#ing person; BUT i always didn’t like her. she left a bad taste in my mouth and i didn’t know if i was just jealous or WHAT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

weaselbeaselpants · 2 years ago

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Not a Receipt-post. Just venting cuz it's twice now I've gotten this really accusatory ask, again:

Q: "Why do you 'HATE' Vivziepop??"

Short answer: I don't hate her. I hate how her fans can NOT take criticism,

because -> they have 0 boundaries with Viv -> whenever someone does criticize the shows in any way, they (the fans) -> embarrass you in front of the Spindlecrew who -> have no reason NOT to take the fan's word on how 'awful' you are, and so -> inadvertently ignore/condone your harassment.

Long answer:

I don’t know Viv and I never have.

I watched her YEARS ago back on deviantART when she was Vivzmind. I really loved her art and I still do. The few times I ever interacted with Viv, when I commented on her shizz, I remember her being fun, casual, and nice. True, maybe I don't know the "real her", whoever that is, but I have few if any qualms with Viv on a personal level. Judging every single artist who makes creative decisions you disagree with by John K standards is fucking hyperbole. I don't hate her.

What I HAVE always hated, and the thing that eventually drove me to quietly stop following Viv in 2013, are her fans....

we really need to start talking about them, okay?

~~~~Part 1 ~~~~~~ my experience, the Vivziepop standom THEN

There were two kinds of Vivzmind groupies back in the day, 1) the majority, aka ppl like me, and 2) this one very specific kind of Vivz-stan. While the basic majority of fans (me) were as lovebombing and prone to hype as anyone would be about the artist they admire, the people who were REALLY rabid for Viv's attention (stans) felt possessive. They felt hostile. Like, imagine you say outloud that you like the popular kid at school cuz everyone does and there'd be a weird false friend of theirs listening in, constantly @ing you with "yeah, well I like her MORE" or coming to their defense on perceived slights against her. I'm sure a lot of it was based in just social ineptitude and not anything too serious, but again it was beyond what was usual for popular DA artists.

When people say “Viv can not take criticism”, what they really mean is these fans could not take criticism.

I know all I have to go on is heresay given that much of her gallery and old work is gone but here's what I remember:

>>If you were a newbie follower and you accidentally did something Viv vocally didn't like, you'd pay for it. If you were like me and said once Viv’s art reminded you of neopets, Viv herself would say nothing but these fans would tear you to shreds for daring to not know Viv’s comfort zone. >>If you were asking for context on what was happening in one of her pics with characters you didn’t know, fans would inform you in a passive aggressive manner. "HOW DARE you not remember! Viv posted it, ugh yer so annoying, Felicia"

>> One thing Viv def did not like was people “stealing” her artstyle - not tracing or using her art w/o permission, just very clearly being inspired by her in making their own characters or pictures. She hated that. I get how, when you’re JUST a popular artist on the site it can seem annoying, like someone’s Patrick-Star-ing your every move while acting like they don’t know you...that's rough, trust me, but it’s STILL not the same as art theft-! Even so, Viv complained and would post journals about artists “stealing” her style. One time she happened to do this to an artist I did art trades with. Because of Viv's 'endorsement', he left dA forever. His profile was bombarded by passive-aggressive to just straight up mean Vivstans dogpiling him about how he "needed to give Viv credit". One of the few times I talked to Viv it was to say "hey I know you’re mad, but this guy’s kind of my friend", to which she said to me "tell you friend that it’s wrong and not okay to do this." So I did. He told me he more than knew by that point and was off the site within the week. This was long before I just fell out of interest and stopped watching her, but it always left a bad taste in my mouth that I did that. That's the thing: there's no big-style discourse, just a lot of little microaggressions that'd build up and wear you down.

Ppl often characterize "white knights" as being directed by their beloved artist to do the deed, but, as far as I know, Viv has never been the "DEFEND MY HONOR"-type. Viv never seemed to talk to these uber fans AT ALL; she was far more abt chit chatting with her friends and casual viewers. The vibe I always got wasn’t that Viv weaponized her worst fans’ behavior, it’s that she ignored them and also ignored how they may have hurt the rest of us. On paper nothing about Viv saying “ya’ll, I’m tired of these specific comments abt my work; copycats; non criticisms being dished,” is wrong. It’s that her underground stan-base would be the ones to pounce on you for it, for whatever reason I don't know. Maybe it was some kind of bid for Viv’s approval or maybe it was just cuz they felt better doing it; THAT is what you feared. So, when Viv did the bare minimum of get peeved at someone or something, it was a circumstance that meant nothing if it’d happen to any other artist but it would hurt because there was her initial judgment, and then there was her followers' judgment. This is important because while I think this exact attitude/relationship has changed, like hell do I think it’s gotten better...

~~~Part 2~~~The Spindlehorse chain of command, aka Vivziepop now

Now that Viv's the auteur creator of a beloved Indie series, I fully believe Viv's base has matured into a DIFFERENT breed of toxic. I’m always stressing this because it couldn’t be stressed enough: Hazbin Hotel is a preemptive fandom: It was made with the help of numerous internet famous animators collabing with an already devotedly popular creator at the helm; it was promised and hyped and kept up as a fandom before there was ever even a product (the pilot) out, and way before it was properly picked up in 2020; because so many internet people were working on it, it was a darling to many the animation/art scene on youtube+ people had a deep attachment to it; the fans have almost direct access/ability to talk to the showrunners directly and vice/versa, so the fans feel very ‘in’ on the show in a way other budding cartoon fandoms couldn’t really say. All these elements mean that Hazbin+Helluva are made with a great deal of love, devotion, and earnestness to them. It’s a very passionate, very close-knit community and just so we're clear, there's nothing wrong with that.

It just also means that the creator and the fans do not have great boundaries with each other and I think may be a little blindsided by the joy of creation. Where back in the day the 'old verse-same-as-the-first' would be Viv'd have a tiff w someone and that someone w be bombarded by basement stans, now there’s a different kind of vicious circle at play:

when the HH/HB fan communities hear rumors of “a critic” or “a bully” (usually just negative reviews /redesigns/fan theories that contradict what the creator wants) there’s a real threat of that 'critique' working it’s way up the chain of command TO the creators themselves. And by 'critique', I mean the real words and intent being taken out of context or twisted to fit the stans' pov. (ex: "Stolitz is a bad ship and Stella is a wasted villain" get's telephoned into "I hate that these characters are gay; I want Stolas to go back to his abuser")

The creators have no incentive of their own to comment on this bs. They're busy. BUT, because they are just as much the makers of as they are fans of their own show they feel the need to comment on any controversy they hear because they don’t want things getting out of hand. On paper, understandable; But in practice-

-the Spindlehorse crew don’t really know the context of the situation. They take it on good faith that their fans aren’t misrepresenting things to them, to which they then say nothing to stop people from being harassed, OR-

-they casually dish out their own comments in response to a situation they’re not actually a part of.

In 2018 Frootrollup1, a then-underage fan, drew redesigns of the cast of Hazbin because she draws redesigned versions of all of her fandoms → some fans saw her art as mocking/attacking Viv because assholes have done their own redesigns of Hazbin to spite Viv in the past → these same fans took their complaints to Twitter where a bunch of people, including Viv, all dunked on Frootrollup for being another “hater”...and only backed off when they learned her age and that it wasn’t a pic drawn in spite. "Oops." Frootrollup WAS a fan of Hazbin. She’s not anymore because people took her art out of context, had their own kneejerk reactions to it, and embarrassed her in front of the creator directly, who took these people’s sides. This isn’t an isolated incident and it keeps happening because the crew doesn’t discourage fans from reacting or asking for their input on crap that shouldn’t involve them.

“Lots of fanbases have shitty fans” is not the point here. Hazbin/Helluva are a unique case. Yes all fandoms kinda suck, technically, and any case where you have the creators reacting to fans is gonna get parasocial. My point is that Spindlehorse is waaay to accustomed to their fandom as fans themselves and not outside viewers.

Remember back in 2015, when that one Steven Universe fan was being bombarded for her problematic art when it was really just a glorified hate campaign by some of her ex friends wanting to bad mouth her to the fandom?; and then IT WORKED? Imagine now that one of the people running the hate campaign on her had taken the 'evidence' to the Crewniverse directly, and Rebecca Sugar herself was like “wow, what a bigot!”- adding to the dogpile of hate that almost got that fanartist to kill herself??? Scary hypothetical, I know, but that's what scares me about this. If that isn’t already happening already, with a bunch of critical fans and redesign-artists going silent out of fear of the Vivbase, then it’s at a real threat of becoming a reality.

-----brief aside, we gotta mention Tapatalk and why they're awful and you shouldn't dismiss them/accidentally condone them----

Complicating matters more is the BadWebcomicsWiki. While not KiwiFarms or 4chan, the wiki forums had the same problem of being made exclusively for bitching and moaning at webcomics ppl didn’t like (many of which were bad, but it's just as likely that should a webcomic DARE to be liberal or furry or lgbt themed it was suspiciously torn apart by people all too eager to note said things..). That is what the wiki and forum were made for. That is what they were always made for. Do not @ me abt how it was 'good once' or people had good intentions and didn't wanna use it for hate. I know, I'm getting to that ->

In 2015 When Zoophobia got a thread and later an article there, a bunch of randos from outside joined the forums simply because it was one of the first and only times where former Viv fans could congregate + explain all the details to the newbies+ talk about the bullying and microaggressions Viv’s base did that hurt them and how she did nothing to stop it; i.e. people started to use the shittybitch forums for genuine talk about the comic and criticism.

((never had, nor do I want a BWW account, but I used to check in every day back in 2015 for updates on one webcomic I hated before wising up and realizing the site was run by centrist chudheads. This is how I found out abt the Zoophobia discourse at the time))

The problem being that, when you go to a forum for any kind of dissenting opinion to be made, ANY KIND of dissenting opinion WILL BE made. It doesn’t matter if some ppl meant nothing wrong and just wanted a place to shoot the shit about how bad Viv’s stans were. A "bad-media-is-bad-lemme hate on it cuz I'm cool"-based wikiANYTHING is going to lead to truly bad behavior. That moment came for the ZPBWW forums when one user showed up posting graphic art of Angel Dust raping Viv’s severed head as a joke. If I remember right, and it's prolly still on their forum now, other users on the forum were mad that he did that, but it doesn't really matter. Viv HAD/HAS ALL the right to disassociate w that forum regardless of what, how, or why anyone else used it for. That’s what you do when your understanding of a website is-“oh, that place where people hate on every little thing I do including the guy who mailed me art of myself getting raped?”. And that’s before we even get to LincarRox/theToyTaker drama and how he scoured the BWW forums once he was kicked off the normal Hazbin fan scene for stalking/harassing Viv.

The Vivstans know this harassment against her exists. They don’t understand the real depth of it, but they know it’s there. What they do is use that harassment’s existence to justify their own dogpiling.

The most egregious part is, given how big the Spindlehorse fandom is, it’s not very hard at all for other fans- big name or indie creators, to be misinformed and believe only the stans’ versions of events without question → which adds even more stigma because if in this ‘cancel/DNI’-obssessed microculture we got on Twitter and Tumblr. People aren’t questioning or really knowing the situation any more than Viv does. Except, these people are just fans, not the showrunners, and should be more open to hearing (legit) criticism. They’re not and that’s leading to a lot of the regular fanbase to I think develop tunnel-vision. As an outsider, I can't tell you for sure if any of Erin Frost's claims are 'valid' or legit. The most upsetting thing by far though is HOW FAST people were to call her a liar or act like her complaints at Spindlehorse are "nothing".

tl;dr I think two truths currently coexisting at the moment are

Viv has been harassed and treated horribly by people saying they’re “just being critical”. I 110% believe this woman when she says she ‘hates creeps’. I've seen first hand some of those creeps. I don't envy her.

Viv and the Spindlehorse crew have terrible boundaries and foresight into their fandom’s innerworkings and should NOT be commenting on them- because they exacerbate the issues within.

Viv’s base in uniquely unhealthy and overprotective. From the stanbase on the fringe, to the excitable but vulnerable fans that make up the whole, to the creators themselves who aren’t equipped to micromanage or even just manage all this drama. I see a bubble of pent up aggression seeping under the surface of the Helluva/Hazbinverse fanbase and I’m really scared when it pops.

I have no idea what’s actually going on with the Spindlehorse folks or what’s in their hearts. I’m not interested in rumors, and I’m SO not interested in stupid petty AntiHazbin shit that perpetuates the hateflow (PK Russel, BWW, DaftPina I'm lookin at yoooo). I want to be a fan of Helluva and be excited for Hazbin. I want to take part in all this seeing as I did follow Viv and still do like her art and her general attitude about animation. It’s always cool when someone you followed casually makes it big- you want to support them! But, I’m also just naturally skeptical and sardonic and critical of things I like. So I’m in constant fear that overprotective stans are going to take my words and embarrass me in front of Viv and crew. And that? That WILL def make me hate Hazbin. No, still not enough to join your weirdo AntiHazbinnie tags or stalker threads, but it WILL make me hate it.

I don’t want that, none of you fans want that, and I know the creators don’t want that to be happening on a mass scale with people who're just skeptical of their show.

In comparing Helluvaverse to any other animated show's online fandom, there's no one to one, but consider how rabid and anticritical Steven Universe was- consider how dismissive and gatekeepy the Rick & Morty fandom is, consider how inconsiderate of creator's boundaries the Bronies were. Hazbin isn't out yet and if Helluva goes for all long as Viv and Brandon intend, it's also in it's infancy. We all have an opportunity to fix these problems before it begins- I say we do our part.

#critical fandom #rick & morty critical #rick and morty #helluva boss #helluva boss critical #steven universe critical #steven universe #cw: rape #cw: online abuse #cw: stalking #vivziepop #tapatalk #bad webcomics wiki

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rostovs-lover · 4 years ago

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dalí on tuesday

charlie dalton x reader | cursing, smoking, brief mentions of sexual things, charlie (probably) has daddy issues, cameron | she/her pronouns | fluff | wc.2562

i am in love with charlie, this is now a charlie dalton centric blog, also ignore how terrible the title is please

anon : Hi!! I love your blog! can I request a charlie Dalton x reader fluff where reader is an artist and he visits them while they're painting? (maybe they end up wiping paint on his face?) I don't know, something really sweet at cute <33333

Charlie Dalton had been resigned to relish in small pleasures to keep himself sane at school, never did he think the library would be one of those. More specifically, the painter tucked into the basement of the library.

───☮︎───

Charlie Dalton was a connoisseur of many things. Pretty girls, expensive wine, shitty poetry, and hand rolled cigarettes - to name a few. His imprisonment at Wellington made only one of those things readily available. So he settled - boxes of cheap smokes bought through upperclassmen, bottles of grocery store wine someone would sneak in from a party, and the two girls that occasionally came with Knox. The shitty poetry was always on deck, he had that at least. It was a tragedy to be resigned to such a bland life, there was absolutely no carpe diem-ing happening in a school that held adolescent boys to uniforms.

It was miserable, truly, but Charlie scrapped by on the thought that soon enough there would be no more stuffy Catholic school and he could finally have a taste of freedom. In the meantime, he would have what little fun he could. The meets in the cave were always the highlight of the week. A place where he could talk and people would listen, and not because they had to but because they enjoyed it. They enjoyed his words and thoughts and presence. No one else had ever really seemed to enjoy Charlie’s presence. They could tolerate it, handle it, but they always had more pressing matters. A business meeting to attend, a bill to pay, a dinner to go to. Always something just a little bit more important and never quite enough time for Charlie. But the other Dead Poets, they valued him. He wasn’t just a kid, a college tuition to pay and a life to layout. He was a person, with interests and hobbies.

It had been there, in the safe haven of the cave, that the idea for the library first came up. Meeks had already talked Pitts into coming, Neil didn’t take much convincing at all, Todd was also easy to lure, Cameron groaned about leaving school grounds but refused to be left out, and Knox agreed to go but only if Nuwanda came too. Charlie had already started to cover what there was to do at a library, read?

Meeks dove into the technical manuals and Pitts followed tentatively, cradling their science project in his arms. Todd had followed Neil to the S authors, Cameron was trying to chat up the woman at the register, and God only knew what Knox was doing. He had been stranded with few options. He could find the geniuses and be talked over for the next hour or third wheel Neil but that guaranteed intruding on something he probably shouldn’t. The polite thing to do would be to rescue Cameron from making a complete fool of himself, throwing bad pick up lines at a clearly uninterested college student, but it was amusing to watch.

Charlie settled on trying to find Knox, at least then he could have some company. Said company was absolutely nowhere to be found. The rows of shelves wound in a confusing maze and Charlie was lost before he could even begin to look. Weaving around he did come face-to-face with a rather large picture of Charles Dickens that made him recoil. It was perched just at eye level above a short staircase and it seemed to judge his every movement. Charlie followed the carpeted stairs down to escape Mister Dickens’ strange little beard and beady black eyes.

The further down the steps Charlie descended the brighter it appeared. The lower level was the children’s section. Considerably more fun than science books or Shakespeare. The big oak counter was abandoned but the lights were still on. He was alone, still.

Charlie sighed, sitting down in one of the bright red wooden chairs. He was much too big for it but it held well under his weight. A sad stuffed bear stared dully into him from the green glossy table.

“Well hello,” He mumbled, picking it up under the arms, “And you must be?” He cleared his throat to take on a gruff baritone, “Mister... Bearington,” Charlie sighed, that was bad. He dropped the bear into his lap, “This is so stupid,”

“Bearington?”

Charlie shot around in the chair, tipping himself off center and stumbling to his feet, bear still clutched in his arms, “Where the hell did you come from?”

“A few blocks over, walked here actually.” You turned back to your work. A painting. Not just a painting, Charlie realized, a mural. It stretched the length of the wall, roughly sketched in pencil and waiting to be finished.

He blinked, “That’s good. The wall I mean,”

“Thank you,” Your face flustered and Charlie took notice, “It’s not much of anything yet, just an outline. It’ll look better painted.”

He took a few steps closer, sidling up to you, “What’s it supposed to be?”

“A forest,” You pointed to a rotund blob perched on a long line, “That’s an owl, and there’s going to be a fox somewhere down in the grass,”

Charlie grinned, “That’s an owl?”

“That-” you tapped the blob, “Is a shape, objectively. Subjectively, it’s an owl.”

His brow creased, “Subjectively it’s an owl? That's like saying Mister Bearington is a rabbit, subjectively,”

You stared at him, baffled. It was almost irritating that he could so casually come down to your domain and invade your creative bubble. And it was even worse that he talked to himself as a stuffed bear but now he was challenging your judgment on what was and was not subjectively an owl. But he had a wonderful smile and it lessened the intrusion. Plus, you had never seen a teenage boy develop an attachment to a stuffed bear as quickly as he had, “What’s your name?”

“Nuwanda,” He grinned, setting his chin atop his bear’s plush head.

“Nuwanda?” You blinked at him, “That’s… neat. I’ve never heard that before.”

“What can I say? The only Nuwanda this side of Vermont. What’s your name?”

As you opened your mouth to answer several sets of footsteps thundered down the stairs. Knox spun around the corner first, closely followed by Pitts and Meeks.

“Charlie!” Knox called, “We gotta go before Cameron proposes to the clerk.”

You looked at the boy in front of you, “Is Charlie short for Nuwanda, or just a nickname?”

He shrugged, “I’m Nuwanda, subjectively. It was truly a pleasure meeting you. Can’t wait to see your thing DaVinci!” He set the stuffed bear back on the table as he made his way out of the room. With Charlie’s energy gone it became much quieter and you were plunged back into the impressionistic outline of your artwork.

The next time a library trip was suggested Charlie didn’t completely dread it. Yes, it was still numbingly boring because it was a library and he didn’t have clerks to fall in love with, people to write love letters to, anyone to kiss in the aisles, or a spaceship to build, but he did have his own personal Van Gough to torment.

The lower level was the first place he went, not even hanging his coat on the rack inside the big double doors. He made his way past Cameron’s preoccupied receptionist and under Dickens’ hard glower. Halfway down the steps, the smell hit Charlie. Wet paint.

You had just picked out a brush when he pulled one of the wooden chairs next to your station. He sat in it backwards, holding Mister Bearington out in front of him, “Never got your name Monet,”

“Well, it's not that. Or Da Vinci.” You stroked the brush up the grassy outline.

“Do you want me to guess?”

You had yet to look at him, “Nope,”

“Are you gonna tell me?”

“Should I?”

“Obviously, I told you my name.”

You set the brush down and turned to face him, “(Name).”

“Pretty,”

Charlie Dalton liked many things and the musty old library uptown had never been one of them. It had ancient red carpets and gaudy gold ceilings and it was trying too hard to look regal. So it was a sheer shock when he began to leap at the suggestion of going and even more so when he chose to go by himself one afternoon. Naturally, the other poets followed him, they had to.

Charlie didn’t dally upstairs, waving hi to the clerk and rushing down to the children’s section. A sign was posted outside the entrance warning of wet paint but he stepped around it.

“You’re making progress Picasso!” He set his hands on his hips and took in the wall.

You turned back to look at him, “Did you not see the caution: wet paint, do not enter sign?”

“Oh no I saw it,” He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, “It's bright orange, hard to miss, really,”

“So you just chose to ignore it?”

He nodded, making his way over to sit by you on the ground, “I choose to ignore lots of things, it really makes life easier,”

You shook your head, “Are you just going to sit here and bother me?”

“Yes, that's actually the whole reason I came today, believe it or not.”

You blubbered in vague disbelief, “Please tell me you’re not serious,”

“Dead serious,” Charlie grinned, leaning closer, “I had to see how your weird owl was going. And also make sure you hadn’t gone mad and cut your own ear off yet,”

“You’ve already used the Van Gogh joke, Charles,”

“Maybe I want your ear,”

You paused, “You… what?”

Charlie’s confidence cracked, “That was bad. Shit, that wasn’t supposed to sound that way. It was like, a bad pickup line? Because Van Gogh cut his ear off to send to his girlfriend,” He sighed, shaking his head, “Sorry,”

“I mean if I had to pick someone to give my ear too I guess you would be my first choice?”

Charlie looked at you, eyebrows pinched together, “Why?”

You shrugged, “No one else has asked, first come first serve.” You dipped your brush back into the blue paint and went to work on a patch of flowers.

“Huh, well I do appreciate it,” Charlie scooted closer, leaning over your shoulder. He was close, very close. When you took a breath you could smell his cologne and whatever it was he used in his hair and you could feel the edge of his sunglasses brush your ear. He brought an arm around to dip his finger into the soft sky colour on your palette. And then he wiped it on your nose.

You gasped sharply at the foreign feeling, snapping your head to the side to glare at him, “Why?!”

Charlie snickered, leaning back, “The opportunity presented itself, how could I just let that pass?”

You reached back, squirting a touch of purple paint over the palm of your hand, “That was truly a horrible idea,”

Charlie shot up just as you did, stumbling backwards, “I’m sorry-” He stuck his hands up in surrender, “I regret my actions and if I could take them back I would,”

“Hmm, but you can’t” You took a step closer, “Surrender now and it doesn’t have to get any messier than this,”

He pointed towards your paint coated hand, “Do not,”

You grinned, “I might,”

“I’m begging,”

“Fine-” You offered him your other hand, “Truce?”

Charlie mulled it over for a moment, “Fine, truce,” He grabbed your clean hand and you used it to pull him towards you.

“Why on earth would you trust me?” You tugged him even closer as he shrieked and smeared your hand down his cheek, “There, now we’re even,”

Getting distracted by your triumph gave Charlie the upper hand. He pulled you to him the same you had done to him and pressed his cheek flush to yours. The paint was cold against your skin and you jolted back, away from him.

“Vile,” You hissed, “You are vile and evil. That's so cold. You will pay, I hope you know that.”

Charlie snorted, “Oh please, what’re you gonna do?”

“You underestimate me, you ass, I’ll figure something out,”

“Will you?” Charlie grinned, “I will be waiting in anticipation,”

“You better be,”

Meeks elbowed back into Cameron’s ribs, “You’re going to knock me over,”

Cameron craned his neck further to peek around the corner into the children’s section, “I just want to see, let me look,”

“Nothing is happening-” Meeks snipped, “They’re just talking now and I might be able to hear if you could can it!”

Cameron rolled his eyes, “Of course, whatever you say,”

“Will you shut up?” Knox batted at Cameron’s shoulder, “They’ll see us, we’re not super well hidden,”

“If you don’t stop talking they’ll realize we’re here,” Pitts mumbled, rolling his eyes. Cameron started to rebuttal, turning to look at Gerard but the motion knocked Meeks out of place and he gasped, stumbling forwards. This did indeed draw Charlie’s attention.

“Meeks, what the hell?” Charlie snapped. He was in a state, sunglasses askew in his hair, paint smeared from his cheekbone down to the corner of his mouth, and his shirt was wrinkled away from his collarbone.

Meeks stared, “Hi Charlie. Are there any textbooks down here, uh… the science ones?”

Knox groaned, stepping out from behind the wall as well, “We wanted to see why you came here on a Tuesday afternoon by yourself,”

Charlie blubbered, “Did you all come? Is Keating there too?”

“He could be,” Meeks shrugged.

Charlie rolled his eyes, “Will you leave, I’ll be upstairs in a second,” The other poets nodded, scampering up the steps to the first level.

“Assholes, should have known they’d come,” Charlie sighed, adjusting the sunglasses atop his head, “I need to go before they decide to intrude again. I’ll see you soon though, anxiously anticipating payback,”

He was almost out the door when you bucked up the courage to call out to him, “Charlie, wait.” You let him turn back to you before continuing, “Could I have your phone number?”

He clicked his teeth, “Don’t have one, private school. But I’ll find the library number in the books and try to shoot you a call sometime,” He winked and started back up to his friends.

Knox was waiting at the landing with a handful of tissues, which he shoved into Charlie’s hands, “So you’re gonna read your stupid poem about tits at a Dead Poets meet and then not tell us you’ve got a girlfriend?”

Charlie grabbed the tissues, “Not my girlfriend, I meet her like two weeks ago,”

“Didn’t stop Knox,” Neil elbowed him.

Charlie wiped at his face, “Well I’m not Knox. I like her painting, she's good.”

“It looks like she was painting you,” Cameron slapped at Charlie’s chest and he threw the tissues at him in retaliation.

“Shut up, at least my library worker actually talks to me,”

Cameron fumbled with the dirty material, batting it away from his chest, “You dick!”

Charlie grinned, pulling his glasses down and starting towards the door. Something about it was thrilling, having this to himself. A little secret that he and you shared. His personal Salvador Dalí, something to look forwards to besides bad tobacco and Keating’s eccentric lectures. It was bright and exciting and he felt seen. He felt important. The blue paint he had stolen from your tray was still on the tip of his pointer finger and he wondered how long it would be until he could see you again.

( @interwebseriesfan24 )

#dead poets society #charlie dalton #charlie dalton x reader #charlie dalton imagine #dead poets society x reader #dead poets society imagine #its the way this tried to crash my computer #also peep the new format #dedicated to everyone who said theyd read if i posted dps #enjoy!#dps #lennie writes

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rudemaidenswrite · 4 years ago

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Don't Belong Here

Part 1

Fandom: Bright

OC Fogteeth Orc x Reader

By: @pusantheamazonian

You're dragged to one of the monthly Fogteeth party's against your will. For once it doesn't end up a bad night for you.

The music's too loud, there's too many people and now this. You’re staring up at the orc, and he’s standing in front of you mumbling something.

"Sorry but you're going to have to speak up. Bad hearing." Tapping your right ear, you scoot over on the couch. Allowing him to sit down.

"You don't belong here." Huffing he leans over before sitting.

Chuckling, you already knew that. A packed house party with strobe lights, mosh pit and dubious activities is not your idea of a fun time. You'd rather be at home under a mound of blankets with all the food watching Gravity Falls.

Why not amuse him. It's not like you're going to come to another one of these ever again and he'll probably be with someone else by the end of the night.

"Flaming red asshole hair." Pointing at the bar. "My sister and her girlfriend. They are the ones who dragged me here."

"Yeah they've been here before." Nodding he takes a drink.

