s like 2 employees in this place besides Mr Krabs. …How did a place like this ever function with only two employees, anyway?

13.Spongebob has underwear in this shot, but when his pants…open up, he’s nude.

14.Also, Butt joke.

15.SpongeBob’s teeth should not be in good shape if he only brushes his eyes.

16.Even for SpongeBob, barging in Squid’s shower is…creepy.

17.There’s nothing under this rock so where did Patrick’s pants come from? 18.All this excitement over a place that has never been mentioned before now.

19.Wait, KK 2 is next to the first one? That’s really stupid.

20.”Lord knows I’ve tried” Which lord though? Is relgion a thing under the sea?

21/know Plankton doesn’t always have common sense, but he seriously has never heard of the letter Z?! Or at least he hasn’t seen that file clearly there.

22. Plan Z seems to be Plan Porn, ew.

23.The Chum Bucket isn’t directly across the street like it should be.

24.How he does not hear his screams?

25.Also, the plankton smear vanishes in the next shot.

26.“I paid 9 dollars for this?” ‘I paid ten”. That’s racist.

27.I know SpongeBob is” immature” but Squidward is literately the worst worker ever, so why was he picked? At least SB is a good worker.

28.If you listen really closely, you near hear Mr Krabs whispering jackass. That’s sinful because he said swearing is bad back in Sailor Mouth and got trouble with his Mom over it.

29.Another butt joke. 30.Wait, he doesn’t like people touching the crown yet he hired someone to clean it?

31.Even if this is meant to a different character than the God Neptune, why are we only just now knowing there’s a King of the sea, especially since he’s so close to a place the leads apparently go to a lot?

32.How the hell did no one notice Plankton taking the crown? Mindy is looking in the general direction of it, and while plankton is tiny, they should at least hear it moving or something.

33.There’s no guards outside to possible see the crown flying away.

34/Goofy Goober has a lollipop in this shot, but when that hand thing comes out, it’s gone

35. There’s only one row of chairs in the nut bar here, but when SpongeBob starts to leave, there’s another corner where more chairs are over there. 36.And they’re drunk, in a family film.

37/They didn’t kick them out for getting drunk in front of kids?

38.Wait, if they’re at the KK 2, who is taking care of the first one right now?

39.”You left one DAMNING piece of evidence-” Whoa, Language!

40.We did not see Plankton bring paper with him at all so I must question this.

41.Also, Mr. Krabs could try to find some stuff he wrote to show this isn’t his handwriting. 42.There’s never a phone here but it’s now there for this joke.

43.How can Plankton hear over anything over the phone if Mr Krabs hung up?

44.Mr Krabs’ clothes magically grow back

45.Discount My Leg!

46.Everyone in the Krusty Krab magically appears before that part, and disappears right after. Hell, you can see two fish eating in the background like nothing’s happening!

47.Patrick, out of nowhere!

48.Patrick being horny for Mindy goes nowhere and is a bit creepy.

49.The wheels are made of pickles in this shot, but when they leave, they are real wheels.

50.There’s seriously no one at the Krusty Krab or even outside to see this?

51.Stereotypical hillbillies are Stereotypical, and a bit annoying.

52.”No Patrick they’re laughing next to us” Hey, only I get to be pedantic around here!

53.How did no one see that guy coming?

54.How did she get that footage?

55.I like that the airhorn from the previous scene is sitll here but it was nowhere to be seen before than so..

56.The thug doesn’t recognize Patrick from earlier.

57 No one in the bar is seen with any tools normally used for bubble blowing, and since they somehow don’t know it came from the bathroom, no one in that room should be suspected.

58.They were standing in place the whole time and everything was far away when they beat up the double dude, so how did Patrick get the key?

59.Villain asks who can stop them now and it cuts to the heroes cliché.

60.A monster having an part that looks like a talking old lady makes no sense and you know it, so let’s move on.

61.How did the bubble soap get outside?

62.The stairs to the trench randomly appear and reappear throughout this scene.

63.Patrick has only worn those underpants once in the whole show…and it was in an episode after this movie!

64.Even with that carriage, how did Mindy get here so fast? She has no mermaid magic.

65.“Did you see my underwear?” “No Patrick ‘ “Did you want to?” …Ew.

66. The plankton statue in complete in this shot, but in the next shot it’s under construction.

67.I know Plankton wanted Neptune to fry Mr Krabs, but since he controls everyone, couldn’t he storm the castle and use the bucket on Neptune to get the job done quicker?