"Said I was a bad night shifter and needed to socialize. So this." Gesturing at yourself. You had purposely worn an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Sat in the back corner away from everyone. So that people would avoid talking to you but not this guy. Apparently he didn't get the memo.

“Sitting in the corner is not socializing.” Teasing he gives you a lopsided grin.

“Eh, close enough.” Waving your hand you dismiss that accusation.

The more you look at him, he's kinda cute and not entirely threatening looking. You know orcs have quite a bit of range on them. From looking terrifying to absolutely adorable. He's chunky but it works for him, honestly it's doing it for you.

God this not what you are supposed to be doing. So what if he's your type. Stop oolging. The Fogteeth jersey he's wearing means he's bad news.

"Name's Ronnie."

"Y/N." You quickly scan the crowd to make sure you haven't lost your two hooligans. Cause those bitches would leave you for a dirty alley quickie. And you’ve lost them. "Is it always this loud?"

"The barbeque is a lot quieter."

"I would hope so." You don't know why but you find yourself smiling and laughing. The more you talk to him the less grumpy you are about being here. His humor is out there but he's very pleasant to talk to.

God. He doesn't know what's going on. You smell faintly of blackberries. He keeps getting a whiff every time you lean in to hear him. Most humans run away in disgust from him, especially women. But you're still here.

You don't know how long it's been, hours you imagine but you're ripped from peace very suddenly.

"Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!" Your sister is screaming at the top of her lungs.

"What Charlie?" Panicked, you immediately stand up.

"Come on! You're up next. You can't miss your turn!" She’s jumping excitedly.

"Turn for what?" Confused, you look at Ronnie hoping he might know. He shakes his head no. You haven't seen anyone playing games that would require turns.

"You'll see." Giving you a suspicious smile and pulling your arm.

As she starts to drag you away, you instantly grab a hold of Ronnie. Dragging him with you through the sea of people. You know her suspicious smiles never lead to anything good. It’s best to have another witness or at least someone on your side.

To his surprise he lets you drag him along. Your warm hand tightly interlocked with his. Whatever your sister has planned can't be that bad.

He was wrong.

"You got to be kidding me." Horrified you let go of everybody and back away. Charlie has led you to a back room where it is fight club night.

"Nope!" Olivia is squealing, suddenly appearing on your left. Trying not to shake in excitement or else she'll spill the contents in her arms. "Three shots of Everclear and a can of Fat Orc."

"Are you serious? This the real reason you brought me?" This is so uncalled for and obviously something that they have planned. They've been doing shit like this a lot lately.

"No we did want you to socialize but then we found this and everything else was thrown to the side." Olivia rambles on.

"I hate y'all so much." So offended you can't process what’s really happening.

"Awe come on you can do it." Charlie tries to pep talk you further into it.

"No I'm not! I'm not thunderdome-ing it so y'all can win some money. This-" In processing of telling them off you're interrupted by an asshole.

"Yes run on home girl. This is a man's room. Don't want you to hurt yourself." Sneering he leaves just as quickly as he appeared.

"That's your opponent." Olivia whispers.

"How much Charlie?" Glaring you watch him disappear back into the crowd. Fuck it. Eye twitching, inner alpha bitch activated.

"$100." She knows you're hooked now.

"Give it." Still staring off into the direction he went, you hold a waiting hand out. Grinning wickedly Charlie tosses the Fat Orc at you. Cracking it open, you chug the entire thing in one go. With the boiling rage inside of you, the can is crushed with one hand. Everything else can wait. This asshole needs to be taught a lesson.

The current fight ends and the orc ring leader is yelling out different things. The bookie next to him is frowning. Apparently he betted on the wrong guy.

"Give me your sweatshirt and finish the shots.” Olivia giggles.

"Hold your horses." Grumbling with a grimace you downed the last shot. Somehow your sweatshirt’s already off and Charlie's pushing into the ring. It's a stupid makeshift ring. Just a circle outlined in chalk.

"Place your bets!" The ringleader shouts.

"Oh you going to stay?" He smugly questions.

"To beat your sexist ass? I wouldn't miss it." Snapping back you're fueled with liquor and hatred. Dude looks like a unsanitary version of fuck boy. Which just further fuels the fire.

He can’t believe what he's seeing, you have transformed into a completely different person. The quiet girl who didn't even want to be here is now a feral animal.

A crowd is gathering. Often it's human men that enter the ring on these nights. Testing how long they can last against an orc or other humans. Rare is it that a woman enters, even rarer that they win. Causing this much uproar has reached the top of the command chain. Seeing Dorghu enter the room. Everything has escalated and Dorghu happens to stand next to him.

"With the house cut, she'll get over $900 if she wins." Craft informs.

“Who is she?” Dorghu demands, not many capture his interest.

“She came in with Ronnie.” Craft grins at him.

"Ronnie?" Dorghu turns in surprise.

"We were talking then her sister brought her back here.” Nodding at Charlie. “He made a sexist comment and she flipped. Did three shots, a can of Fat Orc and got in. She’s been drinking water all night."

“Interesting.” Dorghu turns back to the match to watch you counter a punch and punch him in the middle of the throat. With a kick to the stomach you knock him to the ground.

"The winner!" An orc yells to a sea of angry groans, briefly holding your arm up. Exhausted everything is spinning, ears are ringing and the liquor burps start.

"Give me my stuff." Slurring you almost lose your balance looking for Charlie and Olivia. Staggering a few steps you make it safely to them. You have forgotten everything about Ronnie and exactly where you are. It's too hot in this room and you need a nap. You are going to regret everything in the morning. Tugging your hoodie back on you doesn't bother zipping it.

The bookie appears as you're putting everything back into your pockets. Of course you have to be the one to collect the money.

"$936 all yours." Smiling he hands you the cash. You see his eyes dip for a second before leaving to collect money for the next round.

"Thanks." Great, he just got an eye full down your shirt. What a pervert. Spinning back to the hooligans, it is time for their punishment. "Ten for you and ten for you. Two four six eight for me."

"Come on-" Whining Charlie starts pouting.

"Zip it! It's whatcha get for signing me up without my permission." You whip around determined to give it back to the bookie.

You visibly pause when you make eye contact with Dorghu. You're not stupid you vaguely know what he looks like. Change of plans. Drunk you who is still pissed has decided on a new dumb plan. You march straight to Dorghu, maintaining eye contact. Everyone watching you is confused.

Out of sheer intoxicated boldness you grab his hand and put the winnings in it.

"Keep it. Fun party. It was nice talking to someone besides Ronnie's kinda cute. So do what you do."

The room freezes. You can feel the tension but could care less about it. Clear as day you touched the leader like it was nothing then spoke perfect Bodzvokhan to him. Before toddling off complaining about getting fresh air and water.

Your sister said you were probably at the car cooling off. He checked the parking lot twice. No sign of you. That's until he gets a whiff of you.

After making it outside you disappeared down an alley by the car. Much quieter, no people and the breeze is nice. Sitting on the ground you can feel yourself nodding off.

"Ah!" Jumping from the sudden cold against your neck. It's Ronnie holding a water bottle. "Dang it Ronnie you scared the bejeezus out of me." You accept the water bottle.

At this position you can really see how tall and massive he is. Sort of reminds you of the Strongman Champion Brian Shaw. Your mind drifts, wondering how he would taste and feel in your hand. Your insides quiver from the thought. What the fuck? Trying your hardest you focus on the bottle.

"You shouldn't be trying to sleep in the alley then."

"Fair point. Thank you for the water." Struggling for a second you finally open the water.

"You speak Orc?" From this angle he can see straight down your shirt. He can see that you were hiding a great set under that hoodie.

"Learned it in high school trying to impress a boy. Some of my co-workers are orcs so it works out." Shrugging speaking Orc isn't a big deal, anyone can learn it.

"You didn't say you could fight."

"Honestly, it's like some drunken boxing Kung Fu shit but the more intoxicated I am. The more berserker I get when fighting." Taking a swig of water. "I don't usually drink or purposely get into fights."

"Damn baby." Taking the risk, you have been an enjoyable companion tonight. Why not see what the limit is.

"Don't call me baby." You aggressively glare at him to make a point.

"Whatever you say, Sprinkles." Putting his hands up in surrender, he needs to change the subject quickly.

"Sprinkles? That…that's different but okay." Weird name to choose but he seems to get the point.

"How's your hearing?" Lowering himself, he sits down beside you. He has no plans for tonight.

"Much better. I can clearly hear you and not have to be all up on you just to listen."

You see his ears twitch at that comment. Maybe he does like being close to you.

"Brave move you did. Handing the money directly to Dorghu."

"Yeah. But it's the only way I knew how. The money would make it back for the next party. Does that make sense?"

"I get your point."

"I don't need the money and it's payback for them setting the fight up in the first place." You give him a mischievous eyebrow wiggle.

"So you think I'm cute?" Blurting out the question was not the smoothest thing he had planned but it’s the easiest way.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Your face gets a little warmer and you stare at the opposite wall. Hard. You forgot he could speak orc.

"Don't worry I think you're cute too."

"What?" Surprised and suspicious. You can't help but to stare at him like he’s crazy as you feel your heart rate speed up. "Are you sure it's not because I just kicked someone's ass?"

"About 90% sure." Teasing he gives you a genuine smile.

"Y/N!" Charlie yells.

"Y/N! We're ready to go!" Olivia is screaming.

"Y/N! Where - oops sorry for interrupting." Charlie yells louder, now walking down the alley. Until she sees you two.

"You two could wake the neighborhood." Groaning, you're still annoyed with them. It's going to be a long car ride home.

"Rude! Not my fault you're deaf." Charlie scoffs.

"Wait by the car!" You fling a rock in their direction and they scamper away.

“Oh I'm going to end up snapping one day and killing them.” Groaning you heave yourself off the ground. Ronnie does the same while trying not to laugh.

"Sprinkles, you get more interesting by the second. How about I get your number so I can stay up-to-date?" In bold fashion he holds his phone out.

"Really?" Stunned, no one’s asked for your number before.

"Yes." Nodding in reassurance.

"I guess since you're so adamant." Pretending to be exasperated, you enter your number under the name Sprinkles. Turns out socializing for once wasn't that bad.

#reader insert #rudemaidenswrite #fanfiction #reader inserts #fogteeth #bright fandom #bright #OC #original character #orc x reader #OC Fogteeth Orc #orc #orc boyfriend #thunderdome #bad hearing #chunky bois #fight club #fluff

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tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

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All the HCs and side materials aside, who do you think was closer to Levi, Erwin or Hange? While there was this acker host thing with Erwin but it was debunked. Meanwhile he hasn't even acknowledged Hange's sacrifice even once so theres that too.

Oh god, so yes I have wanted to answer this ask for a while, thought of pushing it until night time today but I got locked out of the office though thirty minutes before my shift so let me just cope with the stress by giving my feedback on this because I feel like I have already explained my side to a lot of people but I’d rather have it immortalized in my blog at this point.

Okay first question

Who do you think was closer to Levi, Erwin or Hange?

I find this question thought provoking but I don’t like these types of questions because they tend to start fights? And they tend to cause unnecessary drama both in real life and online. And relationships are so hard to quantify like of course there's a clear line between acquaintance and best friend but the nuances between siblings, lover, best friend and parent are a little more complex because we all have a lot of people we care about deeply but can we easily say who we love more?

(this is still a great question though anon, thank you for asking it.)

It’s literally like the epitome of asking ur parents “who’s your favorite child” or “who do you love more your best friend for so many years or your girl friend of like two years who you met, clicked then realized they were the love of your life.” Who will you save when in a burning building? your wife? Or your parents? Or your siblings? Your best friend?

Such problematic questions which I think a lot of us in our lives would rather never have to answer, especially in front of our loved ones.

I am not making assumptions about what type of relationship Levi had with Erwin or what type of relationship Levi had with Hange in this post because I don’t wanna start shipping wars in this very peaceful website. (But, I ship Levihan and will probably die with this ship close to my heart so you can make assumptions about my opinions on Levi and Hange’s relationship based on that.)

But the point is, Erurihan has always been special. Levi held a lot of people close to his heart over the years but I found that trio to have notably been the closest and Erwin and Hange have changed Levi’s lives the most.

Would Levi have played favorites between them?? NO. Because Erwin and Hange were such different people that putting them side by side and thinking “who did Levi love more” is like comparing apples to oranges, putting them side by side and thinking which fruit tastes better.

Because Hange and Erwin offered different things to Levi. Literally, Erwin became that next purpose for Levi after he lost his two best friends. He saw wonder in Erwin’s eyes, he saw a leader, he saw someone who can guide him to a bigger purpose and he trusted Erwin so deeply and Erwin trusted him back and even as a Levihan fan, I might actually admit that early on in the series, Levi was probably much closer to Erwin than Hange. Fine I admit it he probably was.

But Hange offered something else to Levi. While Erwin offered a path, Hange offered wonder, curiosity. She offered Levi things to think about beyond the survey corps job. I mean Erwin was practically married to his job right. Hange was practically married to her job too but I found Hange more... approachable? Warmer overall? I mean if you actually see Eren’s interactions with the three of them or you watch from Season 1, you would realize that Hange was really the most approachable survey corps veteran from the start (other than petra).

And I think Levi really appreciated that part of her and saw it as something worth entertaining. He completely believed in Erwin, Erwin gave him a purpose in life but Hange was the one who added color to it, she actually added something beyond that purpose. She made him feel things he probably wouldn’t have felt elsewhere.

Annoyance? Anger? Defeat at how someone could be so enthusiastic and dense? Curiosity? Someone who might have made him think that maybe, soldiering and survey corps-ing and almost being eaten by titans everyday wasn’t so bad. And maybe there is joy in the domestic in betweens?

Another thing, here’s what Hange had that Erwin didn’t have, she had the luxury of time, she also had the luxury of circumstances on her side, of having been the only one left out of the veterans for Levi to cling on to. This made it more natural for a deeper friendship and relationship to develop between the two. So if Hange is closer to Levi than Erwin is, then it’s because of the circumstances that it made it so, post season 3.

If Erwin lived, the dynamics of erurihan would have definitely developed differently. But I never considered the possibiliy of Erwin living instead of Hange since Levi picking Armin just felt really in character and right for me. So yeah, it’ll probably stay a shallow speculation until the end haha.

And about this second question...

“Meanwhile he hasn't even acknowledged Hange's sacrifice even once so theres that too.”

Yo. Just a reminder, Hange died like roughly an hour or two ago manga time. Levi is literally internally bleeding, the shit show just never stopped for a second and for some reason people are expecting Levi to give a nod at Hange’s death.

Okay yes, she did mean a lot to him. But lemme give you the explanation which has been sticking to me for a really long time.

Levi is clowning. Like literally, I don’t think he has even acknowledged that Hange is dead yet. We have concrete hints that he is. After ‘dedicate your heart’ he just walked away and didn’t look back. It’s in the fact that he didn’t even look out the window to watch her die and in the fact that his last words were “see you later” like I’m pretty sure he’s thinking to himself “Yeah, like I know she is probably gonna die objectively but… Just, what if… she lives??

Just like all of us Hange stans in the website yo with our beast titan theory, Levi is just the biggest clown of us all (since he is the biggest Hange stan anyway...). He decided (unconsciously or consciously) to ‘pretend’ that Hange’s still alive maybe until the end of the war just so that he could possibly function at least (?).

I mean I’m pretty sure we’ve all done this in our lives. Especially when we’ve lost someone we’ve loved dearly or maybe when we’re saying good bye to someone in the airport where we’re just laughing our heads off with that person all the way until the departure gate when they say good bye and we only break down when we’re home alone. Like I’m pretty sure it’s similar for people who have lost someone, kept themselves busy with funeral preparations and memorial services and only start experiencing the loss when they go back to normal life and realize they have to clean out someone’s bedroom or fix their daily routine to adjust to the loss of that loved one.

Maybe Levi will finally acknowledge it when everything goes back to normal and he finds Hange’s office empty and he realizes he doesn’t have his buddy to have tea with every night. And if Yams decides not to write or insert that, I’ll probably just speculate it myself and keep this theory alive.

I actually wrote a drabble about this a long time ago. You can read it here.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

#levihan #eruri #erurihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #erwin smith #meta

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gunterfan1992 · 3 years ago

Text

Season One of “Adventure Time”: Short Episode Reviews

At the start of 2021, I had this idea to write up a book wherein I reviewed every episode of Adventure Time, condensing my thoughts down into a few paragraphs. It seemed easy enough at the time —I could knock a season out in a week, no prob, I thought — but it turns out it was quite the challenge. Part of this was the difficulty of boiling everything down into a few coherent paragraphs that didn’t just repeat the ideas that “This episode is wacky. This episode is bad.” (I was also dealing with untreated ADHD, so that probably didn’t help.) Even though it was a hurdle, I still got through seasons 1-4, and I thought I’d post my reviews here. Maybe one day I’ll do something with ‘em, but for now, enjoy!

Season 1, Episode 1. “Slumber Party Panic” (692-009)

Airdate: April 5, 2010

Production Information: Elizabeth Ito and Adam Muto (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Synopsis: Princess Bubblegum accidentally resurrects a violent mob of candy zombies, which leads to Finn doing the unthinkable: He breaks a royal promise to Bubblegum.

Commentary: It is always a delight to remind people that Adventure Time—a show that would go on to win a slew of prestigious awards and be lauded by critics as one of the smartest kids show that has ever been made—begins with Princess Bubblegum “add[ing] three more drops of explosive diarrhea” to a scientific mixture with which she hopes to bring the dead back to life. This elision of a macabre topic like the resurrection of the dead with a poop joke is in many ways emblematic of the sort of humor upon which Adventure Time was built, and while “Slumber Party Panic” might not be the season’s best episode, it does a solid job introducing the odd, madcap energy that would allow the show to flourish in its youth.

The plot to “Slumber Party Panic”—storyboarded by future series director Elizabeth Ito as well as eventual showrunner Adam Muto—was hammered out well before the show’s mythology was set in stone, and so some of the more hyperbolic plot points from this episode (e.g., the dramatic revelation that candy citizens explode when scared, or the fact that the Gumball Guardians are also the nigh-omnipotent Guardians of the Royal Promise, who can stop and reverse time itself) had to be ignored in later seasons. Nevertheless, the main characters’ personalities are all firmly established, allowing them to play off one another in a way that does not feel forced or misguided; Jeremy Shada and John DiMaggio, in particular, have excellent chemistry, breathing whimsical life into Finn and Jake right off the bat. All things considered, “Slumber Party Panic” is a fun entry and a solid preview of the silliness that was to come. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 2. “Trouble in Lumpy Space” (692-015)

Airdate: April 5, 2010

Commentary: “Trouble in Lumpy Space” is a Ito-Muto production that introduces us to Lumpy Space Princess, the loquacious and dramatic drama queen who was destined to become one of the show’s breakout stars. A sentient blob of “irradiated stardust,” Lumpy Space Princess is an alien valley girl parody voiced by none other than series creator Pendleton Ward himself, and this episode does a commendable job illustrating the character’s immaturity and her ridiculously inflated sense of self-importance. This makes for good entertainment in and of it itself, but what really bumps this episode up a peg is the vocal delivery of the cast. Adventure Time always excelled when it came to its voice acting, but in this episode it is obvious that in this episode Jeremy Shada, John DiMaggio, and Pendleton Ward had extra fun playing around with their ridiculous “lumpy space” accents.

Aesthetically, this episode is quite the sensory experience. Lumpy Space itself is a hauntingly beautiful alien dimension of dark magenta skies and purple, pillowy clouds; it is a right shame that the show very rarely made use of this unique environment, considering how pleasant it is to look at. The episode’s soundtrack is also deserving of recognition, with much of the background music—especially the vapid pop tune that plays while Finn, Jake, and Lumpy Space Princess hitch a ride in Melissa’s car—recalling the elastic hyperpop that electro-wizzes from PC Music produce. The tunes add an extra dimension to the whole experience, helping to sell the idea that Lumpy Space is a silly but alien otherworld. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 3. “Prisoners of Love” (692-005)

Airdate: April 12, 2010

Production Information: Adam Muto and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists); Craig Lewis and Adam Muto (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: Ladies and gentlemen, meet the Ice King! Beginning the series as a cartoonishly incompetent antagonist, Ice King would grow into one of the show’s most well-developed characters. While “Prisoners of Love,” being the character’s debut episode, sees the Ice King still in his one-dimensional “wicked wizard” stage, there are hints even at this early juncture—like the character’s dramatic insistence to pluck out a yogurt chip from his trail mix, or his spasmodic attempts to play the drums—that the Ice King is more than just a textbook baddie. Is he evil? Judging by his actions, it often looks that way, but there is also a deep sadness to him that makes even his worst behavior somewhat pitiful.

But as pathetic as he may be, Ice King’s lecherous habit of kidnapping princesses is completely unacceptable (Princesses, Adventure Time would like to remind us, should never be married against their will), and by episode’s end, Ice King receives his just desserts—a feminist-fueled kick to the face, courtesy of Finn the Human. The moral of the story is clear: Poor old Ice King might just be lonely, but that does not excuse him for acting like a frost-bitten incel. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 4. “Tree Trunks” (692-016)

Airdate: April 12, 2010

Production Information: Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Tree Trunks” introduces the audience to the eponymous character, voiced by Polly Lou Livingston, an eccentric octogenarian with a pronounced southern drawl whom Pendleton Ward knew growing up in Texas. Despite Tree Trunks appearing as a sweet old pachyderm, much of her dialog is riddled with double entendres and subtle sex jokes that go over the heads of children, and as such, she is something of a divisive character in the Adventure Time fandom: While some viewers find her hilarious, others find her decidedly off-putting. In this episode, however, storyboard artists Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn strike a decent balance between the character’s funny and creepy sides (case in point: The scene wherein Tree Trunks, in the gawdiest of makeup, tries to seduce an evil monster with her “womanly charms and elephant prowess”). The major exception to this overall balance is the episode’s decidedly morbid conclusion, which features Tree Trunks exploding after tasting the crystal apple. This was perhaps the show’s first non sequitur ending, and almost certainly left an indelible imprint on the minds of viewers young and old alike. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 5. “The Enchiridion!” (692-001)

Airdate: April 19, 2010

Production Information: Patrick McHale, Adam Muto, and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists and story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: According to the annals of cartoon history, the initial storyboard for “The Enchiridion” was whipped up by Ward and his crew members to prove to Cartoon Network that Adventure Time could be developed into a full-fledged series. This was almost certainly a stressful task, which necessitated that Ward et al. dissect the pilot, determine what elements worked, and then infuse those elements into a new storyboard. As a result of this “open art transplant,” there are quite a few analogs between the pilot and “The Enchiridion!”—e.g., the wacky dancing, the dream sequences, the ridiculous language—but this episode does a solid job of emulating the style of the pilot without wholesale duplicating it.

In terms of plot, “The Enchiridion!” is a fairly predictable adventure story, but it is one with enough clever variations that prevent the whole affair from dragging or being too boring; standout scenes include Finn and Jake having to deal with granny-zapping gnomes, and the D&D-inspired reverie in which Finn is tempted to slay an “unaligned” ant. The episode is further buoyed by several fun guest stars (including Mark Hamill, Fred Tatasciore, and even Black Flag’s Henry Rollins) that sprinkle a little additional energy on top of the whole thing. Given the exuberant fun of the episode and the way it easily introduces us to supporting characters like Princess Bubblegum, it is intriguing why the producers did not choose “The Enchiridion!” as the series premiere. That question aside, “The Enchiridion!” is one of the season’s stronger episode and an excellent place to start if you want a crash course in what made early Adventure Time so unique. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 6. “The Jiggler” (692-011)

Airdate: April 19, 2010

Production Information: Luther McLaurin and Armen Mirzaian (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “The Jiggler” opens on a fun, hyperactive note, with Finn singing “Baby,” a catchy song coated in layer upon layer of sweet, crisp autotune. But soon after Finn and Jake discover and “adopt” the titular creature, the affair quickly devolves into a cartoonish snuff film of two dullards accidentally torturing a wild animal; the whole thing is made worse by the high volume of bodily fluids excreted by the Jiggler. Thankfully, Finn and Jake are able to return the Jiggler to its mother before it keels over, but this victory is undermined given that the whole situation was Finn and Jake’s fault to begin with. Perhaps it is best to view all of this as a cautionary tale: No matter how cute a wild animal may look, you probably should not take it home and make it dance for you. (2 stars)

Season 1, Episode 7. “Ricardio the Heart Guy” (692-007)

Airdate: April 26, 2010

Production Information: Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon, Adam Muto, and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Ricardio the Heart Guy” introduces the titular villain, the brainy-but-sleazy heart of the Ice King voiced to perfection by the sonorous George Takei. Given how arrogant the character acts even before his true intentions are revealed, it is not much of a shock that Ricardio is a rotten egg, and this lack of mystery drags the whole episode down to some degree. Nevertheless, Takei’s histronic performance injects into the episode a funny sort of melodrama, with is further reinforced by Casey James Basichis’s sparklingly dark score, which mixes in elements of opera alongside the usual chiptune blips and bloops to emphasize Ricardio’s pretentiousness. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 8. “Business Time” (692-014)

Airdate: April 26, 2010

Commentary: On the surface, “Business Time” is but a silly parody of corporate culture that sees Finn and Jake become the veritable CEOs of an adventuring firm. It is a silly little set up, and the show has good fun poking fun at business-speak and the deleterious effects of rampant corporatization. At the same time, by relegating Finn and Jake to the sidelines near the middle of the episode, “Business Time” does itself a disservice by focusing not on the wacky shenanigans of the business men, but rather on the mundanity of Finn and Jake’s “managerial life.” It all comes together in the end, when Finn and Jake are forced to jump into the fray and destroy the Business Men’s vacuum robot, but the noticeable lag there in the middle of everything throws the pacing of the episode off.

But while “Business Time” might not be the strongest first-season entry, it has gained respect in the fandom for being the first episode to underline that the Land of Ooo exists in the far future after some sort of nuclear holocaust. In an interview with USA Today, Ward explained that this was a natural development that he had never planned: “[When] we did [the] episode about businessmen rising up from an iceberg at the bottom of a lake … that made the world post-apocalyptic, and we just ran with it” (X). Considering how major the post-apocalyptic trappings would become to the show’s mythology, it is a bit startling to learn that it was added in on a whim. Regardless, it was an inspired choice that added a tinge of sadness to the story of Finn and Jake. They were not just frolicking in some fantasy world; they were frolicking in the ruins of our world, long after nuclear war had devasted the planet. Is it bleak? Absolutely! But this bleakness contrasts nicely with Adventure Time’s colorful surface, resulting in a deeply rich ambivalence. Not many shows—let alone children’s shows!—have managed to fuse such extremes into a workable whole. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 9. “My Two Favorite People” (692-004)

Airdate: May 3, 2010

Production Information: Kent Osborne and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: Almost all the first-season episodes that we have considered so far have placed a heavy emphasis on comedy. The point of these episodes is to make you laugh, and anything beyond that is gravy. “My Two Favorite People,” in contrast, may be the first that is grounded on a solidly emotional foundation, and while the episode is very funny, it is primarily interested in telling the poignant story of two brothers and a gal they both like. If anyone has ever found themselves caught up in a love triangle—whether real or, as in the case of this episode, imagined—Jake’s actions, although immature, will likely feel relatable. It is a cheesy cliché, but the story’s strength is that it all feels so real (which I recognize is a funny thing to say about a cartoon dog and his unicorn-rainbow beau).

“My Two Favorite People” is the first episode that really features Lady Rainicorn as a mover of the plot rather than just a fun side character, and it is a wonderful showcase for her. While a handful of later installments—namely season four’s “Lady & Peebles” and season eighth’s “Lady Raincorn of the Crystal Dimension”—would try to highlight Lady, “My Two Favorite People” is arguably the character’s funniest episodes, thanks in large part to her use of a universal translator, which allows the other characters to understand her. To some, a device such as this may seem like a cop-out, but storyboard artists Kent Osborne and Pendleton Ward cleverly preempt this criticism by making the device’s only useable setting one that gives Lady the voice of a great-great grandfather. Lady’s “old-man voice” is an episode highlight, and it makes many of the character’s lines (e.g., “Come on my darling! Wrap your legs around me!”) both hilarious and unsettling. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 10. “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain” (692-010)

Airdate: May 3, 2010

Commentary: During the production of season one Ward exerted considerable effort trying to shepherd the show’s crew in a coherent direction, all the while responding to critiques levelled by dozens of Cartoon Network executives. Many of these critiques were contradictory, and in the process of creating something that he was proud of while also appeasing everyone around him, Ward very nearly went bananas. The experience provided the bedrock for “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain,” and to anyone who has been given the arduous task of pleasing a whole slew of prickly critics, the episode will be immediately relatable.

In terms of the show’s budding mythology, “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain” is notable because it firmly establishes that Finn was adopted as a baby by Jake’s canine parents, Joshua and Margaret. This plot point was likely guided less by worldbuilding and more by humor (perhaps playing on the whole “raised by wolves” idiom). Nevertheless, this decision would have major ramifications for the show’s overarching narrative. Finn’s nature as the only human in Ooo was no longer a silly afterthought—it was now a mystery. Just who is Finn the Human, and where did he come from? These questions would linger for seasons, finally culminating in season eight’s touching miniseries Islands. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 11. “Wizard” (692-020)

Airdate: May 10, 2010

Production Information: Pete Browngardt, Adam Muto, and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Wizard”—co-storyboarded by Pete Browngardt, an artist who storyboarded on Chowder and The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack before creating the divisive Uncle Grandpa for Cartoon Network—is an absolute bonkers installment that throws logic out the window by giving Finn and Jake magical powers. It is a plot setup almost guaranteed to be fun, and you can tell that the writers likely a good time coming up with increasingly asinine magical powers (e.g., “endless mayonnaise”).

But underneath all the distraught dust motes and captivating new hairstyles, “Wizard” also has a degree of depth, reading like a biting commentary on higher education-industrial complex in the United States. It does not seem coincidental that the strategies employ by Bufo’s scam wizard school are strikingly similar to those used by predatory colleges, which offer students a worthless degree alongside thousands of dollars of debt. The parallels are made stronger when it is revealed that all those whom Bufo has tricked are reluctant to upset the oppressive status quo, because they believe “newfangled thinking will get [everyone] killed”; this eerily mirrors those who downplay the student loan crisis, arguing that “that’s just the system works.” Finn will have none of this, however, and by episode’s end, he—channeling his myriad wizard powers and the vigor of “youth culture”—proves that if a system is broke, it has got to go. Maybe we could learn a thing or two from that. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 12. “Evicted!” (692-003)

Airdate: May 17, 2010

Production Information: Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Adam Muto (story writer); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Evicted!” is considered a classic by most Adventure Time fans for one simple reason: It introduces the audience to Marceline the Vampire Queen. This iconic undead rocker chick managed to steal the spotlight whenever she appeared in an episode, and eventually she became one of the show’s more well-regarded characters. Given all this, there is some irony to the fact that in her debut, Marceline is the antagonist who steals our heroic duo’s beloved Tree Fort. Marceline is therefore similar to other season one baddies in that she tests Finn and Jake’s patience before engaging them in direct combat. But Marceline is set apart from other foes in how Finn and Jake defeat her—namely, that they do not. In fact, she pounds them into the ground almost effortlessly! Besting Finn and Jake is no easy task, meaning that while “Evicted!” might showcase Marceline’s nastier side, it nevertheless does an excellent job emphasizing how much of a badass she is; this goes a long way in explaining the character’s huge popularity.

But Marceline alone cannot an episode make. Luckily, “Evicted!” is further bolstered by several excellent design choices, including a bevy of fun background critters whipped up by character designer Tom Herpich, a slew of colorful background designs courtesy of Ghostshrimp and Santino Lascano, and a killer soundtrack. Regarding the latter, the stand-out tune is inarguably “House Hunting Song,” a comically overblown ballad detailing Finn and Jake’s arduous quest to find a new place to live. The song, sung mostly by Ward with a few lines delivered by Olson, is an emotion-laden earworm guaranteed to wiggle its way into your brain. (I mean, how can you not love a song that blames the murderous tendencies of vampires on simply being “burnt out on dealing with mortals”?) It very much is the blood-red cherry on top of everything, which helps to make “Evicted!” one of the season’s strongest episodes. (5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 13. “City of Thieves” (692-012)

Airdate: May 24, 2010

Commentary: “City of Thieves” is a workable if somewhat forgettable mid-season entry. The episode’s main strength is its titular setting, a bizarro municipality where theft is the law of the land. Unfortunately, the city is nothing more than a silly plot device, and the episode itself never really rises above “fine.” (2.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 14. “The Witch’s Garden” (692-022)

Airdate: June 7, 2010

Production Information: Adam Muto, Kent Osborne, and Niki Yang (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: If you think the idea of Jake sassing Ooo’s cattiest witch is funny in and of itself, wait until you see this episode’s visuals. From Jake’s grotesque but silly “manbaby body” to the abject horror of Gary the Mermaid Queen, “The Witch’s Garden” is replete with several memorable character designs that make it a satisfying entry. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 15. “What Is Life?” (692-017)

Airdate: June 14, 2010

Commentary: Giving Finn and Ice King a son is not a move that I thought Adventure Time would ever make, let alone in the first season, but here we are. The bouncing baby boy in question is actually a clunky robot named NEPTR, voiced to sadsack perfection by comedian and musician Andy Milonakis. If you had told me prior to this episode that Milonakis could give a sentient microwave a sense of pathos, I would have never believed you, but in “What Is Life?” he does a commendable job conveying NEPTR’s pitiful nature. As for the episode itself, “What Is Life?” is a solid entry that introduces viewers to several recurring characters (one of whom being Gunter the penguin) while offering us a peek into the Ice King’s sad, lonely mind. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 16. “Ocean of Fear” (692-025)

Airdate: June 21, 2010

Production Information: J. G. Quintel and Cole Sanchez (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Oceans of Fear”—storyboarded by Cole Sanchez and J. G. Quintel, the latter of whom would go on to create Regular Show for Cartoon Network—is in an interesting installment that establishes Finn’s fear of the ocean, reminding the viewer that even great heroes will be forced to deal with irrational phobias at some point in their life. The character designs in this episode are quite amusing (with the standout being Finn’s grotesque “fear of the Ocean” face), and Mark Hamill, as always, does a wonderful job, using his trademark “Joker voice” to give the Fear Feaster a delightful air of villainy. But as with “Business Time,” many of these elements are upstaged by the episodes’ post-apocalyptic trappings. In fact, when I watched the episode for the first time, I paused it in several places, asking to myself, “Is that a wrecked battleship? Is that a bombed-out tank? Why are there ruins of a city underwater?” It is an understatement to say that this episode is positively littered with rusted debris and centuries-old detritus that testifies to Ooo’s traumatic history. For eagle-eyed fans hoping to piece together Adventure Time’s mysterious mythology, this episode is an absolute hoot. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 17. “When Wedding Bells Thaw” (692-013)

Airdate: June 28, 2010

Production Information: Kent Osborne and Niki Yang (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: One of the first episodes to team Ice King up with Finn and Jake, “When Wedding Bells Thaw” is a goofy lampooning of bachelor parties and the institution of marriage in general. Although the episode ends on a fairly predictive note (spoiler alert: Ice King tricked his fiancée into marriage), seeing Ice King get along with our heroes is charming, and in many ways it presages the Ice King’s future character growth. The episode’s strongest part is the short dialogue-free montage near the middle depicting Finn, Jake, and Ice King getting into all sorts of “manlorette party” shenanigans; this sequence is made all the stronger by Tim Kiefer’s chiptune score, which enlivens the party with a burst of synthesizers and electro-drums. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 18. “Dungeon” (692-013)

Airdate: June 28, 2010

Commentary: If there is one episode that feels like the entirety of Adventure Time’s first season distilled down into 11 minutes, then it would be “Dungeon.” An episode replete with outrageous monsters and wacky action, “Dungeon” is a high-energy installment that pays homage to the sprawling world of table-top gaming; indeed, it is not hard to imagine storyboard artists Elizabeth Ito and Adam Muto reaching for a D20 or a well-worn copy of the Monster Manual whenever it came time to block out a new scene. Stand-out moments from this episode include Finn’s encounter with the Demon Cat (famous for having “approximate knowledge of many things”), his visitation by a “guardian angel,” and the deus ex machina ending that see Princess Bubblegum swoop in to save the day. (“Get on my swan!”) And amidst all the silliness, “Dungeon” even manages to sneak in a sweet little message tucked snuggly in between all the wacky monsters about the importance of recognizing your weaknesses. (4.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 19. “The Duke” (692-023)

Airdate: July 12, 2010

Commentary: For most of season one, the audience is presented a version of Princess Bubblegum that is bright, effervescent, and totally nonthreatening; the monarch, it seems, is as aggressive as a marshmallow. But in “The Duke,” this all changes, and we finally get to see the princess’s darker, authoritarian side. Unhinged Princess Bubblegum is quite a sight to behold (as is the sight of green-and-bald Bubblegum), but it adds another layer of to the saccharine sovereign, setting her up for substantial character development a few seasons down the road. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 20. “Freak City” (692-008)

Airdate: July 26, 2010

Production Information: Tom Herpich and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Freak City” introduces the audience to Magic Man, a deranged and flamboyant Martian wizard known for meaninglessly harassing the citizens of Ooo. Although the character’s backstory would be fleshed out in later seasons and eventually come to play a major part in the mythology of the series, this episode was storyboarded well before these developments were dreamed up, meaning that here, Magic Man functions as a simple (albeit funny) villain-of-the-week whose nihilistic tendencies clash wonderfully with Finn’s optimistic worldview. Finn is so used to dividing the world up into “good guys” and “evil guys,” but his run-in with Magic Man is proof that morality is far more confusing than he would like to believe. The main problem is that Magic Man is not really evil: He is clinically insane—a violent psychopath—who does not care about his actions impacting others. No climactic fight or eleventh-hour pep talk is enough to fix him.

On top of this rather weighty consideration of morality and mental instability, “Freak City” contains another, more straightforward message about the power of teamwork and how people should work as one to overcome common problems. Storyboard artists Pendleton Ward and Tom Herpich have quite a bit of fun taking the idiom literally by forcing Finn and the other denizens of Freak City pile on top of one another to function as a single, grotesque being that is capable of fighting Magic Man. While “Freak City” loses some points for espousing rhetoric that folks who are depressed can simply will themselves out of their funk, it makes up for these deficits elsewhere with its character designs—ranging from the inside-out bird to the two-headed monster that Finn groin-strikes—which are all bizarre in the best, most creative way possible. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 21. “Donny” (692-018)

Airdate: August 9, 2010

Commentary: A rather forgettable protagonist and only a smattering of memorable lines make “Donny” the season’s weakest link. The episode does get points for introducing us to “whywolves” (“Creatures possessed by the spirit of inquiry—and bloodlust!”), but they are not enough to completely save it from mediocrity. (2 stars)

Season 1, Episode 22. “Henchman” (692-021)

Airdate: August 23, 2010

Production Information: Luther McLaurin and Cole Sanchez (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: While “Evicted!” depicted Marceline as an apathetic asshole, “Henchman” starts to soften the vampire queen by showing that her evil exterior is an elaborate facade, and that deep down she is really just a prank-loving trickster—or, as Finn puts it, “a radical dame who likes to play games.” This might seem nothing more than a subtle tweak, but it does wonders for Marceline’s characterization; by episode’s end, as Finn and his vampiric “master” chat quite cheerfully in a field of strawberries, it is clear that the writers are setting up Marceline to become a legitimate pal to Finn and Jake, rather than just an avatar of chaos who drops in every once in awhile to shake things up. This was a wise decision, as it provided Marceline with the chance to grow into a hero in her own right with whom the audience can happily cheer along.

Since “Henchman” is predicated on Marceline pranking Finn, storyboard artists Luther McLaurin and Cole Sanchez have a great deal of fun mocking up outrageous scenarios that seem evil at first glance, but are revealed to be quite benign. Perhaps the funniest of these situations is Marceline raising an army of undead skeletons only to throw them a concert, and the vampire queen’s demand that Finn kill a little dimple-plant, which looks like a cutie before it turns into an Audrey II-esque abomination from John Carpenter’s darkest nightmares. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 23. “Rainy Day Daydream” (692-002)

Airdate: September 6, 2010

Production Information: Pendleton Ward (storyboard artist); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Rainy Day Daydream” is a beautiful representation of creativity in its purest form. Channeling his love of multilevel video games and Dungeons and Dragons, solo storyboard artist and series creator Pendleton Ward uses the pretext of Jake’s imagination affecting reality as an opportunity to bounce from one ridiculous plot point to another to great effect. The whole thing feels like an exercise in jovial spontaneity, and while “writing the story as you go” can sometime result in disjointed or sloppy final products, here Ward makes it work, using the approach to illustrate the almost limitless potential of imagination. Another strength of the episode is the way it throws dozens of ridiculous obstacles at Finn and Jake without the aid of equally ridiculous visuals; in fact, almost every hindrance in the episode is invisible to both Finn and the audience, and we only learn what is going on thanks to Jake’s narration. The fact that this approach works and is not boring is a testament to Ward’s skills as a storyteller and dialogue writer. (4.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 24. “What Have You Done?” (692-027)

Airdate: September 13, 2010

Commentary: In addition to providing us with another glimpse of Bubblegum’s dark side, “What Have You Done?” also serves as an interesting meditation on morality and preemptive punishment. As earlier episodes have confirmed, the Ice King is a creepy little deviant, but is it right for Finn and Jake to imprison him without a cause? This is a real legal question, and the show handles it in a surprisingly sophisticated way, concluding more or less that the writ of habeas corpus must be preserved. Of course, this is all undermined to some degree when we learn that the Ice King actually is to blame, but thanks to some quick thinking on the part of Finn, our heroes are able to save the day without having to turn to the carceral powers of the state. (And people say Adventure Time is not sophisticated...) (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 25. “His Hero” (692-026)

Airdate: September 20, 2010

Commentary: Who is the greatest hero ever? If you answered, “Finn!” it is obvious that you have yet to see “His Hero,” for the correct answer is Billy, of course! Lou Ferrigno guest stars in this episode as the aforementioned defender of Ooo, enlivening the character with his distinctive voice. As for the episode itself, storyboard artists Kent Osborne and Niki Yang—with an assist from the ever-dependable Adam Muto—produce some of their best work this season, filling each scene with witty dialogue and zany shenanigans. Arguably, the episode’s pièce de resistance is the short montage of Billy’s past achievements, which plays alongside a song, sung by Muto, extolling the hero’s greatness; energetic and wacky, the song in many ways typifies the “chaotic heroism” that defined the show’s first season.

Like many other first-season episodes, “His Hero” ends with a counterintuitive “anti-moral,” stressing that while a commitment to non-violence might seem subversive on the surface, it is actually an ineffective way to make the world a better place; instead, the episode argues that direct physical action—i.e., beating the snot out of monsters and bad guys—is necessary if heroes want to save people from oppression. This may all come across as contrarian silliness, but I would argue that it is profoundly radical, rejecting “common sense” ideals about peace that really only help those in positions of power. (Side note, if the kids who grew up watching Adventure Time turn into a bunch of revolutionaries, I think we will know the cause.) (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 26. “Gut Grinder” (692-024)

Airdate: September 27, 2010

Production Information: Ako Castuera and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: Much like “Ricardio the Heart Guy,” this episode suffers due to a lack of a solid mystery; from the start, it seems obvious that Jake is not the one responsible for the robberies. Furthermore, the reveal that Sharon is the one behind the robberies comes with almost no dramatical weight, since we have no idea who she is. The whole thing is forgettable, which is a shame given that this is the season finale. (2 stars)

(Huge shout out to @sometipsygnostalgic for reading over these a few months ago and offering feedback. Also, I want to thank @j4gm for posting his “Slumber Party Panic” review, which made me remember these write-ups!)

#adventure time #atimers #season 1 #season one #reviews #finn #jake #finn the human #jake the dog #marceline #pb #bubblegum #princess bubblegum #marceline the vampire queen #ice king #pen ward #pendleton ward

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zwritestuff · 4 years ago

Text

Some Things Are Bound To Be (Chapter Eight) - Kyara

A/N: WHAT'S POPPIN HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND MERRY NEW YEAR. I'm sorry for not posting sooner!!! I had writers block and was super busy with school, but now I'm on summer vacations! Writing this chapter was a tad hard because I can't process the fact it's ending. Only the epilogue left my dudes! It's the end of a story but the start of a legacy. I'm not gonna do the sappy speech YET. So, enjoy this monster of a chapter (7.4K) and thanks to Emerald for beta-ing it!!

Read the rest of the chapters | Read on AO3.

Normally, it’s Rita or Tynomi that look down on Kiara with a brow cocked, lips pursed and quizzical gaze—but lately life has been as strange as it comes, so it doesn’t really phase her when she finds the roles reversed.

She’s in her office, going over the contract of a new partnership, pen dangling from her lips, when Rita enters without knocking and tells her they’re going out to this new bar that opened some weeks ago. No, she can’t argue, and yes, it’s imperative she goes. Kiara is sure this is the first time she’s the one looking at Rita with the implicit question of “what are you planning now?”.

“Yeah, I can’t; family dinner,” Kiara says vaguely, going back to look at the contract, though she has to restart the same sentence five times before any of the words stick—not when the only thing she can think of is that she has to break the news to her parents that Kyne and her aren’t “together” anymore, especially knowing her mom never stopped insisting she bring her to family dinners.

Rita goes back to being the one to silently judge her with a brow cocked, her stare piercing right through her. “And I have a feeling you’d rather stab your own foot than attending that dinner,” she says, tone sharp and straight to the point. Kiara clenches her jaw.

Anyone with functioning eyes and a taste for gossip knows of the rumors going around already, of the whispers saying Kyne and Kiara broke up because of Kiara’s fault, that she was too overbearing, that Kyne couldn’t put up with a spoiled brat like her, and really, it’s whatever. She doesn’t care. It’s not like it’s the first time someone spreads rumors about her that weren’t true, so it’s easy to turn a blind eye on those.

But she draws the line when she hears people talking shit about Kyne.

She doesn’t hear it directly, because everyone shuts up as soon as she’s near, of course, but they sure don’t shut up when Tynomi’s near, or Rita, or even Lena—in fact, it’s almost granted that Lena will get approached to be asked about Kiara and Kyne’s alleged break up the moment she steps foot in any resting room in the whole building; poor Lena hasn’t been able to drink her morning coffee in peace for weeks—, and the things they repeat back to her makes Kiara’s stomach twist in a fit of rage.

Kyne isn’t snarky, or bitchy, or an annoyingly deadpan cold-hearted bitch that drove Kiara mad with her inexpressiveness, least of all an ungrateful bitch that never appreciated anything Kiara did for her. She’s not. Kyne is sneaky glances and deadpan jokes, witty remarks and toothy grins she tries to pass up as annoyed smiles, she’s kindness and care disguised as unbotherness. And God, she misses all of it.

She has also been praying non-stop that neither of those rumors have reached her parents yet.

Kiara sighs. She hates that Rita is able to read her so well.

“Well, it’s not like I can get out of it,” she says after a long moment, “I already told them I’d go, and I’ve been avoiding family dinners for almost a month, so.” Kiara rests her chin in her palm, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

She had been purposefully avoiding her parents, mostly because their conversations always found a way to go back to Kyne one way or another, and Kiara was running out of excuses to give as to why they weren’t attached at the hip anymore. And after her mother’s insistence, she had agreed to go on Friday to have dinner… With Kyne.

It’s safe to say Kiara had been stressing over arriving at their door alone, rehearsing entire monologues with herself before going to sleep, while she brushed her teeth and even when she spaced out watching TV. She had gone back to the bad habit of chewing her nails whenever she thought about arriving alone on Friday and the awkwardness that will ensue after she drops the bomb.

Rita purses her lips, thinking. “You could have dinner with them and leave as soon as you’re finished.”

At that, Kiara cocked a brow. “Yeah, it might be easier to just cancel the whole thing,” she replies, and it isn’t that much of an exaggeration.

Knowing her mom, if she opens the night with “I’ve been dumped by the only serious girlfriend you know of”, she won’t hesitate in consoling her like she did when she got her first heartbreak—with an endless pep talk, forcing sweets upon her and insisting she stays with them a few days until she feels better.

She remembers when the whole situation with Abril happened; she had just moved out, but she practically moved back in again after crying to her mother about it.

Rita looks at her, tapping her left foot on the floor, seemingly defeated. But it's Rita we're talking about, so she fixes a smile on her face and clasps her hands in front of her.

“Well, if you change your mind, or if you need help getting out of there, you know where to find us.” She winks at her, and leaves without saying another word. Kiara stares at the door for a second, wondering what’s gotten into her, before going back to reviewing the contract in her hands.

Kiara has the lingering feeling that Rita’s up to something, but she dismisses it in favor of trying to not fall asleep reading contract after contract.

***

Arriving at her parents’ door alone and with a forced smile goes as well as she expected.

Her mother cranes her neck to see if Kyne is coming behind her, but Kiara just pushes her way past the door and urges her in, prefacing everything with an awkward “I have to tell you something.” Rebecca looks at her with a cocked brow, before her expression morphs into a concerned one.

“Oh, honey,” she says, and Kiara gives a long-suffering sigh. “Did anything happen with Kyne? I haven’t seen you two together lately, and I thought--”

“Maman,” Kiara cuts her off, already feeling her stomach churn. She sees her father at the end of the hallway and holds her breath. “I’ll explain it over dinner,” she says, knowing fully well she won’t be able to eat anything.

She catches her dad’s worried glance out of the corner of her eye as she pushes past the living room towards the kitchen. Her mother asks questions to which she doesn’t answer until they’re all seated at the table, and Kiara feels almost nauseous at the sight of food.

She tries to find the strength to say it more than once, but not a noise comes from her. Kiara doesn’t find it hard to break the news to them because they seemed to really like Kyne too—it’s more so that she hoped they could become a real couple, and the story of how they decided to fake date for one event and then kind of snowballed could be told as a funny, quirky story to break the ice at family gatherings.

Kiara really hoped she could bring Kyne as her real girlfriend, and now, she’s not even here as her fake one.

“Me and Kyne broke up some weeks ago,” she lets out in one breath, and has to repeat it a few times, slower, until her parents understand. Kiara immediately says that there aren’t hard feelings between them, that they broke up because they hit a wall and realized that maybe they were better off without each other. That yes, she’s sad, but she won’t be sad forever and that she wishes Kyne the best.

The truth blends in with lies better than she thought herself to be capable, as Kiara tries her best to protect Kyne’s job. She knows her parents wouldn’t be able to fire her just for breaking up with her, but when in doubt…

There’s a heavy silence, until her father speaks.

“Is that so, Kiki?” He questions, one eyebrow raised like when he knows she isn’t telling the truth. Kiara’s breath hitches in her throat—she knows her parents can tell when she’s bullshitting them, but in this particular case she hopes and prays she’s a convincing enough actress.

She may not be gunning for the Oscar, but if she gets her parents to believe her without asking too many questions, she’ll feel like she just won one.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to-- to get over it. And I didn’t want to worry you, so I said nothing,” she lies with ease, digging nails in her palms as she takes a bite of the meatloaf.

Rebecca looks at her, not with the same look as her dad, but a softer one. She knows that look very well, and she’s already bracing herself for what’s to come.

Her mother goes on a tangent about how this isn’t the end of the world even if it feels like it, that one day she’ll find her person too, and proceeds to tell her again about how she and her dad met for the thousandth time. Kiara just pretends to hear, stuffing her mouth with the food and spacing out every so often.

Everything goes like she expected it to, and she doesn’t have the heart to leave when Rebecca brings out the dessert and tells her about her college boyfriends.

And if God’s timing is always right, Tynomi’s might just be better than His; she gets a phone call from her just when her mom was telling her about the daughter of one of her friends, that recently came out too and is a very nice girl.

“Could you be any more opportune?” Kiara says as a greeting, breathing out a sigh of relief when she locks the bathroom door. She hears Tynomi scoff on the other side of the line.

“Yeah, when you didn’t answer Rita’s texts after an hour we figured it was our calling from pulling you outta there,” Tynomi replies, and Kiara can almost see the shit-eating grin plastered on her face. She paces around the bathroom, chuckling.

“Are you actually going to drag me out of their house? That’d be easier than to come up with an excuse to leave.”

There’s a short-lived pause, before Tynomi clicks her tongue. “Tell them you have to leave ‘cause we’re celebrating my birthday tonight, that you didn’t realize the hour or some shit,” she suggests, “Which, by the way, isn’t entirely false—I’m surprised you forgot my birthday tomorrow,” Tynomi comments, and Kiara can almost see her checking her nails as she said so, tone ever so casual.

Her eyes go wide as she gasps, face-palming herself. “Fuck, I’m so sorry ‘Nono, I had totally forgotten.” Her tone is apologetic and full of regret, she really didn’t mean to forget; life has been as hectic as it could be, and sometimes she even forgets basic things such as sleeping—lucky for her, Tynomi doesn’t make a big deal out of it, dismissing it with a laugh.

“I’ll forgive you if you get your ass out in, like, five minutes tops,” she says quizzically, and Kiara narrows her eyes.

“Wait—are you waiting outside already?” She asks, opening the door of the bathroom with a smile and her heart pounding in her ears. She hears Tynomi laugh along with someone in the background, probably Rita.

“You’ll find out if you come outside,” she simply says before hanging up, and Kiara rushes to the living room where her parents wait for her.

She tells them in a hurry that she forgot about her friend’s birthday, that she has to leave now to make it, and gives them a kiss on the cheek and a hug before she leaves. Her father hugs her tight, telling her to be careful, and it feels like an omen more than a warning.

Either way, Kiara brushes it off, and the first thing she sees when she steps outside is Tynomi and Rita laying against her car.

“Took you long enough,” Tynomi calls out, waving at her.

***

Everything happens in the blink of an eye.

They ride back to Kiara’s place to help her find something to wear, which considering the size of Kiara’s wardrobe shouldn’t be a task as hard as it is. It feels like a whole make-over montage, throwing clothes over their shoulders and trying things on over and over before they settle on something; a rhinestone dress she barely wore once with a cleavage so deep it would’ve scandalized her parents. Tynomi helps her with her hair, and Rita helps her find an eyeshadow design on her Pinterest board that’s subtle enough to be worn at a bar.

There are lots of laughs, noise and dumb jokes thrown around as much as clothes, and all the uneasiness Kiara felt at the beginning of the night are all but forgotten. She would give a sappy speech about how much she loves her friends, but she knows their egos don’t need to be stroked any more.

They force Kiara to eat something before they leave when she comments how she hadn’t been able to stomach anything back at her parents’ house. Kiara isn’t sure when food deliveries got so fast, but she has a chicken hamburger before she can say it’s fine.

It somehow feels like this was all planned out, but whatever, she doesn’t pay it much mind. It’s not unusual for Rita and Tynomi to plan their night outs with a concerning degree of perfection.

“How’d you find out about this bar?” Kiara wonders, fetching her keys and unplugging her phone from the charger.

“Someone from work told me about it, said she came with her friends some weekends ago and their sangria was the best thing she ever tasted,” Rita comments casually, trailing behind Kiara. “And it fills up fast, so we better get going.” She pushes her a bit, and Kiara cocks a brow at her eagerness. The bar must have the best sangria in Canada if Rita is this eager to go.

The drive is rather uneventful, and there’s a bit of back and forth between Tynomi and Kiara for free reign on the aux cord, though Rita settles it by grabbing it and taking over. Kiara wonders if there’ll ever be a day when Rita isn’t the one to settle their childish conflicts for them.

When they arrive, they have to circle around the block a few times to find a parking spot—the street is packed, and just by taking a brief peek inside of the bar you could see inside it’s exploding with people. She winces slightly, mostly because she usually doesn’t like crowded places, but whatever, she’s already there, she’s all dolled up, she might as well make the most out of it.

Finding an empty table is hard, and once they do it’s one crammed at the very back of the bar, near a door that leads to a patio for smokers. Rita decides to be the one to order the first round, leaving Tynomi and Kiara alone for what feels like an eternity.

“So how did dinner with your parents go?” Tynomi asks to break the ice, putting her phone down, and Kiara twirls a strand of curls on her index finger.