68.Hate to get critical, but sometimes these cuts to Dennis ruin the flow of scenes.

69.How does that seaweed stay on?

70.“Why did we jump over the edge instead of taking the stairs?” Spongebob would be great at SpongeBobSins.

71.This song is awesome until you realized they lazily reused some title card music from the show.

…But it’s still awesome, so..

71. ”Even the hideous disgusting monsters!” That’s racist.

72.“That way you’ll never found out that he stole the crown” Dennis is an idiot.

73.Man, what is with this movie and characters appearing without being heard?

74.You know, randomly walking around underwater in a desolate area with barely any fish isn’t really that efficient, given what he’s using them for as we find out in a minute.(Although it clearly worked before so this sin is debatable)

75.Why does he wear his diver’s outfit while on land?

76.“Alexander Clam Bell!” Booooo

77.Okay, so how did Plankton get the crown all the way here anyway?

78.How the heck did they not see that huge crown this whole time?

The entire scene is insanely emotional, especially for SpongeBob. I’m not made of stone so…yeah.

78.The pirates ruins it a tad though.

79.Discount Potty, which makes the lack of Patchy worse. He’s even voiced by Stephen!

80.“Tears bring someone back to life” cliché.

81.Also, these detectors do not work that way.

82..Because a bit of water will bring dead fish back to life, right? It makes sense for the duo but not the ones that have been dead for ages.

83.Poop joke.

84.The Hasselhoff cameo is funny but how many kids even know him, even I 2004?

85,I’m not even gonna ask how Dennis got here with the boot. Still sinning it, of course.

86.Hoff barely feels this epic battle going on, on his back.

87.You’ve got a time limit but sure, 10 seconds to liftoff.

88.They made a big deal out of that lock but now it’s just gone.

89.Karen isn’t there before SB and Pat show up, but now she’s here.

90. Why didn’t he put the bucket on Neptune beforehand? Would have made this a lot easier, makes my previous sin more of an issue.

91.Now the talking cheese is gonna preach to us!

92.This is amazing, one of the best things ever…but it’s also the biggest Deus Ex Machina ever.

93.”No freakin’ way!” The soundtrack version changes this because freakin’ is just too intense for kids I guess.

Eh screw it, sin removed!

93. From the looks of it, the town literally fixed itself in a matter of hours.

94.“I was just tell you that that your fly is down!” …He doesn’t wear pants. 95,Freeze frame ending.

96.The credits feel the need to inform us that Karen is a computer wife.

97. Way too many minutes of credits for the sake of padding the soundtrack. 98.Post credits scene. SpongeBob is my favorite Marvel movie.

MOVIE SIN TALLY: 98

SENTENCE: Beaten senseless (by every able boded patron in the bar)

And after a slight delay, this is finally done. Even though I had to refurbish something I already did, this sitll took some more, to see what new sins to add and what to keep I tried my best to make sure the sins are good here and hopefully only a few are weird/filler.

This is certainly a few easy movie to sin, but is still highly enjoyable. Might do a win post for it someday, we’ll see. But for now, here are the sins of a good representation of the series.

With that out of the way come back in about mid February or a bit later as dive into Season 4 and see how sinful it ends up being. I’m judging all SpongeBob on the same level, so we’ll see how the sins are.

See ya then.

(Dedicated to Stephen Hilenburg)

#SpongeBob #Movie #Sins

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seriouslyhooked · 6 years ago

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Capsize

Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! I know it has been a long time since I published a oneshot, but with my other two stories happening at the same time, I’ve been a little all over the place. This chapter is based on a number of prompts for more stories with Killian in the military, but there was one of you who was pretty specific. I have decided to run with that request. In this fic Killian was in the navy and he met Emma in a bar on his last night of leave. They fell in love at first sight but he had to ship back overseas the next day. Months later when he’s finally been discharged he comes back for her, and, low and behold, she has a surprise for him. I am sure you can all guess what that surprise might be. The song I am pairing with this is ‘Capsize’ by Frenship and Emily Warren. Hope you all enjoy and thanks so much for reading!

Standing at the processing bay at the naval base in Washington, Killian Jones had never felt more on edge.

He was a SEAL, a fighter through and through, and a sailor with the self-composure to go into enemy territory without blinking an eye. Killian had seen war up close and personal for the past ten years, and his life had been dangerously close to ending more times than he could count, but none of it compared to this moment. Waiting for the bloody paperwork to go through so he could get on to his forever was like diving into bitter cold ocean water only to learn your air tank was running low. It was maddening and overwhelming. The time seemed endless, and it honestly felt like some kind of torture.