“It could’ve been worse, I guess,” she says, loud enough for her to hear over the noise but soft enough to get drowned by the dozens of voices and the music blasting on the speakers. “My mom had the five stages of grief in the span of an hour; had I known she’d like Kyne that much I would’ve kept my mouth shut.” Kiara makes the motion to rub her eyes, but then remembers her make-up, and ends up massaging her temples instead.

Tynomi scoffs, leaning over the table so she can hear her better. “Yeah, you know how moms can be. Mine still chastises me for letting go this lawyer I was going out with when I still thought I was straight.” She rolls her eyes, making Kiara laugh, “Speaking of Kyne—you haven’t talked to her at all since the, uh, “break up” right?” She questions, furrowing her brow, and Kiara visibly cringes.

“No, I haven’t, we’ve kinda been avoiding each other,” she admits, fidgeting with her fingers. It’s not technically true, though; she had avoided Kyne for the day when she decided to call it quits, but then Kyne had walked straight past her the next day without as much as a second glance, and Kiara, as petty as she can be, decided to not talk to her until Kyne decided to take the first step.

Weeks later, here they are, acting as if they never knew each other, much to her friends’ annoyance.

“Right,” Tynomi continues, “Do you think you two could, like, go back to your lovey-dovey shit if you, y’know, talked like the adults you are?” She inquires slowly, with a tone that betrays nothing, and Kiara cocks a brow—she’s about to ask what she means by “lovey-dovey shit” and assure her on the same breath that there’s no way Kyne wants to talk with her, when Rita settles their drinks on the table.

Thankfully, they don’t bring up Kyne again, and Tynomi doesn’t push for an answer.

***

As much as Kiara really did like the sip of sangria Rita offered her, she takes it easy and nibbles on the same drink for what feels like the entire night. The fun stuff when you’re the designated driver. At least, she gets to be the one seeing how her friends do and say stupid shit, instead of being the one saying and doing stupid shit.

Tynomi and Rita drag her to the bathroom in separate turns one too many times, and by Tynomi’s fourth time Kiara wonders if they’re plotting something; they always glance around, wary of everyone and everything, asking each and every time if she’s seen someone at the bar that caught her eye, with a tone that betrays nothing yet Kiara couldn't be more suspicious of. She says no, mostly because she’s not in the mood for picking someone up, and really, all of the women she’s encountered exude straight girl vibes.

It’s finally her turn to order another round, and as she perches herself against the counter waiting for the barman, her eyes roam around the room, trying to find any familiar faces, or just judging strangers’ fashion choices when—she catches her glance.

What are the odds that, out of all the bars in a city as big as this, out of all the people she could’ve made eye contact with, it happened to be Kyne the one standing at the other side of the bar, intensely staring back at her?

She snaps out of it when the barman places her order in front of her, Kiara pays him in a hurry and turns on her heels to return to her table. She feels Kyne’s piercing gaze on the back of her neck, but she tries to keep her composure for the love of all that’s holy.

When she returns, Tynomi and Rita are glued to their phones, with smug smiles that would make Kiara suspicious if she was a bit more cunning. She all but slams the drinks on the table, sitting down with a childish pout and her arms crossed. Her friends look at her with amusement, as if they know what just happened. But Kiara says nothing, just stares at her drink.

“What? Did something happen?” Rita ventures to ask, cocking a brow. Kiara scoffs, looking away. She can feel someone’s gaze on her, and she’s not stupid, she knows who it is; she’d just rather act as if she didn’t see anything.

“Nothing at all,” she lies through gritted teeth, nibbling on her drink. Her friends share a look, and Rita goes back to her phone while Tynomi fishes something out of her purse.

“Hey, Kiki, can you keep me company while I smoke outside?” She asks, and Kiara cocks a brow in her direction.

“‘Nono, I literally just came back—”

“Just one cigarette, and then we’ll be back, I promise,” Tynomi bargains with a decided tone that leaves no room for questions. Kiara groans as she grabs her drink; they’re lucky she loves them.

Outside is definitely chiller, and Kiara instinctively takes a sip from her drink as she watches Tynomi lit up a cigarette. They perch themselves against the wall, not really far from the entrance, it isn’t as crowded as inside, but they still bump shoulders with other people more than once. They make small talk, and by the way Tynomi is sneaking glances towards the door, she could swear she’s waiting to see someone. Kiara is about to ask her about it, wondering if she’s been making eye contact with another girl from the bar or something, but then she hears a voice all too familiar behind her.

“Heyyy, Tynomi! You got a light?” Priyanka’s voice booms through the patio, and before she knows it the architect is standing by Tynomi’s side, holding out a cigarette near to her lighter. “Oh, hi Kiara! Didn’t see you there,” she says cheerfully, and she waves without much energy.

“Wish I could say the same thing.” Kiara’s ears perk up when she hears that voice.

She whips her head around, narrowing her eyes, and sure enough, Kyne is standing behind her in all her glory, an unamused look on her face as she inspects her nails as if they’re the most interesting thing in the world.

She gulps. Hard. Fuck.

Kiara tries to recover quickly, to not let Kyne notice the way she affects her, so she cocks one of her perfectly painted eyebrows towards her, and she has no idea what possessed her, but she scoffs slightly before saying, “Well, those sure are some nice first words to say after you’ve been ignoring me for weeks.” She regrets it the moment she says it. Who can she blame for her stupid choice of words? The alcohol? Her cup is still full, and she doesn’t feel the least bit dizzy.

Kyne seems surprised that she heard her, but the surprise doesn’t last much; she glares at her, rolling her eyes with a sarcastic laugh. “As if you didn’t ignore me first! Jeez, whatever happened to “we’ll still be friends once our deal is over”?” She folds her arms, cocking a brow at her, and Kiara wishes she were drunker. It would be easier to have this conversation, since she can practically smell the vodka in Kyne’s breath.

“I tried to end things on a good note, but you stormed off! I tried to give you your space, but then you went ahead and ignored me the next day. What was I supposed to do? Use my status as your boss and force you to talk to me?” She pinches the bridge of her nose, her drink all but forgotten as she hands it to Tynomi, “before I spill it everywhere,” she mutters, and if she weren’t so angry already she would’ve noticed the amused look Priyanka and Tynomi had; like they were watching their favorite soap opera instead of seeing their friends fight in the middle of a fucking smoking patio.

Kyne furrows her brow, folding her arms as she takes a step closer. Kiara stands still.

“I didn’t storm off,” she says, though it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than Kiara. “I was upset and confused, and you acting like I wasn’t there when I went to pick you up for lunch didn’t help.”

She tilts her head. Okay, that’s not what she thought she’d say. “Why were you upset? Calling it quits was your idea,” she points out, “And I have no idea what you’re talking about. I had an emergency call and I had to pacify some architects and an investor, I never saw you waiting for me,” Kiara explains, and something in Kyne’s expression cracks. But as soon as it comes, it goes, and the scowl is soon back on her face.

“Whatever.” She waves a hand to dismiss the topic, but Kiara isn’t done yet.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” Kyne sounds defensive, taking some steps back; but the more she steps back, Kiara steps closer.

“Why were you upset? I understand being confused, since it was sudden, but upset?” She leans closer, her height being an advantage as her face ends up mere inches away from Kyne’s. “You suggested we quit days before, I thought you’d be happy to finally be getting rid of me.” She cocks a brow, waiting for an answer, and Kyne’s face betrays nothing—until she looks away, scoffing while what Kiara thinks is a blush creeps on her cheeks.

“I—I don’t owe you an explanation,” she says simply, giving her a daring look. Kiara would say that, yes, she probably does, since she was the one that wanted to quit and then got mad at her for doing what she wanted, but she isn’t able to get a word in before Kyne looks past her towards Priyanka. “Y’know? I think I’m just gonna leave.”

“Oh, well, make sure Bobo doesn’t do anything stupid while—”

“No, I mean I’m going home,” Kyne cuts her off, and Priyanka scrambles for an answer, but before she says anything to convince her, Kyne turns on her heels and goes back to the bar, albeit walking a little wobbly.

Kiara stands there, perplexed, not really knowing what just happened. She turns around to meet Tynomi and Priyanka’s gaze. Tynomi is pinching the bridge of her nose, while Priyanka looks like she might strangle someone.

“Well, that sure went well,” Priyanka comments, folding her arms, and Tynomi scoffs.

Tynomi looks at her with a pointed look, then towards the entrance, then back at her, seemingly hoping to not have to say anything before she catches up. “I think this is the part where you go after her,” she finally says, after Kiara just stands without moving an inch.

She blinks owlishly, before she realizes what she just said. “But—but she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

Priyanka groans, doing the motion of bashing her skull against the wall.

“Fucks sake, not to talk shit about my best friend, but she’s been driving me crazy talking about you these past few weeks. Trust me, just go after her, I’m pretty sure you two will make up.”

“Or make out,” Tynomi points out with a shit-eating grin, and Kiara rolls her eyes, a blush creeping on her cheeks. As much as she’d like that, Kyne is drunk, and—

Oh.

Oh shit.

She can’t let her leave alone like that, can she?

Kiara sighs in defeat.

“Fine. But you and Rita will have to book an Uber.” She turns to leave, and she hears Priyanka saying there’s no need, that she’ll drive them home, and then is when it clicks on Kiara that they had probably orchestrated the whole thing. Jesus. That would make a lot more sense.

She walks past Rita, who merely watches her go without saying anything, elbows her way past the crowd and out to the street. She looks around before she finds Kyne some feet away, leaning on the wall and frowning at her phone. Kiara inhales deeply before she approaches her, and Kyne snaps her head up when she hears her footsteps.

“What are you—?”

“Listen, I know I’m probably the last person you wanna see right now,” she cuts her off, and Kyne seems a bit thrown off. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not safe to get a cab alone at night when you’re drunk. Especially when you’re a woman,” Kiara points out, and Kyne narrows her eyes.

“So what? You wanna share a cab with me?” She inquiries, and Jesus, that would be so much easier. But Kiara shakes her head.

“No, I’m driving you home. My car is parked near here.” It’s more of an order than an offer, she’s sure Kyne can tell, because she crosses her arms and scoffs.

“What makes you think I’m gonna do what you say?” She comes a step closer, wanting to be intimidating, but it doesn’t really work when she has to look up to meet Kiara’s gaze even while wearing heels. Kiara inhales sharply; there’s a million things she wants to say to that, but she’s not sure they’re appropriate for the moment.

“Because Priyanka would kill me if I didn’t, and she would kill you if you refuse,” she says matter-of-factly, and she sees Kyne wince, looking away.

“I knew she was up to something,” she mutters with a scoff. She turns to look back at her almost indignantly, and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Lead the way.” Kyne pushes herself from the wall, and Kiara offers her arm for her to hang on. She refuses, but after a few steps she ends up accepting when she almost trips with the air.

It feels awfully familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

***

The ride back to Kyne’s place is awkward. That’s the only word for it.

Kiara offers her the aux cord as an olive branch, Kyne refuses, and Kiara just settles for listening to the radio.

She tries to ask her how her night had been, Kyne merely replies with a dry “good,” and the conversation dies there.

She attempts to talk to her again when they find out the quickest road to Kyne’s place is blocked because of street repairs, and they’d have to take the long way. But Kyne prefers to ignore her.

Kiara decides to give up, letting the silence be interrupted by whatever song is playing on the radio. She notices how Kyne grips the seat on the curves, squeezing her eyes shut and inhaling sharply; she wishes she was capable of ignoring her, but it’s Kyne, and she can’t just ignore Kyne.

“You okay over there?” She asks politely, eyes firm on the road. Kyne grunts, letting her head fall against the window, her gaze transfixed on the streets.

“I’m just a bit nauseous, that’s all,” she musters, bracing her stomach with another wince, as Kiara turns to the left. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna puke in your car if you’re worried about that,” Kyne says, finally turning to see her.

“I’m more worried about you than the car, y’know,” Kiara admits before she can think much about it, and she feels her neck burn as Kyne shoots a small smile towards her. “I can slow down if you want me to.”

“No, it’s fine, as far as I’m concerned, I need you to go faster so I can stick my head down the toilet,” she says with a dry laugh, and Kiara chuckles, biting the inside of her cheek.

They don’t exchange many words after that, only when Kiara checks in with Kyne and she replies with short sentences. Kiara considers it a victory that they’re civil enough to hold a conversation without being snarky, even if it’s for a small bit. When the road is drawing to an end and Kiara can see Kyne’s building, she feels a bit of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach—she wishes they didn’t have to part ways, but she supposes that this is better than nothing.

She parks in front in silence, turning to look at Kyne with a small smile. “You sure you’re okay?” She asks one last time, as Kyne pinches her cheeks and exhales.

She opens the door, stands still for a second, tries to take a step, but then ends up climbing back into the car, shaking her head.

“I still feel like the world is spinning,” she announces sheepishly, and Kiara can tell that tone in her voice means “I’m sorry to be a bother.” So she’s quick to reassure her.

“I can walk with you to your door, I don’t mind,” she offers, leaving out the part where she says it wouldn’t be that strange to her; the night of the ball, she had an arm firmly placed around her waist, Kyne was leaning into her, and they were giggling like idiots and life was good.

Kyne looks at her through half-lidded eyes, stays silent for a second too long, and licks her lips before finally speaking. “I’m gonna be honest with you, I feel the vodka battling the pizza I had before, so I need someone to hold my hair while I puke my bad decisions out,” she says, blunt as ever, “Would you do me the honor of being that person?” Her tone is far too cheesy for the context, and Kiara laughs wholeheartedly, nodding as she climbs down the car and goes to offer Kyne her hand again.

She doesn’t dare to take her by the waist—not yet—so she makes sure her grip on her hand is strong enough without hurting her. Kyne seems unbothered, rather concentrated in not tripping on air again, and if she leans onto Kiara more than once, Kiara says nothing about it, hoping she can’t hear her breath catching in her throat.

The elevator is filled with a thick silence, in which they’re on opposite sides, trying to mind their business, but Kiara can’t help to glance at Kyne with a sneaky smile as the girl checks herself in the mirrors, apparently unaware of her stare.

“You can just take a picture, y’know, it lasts longer.”

Apparently.

She speaks with the calmest voice yet bears the most wicked of grins. Kiara scoffs, looking away, trying to hide her imminent blush behind her hair.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says simply. She hears her giggle, and it’s such an intoxicating sound that she can just inhale sharply and mentally berate the elevator for taking so long.

“Sure, Kiki.” She cocks a brow at her, arms folded as she leans back on the mirror.

Kiara acts as if she didn’t hear her use her pet name and instead twirls a strand of curls with her index finger.

The doors open and Kiara practically sprints out, while Kyne takes her sweet time pushing herself off the mirror and walking up to her, almost instantly latching onto her arm, pressing her cheek against her elbow. It takes all of Kiara’s willpower to appear unbothered by it.

Kyne produces her keys out of her pocket once they’re in front of her door, rushes Kiara inside and shuts it again. Kiara can barely say a word before she sees Kyne kick her heels and run towards the bathroom without crashing into furniture despite being dark. She laughs to herself; apparently she wasn’t lying about her intentions on letting her in.

She kicks off her heels too, rushing when she hears the noises from the bathroom. Kyne is already sitting by the toilet, hair sticking to her sweaty forehead and looking as if she dreads the moment she decided to drink that much. Kiara kneels next to her without saying anything, grabbing a fist full of her hair, and she has to chastise herself one too many times when she thinks this isn’t how she imagined she’d be pulling on her hair before.

She rubs circles on her back without saying anything, and after a long moment Kyne takes a deep breath and tries to stand alone. Kiara flushes the toilet and awkwardly stays there while Kyne hazaphardly takes off her make-up and brushes her teeth. Once she’s done, she takes a clean make-up wipe and sits back with her, taking her chin with her free hand.

“I figured you’d wanna take your make-up off too,” she explains, before she takes the wipe close to her face. Kiara just nods, and Kyne smiles satisfied as she cleans her face.

If Kiara didn’t know any better, she’d say she’s taking her time: not because she’s Kyne and she’s meticulous to the point it’s pathological, but because she’s tracing every line of her face with delicacy, prolonging their time together with an excuse as simple as that.

Kiara fidgets with her hands in silence, unsure of what to say, but like most of their conversations during the night, she says something impulsive just to break the ice.

“I’m sorry for breaking up with you like that,” she finally says, and it’s like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Kyne stops mid-movement, whole body tensing, and she sees her gulp before she resumes her work.

“That’s fine, I’m sorry for snapping at you,” Kyne says softly, tracing the outline of her lips to get rid of her lipstick. Her gaze is transfixed on Kiara’s mouth, and if Kiara was a bit more courageous, she’d just pull her closer and seal their lips together.

Instead, she just inhales sharply and tries to keep her composure. “Do you—do you wanna talk about why you were upset?” She asks, because she’s itching to know. She wants to know if there’s the small chance they’re on the same page regarding their feelings, that maybe she too feels like the air has been knocked out of her lungs whenever they’re this close.

Kyne winces, visibly cringing. “Guess I can’t escape now, can I?” She says with a dreadful tone that she tries to hide with a humourless laugh. Kiara looks at her expectantly, and Kyne sighs. “Fine, you really wanna know?” She tosses the make-up wipe aside and leans back a bit, rubbing her eyelids.

There’s silence for a moment too long, but Kiara doesn’t push her to talk, whatever it is that she’s building up the courage to say can either make Kiara see heaven or send her straight to hell, so she waits with bated breath.

And then she speaks.

“I was hoping we didn’t have to break up, or that at the very least it would take us a little more to do it,” she admits, but Kiara senses that it isn’t the end of it, so she just stays in silence, with her heart pounding in her ears. Kyne sighs heavily and bites her lower lip, squeezing her eyes shut before proceeding. “And—and I didn’t want to break up with you because I love you.”

Kiara isn’t sure she heard that right. She just stares at her, eyes growing wide as her breath hardens. She feels her face burn in flames, and it doesn’t help when Kyne meets her gaze and all she can see is earnesty.

When she remains silent, Kyne panics and starts to babble. “I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you earlier, but then one of my friends told me some of the rumors about you, and I didn’t want to believe them but it ended up causing me to snap at you anyway, and when I found out the truth and decided to tell you again, you decided to call things off and I didn’t think it would be okay to tell you after that—”

“Kyne,” she cuts off her rant by reaching for her face and cupping it, the space between them growing smaller. Kyne is staring at her lips unabashedly, and it only makes Kiara want to lose control, but she can’t—yet. “I love you too. I’ve known I love you since the night at the ball, but I didn’t say anything ‘cause I didn’t want you to feel pressured to like me back—and the last time I had serious feelings for someone from the company didn’t exactly end up well, so I was afraid history would repeat itself. But now…” Kiara leaves the words hanging in the air, sighing in defeat.

She furrows her brow, tilting her head slightly. “Yeah, about that, not that you owe me an explanation or anything, but I’ve heard the name Abril dropped in some of these rumors,” Kyne says slowly, carefully, but Kiara can’t help the wince that comes out of her.

“Oh,” is all she manages to say, “Oh. Yeah. Abril, she, uh, she was my first girlfriend—or I thought she was. It’s a complicated story.” She squeezes her eyes shut, and almost instantly she feels Kyne’s thumb softly stroking her cheek.

“You don’t have to tell me now if you don’t feel like it, I can wait,” she assures her, and Kiara relaxes under her touch, only then realizing how dangerously close their lips are, Kyne’s hot breath hitting her right in her face. And she doesn’t mind a single bit. “However, I don’t think I can wait any longer to do this--”

Kyne wastes no more time in grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her into a heated kiss. Kiara is shocked at first, but eagerly kisses her back, scooting herself closer. She’s dreamed of kissing Kyne more than she’ll ever admit to, dreamed of grabbing the back of her throat, with her hands finding her way into her hair and tugging just a little bit on it to bring her closer, hoping Kyne’s hands find their way onto her waist to dig her nails on it while Kiara’s push her into a bed.

There’s no bed in sight here, but Kiara guesses she can’t complain, only to say close isn’t close enough, and that suddenly the temperature in the bathroom is unbearably hot, despite being partially leaning against the cold tiles.

She’s not sure at what point did Kyne end up on top of her, but it’s not like she doesn’t like it.

When they separate briefly to breathe, Kyne hides her face in the crook of her neck, breathing heavily, giving Kiara goosebumps.

“If I knew you’d do that, I would’ve talked to you sooner,” Kiara jokes out of breath, and she feels Kyne smile against her neck, giggling slightly.

“Yeah, we could’ve done a lot more stuff had we gotten out shit together earlier,” she says quizzically, and Kiara’s breath hitches in her throat.

“Well, first off, we’re not doing anything on your dirty bathroom floor,” she begins, ignoring Kyne’s offended gasp and “I cleaned it yesterday!”. “Second, we’re not doing anything while you’re drunk,” Kiara points out, and Kyne whines loudly, but she merely chuckles.

“You’re no fun,” she complains, sitting up and straddling her while folding her arms. Kiara wishes she could give in and just let Kyne do whatever she wants with her, but she likes to believe she still has some self-control.

“I’ll be more fun in the morning, pinky promise,” she tries to bargain, bringing a hand to her face and stroking her cheek, giving her a cheeky wink. Kyne rolls her eyes, but a tiny smile appears on her face either way.

“If you say so…” Kyne reluctantly gets up and sticks a hand out to help Kiara, and she gives her another kiss when their bodies bump against the other.

Kiara could get used to getting kisses from Kyne all the time.

Hand in hand, she finally gets to see Kyne’s bedroom—the walls are a baby blue, there’s a desk by the window neatly organized with little plastic figurines of a show she can’t recognize, bookshelves filled with books, photos scattered on the walls, a wardrobe in a corner and a bed in the middle of the room full of stuffed animals, with a nightstand on its side.

Kyne lets her borrow a pijama, and despite her insistence that she can change there, Kiara still goes back to the bathroom to change her clothes. She fetches a glass of water; she’s pretty sure Kyne will need it in the morning. When she returns, Kyne is already tucked under the covers, looking fast asleep.

She slides next to her, leaving the glass on the nightstand and her dress at the feet of the bed, and almost immediately Kyne turns around to place her arm around her waist and tangle their legs together. Kiara chuckles, okay, so she’s not asleep.

“Kyne?” She whispers, Kyne hums in response. “Do you wanna go out on a real date someday?” Kiara asks, and that’s enough to make Kyne’s eyes snap open.

“I’d love that,” she musters, a wide smile spreading on her face as she places a kiss on her jaw. “I love you,” she says, softly and like a prayer, and Kiara sighs happily.

She never thought she’d be able to hear those words.

“I love you too,” she replies, making herself comfortable under the covers, holding her whole world in place as they sleep.

#kyara #fake dating au #some things are bound to be fic #rpdr fanfiction #online kyne #kyne #kiara schatzi #priyanka love #rita baga #tynomi banks #my fanfiction

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jhoudiey · 4 years ago

Photo

Crowley and Yoru are on vacation, and as expected Crow Dad has come equipped with the best fish puns he can muster.

Full story under the cut: word count- 1990. pun count- 14

“Yoru! It is time to get up! We’re leaving right away!” Crowley had burst into Yoru’s room wearing the most hideous shirt she had ever seen, bright yellow with what seemed to be apples and crows on it.

“Dad… it is SO early. Don’t you have to see the rest of the students off before we leave anyway? Go do that and then I’ll get up, it is WAY too early” Yoru groaned from the mess of her bed, putting her pillow over her head to try and fall back asleep.

“Hmm. I suppose 6am was too early.. If you aren’t ready by the time everyone is gone I’m leaving without you!” She waved from beneath the covers, Crowley nearly skipping as he left her room. Yoru was pretty sure she heard him singing “vacation, vacation, going on vacation” under his breath to himself.

***

They arrived at the Southern Seas around noon, the sun was high in the sky, a gentle breeze rolling off the water.

“Ahhh! This is just what I needed after all my hard work on campus!” Crowley spun in circles on the beach, arms spread wide with a childish grin on his face.

“Look Yoru! It’s sun and sand, as far as the eye can… sea!” He grinned at her

“Oh no. Please tell me you don’t plan on doing this the whole trip” She groaned, almost regretting her decision to come along.

“Ahhhh cheer up , my sweet daughter! This trip is going to be… fintastic!” He bounded off, headed towards the hotel to drop off their bags and check in.

“Euuugggghhhhhhhhhhhh” She begrudgingly followed, knowing there was going to be an onslaught of puns she didn’t plan for at every turn.

***

“Today we will be diving and exploring the seafloor. I expect that everyone here is a confident swimmer, and has read the pamphlet on what to do in an emergency?”

“Yes Sir!” The group answered, Yoru shuffled nervously

“Psst, Dad...DAD… I can barely swim, why did you sign us up for this?” She’d gotten herself a pair of neon green flippers to help her get through the water, but hadn’t practiced with them much and she was not nearly as confident as the Diving Instructor wanted everyone to be.

“Yoru, my sweet child! I would never let anything happen to you, of course I accounted for you not swimming well! Here!” He handed her a small button that said “You betta believe you can do it!” with a picture of a betta fish giving a fishy thumbs up.

“I…. dad….. Why. Why are you like this?” She stared at him, not for the first time wondering how she’d survived this long with a dad like Crowley.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, I put a spell on the button, it’ll help. Lets go!” He charged off into the water, wearing a pair of yellow flippers and a completely pointless matching snorkel. The diving instructor had given everyone a potion to be able to breathe underwater for an hour, so Yoru assumed the snorkel was just because Crowley was excited to complete the “swimmer” look.

She sighed and followed him into the water, wishing that both walking in sand and walking with flippers was easier. She wasn’t sure how this button was supposed to work, but she figured if she could fight a giant squid underwater, she’d be fine looking at corals and anemones. Either the button was actually useful, or swimming in the sea was easier than she expected, as she was able to propel herself easily and spent a while just floating through the water. She could spend the whole vacation like this, the sea was really serene after all. She’d definitely have to ask Azul if she could visit the Coral Sea with them in the spring, though she suspected they’d all make fun of her for the need for flippers.

“YORU HELLLPPP!!” Crowley was swimming frantically towards her, a sea turtle close behind, furiously snapping its beak. “It’s going to eat me!”

“That looks like a personal problem” Yoru laughed, poking and prodding the various plants on the reefs, laughing when they shriveled at her touch. Between the sea creatures and her dad having a run in with seemingly every animal under water that could bite him, it was an excellent day.

***

“I’m never going into the sea ever again” Crowley whined over dinner, cradling his bitten arms. “From now on, I’m staying in a haddock on the beach, drinking as much Coconut juice as I can get!” He grinned at her, sipping on a drink with a giant slice of pineapple sticking out of the side.

“.....” Yoru stared back, wishing that the turtle had just swallowed him whole “You can’t bait me into responding to that”

“Can’t I?” He grinned at her

“What?…. I…. no….” She realized her mistake far too late, she’d unconsciously answered his pun with a worse pun. “UUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH I’m going to bed!” She stomped away from the table leaving him alone.

“I am just so funny” Crowley chuckled to himself, far too pleased with himself for a man that got himself bitten half a dozen times by a sea turtle.

The following days were similar to the first, Crowley spent his time napping in hammocks around the island, and Yoru spent her time at the bottom of the sea poking things. She’d looked up if any plants in these waters would be helpful for potion making, and had a list of things to try and find. The potion the diving instructor could provide only lasted an hour, but she was able to make one that kept her breathing until she rose to the surface.

“Wow, I didn’t realize I’d get so wrinkly being in water all the time” She said, looking down at her pruned hands “Is this normal?”

“Dolphinately normal, I read about it, in a book!” Crowley grinned at her, laughing to himself

“.........I think I’m going to drown myself now. Excuse me” she turned and headed back to the water

“Yoru! Hey! You shouldn’t joke about krilling yourself like that, you’ll make me worry!” He howled with laughter, rocking back and forth in the hammock. “I am just so so funny, I keep kraken myself up!”

“UUGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” Yoru groaned, slowly sinking into the sea.

Journal Entry- Vacation Day 1

We were at the beach for all of 4 seconds before dad started making puns. He must have looked up fish jokes before we came because no way his arsenal is this diverse. I was worried the sun was going to cause some problems with my legs but so far so good.

Day 2

All I want for Christmas is an end to these puns. Where is he finding all of them anyway? Someone help me. This is worse than when I ripped my wings off.

Day 4

I think the food here is bad for me, I haven’t had an appetite for a while now. Dad says dinner every night is de”fish”ous, but I can’t seem to taste anything. Again. Fuck.

Day 7

I took a day off from swimming to try and find souvenirs. Finding things for Idia and Ortho was easy, but what do you get for merfolk when you’re visiting the sea? I wonder if they’d believe I just… forgot. I figured out what was causing my taste buds to not work and was able to fix it. Sleep a few more hours of the day now, but I have to admit, the food here is defishous.

****

“Yoru! It’s time to wake up! Salmon said that there is going to be a live band at the marina tonight to ring in the new year!” Crowley said, shaking her leg to try and get her out of bed

“Just a few more minutes” she groaned, trying to bury herself into the covers

“Nope! That’s what you said two hours ago! It’s time! There’s still sole many things to see and do before tonight!”

“Fine fine, stop carping me, I’m getting up” She rolled off the side of the bed and fell to the floor, accepting her fate.

As it turned out, the day's activities were exploring a nearby ruin that she hadn’t realized was there. It was rumored to be haunted, and Crowley wanted to go see if he could talk to the ghosts or see if there was anything worth “borrowing” to bring back to Night Raven College.

“This is cool” she said poking around in an abandoned tomb in the ruins “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Hmmmm? I did! 4 days ago, I do suspect that you may be… tuna-ing me out when I talk” he looked at her, his eyes full of mock sadness.

“Gee I wonder why that is” she rolled her eyes. “We’re not even near the water today though, shouldn’t you be making rock puns or something?”

“..there was no book on rock puns” he muttered under his breath, hoping she wouldn’t hear him.

They left the ruins at sundown, pockets a little more full than they had been when they entered.

“I think I’ve got to turn in, I’m really tired all of a sudden. I can’t seem to keep my eyes open” Yoru said, rubbing her eyes to try and wake herself up.

“You are looking a little pale, maybe if you’re that tired you should just head back home, there’s not much left to do here and you look like you could use the rest” He said it without looking at her, in fact, he looked everywhere BUT at her

“...You just want me to bring the things we just stole back to NRC before anyone realizes we took them, don’t you” she looked at him flatly, he refused to return her gaze.

“Well...that wouldn’t be the worst idea.. To be honest, I don’t know what most of these things do and they might be too dangerous to keep in the hotel” He smiled and put his hands on her shoulders “So it would be very helpful for you to bring them to my office before going to bed!” She laughed and nodded.

***

She’d always thought that NRC was nicer at night, there was no one in the halls so she could go where she pleased. She took her time walking through the empty hallways looking at the portraits on the walls, she felt like a ghost. It was only her and her pocket full of stolen artifacts they’d have to get Professor Yule to examine when he got back, no one else. She was hit with a wave of dizziness as she was placing the last artifact onto Crowley's desk and quickly withdrew her hand. She wasn’t sure if it was because of some unknown curse or just that she hadn’t eaten all day. The cafeteria wouldn’t be open, it was almost 10pm on New Years Eve, but she’d hoped that Mostro Lounge would be. Surely Azul stayed open to serve the other unfortunate souls who stayed on campus over break.

She meandered slowly towards the lounge, fighting the dizziness that would not abate despite her stopping and trying to center herself every few meters. She felt like it had taken her an hour to finally arrive at the doors to Mostro Lounge, but it had hardly been 15 minutes.

“Why.. won’t the door open?” She muttered to herself, leaning against it “is it a pull? It must be” She dragged her hands over the glassy doors searching for a way to open it.

“What? Where’s the handle? I can hear people inside, so it’s gotta be open..” She pushed on the door again, leaning her head against the stained glass to stop it from spinning. “Azul I think your door is broken” she muttered under her breath trying to steady herself. Her knees buckled from beneath her, she didn’t feel herself hit the floor.

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #dire crowley #yoru crowley #twisute oc #so many fish puns #i wish i knew people that actually did stuff outside of the house so i could use them irl #twisted wonderland

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hookedonapirate · 4 years ago

Text

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Summary: Detective Killian Jones took an indefinite leave of absence from SBPD after his brother was murdered in the Line of Duty. Bitter and broken, he resides in a cabin on the beach when his brother's former partner, David Nolan brings him a case he knows the vengeful detective won’t be able to resist. A case involving Liam's killer.

Dr. Emma Swan makes all of her decisions like she operates on her patients—with care, competence and compassion. But when her colleague, Graham Humbert, is murdered in cold blood by the man who was freed because of a decision she made as a juror, she starts second-guessing herself. To make matters worse, her squeaky clean reputation is being questioned when she becomes a suspect for Graham’s murder.

There is one detective who believes she’s innocent, and he has a plan to protect Emma and find his brother's killer at the same time. When Killian finds himself caught between his duties to the SBPD and his need for vengeance, matters are only complicated by the feelings he develops for the woman he's supposed to protect.

He's impulsive and hot-tempered, and she's methodical and cool under pressure. Despite their differences, can they work together to bring the murderer to justice, or will the murderer get to them first?

A/N: Many thanks go to @ultraluckycatnd for her wonderful beta-ing skills and @onceuponaprincessworld as always for her encouragement and letting me bounce ideas off of her.

There was originally supposed to be more to this chapter but it ended up being really long so I split it up into two chapters. Hope you enjoy!

Rated: Explicit due to mature language, character death, violence, murder and smut. The scenes won’t be too graphic, but I’d rather overrate than underrate it.

Catch up: Pro I Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4

Also available on: AO3 I FF.N

Chapter 5

Emma surveys the crowded sanctuary, feeling out of the loop and out of place as she is escorted down the aisle by a young usher. It’s been so long since she’s seen family in this capacity, she feels like an outsider. Being distant is her modus operandi. And being a surgeon makes it far too easy for her to use work as an excuse, because then she doesn’t have to socialize or express her feelings or discuss uneasy topics, such as a social life she doesn’t have. Talking about Graham used to be her social lubricant. When she talked about him, it took the focus off her, which she usually prefers, because she hates being in the spotlight; she hates having to talk about herself. While she is always in the literal spotlight of the operating room, she’s able to tune out that fact by focusing on her patients and the procedures. One of the many perks of being a doctor is that her job is to focus on her patients, and she’s good at that. The hospital is her comfort zone because nothing she does there is about her—it’s about her patients; it’s about helping them get better.

But that feeling of uneasiness had crept up inside her the instant she had entered the church with her adoptive mother. Ingrid had insisted Emma ride with her to the church since Emma's house was on the way. She was reluctant at first because she knew she wouldn’t be able to escape the reception early this way. Or if she ended up getting called into the hospital, she’d have to ask someone to leave and take her. But she also knew she couldn’t say no because it might hurt her adoptive mother’s feelings.

After Ingrid assured Emma she could use her vehicle if she got called in and that she would be able to hitch a ride home from Elsa, Emma couldn’t really think of any other excuses that wouldn’t make her intentions transparent. Besides, riding to the wedding with Ingrid gave them the opportunity to catch up. But it also gave Ingrid the opportunity to ask Emma how she was doing since her colleague had passed. And suddenly, what was once a social lubricant became an encumberment. It made Emma sad and teary-eyed and not want to be around people. Suddenly, talking about herself didn’t seem so bad after all.

They found Anna in her dressing room, which was pervaded with many laughs, a few tears and a bride who had worked herself into a frenzy of emotions. Nevertheless, Anna and Elsa expressed their deepest condolences for Graham and made a fuss over her and how she is dealing with his death. It’s a painful topic, but knowing the attention aimed at her would be short-lived, given that it's Anna and Kristoff's wedding day, gave Emma a bit of comfort. She'd returned to the sanctuary without Ingrid since her adoptive mother will be the one giving Anna away. After Anna and Elsa’s parents died, Ingrid raised them by herself. The younger sister was only eight at the time and lived under Ingrid’s roof before leaving for college. So Anna saw fit to be given away by the woman who had been more like her mother and father for ten years, rather than her aunt.

As Emma nears the front row of the sanctuary, her smile falters when her eyes stumble upon him. That damn detective, David Nolan.

When their eyes connect, she suddenly wants to disappear into a cloud of smoke or run away.

What the hell is he doing here?

Oh right, he was Elsa's late husband's best friend and work partner. Thankfully, when he interviewed her about Graham’s murder, he had skipped the pleasantries and had plunged right into the questions. He had seemed to be all business, which she appreciated, she really did. In fact, he reminded her of... well, herself. Very polite, but at the same time asking unpleasant questions. He was only trying to do his job, even if that meant making others feel exposed. Like homicide cases, surgeries are sometimes a lengthy, unpleasant process, but they’re an essential part of the job. So she understands David’s persistence and his need to get down to the nitty-gritty. But to make her a suspect for murder is preposterous! No, they had never met before Graham's murder, but David knew her family, and for him to point his finger at her, for him to think she could collaborate with a murderer left an unsavory taste in her mouth. She supposes his job requires him to separate personal feelings from work-related agendas—her job requires the same—but still, what he has on her is flimsy and pretty damn pathetic.

Emma drops down in the front pew with a humph. Normally she'd be opposed to sitting in the front, but since Ingrid will be seated next to her after she walks Anna down the aisle, and since Emma's not forced to look at the back of David's head like she would be if she sat in the back, she’s glad to sit in front.

After Kristoff’s parents are seated on the groom’s side of the sanctuary, Kristoff, the groomsmen and the ushers make their way to the front. Next comes the bridesmaids. Emma looks over to see Elsa, the maid of honor, walking down the aisle in her plum-colored gown, holding a matching bouquet and a big smile, her long, silver-blonde hair French braided in the back. Elsa takes her place next to a bridesmaid as her daughter trails after her, scattering purple rose petals along the bridal path. Emma smiles at Camila, who’s brown curls bounce around her shoulders as she walks. Her miniature ball gown makes her look like a princess as she makes her way toward her mother. When she reaches her, Elsa kisses her daughter’s forehead and prompts her to sit by her Aunt Emma.

The bridal procession song begins, and everyone stands for the bride’s grand entrance as she’s escorted by Ingrid, who has a proud smile on her face. Anna proceeds down the aisle in an elegant, off the shoulder gown with a wide neckline as she flashes a big grin, showing off her pearly white teeth. She looks every bit the blushing bride.

Emma still feels guilty for not attending Elsa’s wedding, even though it was several years ago. Or Liam’s funeral, even though her husband died three years ago. Actually, his death made her feel even more guilty. And she wishes she would’ve known him more, but alas, she had strayed away from family gatherings. She’s a terrible cousin. She’s always had trouble connecting with people, probably because when she was a kid, she never stayed anywhere long enough to connect with anyone. That is until Ingrid adopted her.

It took Emma a long time to fully feel accepted by Ingrid—to know she wouldn’t be sent off to another foster home. But Ingrid was a very kind and caring mother to her. Even so, Emma failed to develop the social skills her cousins had, even when they moved in with her and Ingrid three years later. Elsa is a little shier than her sister but still less so than Emma. The sisters had done their best to include her in activities and outings, and even though Emma had a close bond with Ingrid, she always felt like an outsider of the group. And the gap between her and the sisters gradually widened over the years.

After the conclusion of the ceremony, the front row is dismissed, and as Emma and Ingrid head down the aisle, she sees David once again, those familiar unpleasant feelings returning. Being the polite gentleman he is, David nods courteously at her, but she only scowls in return.

“Everything okay, Emma?” Ingrid asks, sensing how tense she is. Probably from the way Emma's jaw twitches as she glares at the detective.

Emma nods. “Yeah, I just recognize Mr. Nolan as the detective assigned to the case of Graham's murder. He questioned me and my other colleagues who were at the Rabbit Hole that night.”

“Ah, I see. Well, he's a good man. He and Liam worked together at the SBPD.”

“Yeah, that's what I've heard.”

“Speaking of Liam, I wonder if his brother is here,” Ingrid says, scanning the pews for him.

Emma averts her eyes from David, trying to rid the negative thoughts of the detective and the case and that creep, Neal Gold. She had thought about calling the police after the phone call Neal made. But she couldn’t get over the fact that David actually thought she, Elsa and Anna’s cousin and a doctor for Christ’s sake, could possibly be capable of murder, even if he didn’t think she had been the one wielding the knife.

She knew she should've driven her own car in case she felt the need to escape. Hopefully, David won't stoop so low to question her at her cousin's wedding.

“Oh, there he is,” Ingrid says, pulling Emma from her thoughts.

She looks over to see who Ingrid is waving to. And she guesses the man whose eyes light up as he looks their way and shoots up his hand in the center of the back pew, is him.

Emma loses a breath as she catches a glimpse of him, then quickly looks ahead and keeps moving. Two words come to mind as she makes her way to Ingrid's car.

Fucking gorgeous.

If only she had her phone in her hand when she saw him, because pulling it out of her clutch purse and stopping to point her phone at him would've been too obvious. It would've been just as bad as snapping a photo of him without knowing the flash was on. Like when Elsa had snapped a photo of Liam the night they met. Emma wasn't there, but she's heard the story several times over the years to know she doesn’t want to be caught in that type of situation.

~*~

Killian thought she was lovely when he saw her on the video footage of the interrogation room with its dim, unpleasant lighting, but bloody hell, she's much more gorgeous in person. He had shown up to the ceremony as late as he could possibly get away with and sat in the back to avoid attracting too much attention from the people who knew him—at least until Emma and Ingrid had left and headed for the country club.

He could only see the back of her head during the ceremony, but he’d seen enough to know she’s wearing a short, royal blue mermaid style dress that’s sleeveless and shows off her soft curves and bronzed shoulders and arms. Her hair is parted to the left and swept loosely into a swirl bun embellished with a blue flower, and her skin looks tanned, a contrast to the pale, creamy complexion on the video; she must've used a tanning bed or sunbathed on the beach. But he couldn’t get a good enough look to figure out which tanning method she’d used.

He'd been jealous of the usher who had the pleasure of escorting her down the aisle—had the pleasure of being so close to her, the young lad could probably smell whatever perfume she was wearing. Then Killian had chastised himself for having those thoughts. Emma's a subject of an investigation, regardless of whether or not he thinks she did anything wrong, and he has to think of her as such. He's not allowed to be jealous of ushers or anyone else who comes in contact with her. He has to admit he was very pleased she didn’t show up to the wedding with a date though.

When he arrives at the country club, he parks his truck and grabs the gift he got for Anna and Kristoff. He carries it in with him and leaves it on the table draped with white cloth. He signs the guest book and sees Emma Swan and Ingrid Swan's names above his. He hadn't expected Emma to ride with her adoptive mother. At first he worried it would interfere with his plans, but actually, if he plays his cards right, Emma not having a car to escape early in and unexpectedly might be to his advantage.

Killian sits with the Nolans, just as he would if he weren't helping David with the case. They don't dare breathe a word about work; they share some laughs and after the bridal party makes their entrance, the tables are dismissed one by one and Killian helps his nephews fill their plates with food from the buffet. He tries not to stare at Emma, but he can't help himself. Every now and then he steals a peek as she sits at a table across the room, conversing with Ingrid and other guests. She’s not facing him, but he has an excellent view of her toned, sexy legs, one crossed over the other.

The normal traditions are carried out through the reception—the speeches and toasts, the bride and groom’s first dance as husband and wife and the cake cutting, where Anna and Kristoff smash a piece in each other's face. While Killian chuckles along with the audience, he takes a sip of his water, nonchalantly glancing over at Emma once more. He can’t hear her laughing, but he can see her showing off those pearly white teeth, her cheeks swollen as she watches the scene unfold at the three-tiered cake.

After Emma finishes a slice, she grabs her glass of clear liquid and makes her way through the room, chatting with people he doesn't recognize, and that's when he decides to make his move.

He drains the rest of his water in one gulp before setting down his glass and rising from the empty table.

David had brought the boys each a slice of cake to keep them occupied while Killian planned his escape. And it worked like a charm. It didn't take long for Liam's hands to get covered in cake and frosting so Mary Margaret took him and his brother to the ladies' room to clean up. David is now off chatting with Anna, Kristoff and Elsa, keeping them distracted while Killian makes his way across the room. He sticks to the fringes of the crowd on the side opposite of the head table, lest someone from the bridal party wave him over, call out for him or approach him.

Killian hears the tail end of a conversation Emma is having with a couple before she backs away from them. He casually darts into her path as she's turning around and they crash into each other, her drink splashing over the front of her dress.

“Bloody hell, lass, I'm so sorry.”

She peers down at herself assessing the damage. When she looks up at him, at first she is stunned, as though he'd literally knocked the wind out of her. He’s pretty certain he has the same awestruck expression on his face because she’s even more beautiful up close. Her emerald green eyes sparkle under dark, elongated lashes that are framed by black eyeliner, and her lips are coated with shiny, rose pink lip gloss. And she smells incredible, like floral, citrus and cinnamon; all of his senses are tingling from her scent.

The only difference between their reactions is she recovers quickly and he can’t quite seem to.

“You got me all wet,” she mutters, her lovely facial features forming a scowl.

Killian flashes his flirtiest grin. “If I had a penny for every time a woman has said that to me…”

Just when he thought she couldn't glare at him any harder, she does. She glares at him so hard, he thinks she might burn a hole through his head.

“Here, let me get you another drink,” he says, taking the glass from her hand. When his fingers brush hers, his breath snags in his throat.

After recovering from that and the way his heart skips a beat, he raises his hand to signal a waitress who gives Emma a napkin and takes the glass away.

“What were you drinking, love?”

“Ice water, thank God,” she grumbles. “This dress is brand new.”

As she scrubs at the wet spot on her dress, he can’t help but notice the pale tan lines on her skin in the shape of a bikini top. The kind that ties around the back of the neck. And her tan looks too perfect and even to have been caused by the limited angle of the sun. He had envisioned Emma in only a bikini bottom while laying in a tanning bed, but he has to admit, the tan lines look pretty damn good on her. Now he’s wondering what the rest of her looks like.

Stop thinking of her like that, you wanker! he chides himself.

He clears his throat… and his thoughts. “Would you like something else, love?”

When she looks up again, she's still glaring at him. “No, just water. And I’m not your love.”

Killian arches a brow. “There's an open bar and a devilishly handsome gentleman offering to buy you a drink and that's what you choose?”

He's expecting her to laugh or even crack a smile like most women do when he comments on his own looks, but instead, she rolls her eyes. “I'm on call tonight. I don't even have a champagne toast when I'm on call.”

“A tall glass of water on the rocks it is then.” He'd been drinking water too, but for different reasons.

They walk to the bar together and he orders ice water for her and a rum for himself. As the bartender pours their drinks, Killian turns toward Emma, leaning an elbow on the bar counter. “So you're on call? What kind of work do you do?”

“I'm a doctor,” she answers simply as she crosses her arms and looks away like she's searching for the exit doors.

“Really? What kind of doctor?”

She reverts her gaze to his. “Medical.”

Killian shakes his head and snaps his fingers, disappointment clouding his features. “That's just my rotten luck.”

She arches a brow. “Oh? And why's that?”

“Because I'm as healthy as a horse.”

Killian can actually see the walls erecting around her like a fortress guarding a territory in warfare. He scratches behind his ear, thinking this might be more difficult than he thought. He only met her a couple of minutes ago but he can already tell she's a tough nut to crack. Which is fine. He loves a challenge.

When the bartender slides their drinks toward him, he grabs both glasses and hands Emma her water.

“Thanks.” She takes the proffered drink with a slight smile and he clinks his glass against hers.

“My pleasure,” he flashes a cheeky grin and imbibes his rum.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” As she brings the glass to her lips to take a sip, she turns and walks away so other guests can get to the bar.

He pretends not to recognize a brush-off when he receives one; he tries not to let it sting, but it kind of does. He quickly shakes it off and falls into step beside her. “Do you specialize?”

She sighs, most likely realizing she won't be able to get rid of him so easily. “I'm a general surgeon.”

He throws on his most charming smile. “Well, I have to say, I haven’t met a lot of surgeons—like I said, healthy as a horse—but you are the prettiest surgeon I’ve ever seen. In fact, I’m surprised the bride hasn’t kicked you out by now.”

She looks offended. “Kick me out? For what?”

“For being prettier than her.”

Emma’s cheeks turn as red as a tomato. And is that a hint of a smile he can detect? No, it can’t be. “You’re the cockiest, most self-assured man I’ve ever met. And believe me, I’ve met some doozies.” Oh, her smile is authentic all right.

He shrugs in disagreement. “I prefer dashing rapscallion.” He sticks out his hand. “Killian Jones. I’m the maid of honor’s—”

“Brother-in-law. I know.” She stares at his extended hand, leaving it hanging in the air, and he doubts she’ll shake it… until she finally does, clasping it firmly. Her skin is cold from the drink she was gripping tightly with both hands, but her skin is soft and he doesn’t want to let her hand go. But she releases his grip after a few seconds, leaving the ghost of her touch on his palm.

He steps into her space, his eyes scrolling down her body and up again before locking eyes with hers and tilting his head to the side, his voice low and husky as he speaks. “So you know who I am, and here you haven’t even told me your name, love.”

She scowls. “I told you not to call me that.”

“My apologies,” he says sincerely. “What should I call you, then?”

“Emma.”

His eyes light up with recognition, even though he already knows who she is. She doesn’t know that though. “Emma Swan?”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “That’s correct. So, you’ve heard of me, too?”

He nods. “You’re Anna and Elsa’s cousin.”

She lifts her brows, prompting him to expand.

“Your name has come up once or twice in conversation.”

“Really, and what have you heard?”

“Nothing much, only that we’ve almost met about a handful of times.”

Emma nods, biting her bottom lip, which he finds extremely adorable. “It’s one of the downfalls of being a surgeon. My profession makes it hard to have a social life.”

His eyes light up and a big smile lights up his face, though he doubts not having a social life is something she’s bitter about. There is a reason her cousins have referred to her as distant and aloof more than once. “So you’re saying missing out on the opportunity to meet me is a downfall?”

She shakes her head. “Actually no, I was just being polite. I’m kind of anti-social. But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

He nods, trying to hide the disappointment he feels after her blunt admission. “You’re right, I did. You’re quite perceptive,” he remarks before slugging down the last of his rum.

She shrugs. “I’m a doctor. I have to be able to sense when a patient isn't telling me something I should know before I go cutting them open.”

He nods in understanding, and they’re both silent as she looks around the room and slowly nurses her drink. After a moment, her eyes return to his, a solemn expression on her face.

“I’m sorry about your brother by the way. I didn’t know him well but I know he was a good man to Elsa.”

His features cloud with sadness, eyes darkening at the mention of Liam. “Thank you. He was a very good man.”

Emma suddenly narrows her eyes at him. “Aren’t you a detective like him?”

Killian nods and scratches behind his ear. “I was, but not anymore.” He hates lying to her, but he has to. At least for now. “After he died, I moved to Port Lavaca and got a job as a dockhand.”

She lifts a brow, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You went from being a detective to making ten dollars an hour scrubbing fish guts off of boats?”

"It's twelve dollars an hour, and I do more than clean boats," he corrects defensively.

She scoffs. "Oh sorry, I didn't mean to belittle a job a ten-year-old kid could do."

He frowns. “The pay may not be great but I get to live on the beach and inhale the salty sea air all day. It’s not a bad tradeoff, actually. Besides, if you think about it, cleaning up fish crap is not much different from the crap I cleaned up by working for the SBPD.”

She shrugs, unconvinced. “If you say so.” She takes another sip from her ice water, staring vacantly across the room as the dance floor fills up.

“Would you care to dance?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t dance.”

He nods, accepting another one of her brush-offs as his eyes circle the reception hall in search of his niece. “That’s okay, I’m sure my date will dance with me.”

When she whirls her head around to look at him and cock a brow, he can’t help but notice how much her face clouds with disappointment. “You came here with a date?”

“Is that so hard to believe, love?” He also doesn’t fail to notice she doesn’t correct her pet name this time.

“No, I’m sure there’s some poor woman out there either naive or desperate enough to fall for your charm.”

Killian brings his hand to his chest like he’d just been wounded. “Ouch, that hurts.” He spots his niece dancing with the bride and sets his glass on a vacant table. “I assure you, she is as smart as a whip. In fact, she’s probably smarter than anyone else her age.” He waves at Camila, getting her attention, and she happily rushes to him through the crowd. With a sidelong glance, he witnesses Emma’s eyes following his gaze to see who his date is.

She laughs upon realizing he was referring to Camila.

And it’s the first time he’s heard her laugh. Even though a crowd-pleasing song is pouring from the speakers, Emma’s laugh is music to his ears.

“Your niece is your date?”

“Aye.”

“Uncle Killy! Auntie Emma!” Camila chants, rushing over to them.

He extends his hand to her. “Would you care to dance, little love?”

She grins and nods, slipping her hand in his. He escorts her to the dancefloor, and she steps on each of his feet and takes her uncle’s offered hands as they move to the music.

As he dances with Camila, he does his best to avoid glancing over at Emma—he genuinely wants to spend time with his niece—but every now and then, his eyes make their way across the room.

~*~

Emma returns to the bar for a refill and plops down on a stool with a heavy sigh, her feet killing her from wearing these damn high heels. She really wishes she could drink alcohol right now because then she wouldn’t feel so nervous. She orders another water, and the bartender takes away her empty glass, giving her a fresh one. Her stomach is full of butterflies as she nurses her water and gazes over at Killian on the dance floor with Camila.

Emma doesn't know much about him, but she has learned a few things. One, his British accent does things to her when he speaks, and two, he’s much more handsome up close. She also knows he’s cocky and kind of obnoxious. Oh, and he’s ridiculously adorable with his five-year-old niece. If this weren’t her cousin's wedding and if she had her own vehicle, she would escape. Because he’s exactly the type of guy she tries to avoid at all costs—good looking and well aware of the effect he has on women. But there's also something very genuine about him. He’s honest and not afraid to say what he thinks. She appreciates that more than she’s afraid to admit.

After they had bumped into each other, she'd been apprehensive to talk to him because she'd seen him sitting with David and she knew through the grapevine he was a detective like Liam. She was afraid he was going to interrogate her about Graham's murder. But her guard lowered when he told her was no longer working for the SBPD and moved to Port Lavaca after his brother died. She knew he was telling the truth because she'd also heard through the grapevine he moved.

She sighs and averts her gaze from the dance floor and the ridiculously handsome man to take a sip of her drink. She thinks about throwing caution to the wind, carpe diem as they say, and going over to dance with him. But the thing is, she doesn't know how to dance.

Before she can ponder the thought any further, she sees out of the corner of her eye a figure claiming the stool next to her. She can feel their stare burning into her skin, and that overwhelming sense of paranoia that’s been eating away at her insides ever since the phone call from Gold takes over and she glances over to see who is sitting next to her. She exhales a deep breath of relief when she recognizes the man she thinks is one of Kristoff’s friends as he looks away from her to order a drink from the bartender.

Emma rests her elbows on the counter and buries her face in her hands, berating herself for being so paranoid. She keeps expecting Gold to show up at every turn; she keeps expecting to hear his voice on the other end of the line when she answers the phone, regardless of the number on her caller id, or lack thereof. She’s even afraid of being alone in her own freaking house!

She really needs to get a grip and stop letting that creep get to her, but at the same time she has good reason for being scared. In medical school, she had studied enough required psychology to know Gold is the most dangerous kind of criminal. He believes himself invincible and therefore will dare to do anything.

Emma lifts her head and looks over to catch the man next to her giving her a once over, his lips stretching into a coy grin. “Hi there. You’re Anna's cousin, right?”

Emma has to refrain from rolling her eyes as she steers her gaze away from him. “That’s right,” she mumbles, running a finger around the rim of her glass.

“I’m Hans.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him extending his hand to her. She doesn’t move to shake it though.

“And you are?”

She turns her head, flashing him a fake smile. “Not interested.”

He chuckles as the bartender hands him his drink. “That’s an interesting name, Not Interested. You from around here?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Hmmm, okay,” he says as he takes a swig of his drink.

At least he knows how to take a hint. She sighs in relief and continues sipping her water in silence.

“Well, Not Interested, I’m from out of town. I’m staying in a hotel room around the corner from here. If you get a little too tipsy from your drink, you’re more than welcome to crash in my room for the night.”