It shouldn’t be this difficult to get them checked out of the damn service. He’d filled out all the forms and David had too, but this woman – Captain Regina Mills – was taking her sweet time processing their request. This should be more straight forward: their tours were done, they should get to go home, but until that final stamp of approval was granted, he was still a SEAL and still beholden to rules. Until he received this confirmation he still belonged in many ways to the United States of America, and for what he had planned he needed freedom, and he needed it now.

“Well, Lieutenant Jones, Lieutenant Nolan, it seems everything is in order,” Captain Mills said, barely smiling. She was so severe and serious, but then again so were many of the other captains they’d served along the way. Killian didn’t know how they did it. He’d hate to be so rigid and conforming. It had always been the hardest part of his life as a SEAL.

“So we’re good to go then?” David asked, putting into words Killian’s own hopes while already forsaking the formality of military life. Captain Mills looked amused at the lapse, but Killian didn’t know if it was genuine or not.

“You are. You have both officially been honorably discharged from the United States Navy. We appreciate your service.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” they said in complete synchronization, saluting the captain, even if their time was done, before turning and walking out back into the balmy summer day.

“I can’t believe we finally did it, man – it’s all over,” David exclaimed, his grin as happy as Killian had ever seen it. “Sure you don’t want to go back for another round?”

The question from David was clearly a joke. The only reason David had even served another tour at all was because he needed a bit more money for the ‘castle’ he was aiming to buy his high school sweetheart, Mary Margaret. The two of them were already married, and at their last check in back on the ship Mary Margaret had given David some news that couldn’t wait – she was pregnant. It had happened during their leave three months ago and David was the happiest man in the whole damn world.

“No. I would never do that now. I can’t,” Killian said, his tone harsher than David deserved, but his friend took it like a champ.

“Ah right. Because you have to get the girl. Mr. ‘Marriage-Is-A-Construct’ finally found his one. God it almost brings a tear to my eyes.”

“You want to make it back to your wife in one piece, mate? Because I can arrange an alternative,” Killian said, glaring at David with his best ‘do not fuck with me’ face, which irritatingly only made David smile more.

“All right, all right I surrender. No more jokes,” David promised as he swung his duffle into the back of the truck with Killian and then got in the driver’s seat to start them on their journey home. It was too much, however, to expect silence from his friend for a whole ten hours. After all, David and Mary Margaret were a perfect couple. They were both good, and loyal, and kind, but they were also nosey and opinionated, and they never could seem to drop a topic of intrigue when they thought they were helping a friend.

“I know Emma’s different,” David said, talking over the radio Killian had tried to put on for distraction’s sake. Killian’s jaw ticked and his arms crossed over his chest, but David was undeterred. “Even if it was only one night, I know you love her.”

Killian didn’t know if it was the mention of his love that caused the slam in his chest or if it was just her name. Truth be told, the mere thought of Emma had the possibility to light up any kind of darkness. She was this impossibly remarkable thing in a world that had so little beauty or hope. She’d been a life raft for Killian when he didn’t even realize he was drowning, and an anchor when his ship was lost at sea. It defied explanation. A complete stranger that he met in a bar shouldn’t be able to affect him like that, but one smile from Emma – along with one silken, throaty chuckle when she found his ‘charm’ to be over the top – had trapped him. He was hers from the very start, and leaving her the next day had been the worst damn pain he’d ever known.

“If you know then why do you keep going on about it?”

“Because I want you to admit it,” David said with a laugh. “And because I’m damn well entitled. You gave me hell when I found Mary Margaret. HELL. It’s my turn to do the same.”

“I don’t care what you do to me, David. I only care that I find her.”

This announcement prompted a bellowing laugh from David, an honest to goodness laugh that shook his friend so much Killian almost wondered if he’d pull over the car to keep from crashing. It was so loud that it startled Killian, and he watched as tears streamed down his friend’s face and he wiped them away, still laughing. Finally David got himself together enough to motion to the glove compartment. Killian assumed he wanted tissues or a Xanax or something, since he was clearly unhinged, but instead there was a file with a name – Emma Swan.

“You didn’t really think I’d let us retire without already having found her for you did you?” David asked, laughter still teasing at the corner of his eyes as he shook his head at the very idea.

“But how did you – when did you -,”

“I borrowed a computer while you were in your one-on-one,” David said with a shrug. “Then I paid a new recruit to drop what I found off in the truck once it all printed.