Emma clenches her jaw and is two seconds away from getting up from her seat and either giving him a piece of her mind or throwing her drink in his face. Just as she shifts to rise from her stool, a hand on her back makes her jump out of her skin and when she spins her head around to see whose hand she has to cut off, she loses her train of thought. And her breath.

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Killian leans in to kiss her cheek, and her breath catches when she feels those warm, luscious lips on her skin. “I should have known you’d be at the bar,” he chuckles playfully and glances at Hans while his thumb is idly stroking her back. “I can’t take her anywhere.” His spicy cologne hits her senses intensely, crippling her from head to toe when he reaches over her, extending his other hand to the stranger. “Killian Jones, Emma’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”

Tagging some people who have shown interest so far. If you would like to be tagged or untagged, please let me know.

@itsfabianadocarmo @snowbellewells @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms @teamhook @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @xsajx @julesep3026 @hookedmom @biefaless @cluttermind @yasbio2015 @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @harshini01 @noensnaringnet @xarandomdreamx @onceuponaprincessworld @annastasiarinaldiva @royalswan @brustudyblog @officerrogers @gingerchangeling @melly326 @singersdd @mzbossyboots @unworried-corsair @iamemmaswanjones @authorarsinoe @kingofmyheart14 @nightskylover @jamif @resident-of-storybrooke @iam2307 @winterbaby89 @chinawoodfan @mormonkryptonite @ultraluckycatnd @captainswan-shipper88 @killianswanjones @bethdacattfm @andiirivera

#cs ff #captain swan #beyond a reasonable doubt #my fic

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omniswords · 5 years ago

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Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 4

here’s the next installment! hope you enjoy. thanks in advance for the likes and reblogs <33333

[Read Chronicles on AO3!]

so i’ve been working on a new song recently. watch this space for a clip.

i think.

Well, he meant it when he said he wanted to play a song that matched her eyes. Marinette’s eyes. He’s just lucky he can find so much inspiration in color.

It’s just that every time he sits down with his guitar or his music notebook, it feels like no note or chord can do that color justice. It’s been like this since the day the met, after band practice dispersed and he holed himself up in his room with his guitar. It’s not that no music comes to him; no, he can pick up on that easily. He’s been playing people’s hearts by ear for as long as he can remember. It’s just that no matter what he tries to play or scribble down, no matter how much he tries meditating to clear his mind, it doesn’t sound perfect. Even if he tries to match the tempo to that spark he saw and the sweetness of her voice, even if he tries to make the music swell for the richness of the color, none of the melodies sound like just that right shade of blue. The unreachable kind.

Maybe that’s the point.

Even if it is, he doesn’t want to stop trying. Her eyes are worth the effort.

In fact, Juleka’s the one who finds him lying flat on his back in bed, still holding his guitar as he stares up at the ceiling, playing out every blue song he knows because even that’s better than trying to make it up in the silence. “Wow,” is all she says. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What?” he mumbles, half-wanting to say Sunday? instead. “The day I’d have it this bad for a girl?”

“The day you’d actually find music hard,” she says. “But that, too. Usually I’m the one who’s supposed to be this bad.”

Never mind that Juleka and Rose have been dating for years, and practically inseparable for even longer. Luka puts his guitar aside, grabs his pillow, and promptly groans into it.

“You know,” Juleka says; he can feel her looming over him, just like she did when they were both still teenagers and she wanted her turn on their shared handheld console at the asscrack of dawn. “I think you’re the one who needs the pick-me-up this time.”

Under the pillow, Luka rolls his eyes. “I’ve spent enough money there this week, trust me.”

“What’s this?” she teases. “You’re passing up the chance to meet eyes with Cute Bakery Girl?”

God, he forgot she followed him online. Why wasn’t there a way to edit posts so that your sister, who apparently only ever graced you with her snark, couldn’t see them?

When he pulls the pillow away, Juleka is smiling, toying with the ends of her hair. “Get out of here,” she says with a nudge. “You’ll feel better if you walk away from it for a little bit.”

She’s right, but he doesn’t say so out loud. “Is that code for, ‘The sooner you feel better, the sooner you can help me re-dye my hair?’”

Juleka snorts. “It might be.”

The first time he ever went to Tom and Sabine’s… it had to be months ago. Back when he’d found Juleka at her desk, crying and stressing over some exam or assignment and PMS-ing all at once, all during her first year in university… God, it was terrible, seeing her go through that. Not as bad as actually going through it—he’d probably never know what any of that felt like. She’d broken at just the first touch of his hand on her shoulder, broken when he hugged her through it and murmured that it was all going to be okay, and here he was, doing the quickest search he could manage of nearby pastry shops that sold pear tarts. The best ones.

Juleka always did deserve the best; that went without question.

Tom and Sabine’s was the first result to show up. Stellar reviews—nothing below four stars. It was the obvious choice; he didn’t need to look anywhere else. He biked the whole way there, and the instant he walked in and removed his helmet, he was all but walloped with the smell of freshly-baked bread, the classical music wafting through the shop, the display cases of sweets—and then the kind lady at the register, waiting for him to approach. She’d packed the tart with such care and affection as soon as he’d told her who it was for and why, and he felt it. All the she felt for every creation in this space. All the love for every person who had the honor of tasting them.

He didn’t need to go anywhere else after that. They spoke his language, in food instead of music, so they had his patronage on lock.

And now they extra had it on lock—he’d admit it to himself and a few hundred sort-of strangers, at least—because of Marinette. Whose wit isn’t exactly firecracker, but is still warm and quick enough to keep him on his toes. Who seems to know how to hold her own and look like she wants adventure in the great wide somewhere all at once. Who read his note, and smiled, and might not have thrown it away. Who just might have let him in.

Who, of course, is working the register today. (Seriously, he knows the bakery is open every day, but does Mr. Dupain really not give her any days off?)

And who, of course, is watching him with those sparkling, unreachable blue eyes as soon as the door opens. “We really have to stop meeting like this,” she comments, the threat of a smile at the corner of her mouth and a faint lilt in her voice. The kind that tells him she probably watches a lot of sitcoms in her spare time, because you don’t pick up that kind of teasing wit from nowhere. “At this rate, you’re gonna be seeing the dentist as often as you see this place.”

Luka balks a little, but tries not to show it. “I mean,” he says, jerking a thumb behind him, trying to make a joke of it all. “I can go…”

“Don’t.” Marinette says the word like she means to spit it out—like she regrets her own joke, even—then pauses as if to assess herself. “Sorry,” she sighs. “It’s been a long week. What can I get for you today?”

She looks… apologetic. It’s actually kind of sweet.

“Hey,” he says; it comes out more gently than he meant it to, but it certainly doesn’t seem to do any harm. “Don’t worry about it, really. Can I just get an eclair to go?”

Marinette nods, seemingly unconvinced, and sets to work. It’s while she’s reaching into one of the display cases that Mr. Dupain’s voice comes seeping under the door to the back room. “Marinette! Are you out there?”

“Coming, Papa,” she says without so much as looking up, her voice all too musical as she lays the eclair in the box—

Wait.

Papa?

He must be staring, because when she looks up, the first thing she says is, “What are you looking at?”

“You…” Luka clears his throat. “You’re Mr. Dupain’s daughter?”

Marinette’s brow furrows. She doesn’t look upset, simply confused—as though the answer should have been obvious to him. “Um… yes?”

“Oh. Well.” He pauses. “Huh.”

What is he doing? What the hell kind of reaction is that?

“I mean, I get it,” she says. “I look more like my mom than my dad, but…” She shrugs, smiles faintly. “At least I’ve got his eyes.”

This time, when Luka stares, it’s intentional. Over the music, he’s putting the pieces of her parents together—her father’s eyes, her mother’s hair, all of their joy in the smiles he’s seen. The more he looks, the more she looks like them, and the more he wonders if he’s trying to traces something in him, too. There’s… something in her that looks like she might know him, but he can’t possibly place where.

From the back room, Mr. Dupain—Marinette’s father—calls her again, and she jolts to attention again, makes for the door. Just before she opens it, she gives him one last meaningful look. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she says, “at your service.”

“At least until Mrs.—until your mom gets back,” Luka says. “Right?”

Something hopeful flickers in her eyes, or maybe he’s just hoping that it’s hopeful, before she disappears behind the door, and Luka strolls on out with her name buzzing behind his teeth. Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Something about it sounds so friendly. Something about it sounds so… familiar.

He’s about five steps around the corner when he realizes, among all the repetition and trying to place just who she inherited those gorgeous eyelashes from, that he left the eclair on the counter.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng isn’t laughing when he comes dragging his feet back into the bakery, but those blue, blue eyes are. “Forgetting something?” she asks, nodding to the lone beige box on the counter.

Luka wonders if his are laughing, too. He hopes they are. He gives a two-fingered salute, and this time, just before he opens the door, she’s the one to call to him.

“Thanks,” she says. “For the note.”

There’s a scream that wants to rip its way out of his chest and explode with excitement and relief, and he channels every bit of it into how tightly he squeezes the doorknob. There’s something else that wants to turn him back to her, to get one last look at those blue, blue eyes, but he doesn’t let himself. If he does, he’ll never leave, and then he’ll never hear the end of it when he gets back home. “Anything to make somebody’s day a little brighter,” he finally says.

Which isn’t entirely wrong. It’s just that instead of somebody’s, he wants to say, yours.

(He wanted to get away with it. Saying her name one more time.)

plot twist of all plot twists: Cute Bakery Girl is Wholesome Bakery Couple’s literal daughter.

they have an entire daughter.

and she’s cute as fuck

and i’m so dead

and p.s., i think she’s been giving me macarons for free.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass

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buckybabybaby · 5 years ago

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Mr Hollywood (Epilogue Part IV)

Final Part!

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 2085

Chapter summary: Do you hear wedding bells?

A/n: The final, final, part, I promise!

(If the picture is all blurry, opening it in a new tab in browser helps!)

Warnings: Just fluff. But if you really don't like the idea of getting married, this is not for you.

Previous: Epilogue Part III

Mr Hollywood Masterlist | Main Masterlist

*****

“Bucky? What is up with you tonight?”

“What d'ya mean?”

“You keep fidgeting.”

“Sorry.”

He shifts beside you again before stilling, and you settle back against him to continue watching the movie, cuddling into his warmth, a small smile on your face as he pulls you closer.

It's been so nice having him home for the past few months.

After filming on his début show wrapped following it's forth season, he was inundated with offers of work, and he'd flown back especially to announce his new role was in a British series, filmed mostly on location only a few miles down the road. You had tried to protest, not wanting him to sacrifice his career for you, but when he'd explained it really was the best move, in every sense, you'd been thrilled.

Now, you can't imagine not spending your free time with him.

The weekends are just like they used to be, at the diner, or picnics by the river, sometimes lunch at the local garden centre as you buy yet another packet of seeds, what is different however are the crowds Bucky draws. The public are now aware of the nature of your relationship with him, and whilst he tries to be inconspicuous the two of you together are far too recognisable.

At first he hadn't been keen to subject you to the attention, and the potential backlash, but the number of times he had been wrongly linked to yet another actor was growing out of control, and he felt he had to do something to quash all the rumours.

“I never want you to doubt what we have,” Bucky had said when he told you his plan.

In order to cause as little fuss as possible, one afternoon in the winter just after you got together, he'd posted a picture of you and him at the Hollywood sign, with a simple caption, 'my world'. He had warned you beforehand that not everyone on the internet would be positive, especially when they learnt he's not 'available', but you knew it was for the best.

The general reaction wasn't nearly as bad as you feared. Isabella and her little friends belief that you and Bucky would one day be married appears to have been commonly held within the school, as when you went in on the Monday after his big declaration no one batted an eye. They clearly either thought you two were already together, or were not in the least surprised that it had finally happened, and aside from Edwin's spontaneous hug in congratulations, which caught you off guard in the nicest way, the day passed as any other would.

Even when the press turned up at the front gate, desperate to get a picture of the one who'd stolen the heart of Hollywood's favourite darling. Peggy 'no nonsense' Carter saw to them, and armed with laws and regulations around the sharing of photographs of children, before the morning break they'd been scared away. She also accompanied you home that evening to ensure there weren't any lingering around, wanting to make sure your home was still a safe space, somewhere to escape back to when everything became too much.

Eventually it all died down, and Bucky looks so much happier now he can talk openly about you in interviews, not having to dodge around the subject. Will you ever get used to seeing your name on celebrity gossip sites? Probably not, but it's just part of the crazy roller-coaster that is life with Bucky, and no matter how nasty the journalists can get you know it's all worth it.

By his side you can get through anything.

Back in the present he squirms next to you again, knocking into you as he adjusts his position.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” Looking over at you, he smiles tightly. “Well, maybe. I'm not sure yet.”

Frowning, you pause the movie to give him your full attention. “Anything I can do?”

“Whether everything is okay kinda depends on you,” He says quietly.

Tilting your head as you watch the way he wipes his palms down his thighs, you wonder what's got him so worked up. Now you're thinking about it, you realise he hasn't relaxed properly all evening, despite showering and changing into his pyjamas, he's been paying more attention to tending the fire than enjoying the film. Sitting up, you gently remove his arm from around you so you can rise from your slouched position and get a proper look at his face. It's almost the same look of mild terror he wore four years ago in New York's Central Park, when you had both tripped your way through declarations of love, just before your very first kiss.

It clicks. There's only one reason he'd look like that now.

“Bucky, I know what this is.”

He blinks up at you. “Oh yeah?” He asks, voice high.

“Yes, and you don't need to be so nervous. We've talked about this.”

“I still want...” He trails off, his gaze slipping to the dying embers in the fireplace.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm.”

“I love you, you know?”

His face softens at your declaration. “Yeah. I do.”

“And you know there's no proper way to do this, no perfect way, and no way to mess it up either.

“I know. I just want it to be special for you. Please let me try at least.”

“All right.” You sit back in your seat, buzzing with anticipation as he collect his thoughts. Licking his lips, he takes a shaky breath, looking back across at you as he begins to speak.

“Y/N. My love. My best friend. These four years have been everything I've ever wanted, and even before then, your friendship completely changed me, for the better I hope. Thank you for always keeping my feet on the ground.”

“You're the sole reason I'm where I am today, and without you I'd be lost. I knew you were someone special from the moment we first met, outside the school gates. Do you remember?

“'Course. Mrs Jenkins hasn't been able to look me in the eye since.”

He laughs brightly. “Well, you were very quick to shut her down when she asked if I even had the right qualifications to teach.”

“I wasn't too snappy, was I?”

“Nah. My Y/N? Never.” His manner turns serious again, sitting up straight and maintaining eye contact. “I want to thank you Y/N. Thank you believing in me when I didn't. Thank you for giving me the confidence to keep going. And thank you for always being there, for forgiving me despite giving you every reason not to. I couldn't live in this world without you.”

“I couldn't live without you either Bucky,” You croak, your emotions getting the better of you. Reaching across to squeeze your thigh, he waits for your gazes to meet again before continuing. “Which brings me to a very important question.”

You nod encouragingly, grinning through the gathering tears.

“I'm gonna do this bit properly, so,” He slides off the sofa, kneeling before you and taking hold of your left hand, his own eyes watering as he peers up at you. “Y/N Y/L/N, light of my life, most beautiful person I've ever met, will you do me the honour of marry-”

“Yes!”

“-ing me?” He finishes, even as you're pulling him up to kiss clumsily. Knocked off balance by your enthusiasm, he ends up crushing you into the cushions, his body relaxing against yours when you refuse to let go.

Bucky always kisses you like he doesn't know when he'll next get a chance, and this time is no different. Tongues find each other as you hook one of your legs over his hips, the taste of salt from both of your tears only making the moment sweeter as you gasp into each others mouths, fingers lacing above your head as you try to get as close as possible.

Breaking away at length to breathe, you sigh contentedly, running your fingers through Bucky's hair as he traces his own along your sides.

“Didn't ever imagine you'd propose to me in your pyjamas,” You murmur after a minute or two.

“Sorry! If you want-”

“Bucky, shush. I'm teasing. This is perfect.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles. “I'm sorry I haven't got a ring either.”

“That's all right too. With my job I wouldn't wear it often anyway.”

“But I will get you one. Gotta do it properly, every little detail.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

To prevent him from promising anything more extravagant, you lean up to touch your lips to his, softer now the initial elation has dimmed slightly into comfortable bliss. His body is still trembling with the pent up nerves, making your heart skip, so in love with this man you could explode.

“Was it really that scary for you to ask me to marry you?”

“Yes,” He laughs, resting his head against your neck.

“Golden Globe winning Bucky Barnes was scared to ask little ol' primary school teacher Y/N to marry him?”

“Technically, it was James Barnes who won the Golden Globe. Bucky is just your boyfriend-”

“Fiancé.”

“-Fiancé, who still can't believe he's got this lucky, so yes, I was scared.”

“You knew what I was going to say, though?”

“It wasn't so much your answer I was scared of, just making sure I got it right for you.”

Melting under him at his words, you let him trail his lips down your throat as your mind wanders to the big day.

“Oh!”

“What?” Bucky asks, not lifting his head off your shoulder.

“I was just thinking about how many flower girls and boys we're going to have to have. Amelia and Benjamin, obviously. Edwin and Ana's children, even Spencer, he's old enough isn't he? Or he will be by the time it happens. Isabella is almost too old now she's twelve, nearly a teenager.”

He chuckles at your rambling. “You know she'll still want to be one. It's all she ever asks me about when you're not in the room.”

“Really?”

“All the time.”

“Can't let her down then. And what about your best man? Dayton or Sam?”

“Err.” Bucky pauses his kisses to contemplate his answer. “Now you're asking.”

“Which one will have the most embarrassing stories? Pick them.”

“In that case then, neither.”

“Would it really be that bad?” You giggle, squishing his cheeks between your hands. “I know everything already.”

“True. But does your mum need to? Or mine for that matter? I wasn't exactly an angel during college. Or at any wrap party, ever.” He winks at you when you stick your tongue out in mock disgust. “Don't act so innocent Y/N. We both know what happened in that bathroom at the NTA's.”

Releasing his face, you look away as your own heats up. “Dunno what you're talking about.”

Bucky hums, grinning cheekily. “No? I'm sure Sam remembers what he walked in on.”

You slap his chest lightly. “Don't make it sound so filthy! Nobody was naked, nothing explicit was going to happen. I was just happy for you.”

“Very happy, I'd say.”

Rolling your eyes as he snickers into your hair, you shuffle into the corner of the sofa to allow him to lay beside you, foreheads touching as you breathe each other in.

“We're engaged Bucky,” You whisper gleefully, linking your hands together and pulling them to rest over your heart. “Lucky you. Must feel like winning an Oscar, getting to marry me,” You joke, smiling so wide it hurts.

“Better.” Bucky says it so matter of factly, with such a straight face, that your breath catches.

“Remember to talk about me in your acceptance speech when you do win one, then.”

“If I win one.”

“When, Bucky. When you win. And I'll be right there by your side so you won't forget who to thank first.”

“Okay, if you say so. When I win I promise to mention how being your husband is better than any academy award, in front of millions of viewers and a roomful of fellow professionals. Should pick up a few 'ideal partner' points if nothing else.”

He beams at you as your body shakes with laughter, knowing that he is ridiculous enough to keep that promise.

“Seriously though Y/N.” His lips brush yours once, twice, three more times before he pulls back enough so you can see just how much he means it. “Being with you is like winning an Oscar every day.”

*****

A/n 2: This really is the end now, however much I'll miss them. But I can't just keep dragging it on, mainly because I've run out of ideas! I couldn't write their wedding for so many reasons, one, I couldn't keep it gender neutral as easily, and two, I just wouldn't know where to start! So just imagine it yourself. Sam is definitely gonna be there, along with Bucky and Y/N's entire families, Peggy of course, Edwin, Ana and their children, a guest list and a half, definitely a day to remember! But not something I could write, so this is the natural end of their tale... :(

So here is my 3rd (probably?) thank you note! It's the middle of February now and I posted the first chapter of this fic in the middle of June last year, a whole eight months ago, so if you've been here from the beginning just know I love you and thank you so much for sticking with me. This hasn't been the most consistently updated story but we've got there in the end! And it you've commented at any point, please know I treasure every single word. I write for myself, the story I want to read, with the sort of characters I would like to have in my life, so if anyone else enjoys it too then that it just a bonus!

I have another idea for a slow burn series, and hopefully it won't be too long until I post that. More Bucky x reader, of course ;) so if you've liked this, maybe you'll like that too! Stick around, basically!

Once again, thank you so much for reading! xoxo

Main Masterlist

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #buckybabybaby #Mr Hollywood

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thecleverdame · 6 years ago

Text

Control and Release - 12

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, dub-con, nipple clamps, breath play (more warnings as the story continues)

Words: 5k

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Parts 13, 14 & 15 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

You spend the weekend naked and fucking in nearly every room of his house. Sucking his cock in the middle of the kitchen, laid out over his sofa on display while he reads the paper, spanked until your ass is bright red. By Sunday night you’re tied to his bed frame and looking forward to the work week so you can get a few nights of well-deserved rest. It’s almost midnight when he sends you home, patting your cheek in appreciation then standing in his doorway, watching as you walk toward the waiting car.

There are faint black and blue marks around your wrists, leftover reminders of being bound and gagged. You look out the window, pressing on one wrist and enjoying the fading pain as the moment comes back in vivid detail. Sam can make your body respond, even when he’s not there.

There a question flickering to life in the back of your mind - how long can this last? But you push it down, refusing to acknowledge it.

Five Months Later

“What is going on down there?” Rolling your chair back, you glance down the hallway.

“Brent is getting axed.” Millie wheels her chair toward you, and the two of you sit side by side listening to the commotion down the hallway. There’s muted yelling coming from one of the conference rooms.

“Really?” You know he screwed up, it was bad enough for Sam to bring up in casual conversation. “I liked Brent, he wasn’t a total ass like the rest of them.”

“That’s probably why he didn’t last,” Lexi chimes in, walking up behind you, resting her hip on the corner of your desk. “I heard he got called up to the attic this morning. Word is, he told Sam that it wasn’t even him that mixed up the dates, it was Tobias but they blamed him.”

“You think that’s true?” you ask, listening as the yelling escalates and two uniformed security guards come trotting down the hallway.

“I don’t think Sam Winchester does anything unless he’s one hundred percent sure about it.” Millie offers and you shift in your seat.

While your arrangement with Sam has grown into itself, it still makes you uncomfortable when anyone else talks about him. It feels like they’re going to find out your secret just by the look on your face.

Life has been split into two categories. The normal work week, which is usually boring and predictable - you go to work, go home. You get the occasional text from Keith Campbell, a little homework every now and then but for the most part your professional life has turned into just that, strictly professional.

It’s the weekends that you indulge in each other. From Friday afternoon until Sunday night you live in a sexual fantasy, engaging in whatever wonderful torture he decides to inflict. He was the one who talked of compartmentalizing his life but you’ve done the same.

Bang.

The door to the conference room flies open, hitting the wall with a thud. All three of you jump. Brent is hauled out of the room by the guards, who are now joined by four more, as they wrestle him out of the building.

“Poor guy,” you mumble, looking away.

“Another one bites the dust.” Millie shakes her head. “We’ve got it good. We stay under the radar and just do our job.”

“We should head over to the auditorium.” Lexi taps the back of your chair.

It’s Sam’s monthly employee meeting and everyone is expected to be in attendance. Grabbing your coat, the three of you head out of the main building to the staff auditorium. There are always refreshments and snacks if you get there in enough time and you wander around, talking to other employees and sipping seltzer.

You’re discussing Lexi’s upcoming blind date when there’s a tap on your shoulder. Turning, you find Pepper, looking as irritated as always. “He wants to see you. Now.”

Sam hasn’t called for you in person, during work hours, in months. You’re taken off guard, looking sideways at Millie and Lexi who are both as surprised as you are. You’ve done your best to keep the fact that you occasionally meet with him a secret. As far they know you’re just another low-level assistant

“Come on!” Pepper snips, grabbing your arm and hauling you off. You follow her backstage, winding through a labyrinth of hallways until she stops at the door to a small room. You step inside and she closes the door.

Sam is standing, one hand in his pocket eyes fixed on his phone. He looks up, smiling when he sees you. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You clasp your hands together.

“You look surprised. Am I interrupting something?” He cocks an eyebrow, stepping closer. Every action he makes has a purpose, especially the way he moves.

“Not at all.” You tilt your chin up toward him. “I was just caught off guard. You don’t mix work and us these days. I’m always happy to come when you want me.”

That last statement makes his eye twitch, nostrils flaring.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He inches nearer, eyes dropping down your body. “I wanted to make sure that you don’t have plans this weekend.”

“Do I ever have plans?” you counter, watching him lick his lips. You know one thing for sure, the longer this has gone on, the hungrier he is for you. And the feeling is mutual.

“Yes, but today is your birthday. People normally celebrate with friends. You don’t have anyone coming into town?”

“No,” you nod, holding your head high. “I’m all yours.”

“Good. Be ready tonight at eight. Wear a dress, something nice. I’ll pick you up.”

“We’re going out?”

He hasn’t taken you anywhere other than his bed since San Francisco. In fact, some weekends you never wear anything at all, naked from Friday to Sunday. You wonder if this is for your birthday or one of his social engagements. It’s not uncommon for him to take a date, but as far as you know it’s always Pepper who accompanies him in public. He says it’s cleaner that way. Everyone knows she’s his assistant so there are no misunderstandings.

“Yes,” he confirms. “No panties, hair down.” His eyes linger then he steps back, smoothing down his tie.

“I look forward to it.” You watch as he leaves the room, always left in a wake of excitement and expectation.

It’s almost eight as you look in the mirror, adjusting your dress. It’s black and tight, falling just above your knee. The neckline is lower than you're used to but nothing scandalous. It’s the back that’s the real show stopper, it’s open all the way down to just above your ass crack. You hope it’s not too much, Sam will occasionally comment on your clothing choices but you think you’ve got a handle on his taste. Above all else he prefers class.

His car pulls up just before eight. You’re waiting by the front door of your brownstone apartment building, hurrying down the steps, eager to find out what’s in store.

The driver opens the door and you slide in next to him.

“How are you tonight?” he asks, his hand already on your knee, slipping between your legs.

“Excited. I haven’t been out in a long time.”

“Well, let’s hope this evening lives up to your expectations,” he purrs, hand sliding just a little further up your leg. “I hope you’re not too hungry, we aren’t eating until after.”

“After what?” You look up, his fingers pressing into the warm flesh inside of your thigh.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” He grins, giving you a squeeze and removing his hand. “Before we go any further, I need to tell you that I allowed Pepper to choose a second assistant for the Tokyo trip next month. I expressed my preference for you, but she chose Lexi.”

“That’s no surprise I guess.” You can’t help but be disappointed. “I mean, I’d like to see Japan, but you know better than anyone Pepper hates me. We don’t work well together.”

He chuckles. “She’s not one to hide her feelings.”

“How long will you be gone for?”

“Two weeks. Don’t worry, I’ll have you report to me every night. You’ll have a list of tasks for while I’m gone.” He holds his stare and you get lost in the moment, drowning in those eyes that you’ve come to know oh so well.

“I look forward to it.”

“I would expect nothing less. We’re here.” He points out the window as the car pulls up to the Boston Museum of Modern Art.

“We’re going here?” you ask looking back at him. “It’s closed.”

“Not to us,” Sam corrects you, allowing the driver to help you out before following. You feel his hand on your naked back, sliding down to the dip in your lower back. He leans down to whisper in your ear. “Excellent choice.”

“I thought you might like it.” You smile, taking his arm and walking toward the entrance. The thought dawns on you like a bolt of lightning. “This is the Yayoi exhibit.”

“You said you wanted to see it didn’t you? The timing was perfect.” He looks proud of himself as a porter opens the front door for you.

“I said I wanted tickets-” You’re dumbfounded, looking around at the empty museum.

“This is better. A private viewing without the distractions.”

There’s a man bustling toward you with several people following.

“Mr. Winchester!” A short, sharply dressed man extends his hand. “We are so honored to have you here. I’m Cecil Baton, the general director. On behalf of the entire board, we want to extend our heartfelt thanks for all the support you’ve offered over the years.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Sam nods in confirmation, slipping an arm around your waist to pull you forward. “This is Y/N, she’s very much looking forward to seeing Infinity Mirrors.”

Cecil takes your hand, shaking it vigorously.

“We are thrilled to be able to repay your generosity by hosting a viewing for you and your lovely friend.” Cecil makes a tsking sound and a uniformed waiter steps forward with two flutes of champagne. “May we interest you in a glass of Dom Perignon?”

“Thank you for the gesture, I don’t drink,” Sam affirms and looks to you. “Go ahead.”

You hesitate for a moment before taking the glass off the tray and then the two of you are whisked down a hall, as you explore the wonders of each colorful, unique room.

By the time you’re done, you’ve finished three glasses of champagne and are floating on cloud nine as Cecil chatters away, walking you out. He goes on and on about how wonderful Sam is. Leaving you to ponder exactly how much money he must have donated to get a reception like this. You probably don’t want to know.

“What did you think?” he inquires as you walk back toward the car.

“It was...better than I could have imagined. What an experience.” You feel like you’re vibrating with happiness. While you’ve never lived through any kind of cruelty, you’ve also never been pampered in any sense of the word. This is a scenario you could never have imagined. You turn to him, stopping in your tracks and gripping both his arms. “Thank you so, so much.”

“It was nothing.” He shakes it off, giving your elbow a squeeze. “Come on, we’ll be late for dinner.”

Dinner is at a French restaurant called Mistral.

He orders for you, but he’s better at it now than he was in the beginning. He’s come to know your preferences, even ordering you a fourth glass of champagne, toasting you with his seltzer water.

“Sam,” you start, looking from the tuna tartar. “Is there a reason you haven’t touched me yet tonight?”

“I touched you in the car,” he smirks.

“Yes, but you didn’t touch me. I mean, you are going to, aren’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, sitting back in his seat, one arm resting on the table. “It’s your birthday. The one day of the year I’m going to leave it up to you. Start thinking about what you want tonight. It’s your choice.”

You can’t help your grin, giggling a little as you sip from the flute. “I’m not sure I even know where to start.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” With a genuine laugh, he goes back to his salad as you talk about your favorite part of the exhibit and the various other artists you hope to see in your lifetime. When you finish he’s quietly watching you, seemingly satisfied to sit and listen as you ramble on. “Do you have anything on your bucket list? I know you have more money than God, so you can probably see and do anything you want but there’s gotta be something.”

“Hmm,” he indulges your question, really giving it thought. “I want to see the northern lights. I’ve never had the chance.”

“That’s a good one,” you agree as your empty plate is swapped out for a giant tower of chocolate and raspberries. You almost squeal, a little tipsy and having arguably the best birthday of your life. “Come on, try some. One spoonful of sugar won’t kill you.”

“No.” He shakes his head, face lit up in amusement.

“Oh come on Sam, it’s my birthday. You said I’m in charge tonight...one bite.”

He contemplates your request and just when you think he’s going to tell you no he reaches over and spoons a bite of your dessert. Popping it in his mouth and wincing, “too sugary.”

“Your loss,” you laugh, digging in.

“Have you decided?” Sam's teasing, watching you blush in the low light of his bedroom.

“Yes,” you nod. “There are several things I’d like tonight, but first I want you to take your clothes off.”

He raises his eyebrows, but compiles immediately, toeing his shoes off and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. You do the same, stripping down until you’re both nude and staring at each other. He’s already half hard, cock thickening right before your eyes.

“In a little bit, I want to suck your cock. Then I’d like you to spank me, not too hard though.” You explain, biting your bottom lip as he nods in agreement.

“We can do both those things.”

“But first I want you to lay down on the bed.” You clear your throat, not comfortable giving the instructions. This is his territory.

He walks over to the bed, sitting down before laying back on the pillows. You crawl over him, straddling his legs, then moving until you’re sitting across his upper thighs, his erection standing tall against your stomach.

“I want to touch you,” you admit, watching him blink in response. You reach up, placing your opens palms over his chest, feeling him twitch under your touch. Fanning outward you sweep your palms over his chest and toward his shoulders, sliding over warm skin. Both his hands are resting on your thighs. He sighs when you run your nails through the hair on his forearms and then lean forward to suck on the skin of his neck.

A low groan leaves his throat as you nip at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and before you think better of it you place a kiss just under his ear. It’s a lingering touch and then you do it again and again moving downward until you find yourself under his jaw, scraping teeth over his five o’clock shadow. When you raise your head to look down at him, his eyes are closed, popping open seconds later. Staring at each other, his hands slide around to cup your ass cheeks, rocking upward as his cock rubs over your stomach.

You shift forward and rub your clit against his cock, nose pressed into the side of his cheek.

“Fuck my mouth,” you whisper.

Sam moves in record time, flipping you onto your back as you yelp in surprise. Getting off the bed he grabs you by the ankle rolling you onto your belly then turning you in a half circle until your head is hanging over the edge of the bed.

“Open.” Your jaw falls slack as he slides the head of his dick past your lips and you suck hard, as he slides forward. “Take it,” Sam purrs, reaching down to stroke your cheek as his cock hits the back of your throat. You hum around his dick, let him push forward until his balls press into your chin. “Just like that.”

His deep voice conveying words of praise go straight to your clit, throbbing between your legs, triggering the slick that’s leaking from your sex. You let him fuck your throat looking up as he stares down at you with forced concentration. Without warning, he pulls out of your mouth leaving a trail of spit as he taps your shoulder like he’s tapping out of a fight.

“Roll over,” he commands, big hands turning you over as you comply without hesitation. Head tilting backward over the edge of the bed, upside down. He places one hand at the side of your face, the other on his cock as he pushes back between your lips. “Open up.”

He slides his cock over your tongue and past your uvula as you swallow him whole. Pressing forward he watches the bulge in your throat, then reaches down to rub the outline of the head of his cock as you choke around him. “Fucking perfect.”

He holds himself there for a five count, you know it well. He’s rough, but consistent which helps for things like this. The next one will be longer, but if you count to ten you know he’ll give you relief.

He pulls out, drool leaking over the sides of your face as you gasp for air. Holding his spit-wet dick in his hand he rubs the head over your face, tapping your cheek several times before sliding back inside, right back into the deep stretch while you concentrate on breathing through your nose.

This is one of your favorite things. While you knew you liked sucking dick, having him fuck your mouth as you lay on the bed is a whole other level. Your pussy is slick, throbbing with excitement as you gag around his thick shaft.

“I can see my cock in your throat,” he observes, rubbing the bulge with two fingers. He pulls back, leaving you a mess of spit and tears, eyes watering, but you eagerly open back up, tongue out as he thrusts back in. “Do you like this? Choking on a cock?”

“Uhhh,” you rattle, vibrating around him, unable to do little more than make desperate gurgling sounds.

“I know you do.” He strokes your cheek, rocking forward, getting just a tiny bit deeper. “What do you say?”

“Huh ooo,” is your version of thank you as you swallow him whole.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he grunts, pulling out. You look up at the sight of him holding his cock in his hand, inches from your face.

“In my mouth,” you confirm, clamping your thighs together. “I want to taste you.”

“Open wide.” Reaching forward he gives your nipple a hard squeeze before jerks himself with the head of his cock on your tongue. A half dozen strokes later he's cumming warm and salty as you suck and swallow with fervor. “Keep sucking, just like that,” he instructs as your tongue gently swirls around the sensitive head.

When he’s really into it he can stay hard after he cums. He’s done it plenty of times before. He can’t always get off again, but he can damn sure fuck you into next week.

You carefully attend to his cock, rolling his balls in your hand until he’s sufficiently aroused and then he pulls you off his dick by your hair.

“On your hand and knees,” he instructs, gesturing toward the bed. You scramble into position, feeling your pussy ache as he knees his way between your calves. “You want me to spank you?”

“Yes, please.” You look back at him, arching your back, widening your legs.

“You’re going to get a spanking while my cock is in your pussy,” he huffs, running a hand over your lower back, down the crack of your ass. “Make sure you ask before you cum. No more rule breaking, not even on your birthday.”

You swallowed his load before he told you to, part of you was wondering if he’d punish you for it.

“I understand,” you confirm feeling the thick head of his cock sink into your slippery pink cunt. It’s an easy slide despite his size, but you're wet enough to take him to the root on the first stroke. He holds himself deep, balls pressed into your mound and then his hand comes down on your backside.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

It’s perfect. He knows your body to a tee, knows exactly how hard you like it. His harder spanks are saved for discipline and his softer ones are teasing, but this is the perfect sting.

“It’s your birthday, twenty-nine would be the tradition, wouldn’t it?” He strokes in and out, nestling back inside before bestowing three more smacks on the other cheek.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

“Fuck,” you breath, clenching around his shaft.

He pulls out, only to thrust back inside and then they come in rapid succession. Too many to count. All you can do is howl, twisting on his cock until he finally stops, both hands gripping your ass, squeezing.

“Would you like to cum now?” His inquiry is accompanied by a series of shallow thrusts.

“Yes.”

“How? Like this?” You’re not used to being asked for your preference and hesitate before answering.

“Yes, but I want you to hold yourself deep and rub my clit.”

He snorts, leaning over your back. “Anything for the birthday girl.”

Pressing forward he stuffs your cunt until he’s right against your cervix, sending out those little sparks of pain you love so much. His middle finger finds its way to your clit, making soft circles and you’re already there.

“May I cum?” you pant, eyes shut, mouth hanging open.

“Yes.”

It’s the only permission you need before falling over the edge and cumming around his cock. You jerk, moaning and whimpering as you tighten around his shaft. He takes his hand away from your bud but holds himself inside you until your orgasm begins to fade. He pulls out only to slide back inside again, thrusting slow and even, two hands gripping your hips.

“We’re going to get one more out of you tonight.”

You’re sweating.

You flex, blinking awake trying to figure out why you’re overheated only to find Sam wrapped around you, his chest pressed against your shoulder blades, soft belly at the small of your back.

It’s not the first time. He often slings an arm over you in his sleep, but he’s never cocooned you before. You wiggle backward, testing the waters and his grip tightens as the arm over your side curls under your stomach, pulling you back into him.

If he woke up like this you’re not sure what reaction he’d have. The two of you live in a strange world, a weekend relationship devoid of soft affection but always intense. The two of you have slipped into a safe space, an agreement and routine that seems to be working. This isn’t moving backward or forward, you’re stuck in a loop of sex and gratification that never fails to leave you somewhat crestfallen as you head into the week. You spend your time waiting until you’ll see him next, hoping for a little more.

You lie there, half awake, body hyper aware of him holding you for nearly two hours. It’s morning when he finally rolls away, grunting in his sleep and flipping onto his stomach retreating back to his side of the bed.

Sam’s sleeping belly down in the bed, mouth open as his back slowly rises and falls with his breath. You lay there, unmoving, watching his relaxed features, that handsome face looking almost boyish with his pink-flush cheek smashed into the pillow. He’d never let you gaze at him like this if he was awake, so you indulge while you can.

There’s no need to look at the clock to know it’s early, the way the light filters through his windows shifts depending on the time of day. That and he’s not up yet. It must be before six if he’s still out like a light.

The clock confirms it’s five forty-five and for once on a Saturday morning, you’re willingly awake before noon. He normally let’s you sleep in while he goes for a run and does a few hours of work. You give him one last look and gently crawl out of bed, pulling on white cotton panties and foregoing all other clothes, heading to the kitchen to make tea.

You’ve just taken the kettle off the stove when you hear it, a shuffling behind you. It’s impossible to explain how you know it’s not Sam, but you do. You can sense it. Every hair on your body stands up on end and when you turn around you’re faced with a stranger standing in the middle of Sam’s kitchen.

He’s tall, not as tall as Sam but a big guy and you’re instantly frozen in place, practically naked, blinking at the man in front of you. His shirt is spattered with blood, the red stains that are unmistakable.

“Well shit,” he smirks, a grin tugging at his mouth as he eyes your naked tits. “He always had good taste.”

“Um,” you stammer, taking a step back. “Um, who-”

You can’t find the words, your brain shutting down as he gets closer.

“Look at you,” he whistles, sauntering around you as you turn in a slow circle to keep him in your line of sight. His eyes dropping down the length of your body, head to toe. “How much does a guy like Sam pay for a girl like you? Do you charge by the hour or the night? I mean, I’ve been to Vegas, fucked my fair share of working girls but hot damn sweetheart, you are something special.”

It’s at that moment that your thoughts come together to form a coherent thought. This is Dean, Sam’s brother.

“Pleasedon’thurtme,” you squeak out in one quick utterance.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. My brother has never been very good at sharing anyway.” His eyes hone in on the fresh bruises on your hips, leftover handprints.

“Wh-what do you want?” you stutter, now shaking in fear. Dean closes in and you back up into the counter, trapped by his advance.

“Don’t worry,” he eyes your tits again. “Nothing you can give me, at least not right now.”

“Get away from her.” Sam’s voice booms from across the kitchen, standing bare-chested in a pair of pajama pants, eyes on fire. He looks from Dean to you, extending a hand. “Come here.”

“We were just getting to know each other.” Dean offers a lopsided grin.

Eyes glued on Dean, you inch sideways until you can scurry across the kitchen, letting Sam pull you to him.

“Sam,” you look at him, eyes wide.

“It’s okay.” He takes a half step in front of you, putting himself between you and his brother. “What are you doing here, Dean?”

“Did I come at a bad time? I understand if you wanna be sure you get your money’s worth before we get down to business.”

“She’s not a hooker,” Sam clarifies, tilting his head, eyes never leaving his brother.

“Yeah,” Dean smiles, making a production of leaning to the side to look at you. “Didn’t think so. Good for you, getting back on the horse after all these years. I’m happy for ya.”

“Cut the shit,” Sam steps forward and you move with him, pressing against his back. “What the hell are you doing in my house? Are you trying to get me arrested?”

“Trust me.” Biting his lip, Dean chuckles to himself. ��This is the last fucking place I want to be. But I need you, Sammy, there’s some bad shit about to go down. End of the world type stuff. Dad and I need you.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Sam snorts, his posture softening. “No.”

“Tell you what. How ‘bout you put your girl back to bed and we talk about this alone?”

“How about you get the hell out of my house?” Sam counters. “You must be high if you think I would ever do anything for you or dad.”

“Just hear me out, Sam.” All the playfulness drains from Dean’s face. “Dad went on an a...hunting trip. He hasn’t been home in a while.”

“How is this any different from any other time?” Sam shakes his head. “You know this feels familiar. It’s been fourteen years since the last time you showed up with this same story. I went with you and Jess ended up dead. You ruined my life and Dad showed up when he damn well felt like it. So no, there is no way in hell I’m going anywhere with you.”

“We need you.” Dean’s mouth pulls tight. “I know you’ve got a whole white collar thing going on and a life, a girlfriend. I wouldn’t ask if I had a choice.”

“There’s always a choice Dean. I made mine a long time ago. Dad said if I left not to come back and I haven’t. So get the fuck out of my kitchen.”

“Sam,” Dean takes a step forward. “This is your family.”

“No,” Sam spits back. “Family was an illusion. A convenient guilt trip to get me to do what you and dad wanted. I don’t have time for family, Dean. My life is full up.”

“Okay,” Dean looks at the floor, before leaning to the side to look at you again. “Nice to meet you-”

“Stop talking to her.” Sam’s voice is colder than you’ve ever heard him, venom simmering under his words. “You stay away from me and you stay away from her. You hear me, Dean?”

“I hear you.” Dean waits for a beat, looking from Sam to you and then he’s gone just as quick as he came.

“Sam,” you sputter as he turns to you, placing a hand on each shoulder.

“We need to talk.”

#Control and release #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader

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sweetscentences · 5 years ago

Text

Small Changes: Chapter One

Can also be read on AO3 here. A major thank you to @comparedfever for beta-ing this.

Summary: Doflamingo and his crew don't touch the treasure chest Law is hidden in. A few other things change too.

Rosinante had always imagined death would be painless. Not the act of dying, no. He’d known his fate was going to be something bloody and cruel since his brother shot their father. But he figured death itself would be blank- as devoid of pain as it was of joy, if there was any consciousness after death.

But Rosinante was conscious, and very much aware. Aware of the blackness of the eyelids he couldn’t open. Aware of a burning pain throughout his torso. Aware of the deep part of him that always hummed when he used his Devil Fruit.

It was humming now. A heavy, persistent feeling, almost stronger than the pain.

It ached to keep it up. Rosinante didn’t know why he did. He started to let it slip, only to remember in an instant.

Law.

Law needed to get away.

Had he already escaped, Rosinante wondered. How long had he been drifting in this empty space. Was it seconds? Hours? Days?

He had no way to know.

What if, a horrible part of him whispered, in dying while using his Devil Fruit, he had stolen Law’s sound forever.

Law had already lost too much.

It didn’t matter that he had learned sign language, or at least enough to be insulting, when he’d thought Rosinante was mute. Rosinante had promised himself that Law wouldn’t lose anything else under his care.

(He had wondered, then, if that was how Sengoku felt when he’d taken Rosinante in.)

He thought about the panic on Law’s face when he’d told him his plan. About the fact that he had put it there. Rosinante’s stomach rolled. His hands twitched.

His hands twitched.

Dead men didn’t move.

Hope grew, uncertain and wild, in Rosinante’s chest.

He took a deep, rattling breath, and tasted frost on the cold air.

His eyes felt like they were welded shut. Rosinante forced them open. He’d always been a stubborn bastard.

He was blinded for a moment, despite the dimness of the light. It took a long while for his eyes to adjust. He used that time to feel around.

His fluffy coat was the only thing between him and the cold, hard ground. He was bare-chested, apart from bands of fabric wrapped tightly around his torso. He realized, when his eyes finally cleared and focused, that they were the remains of his shirt.

He poked carefully at them, expecting to find agony where he’d been shot. There was pain, sharp and nearly blinding, but not as bad as he’d been expecting.

Rosinante felt around, finding a wall behind him, and took a steadying breath before hauling himself into a sitting position. He dropped back against the wall, chest heaving, head spinning, and fighting the urge to vomit.

It took a few minutes for him to gather himself enough to open his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them.

He was in a cave, small and cramped, with blood stained snow spilling from the mouth of it. A distant part of Rosinante realized that it was probably his.

But that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how he had gotten there. It didn’t matter who had saved him. It didn’t matter why. The only thing that mattered was making sure Law had gotten away.

Law, who was collapsed next to him.

Rosinante bit down the urge to shout, panic settling as quickly as it arrived when he saw Law’s body rattle with breath. But he was breathing too heavily, too quickly, curled pitifully around himself half on Rosinante’s coat, and half on the cold ground. Rosinante rolled him onto his back as carefully as he could. Law didn’t stir.

Rosinante’s heart caught in his throat. Law was the lightest sleeper he knew- plagued by paranoia and nightmares the moment he closed his eyes.

His skin was flushed with fever, warm when Rosinante brushed a hand across his forehead. The bags under his eyes looked more like bruises. That, and the blood on Law’s hands came together to paint a picture Rosinante didn’t want to see.

Law hadn’t escaped.

He had heard everything that happened, and had dragged Rosinante’s dying body god knew how far to save his life. He had to have used the Devil Fruit he couldn’t control to do it.

That eased and frightened Rosinante in equal measure. A week after he had first eaten his Devil Fruit, he lost control. He let go of the careful balance and ease the fruit demanded. He still wasn’t sure what happened, Sengoku had never told him, but he did know he hadn’t woken for two days.

The Op-Op Fruit was known to exhaust it’s user. Rosinante had decided it was worth it- the risk of a coma nothing compared to keeping Law alive. But now, the absence of bright white patches the only thing proving that Law wasn’t still dying, he wasn’t so sure.

With careful hands, Rosinante adjusted Law’s hat so it sat more snugly on his head. He rested back against the cave wall, and let his eyes fall closed.

Doflamingo had tried to kill him. He was still alive. Doflamingo had tried to take Law, but he was still with Rosinante.

He needed a plan to get them off Minion Island. To get them far, far away. Out of North Blue and Doflamingo’s reach. It wouldn’t be as simple as going to the Marines- Vergo had proven that, and Rosinante couldn’t imagine Law would be happy to wake up in the government’s care.

Rosinante needed a plan. But first, he needed rest. He couldn’t keep them both alive if he was dead on his feet.

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Rosinante didn’t know how long he slept, but when he woke the first thing he did was gather Law in his arms and drag them both to another cave.

Doflamingo and his pirates would be looking for Rosinante’s body, if by any chance they’d discovered it gone. It was impressive how far Law had managed to drag them, but the trail of blood left behind wasn’t inconspicuous, even as it was being covered by fresh snow.

Rosinante let himself rest for another day before sneaking down into the nearest populated town. He stole new clothes, food, and information.

It was good to get a warm shirt on, to replace his makeshift bandages with real ones. Better still to not hear a single whisper of his disappearing ‘corpse’.

As far as Rosinante could tell, Doflamingo hadn’t started hunting Law yet. They could make it out.

Arranging their escape took longer than Rosinante cared for. Stealing enough makeup to hide the tattoos on his face and the worst of his bruises took time. But he needed to. If he didn’t, he would be too conspicuous when he slunk into town.

He did this six times. He bought passage on a boat bound for East Blue twice, once further north, once all the way to Sabaody, and twice to South Blue.

The smallest part of Rosinante was glad that Law was comatose. He never would have agreed to being bundled into a large, over the shoulder bag, for Rosinante to carry.

It was easier that way for him to jump last minute onto a ship bound for West Blue.

They were at the edge of North Blue when the ship stopped to restock, and Rosinante slipped off. In the morning he snuck on another ship headed in an entirely different direction.

After that, Rosinante dyed his hair black. He was still paler than Law, but it would be easier to pass them off as blood related this way, if anyone saw them.

He repeated this shuffle three more times, over the course of a month. Law would wake sometimes, but was never lucid, only staring blankly at Rosinante as he tried to get him to eat and drink. His fever would break in brief spurts, but that only made Law’s sleep more fitful. He would twist painfully, scratching at the fading marks Amber Lead had left on him, and sobbing in the sloping language of Flevance that Rosinante had been trying to master. What he could understand was begging- desperate crying out for people Law had lost. Rosinante heard his own name more than once.

Each time he did, Rosinante would take Law’s hands in one of his, the other running through Law’s hair as he tried to soothe him in his clumsy Flevean. Sometimes it calmed Law. Other times, it made him cry harder.

On the fourth ship Rosinante travelled openly with Law, spinning a story of his son falling ill in West Blue, and of their desperate need to return home to the South. Instead they stopped in East Blue, on a small island in a smaller village that Rosinante had never heard of.

The passing of days brought more color to Law’s skin. His fever was the lowest it had been since they left North Blue, breaking and staying away longer and longer each time.

“Is there an inn in this village?” Rosinante asked the first person he met- a friendly looking old man sitting by the docks, who had been watching Law with concern. “My son caught a fever while we were traveling. I thought it best to stop until he’s well.”

The old man softened immediately, his eyes darting from Rosinante to Law, to the worried slope of Rosinante’s shoulders.

“Poor boy,” the old man hummed, his words shaped carefully and slowly with the practiced ease of someone used to speaking to foreigners. Rosinante had a knack for languages, it was an essential part of being a spy, but he’d still spoken to the old man in clumsy Eastern with the softest lilt of a Western accent.

“The inn is usually full this time of year,” the old man said. Before Rosinante’s heart could start to sink, he added, “but I know Makino keeps a few rooms over her bar free, if you don’t mind the noise.”

Rosinante bit down the desperate urge to laugh. “I’d be grateful for anything, in truth,” he said, and let the old man lead them through town.

He brought them to a homey looking bar, pushing inside and ignoring the early evening crowd as he waved to the woman behind the counter. Her eyes widened when she took in Rosinante’s height, before immediately fixing on Law in his arms. She slid a drink to a man down the bar without looking, and hurried over.

She said something to them in a language Rosinante didn’t recognize, before the old man held up a hand to calm her.

“It’s alright, Makino,” he soothed. “This man is only looking for a place to stay while his son recovers from a fever.”

Makino’s brow pinched in sympathy. “Of course. You can stay here as long as you need, mister...”

She trailed off, blinking at Rosinante expectantly. Something about it felt like a challenge.

Rosinante offered her the hand that wasn’t holding Law. He hadn’t forgotten his manners.

“Cora Rosinante,” he told her, thinking of what Law tended to call him. It would be easier to explain his son calling him by his surname, rather than a new name entirely.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Makino,” she said, her grip on Rosinante’s hand surprisingly firm. He nodded politely to her, before offering his hand to the old man.

“I apologize for not introducing myself earlier,” he said, but the old man waved him off before giving his hand an enthusiastic shake.

“It’s no harm at all,” he soothed. “I’m Mayor Woop Slap.” He grinned widely at Rosinante’s surprised hum, before turning to Makino. “Why don’t you get Cora settled in, and I’ll bring the doctor.”

“Doctor?” Rosinante asked, even as Makino nodded.

The mayor huffed. “Of course the doctor! Your boy’s had that fever for some time, hasn’t he?”

His stare was surprisingly sharp, and Rosinante couldn’t bring himself to lie quick enough.

“I don’t have much money,” he admitted instead.

He’d always kept a considerable amount on him when he’d been acting as a pirate, but most of it had been eaten away by transport and the assorted medicines he’d been bringing Law.

“That doesn’t matter as much as you might think, around here,” Makino said kindly. “Now, why don’t you come upstairs with me?”

Rosinante found himself nodding and following after her, up a staircase behind the bar and through a narrow hallway to a cozy room with two beds. Rosinante carefully set Law on one, as Makino fussed with the covers.

“I’m afraid the bed might be a bit small,” she said. “We don’t see many people as tall as you.”

“Not many places do,” Rosinante laughed.

He was spared from any awkwardness in the silence that followed by the mayor appearing in the doorway. He was followed by a stoop-shouldered old woman.

She didn’t say anything as she bustled over to Law, ignoring Rosinante in favor of checking Law’s pulse, temperature, and poking and prodding him in ways Rosinante assumed had medical purposes.

He thought he was being very patient, giving the doctor a fair amount of space to work with. That was until she turned to him and snapped, “stop looming over me!”

Rosinante backed up and tripped onto the other bed as she glared at him- arms windmilling. The moment he was settled she turned back to poking at Law.

“Any chance he caught some disease?” she asked.

Rosinante pushed down the cool anger that flickered in his chest. These days Law’s spots looked more like scars, or vitiligo, than Amber Lead.

“I think he’s just exhausted.” His voice was sharper than he meant it to be, and he felt Makino turn to eye him.

“What happened?”

Rosinante swallowed before answering- buying himself time. “He’s never slept well. But it’s been worse since he- he saw something terrible. It’s why we’ve been traveling.”

“What did he see?” the doctor asked, almost managing to sound indifferent.

“Someone who looked after him got shot.”

Makino made a sharp noise. The doctor’s shoulders slouched a bit more.

“Did this person die?”

Rosinante shrugged. “It certainly seemed that way.”

He had done his best to ignore any thoughts of Law- unnaturally silent and panicking- as he tried to stop Rosinante’s bleeding. Tried to wake him.

He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he never woke.

The memory of Law shaking the treasure chest behind him as he bled out had been horrible enough. The feeling of his Devil Fruit swallowing the sound of screaming, worse.

(Law could be so terribly loud. In his anger. In his grief. His sound didn’t fit his small body; like he was bursting at the seams with feeling, and the only outlet it had was noise. It was ironic, in a twisted way, that he had suffered so silently through the Amber Lead. Rosinante wondered if he’d have the chance to grow into his voice now, or if it would always be the biggest part of him.)

“Was it pirates?” the mayor asked. “The attacks in West Blue have been so cruel lately.”

“It was a pirate,” Rosinante nodded, before offering the mayor a small smile. “Is my accent really that bad?”

The mayor rumbled a laugh. “Your accent is plenty good, boy, but my ears are better.”

Before Rosinante could say anything else, the doctor straightened up.

“You were right,” she told Rosinante. “I can’t see anything wrong with him beyond exhaustion, and a bit of malnourishment. All I can tell you to do is try to keep his temperature down and get him something to drink and eat when he’s awake.”

“But he will wake up? He’ll be alright?” Rosinante pressed, and the doctor raised a bushy eyebrow at him.