“You borrowed it?” Killian echoed. “Or you commandeered it?”

“Eh, same thing. It took a minute, but I found her. Hell I got everything about her that I could, including the fact that she’s still there. She never left Boston.”

“She didn’t?” Killian said, shocked to find that out. During their night together, Emma had confessed that she was a runner. She preferred a life of constant moving, and she’d already been in the city for a few months. She was planning to leave within the week, now he had to wonder what had changed her mind?

“Nope. She moved to a new apartment though. Probably for the best you didn’t mail those letters. She didn’t list a forwarding address with the post office.”

The mention of the letters that Killian had written every day for the past few months was slightly embarrassing. He had thought he was discrete enough to not have drawn anyone’s attention, but when he considered it, it made sense that David would put the pieces together. There was no one in Killian’s life from outside of the military, so there was no real reason for him to be writing anyone. A few times they’d been out on mission, with barely any time for sleep and Killian had tried to write a few lines in secret, but he supposed that would be the kind of thing David would hone in on. Especially since he was so fixated on Killian’s potential future.

“You realize you’re going to have to stop digging like this now that we’re out in the real world again, right?”

“Hmm,” David said, in what Killian had come to learn was a far from affirmative answer. “So you gonna read it, or just stare at it a while?”

“I don’t know,” Killian answered honestly.

On the one hand he wanted to know every last detail of Emma’s life, but on the other hand it felt wrong to learn it this way. What he wanted most of all was time with her, because time would allow them the chance to grow the connection that had formed in an instant months before. Reading this would take away some of that magic, and Killian was torn about what he should do. Should he give in to his craving to know her? Or should he wait and hope that she’d let him in enough to see all that lay beneath the surface?

“Just open it.”

Killian complied with David’s request and he found two things at the top of the pile: a recent picture of Emma and her new address. Perfect.

“I figured you might not actually want the other stuff, so I condensed what was needed right on top.”

“And the rest of this is just what? Blank pages?”

“Nope,” David said before chuckling to himself as he continued to watch the road. “Those are Mary Margaret’s contribution.”

Curiosity got the better of Killian and he flipped through to see that David’s wife had, quite literally, gone off the deep end with this compilation. Page after page was filled with ideas and requests and hopes for Killian and Emma. There were recommendations for the perfect first date, anniversary ideas, potential wedding venues, and even a list of the top 100 most underrated baby names. There was enough here to map out an entire life for Killian and Emma, or at least the next fifty or so years.

“I’m sorry, are these retirement villages?” Killian asked, his shock and dismay no doubt evident from his tone.

“Yeah I told her that might be a bit much,” David replied. Killian turned to his friend and arched a brow as if to silently say that every damn part of this was ‘a bit much.’ “But it made her happy, and with the baby coming, I couldn’t very well say no, could I?”

“You two are unbelievable,” Killian said, shaking his head even as laughter built in his chest. He supposed it could be worse after all: his friends could be trying to stop him from pursuing this. They could judge him for caring as much about Emma as he did so swiftly. But no, David and Mary Margaret were completely on board with all of his plans, and they clearly had ideas of their own that they were only too glad to offer.

“It was going to be thicker, but then I told her you already had a ring and so she cut back.”

The mention of the ring he had in his pocket prompted Killian to pull it out. There was no point hiding it, not when David already knew all about it, and he wanted to see it again. It was his grandmother’s ring once upon a time, passed down to his mother and then to him. The center stone was an opulent sapphire, and the surrounding diamonds sparkled in the sunlight. It was elegant and classic, a cut above what the average SEAL could afford, but where Killian knew it was objectively beautiful, he doubted any ring could be worthy of Emma.

“So when do you think you’ll ask her?” David questioned, breaking Killian’s trance.

“When she’s ready,” Killian responded resolutely.

“Can you wait that long?” Good question.

“I can damn well try.”

For the rest of the long hours up the coast, Killian continued to think on what exactly the future might look like with Emma, especially when they were first reunited. In his heart, he knew that the connection they shared had to mean something. It was too sure and too strong, even if it was only one night, for this to be some fleeting, one time thing. In fact, Killian couldn’t conceive of it as anything but a life-long love, but getting Emma to see that may very well be a battle. He’d been gone for months and they’d left things hanging in that time.

They hadn’t spoken since the morning that he headed back to the ship, much to Killian’s dismay, and he didn’t know if Emma would be open to him now even though his heart had always been wherever she was. He might have to prove himself to her, but though it would be hard, Killian was ready. Whatever it took to have Emma in his life, he would do. If there were trials that needed facing or paces he was put through to show how serious he was, he was fine with that. The only thing he wouldn’t negotiate on was when to find her again. He had to see her as soon as he could, and he was so desperate to lay eyes on her again that he asked David to drop him off at Emma’s place instead of his own.

“I already had it in the GPS,” David said gleefully. “And don’t worry. Mary Margaret and I will hold onto your stuff until you’re ready.”

Killian thanked David and soon after that they pulled up before her apartment. But it wasn’t until he was out of the car and David’s red truck was heading down the street that Killian considered how big a step this was. Showing up at her door out of the blue was a risk to be sure. Would it scare her away? Was he making a mistake? Killian didn’t know, but he couldn’t keep himself from trying all the same. He made his way to her door, glad that a neighbor was heading out at the same time that he was trying to get inside. He moved up the stairs to the floor where Emma’s address claimed she’d be, and then he was there, standing at her front door, and at the precipice of the rest of his life. He hesitated only a moment before knocking soundly.

Though it only took a few more seconds for the door to swing open, it felt damn near a lifetime to Killian. Waiting even a little bit felt like more than he could bear after countless nights spent wishing he was with her again. But in the moment when he saw Emma, standing there before him looking just as beautiful as in his dreams, he finally felt like he was home again. Nothing had been right or made sense without her, and it didn’t matter to Killian that that feeling was crazy. He didn’t need time to know what was right for him, and Emma Swan was everything that could possibly be right in the world.

“Killian, when did you… I mean how did you…” her words trailed off as her eyes filled with tears as her hands reached out for him. “You came back.”

It seemed that she couldn’t believe her eyes in this moment, and like her relief was overwhelming her. His heart clutched tightly in his chest at the sight of her tears. God he wished he’d found a way to know where she was all this time. He never dreamed that she’d be worried for him or missing him as badly as he missed her, but her expression was undeniable. As deep as he was in his love for her, Emma was feeling just as much, and she’d faced his months away with probably just as much pain and sorrow as he had.

“Aye, love, I did. I’m home now - home for good – and I’m not going anywhere.”

Not without you. He left those words unsaid, but no sooner had he made his promise to stay than she was leaping into his arms, hugging him in a way that lacked reserve or any kind of hiding. The feel of her in his arms was all too much and yet not enough, and so he pulled back only to kiss her and revel in the feeling of tasting the woman he loved again. It had been touch and go before, but he’d made it, and he’d be a damn fool if he let another second go by without showing her how much she meant to him.

“I can’t lie, Swan, it makes me damn glad that you’re not pushing me away right now,” he said when they came back up for air and Emma pulled him inside her apartment, keeping hold of him as she shut the door and then led him inside.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” Emma confessed, her eyes casting downwards. A heartbreaking sadness returned to her features and it struck Killian so forcefully that he would give anything to ease her suffering. Killian brought his hand to cup her cheek, and she looked back up at him before continuing on. “I was so scared for you. I know we only had one night together, but -,”

“But it was a hell of a night,” he whispered causing Emma to smile and shake her head even though he knew that she agreed. She’d told him at their first meeting that he was cocky and that she wasn’t into guys with huge egos, but soon enough she’d realized that for Killian it was all in jest. He might play the suave, collected type, but underneath he was just a man, a man who loved her more than anything. “Look, Emma, I promised you when we met that I’d be honest and so I think there’s something I should tell you.”

“I have something to tell you too,” Emma said, sounding a bit panicked, but Killian only shook his head and brought her hands up to kiss one by one.

“Let me say this first love, before I lose my nerve. I know to everyone else it probably seems like we barely know each other. They’ll say that there’s no way to be certain, or that one night is too soon to fall this hard and this surely, but I know differently. I know that you’re the best woman I’ve ever met, that you’re brilliant, and beautiful, and perfect, and I want to spend the rest of my life getting to know every other part of what makes you you.”

Killian watched as his words washed over Emma, and the restlessness that she’d exhibited moments ago melted away. She looked desperate to hear everything and the more he said the happier she became. She was holding back still, not letting herself totally cave to hope quite yet, but he was certain that despite everything, she was ready to hear all that he felt.

“I love you, Emma. I think it started the very moment I saw you, but in one night you ran away with my heart completely. Leaving you…” his voice broke from the emotion and only Emma’s hands running over him in silent pleading could keep him on the track of his confession. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and all I could think while I was gone was that I had to get back to you. Truth be told, you saved me out there, Emma, more times than I care to admit. Knowing you were here, knowing our story had only just begun, it was enough to get me through. And I know you probably don’t feel the same quite yet. I know it’s crazy, and maybe you need time but -,”

“I don’t,” Emma said, interrupting his nervous babbling. “I don’t need time. I feel the same way.”

“You do?” Killian asked, elated as his arms tightened around her and Emma nodded, happy tears forming as she smiled up at him. Still he needed to hear it. He was desperate for those three little words, and she must have known it because she offered them up so beautifully.

“I love you, Killian. And I’m really, really glad you love me too, because that night brought us more than just each other.”

“I know, Swan. It brought a beginning, a happy beginning that we’re starting right now. I want all of it with you Emma. Dating, living together, marriage, the works. I want to start a family together, Swan, the kind neither of us ever had,” her eyes grew wide at how quickly he was going, and he laughed, knowing she wasn’t going to run even if he had stunned her. “But more than anything I want a life – our life together. I just want what you want, whatever that might be.”

“Well about that… there’s some parts of your dream that have kind of already started,” Emma said, bringing his hand over her stomach where he noticed a small bump that hadn’t been there before. It took a moment, but when he realized what she was saying his throat closed up and his own eyes grew misty. Could this really be his life? Could he really be this lucky?

“You’re pregnant?” Killian whispered in awe and Emma nodded, prompting him to pull her in for another kiss.

The celebration in this embrace was tangible as their hands roamed and the two of them arched for closeness. His need for Emma gripped at him like a fever, and he couldn’t wrap his head around just how wonderful this news was. Whatever came next, he would thank God every day of his life that he had the chance at all of this with Emma. He would never deserve her, but he would work day in and day out to be better for her and for their family. Somehow he’d be enough for her and for them, but first there was something he needed her to know.

“We’re getting married,” Killian proclaimed as they broke apart from the kiss.

“We are?” Emma asked, looking amused through the lust and love that colored her green eyes.

“Yes. You can have whatever you want for a wedding, Swan. I’ll make you’re every dream come true, but you will marry me.”

“You’re not even going to ask?” Emma said with a laugh and Killian shook his head.

“Can’t risk you saying no,” he said, as if that were explanation enough, but then he pulled the ring he’d been carrying with him from his back pocket and he slipped it on her finger.

“Well you may not be asking, but my answer is the same,” Emma said, grinning wildly as she looked from her new ring back up to him. “Yes, Killian Jones, I will marry you.”

And with that promise, the two of them started their wonderful new life together, knowing that while their story might be unusual, it was as beautiful and unique as their love was for each other.

………………

Up at night I'm awake cause it haunts me That I never got to say what I wanted Oh my God, oh my God I’m not the same as I was with you I would jump out my skin just to get you Oh my God, oh my God How could you have ever known If I never let it show, now I just wanna know are you?

I'm fine Drop tears in the morning Give in to the lonely Here it comes with no warning I capsize, I'm first in the water Too close to the bottom I'm right back where I started Said I'm fine

Your silhouette is burned in my memory Rubble left from the moment that you left me Oh my God, oh my God And three words have never come easy Cause you're more than they ever could be Oh my God, oh my God How could you have ever known If I never let it show, now I just wanna know are you?

I'm fine Drop tears in the morning Give in to the lonely Here it comes with no warning I capsize, I'm first in the water Too close to the bottom I'm right back where I started Said I'm fine

I'm swimming up against the tide Oh my god I'm swimming but I'm getting tired Oh my god I'm swimming up against the tide Oh my god I'm swimming but I'm getting tired Oh my god

I'm fine Drop tears in the morning Give in to the lonely Here it comes with no warning I capsize, I'm first in the water Too close to the bottom I'm right back where I started Said I'm fine

I think about you, love you, and I'm filled with pride

Post-Note: So after so much time away from the mixtape I am really glad to get to put this out there. I had all of these lofty goals of trying to get through all of my prompts during my summer vacation… oh how naïve I have been. Between two other multi-chapters, my summer research, and the fact that my awesome readers sent me another ten prompts since summer started, I haven’t made the actual progress that I wanted. That being said, more will be coming (it will take a while again, sorry guys) and I want to thank you all for reading and I hope that you enjoyed!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181

#captain swan #captain swan fic #capain swan au #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs ff #cs au #cs fluff #cs smut #emma swan #killian jones #ouat au #captain swan mixtape #cs mixtape #the captain swan mixtape #sailor killian #navy SEAL killian #capsize #david and mary margaret

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