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t.”

The strings that had been holding Rosinante the whole journey were cut. He slumped forward, tucking his head to his hands. He tried, and failed, not to cry.

Rosinante wasn’t sure what he would have done, if he had gone through everything only to have Law kill himself trying to save him. It had been a thought too horrible to linger on. But it had plagued him every day that Law blinked at him with hazy eyes.

Law had never looked at him blankly, not even when he’d hated Rosinante. His eyes were the most expressive part of him. At first he’d watched Rosinante cruelly, sharply. The way that cold look had thawed felt like a miracle. Before they’d been caught, towards the end, Law’s eyes had been alight with something warm and new, even as he grew sicker. Rosinante could recognize the hope and affection only because they had been foreign to him too, once. The trust Law had looked at him with had almost been too much to bear.

Rosinante wanted nothing more than to live up to that trust, to that faith.

To have Law look through him, to see his clever eyes unfocused and dull; it turned Rosinante’s stomach.

Rosinante had fallen into the ocean only once after eating his Devil Fruit. Sengoku had seen it happen, had ordered a Marine to jump into the water after him and haul him out, but not before water had forced itself into Rosinante’s lungs.

It had burned. Burned in a way Rosinante had never felt before. But the worst part of it by far was the helplessness. No matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t move his limbs. He couldn’t fight the sea, couldn’t fight to save his own life. He could only watch darkness creep into his vision.

Being free from Doflamingo, being free from the fear of Law dying, it was better than the first breath he had taken after Sengoku had pounded on his back.

But, in a strange way, it hurt too. Just like his gasping breaths had.

Relief could be just as overwhelming as fear.

A small hand settled on Rosinante’s shoulder. He looked up to find Makino, the only person left in the room, smiling softly at him. She set a bowl of water and a small cloth on the table next to Law. Rosinante couldn’t quite find his voice to thank her.

“You should rest,” she told him. “It won’t help your son if you’re both exhausted.”

Rosinante had to clear his throat a few times before he could answer. “I’m not sure how to repay you for this.”

Makino shrugged. “Maybe you can help me fix some of the higher shelves over the bar. But we can talk about that in the morning.”

She left before Rosinante could say anything else, quietly closing the door behind her. The bar beneath them was rowdy, but a clap of Rosinante’s hands blocked that out.

He soaked the cloth Makino had left, wringing it out a few times before setting it on Law’s forehead. Then he reached into the bag he’d carried Law in before, rooting around for a minute before finding Law’s hat.

It would do more harm than good to put it on Law, he knew, but he’d never seen Law without it. He figured it must be some sort of comfort, so he pressed it into Law’s hands. Law’s fingers immediately curled around the fluffy brim, and he settled as Rosinante pulled the sheets up over him.

Rosinante laid down on the other bed, staying on his side to keep watch of Law’s chest rising and falling. Almost without realizing it, he began to hum, then sing, the quiet lullaby his father had sung for him when he was young.

It was a song about peace. About love, and safety. About family stronger than anything else. Law wouldn’t understand the words, if he could hear them, but Rosinante imagined the sentiment was easily understood.

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In the morning Law was conscious long enough for Rosinante to bring him food and water. His movements as he ate and drank were mechanical. His eyes never focused on one spot in the room. Never focused on Rosinante. But when Law lay back down, his fever had broken.

Rosinante took the washcloth from Law’s forehead and re-wet it before heading downstairs to speak to Makino. She was wiping down the bar, chatting with a few patrons as she did. Rosinante knocked lightly on the doorframe to get her attention.

“How’s your son?” she asked. The worry in her eyes looked genuine.

“Better than he’s been in some time,” Rosinante said, and her smile grew to match his. “You mentioned something about the shelves over your bar, right?”

Makino’s brows pinched together. Maybe she had expected Rosinante to forget. He’d never liked being in debt to people. His time in Doflamingo’s crew only exacerbated that.

“I’ve been replacing the shelves behind the bar, but I can’t reach some of them without a ladder,” she explained. “If you’d be willing, I’d really appreciate some help.”

“I’d be happy to,” Rosinante said. He needed something to focus on other than Law.

Rosinante spent the next two days working on Makino’s shelves, minding Law, and people watching. The tiny village bar had an interesting range of clientele. The mayor was a regular, surprisingly capable of holding his liquor. A gang of mountain bandits frequently stopped by as well. They never caused any problems, though. They sat and drank and laughed as their leader slouched over the bar and ranted to Makino about the trouble ‘her boys’ were causing. Her stories made Makino laugh so hard she cried.

From the way the bandit spoke, Rosinante wasn’t sure if the boys in question were children, or impressively destructive dogs. When she mentioned her boys dragging home a wild boar they had killed, Rosinante decided he could live with the mystery.

On the afternoon of the third day, Rosinante was putting the finishing touches on the last shelf, listening to Makino’s stories about a monster that lurked in the waters around the island.

Rosinante figured it was a small Sea King.

“It nearly ate one of the local boys,” Makino hissed, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on the bar, personally offended by the fact.

Rosinante was about to reply, when a loud clattering from upstairs reached him. Rosinante was up the stairs in an instant, Makino close behind him. He threw open the door to his and Law’s room.

There were glass shards scattered across the floor. Law was sitting upright on the edge of the bed, staring at the glass and his hands like he didn’t understand what had happened.

“Law?” Rosinante called, afraid Law wouldn’t respond. Afraid that he would be as blank as he had been every other time Rosinante said his name.

Instead, he turned towards Rosinante, blinking slowly. His eyes cleared. Widened.

“Cora?” he whispered, disbelieving. Rosinante rushed forward, catching Law as he scrambled towards him, and pulling him into a hug.

Law clung, chokingly tight, to Rosinante’s neck. He had dropped to his knees to catch Law, and shards of glass bit his legs. Law shook violently, pressed so tightly against Rosinante he could feel Law’s frantic heartbeat.

“You’re alive,” Law babbled, over and over again in desperate Northern. His voice shook as he sobbed.

“We’re alive,” Rosinante promised, squeezing Law tighter to reassure himself. “We’re alive. We escaped.”

“He shot you,” Law said, before his words seemed to register and he pulled back enough to look at Rosinante. He didn’t let go. “You said he wouldn’t- he shot you.”

Then his hands were scrambling across Rosinante’s chest and shoulders, looking for wounds that were still healing. “Are you- what- did I?”

Rosinante caught his hands carefully. “You saved me,” he said, then turned Law’s hands so he could see the backs of them. “You saved yourself, too.”

Where there had once been a snow-white patch, there was now only a slight discoloration on Law’s right hand. Law gaped at it.

“How much do you remember?” Rosinante asked.

He wanted to know how exactly Law saved their lives.

He wanted to know if Law remembered he was a Marine.

Law frowned. “I- I don’t know.” He scrubbed furiously at the tears running tracks down his cheeks. “I don’t know.”

“That’s alright,” Rosinante soothed, running a hand through Law’s hair.

Law leaned into it.

“He tried to kill you. Because of me,” Law hiccuped.

“No, Law. No,” Rosinante said. “He tried to kill me because I betrayed him.”

“Because of me!”

Rosinante’s stomach sank. “Law, he would have killed me even if I hadn’t taken you.”

Law’s eyes met his, teary and fierce. It pushed Rosinante to admit what he hadn’t wanted to.

“Doffy has been planning to kill me since I joined his crew.” His voice was rough, gravelly and tight. “Maybe even before then.”

For all that Rosinante hated Doflamingo, he’d never managed to stop loving him. He couldn’t separate the monster he knew now from the brother he had known. The brother who had told him bedtime stories so he wouldn’t be afraid of the dark. The brother who would wait however long it took for Rosinante to speak, even when he forgot words or his tongue seemed to tangle. The brother who first taught Rosinante how to throw a punch.

The brother who said he loved Rosinante so much he would do anything for him. The brother that Rosinante loved just as much.

Was it better or worse to think that Doflamingo had been lying?

Rosinante took a moment to steady himself, to cup Law’s face and smile, as bright and warm as possible.

“None of it was your fault.”

Law ducked his head, a fresh wave of tears dripping from his chin.

“Why?” he asked. He’d never sounded so much like a child. “Why did you- why me?”

“Law…”

“I still could have died. Why go that far? For me?” Law collapsed further in on himself, dropping onto the bed and tucking his knees to his chest. “Why? Was it- was it because of my name?”

It took Rosinante a moment to understand. When he did, he pulled Law back into his arms. Law unwound his limbs and hugged him back.

As if the Will of D could have anything to do with Rosinante loving him.

“Law, no,” he held Law tighter. “I did it because you’re family to me.”

An understatement, but Rosinante figured anything else would be too much for Law to hear. As it was Law started sobbing again, clinging to Rosinante like a lifeline.

“You… You’re family to me too.”

Law’s voice was so soft that Rosinante barely heard it. His heart soared. He tucked his head against Law’s and let them both settle. They were alive. They were alive.

A few hours later, Rosinante crept back down to the bar. Law was dead tired. After Rosinante explained how’d they’d wound up in East Blue, he left him to sleep. Law had been sick for so long. It would take time to recover.

“How is he?” Makino asked. She had left Rosinante alone with Law as soon as she’d seen there was nothing wrong.

“Better than I could have hoped.” Rosinante dropped the broken glass he collected into a bin beneath the bar. “He’s resting now, but he’s finally himself again.”

“I’m so glad!” Makino’s smile was heart-warmingly kind. “Why don’t you sit down?” she said, nodding to the other side of the bar counter. “You look like you need a drink.”

Rosinante laughed, but let himself be guided onto a bar stool, and thanked Makino when she set a large glass of beer in front of him.

“Do you mind if I smoke here?” he asked her, ignoring the fact that there were at least twenty other patrons with cigarettes balanced between their lips.

“Not at all,” Makino promised.

Rosinante managed to light his cigarette without lighting himself. Maybe some god was looking down on him, and decided he’d been having a hard enough time lately without accidentally burning a bar down too. Whatever the case, Rosinante was grateful as he slouched against the bar. He made idle conversation with Makino, smoked, and nursed his beer.

Finally, finally, he could relax.

Of course that was the moment the bar doors swung open, and a loud, familiar voice called, “you’re as busy as every, Makino!”

Makino’s eyes lit up. “Garp!”

Rosinante couldn’t believe it, not even when he turned to look. Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp, still in uniform, had just marched into a tiny East Blue bar.

His sharp eyes landed on Rosinante. Surprisingly, he paled.

“Something wrong?” Rosinante asked, amazed his voice didn’t waver.

Garp gave himself a shake, and grinned at Rosinante. “Sorry about that,” he said, settling onto the stool next to him. “My friend just lost his brat. You look an awful lot like him, is all.”

Rosinante could taste bile in the back of his throat. He forced it down. Forced himself to think.

Garp hadn’t brought any of his underlings into the bar with him.

He had known Garp as long as he’d known Sengoku. Thought of him as an uncle. He knew the kind of man Garp was.

If he couldn’t trust Garp, he decided, he couldn’t trust anyone in the Navy.

“Oh, come on,” Rosinante said, forcing the words with a heavy tongue. “Is a bit of hair dye all it takes to trick you?”

For a long moment, they both froze. Garp’s eyes slowly widened. Rosinante tried to smile, but it fell flat. Garp’s eyes watered.

Then his expression hardened.

“Why don’t you come have a smoke with me?” he asked. “Outside?”

Rosinante put his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, and followed Garp out the bar’s back door. He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen.

Garp punching him in the chest, then dragging him into a blubbering hug was not at the top of the list. It wasn’t entirely unpredictable either.

Rosinante barely had time to register that he’d been hit before Garp was wrapped around him. He wasn’t sure how Garp’s troops didn’t have chronic whiplash.

“You brat,” Garp growled. Any intimidation was undermined by his blotchy red cheeks and the fact that he couldn’t stop crying. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? In what world is this alright? Letting us all think that you’re dead?!”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Rosinante promised. Garp was, as usual, a bit overwhelming. “Not at first.”

“At first?” Garp pressed. “Sengoku’s been beside himself. Did you even-“

“Garp.” Rosinante cut him off. He didn’t think he’d be able to stomach Garp saying any more. “I barely made it out alive. Doffy thinks he killed me. It wasn’t safe for me to go straight back home.”

A part of Rosinante, the part of him that was still the frightened child Sengoku took in, had wanted to run home immediately. He had never believed Sengoku could protect him from everything, but he made it easier for Rosinante to live with his fear. The bitter, realistic part of him knew how disastrous it could have been to return to HQ. Would have been, with Law involved.

Garp frowned, scrubbing at his eyes. “So you’re doing… what, exactly? Hiding?”

“Hiding,” Rosinante agreed. “Hiding and healing. Not all of us can brush off being shot as easily as you do.”

“Do you need a doctor?” Garp asked, his concern outshining any anger he had over Rosinante making him and Sengoku grieve.

Rosinante shook his head. “I’ve already been treated.”

He had been keeping an eye on his wounds as he and Law travelled. They’d been healing shockingly well, considering the circumstances. Law might have been a child, but he knew more about medicine than adults who’d practiced it their whole lives. Rosinante trusted him with this.

“What happened?” Garp asked.

Rosinante told him everything.

It took a few hours. By the end of the story, he and Garp were both sitting at the table behind Makino’s bar, smoking and staring up at the stars.

Rosinante felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

“Pretty round about way of giving Sengoku a grandkid, if you ask me,” Garp muttered.

Rosinante choked on a laugh. “Oh, that’s going to be a disaster,” he said, more to himself than Garp.

Rosinante being a Marine would be a betrayal, to Law. But Rosinante’s father being the Fleet Admiral? He would be surprised if Law didn’t try to kill Sengoku on principle alone.

Rosinante waved off the look Garp shot him. “I’ll explain tomorrow. But tonight… I need to sleep.”

Garp nodded. He shuffled to his feet and offered Rosinante a hand up. “We can talk in the morning.”

Before he could leave, Rosinante said, “you know you can’t call Sengoku about this, right?”

“Doflamingo’s got spies of his own, yeah?” Garp sighed. “I won’t report this.”

“Thank you,” Rosinante said, and watched Garp trudge off towards the harbor.

When Rosinante finally dragged himself to bed, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

#mine #my writing #small changes fic #one piece #one piece fic #donquixote corazon #donquixote rocinante #donquixote rosinante #why must the tall man have so many names #trafalgar law #monkey d. garp #only a bit #op #i have a lot of feelings about found families/ families of choice #and theyre all in this fic

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crewhonk · 6 years ago

Text

...Of The Line (1)

A series collaboration with @nomadsgrogers where she writes for Giovanna as the reader! We’re just projecting onto our writing, its FINE

Series Summary: Steve watches YN Banner grow up before his eyes– from a shy, dorky sixteen-year-old to a fierce, brilliant woman who never fails to keep him on his toes. He knows that she’s untouchable, but that doesn’t stop him from being completely wrapped around her finger for the rest of his long life.

Series Warnings: Mutual Pining, age gap, gun use, these two are idiots– seriously they’re so dumb, slow burn, injuries

Pairings: eventual Steve Rogers X Banner!Reader, eventual Buky Barnes X OC!Stark

Chapter Summary: YN says goodbye to her best friends and watches as the events of The Winter Soldier go down. YN visits her best people in the hospital.

Words: 4.1K

@nomadsgrogers version >> (” Till the End...”) Introduction

“... Of The Line” Masterlist

_________________

2014, two years later

Eventually, Giovanna had left to join Natasha and Steve in their work with SHEILD in Washington about a year after Natasha and Steve had initially left. They had come back for a short reprieve from work and were set off to go work to save lives again— 361 kilometres away. Giovanna had called it her first real mission as an Avenger while both YN and Tony had called it bullshit and begged her to stay. YN was never much for goodbyes— moped around for days until she found herself showered and in the lab. A bad habit that Giovanna critiqued her about.

“You really don’t have to leave, you know.” YN frowned, pulling her best friend into a hug and burying her face into her neck. Giovanna drew circles between the middle of her shoulder blades and stayed silent until YN pulled away and wiped her nose with her sleeve. Natasha joined the group of girls and pulled YN under her wing, kissing her temple and hugging her close. Nat had since bonded with the two younger women, now on the cusp of nineteen, taking them under her wing and training them when she could— watching movies and laughing long into the night when she was able.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come with us?” Natasha’s suave, carefully selected speech patterns disappeared around the two girls— something that rarely ever happened. “I could really use a hand keeping Captain Bad Idea in line,” Natasha smirked and YN rolled her eyes and laughed, refusing to let the sudden heat blossoming on her face stop her from functioning like it usually did.

Steve Rogers had grown on her— he had become something less like a celebrity crush in 2012 to something deeper. Her adoration for the man had rooted in her lungs, constricting her breathing until it seemed she would never be able to breathe again.

Not to be dramatic.

But it was true that the two had become closer. They trained together, ate together, watched shitty 80’s movies until the crack of dawn and then crashed on separate end of the same couch together. They kept touching to a minimal— an unspoken rule between the two which only caused for a rock in the progress of relationship building. Both, as the team knew, were very needy with touch and it only seeded the idea that the other person felt no real romantic interest in the other. That, and Steve’s consistent fear of making her crumble under his hands— young and fragile and too good for him.

YN’s eyes flickered over to where Steve was chatting with Tony and Bruce softly, allowed her eyes to rake over his appearance once, very quickly and then smiled back to her girls.

“I think you’ll be fine. You got Blind Enthusiasm over there to help you.” She nodded her chin towards Giovanna who seemed affronted at her statement.

“Hey! I’m not Blind Enthusiasm. Maybe Sassy Regret.” Giovanna pulled both Natasha and YN into her arms and squeezed them both close. Their foreheads touched for a few seconds before she pulled away and let her hand rest on YN’s cheek.

“Don’t blow anything up while I’m gone,” Giovanna warned.

“It’s no fun without you.” YN winked back, finishing their classic statement goodbye— uttered mostly when one left for coffee runs or actually went to bed at a time which humans usually did.

“Wanna say goodbye to him?” Natasha’s eyes flicked over to Steve who was watching them. YN’s eyes locked with his own and she shot Steve a small smile, raising her hand and giving a shy wave. Giovanna scoffed quietly to herself, toeing the ground with her sneakers at the innocent move.

Behind closed doors, YN rarely had a filter on the topic of Steve Rogers. Hashing out everything she wanted him to do to her and everything she wanted to do to him, sometimes in such great detail even Natasha, when she was able to join, would blush. Now, in the midst of that same man, YN was reduced to a blushing, quiet sixteen-year-old version of herself.

YN was like a pit bull raised in a good family— her bark was most certainly worse than her bite.

“Nah. We already said goodbye.” YN smiled, looking away from Steve who seemed to be less than keen on doing the same. Giovanna and Natasha’s identical smirks dropped at the very same time.

“Okay, great. We’re going to have a FaceTime session tonight and you’re going to spill everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every. Single. Thing.”

______________________

The tower was lonely without the chaos that ensued during the previous three and a half years, all due to the rapidly advancing education that was YN Banner and Giovanna Stark’s life. There were no crashes from the lab on the 52nd floor, as YN was played out on the couch, uninspired and bored out of her mind at one in the morning. She had been throwing up a stress ball into the air, catching it all the while glaring at the holograms on the table in front of her. When the hologram flickered for the third time in ten seconds she growled and threw the stress ball at it, eyes flashing neon green only briefly.

“Woah! Squish, you okay?” Bruce exclaimed, walking around the table and rubbing the spot on his forehead where the ball had collided. YN muttered an apology as her dad sat down next to her, watching the diagram of a blood cell rotate in front of them.

“Been better.” She mumbled, taking the stress ball back from her father and digging her nails into it. Both Bruce and Big Guy took notice, and they were equally concerned.

“What’s goin’ on?” He tried. He was usually wonderful at this father-ing schtick but ever since he had left when she was only sixteen, she had become increasingly independent. Now almost twenty, she was a full adult and Bruce had no idea where he belonged anymore.

“I just— God. I want to think I’m a grown up. I want to think I’m independent from other people and can function without another person but I don’t think I can do that. I’ve always had you and when I didn’t I’ve always had Gio and Natasha and Steve and Tony. I’m no good alone.” YN ranted, tears welling in her eyes and Bruce could feel his heart melting and breaking both at the same time.

“You don’t have to be alone, you know. Humans are social creatures. We don’t do well alone. We’re meant to be in packs and we’re meant to have those social bonds. Independence for us in the wild usually means death— in modern times it just sometimes means everything short of that.” Bruce hummed and he wrapped his arm around his baby girls shoulders. She sniffed into his neck and wiped tears away from her eyes.

“But Gio’s independent. So are Steve and Natasha and I don’t get why I can’t be like that.” Her voice was thick as she spoke.

“Because you’re you. You don’t have to be like them. There’s no shame in leaning on people, you know.” He mumbled and Big Guy seemed to agree, chest rumbling in agreement. There was as silence before YN’s quiet voice rang out loud and clear.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, right, Papa?”

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat and he pulled her closer, squishing her to his chest and blinking back tears.

“I’ll stay right here just as long as you want me to, okay?”

“Okay.”

Another Pause.

“Wanna help me try to figure out our blood?”

____________________

It was a week before ‘Tonights’ FaceTime could take place, as both Natasha and Giovanna had been swept up in the life and work of SHEILD. It was seven at night when YN’s phone rang by her side, laptop on her lap in bed playing “The 100”. The phone chimed, and YN in all of her excitement nearly launched her computer from her legs in her hurry to answer it.

“Hi!” She said excitedly, shutting her laptop and pulling her covers closer to her chest. On her screen were her best friends, faces squished together and smiling so widely. The flush on Giovanna’s cheeks was a telltale sign they were at least a glass and a half into their wine.

“Baby girl!” Giovanna almost squealed, and YN’s heart clenched. Oh, how she had missed the Stark energy because sure, Tony had it all but there was nothing like seeing it in jammed into a 5’3 Italian firecracker of a girl.

“How’s Washington? Oh my gosh, have you met Obama yet? What about Michelle? Are her arms as magnificent as they look in pictures?” YN rushed, and the two girls laughed.

“Washington is good! It’s too vanilla for my taste.” Giovanna replied and Natasha said something about how it was because the sewer rats were the closest things she ever got to owning a pet.

“No, we haven’t met any of the Obama’s either.” Natasha quelled YN’s thirst for the First Family and YN sat back in mock disappointment.

“Well, then what’re you even doing there?” The others laughed at her response before they both lost their excited exterior. It would never fail to impress YN how in sync Giovanna and Natasha were at almost all times.

“So, don’t think we forgot, little lamb.” Natasha chastised and YN rolled her eyes, before getting up and grabbing a bottle of wine from her wine cooler hidden in the back of her closet. No way was she explaining her and Steve’s goodbye while sober. No, ma’am.

She raised the bottle to her lips and wiped her hand across her mouth.

“What d’you wanna know?” YN resigned herself to what she could picture as hours worth of interrogation.

“Everything.”

____________________

It was the night before the team was about to leave for Washington. Giovanna had already left the common room under the guise of packing, allowing for Steve and YN to have a few hours to themselves under the glow of the city lights streaming through the windows and the television.

Steve could feel his hands clamming up. Sure, he had been alone with YN countless times before, but it was only on his visit back did he notice that YN had grown up. Long gone were her puberty curves. There was that same trademark Banner softness to her, but he didn’t miss the way that her shirt clung to rigid muscle when she was straining herself in the gym. He didn’t miss the lines of her calf and thigh muscles whenever she wore those tight black shorts that made his head spin. He didn’t miss the curl of her wild hair or how her eyes seemed to droop in a way that made his heart stutter whenever she looked at him.

He had been alone with YN before, countless times. She never failed to make him feel like a 16-year-old kid in Brooklyn, though.

“You know, I’m really gonna miss nights like these.” She said, curling into the cushion of the couch and pulling her blanket to her chin— comfort habit, he had learned.

“Whatd’ya mean?” He asked, suddenly not at all interested in the movie playing in front of them. He knew this was an iconic 90’s movie but he couldn’t care less about anything that didn’t involve YN.

“You and me all curled up. I mean, come on. Showing movies to Captain America for the first time?” She giggled sleepily at his eye roll.

“As if I care about it, honestly.” He mirrored her position, facing her and leaning on the back of the couch.

“Why don’t you care about it? Clueless is one of the best movies out there.” YN tried to sound offended, but she couldn’t find it in herself to sound anything but nervous and breathy. Steve’s eyes were drooping, fighting hard to stay awake and watching her with a softness he rarely showed anyone. In some wild, delusional state, she could almost believe what Giovanna and Natasha told her— that he could come to love someone like her.

“Not my type.” He muttered, forcing himself to keep his hands from reaching out and placing them on her bare arms. God, all he wanted to do was run the back of his knuckles over her skin. Wanted to make goosebumps erupt all over her body. Wanted to make her suck in a breath and look at him through those innocent, peering eyes.

Steve kept his hands to himself.

“What is your type?” She whispered, and his heart climbed violently up his throat. He coughed once to get it back to where it belonged and when that didn’t work, he pulled away farther from her. He couldn’t— she was too young and good and pure and everything he would ruin.

He wouldn’t ruin YN Banner.

“We should get you to bed, okay, Sugar?” He said, glancing absently at the time before rising slowly to his feet. He wanted nothing more than to curl up against her, soak her in enough for him to survive the next few months away. He stopped himself, however, filling his arms with blankets and pillows and waiting for her to stand and join him.

She almost looked disappointed he didn’t help her. Definitely looked disappointed he was ending the night.

She only nodded, however, and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders like a cape, following him to the elevator in silence and riding up in silence. Only speaking again when they reached her floor. She stepped out, turning around and placing her hand on the door so it wouldn’t close on her. She was quiet for a time, trying her very best to memorize the way blue skin had found a home in the inner corners of his eyes. How the left side of his nose was just a little crooked. Remember the cleft of his chin and the swell of his bottom lip. She sniffed and nodded and stepped back.

“I’ll miss you, grandpa. Don’t know who I’ll make old people jokes about anymore.” She forced a playful smile over her tired face and he mirrored it.

They were both so close, but so, so far away.

“I’ll miss you, Sweetheart. Don’t know who’s gonna make you get to bed in time for your afternoon nap.”

“Guess you’ll have to come back soon, then.”

Then, the elevator door slid shut with a quiet ‘ding’.

______________________

YN had thought them to be dead. Nick, Steve, Natasha, and Giovanna killed in a gun battle in the middle of Washington. She had thought them dead until she got the call. It was Tony who called, half out of his mind with worry but voice dripping with relief.

“They’re alive, YN. News— look at the news.” She listened to her uncle, ran down the hall of her floor to the common room with television in it and flicked on the channel. Sure, Tony may have been only five floors away, but she was suddenly very familiar with the feeling of her legs and arms and heart going numb.

The flashing red at the bottom screen told her this was live. Large hellicarriers armed to the teeth were falling on Washington, a collection of live footage from the news crews and videos from Twitter streaming on the screen, and YN cried out when a rather shaky video caught sight of Giovanna, fighting, yelling, bleeding through her uniform but alive. YN let out a dry sob and leaned forward on her knees, putting her head in her hands and crying into them despite the lack of tears streaming from her eyes.

Then, when she looked back, she saw him. Angry, and scared and like Giovanna, bleeding but very much alive. He looked to be running— chasing after someone who was singlehandedly taking out an entire SHEILD battalion.

She didn’t care. Her guys were alive.

________________________

The quinjet ride to Washington was only half an hour, but both YN and Tony could have sworn it would have been easier to walk themselves. The jet landed on the roof of the hospital and she sprinted side by side with Tony down the stairs, bursting through the doors of the VIP section the hospital had closed off.

Large men in combat greens were lining the hallways, guns on their shoulders and there was an eerie silence in the hallway.

“Ms. Stark is in room 567, Captain Rogers is in the room next to her— 569.” The nurse, nervous and excited at the sight of the Tony Stark in her own hospital making her voice higher than usual.

“I need— I’m sorry.” He whispered once they got to the rooms and YN rolled her eyes, pushing him towards his daughters' room.

“Go, we got all day. I’m gonna go see Steve.” YN tried to ignore the way Tony’s worried eyes gave away to something almost teasing, and she turned around to the room 569, knocking on the ajar door and smiling at the man in the room.

He was sitting next to an unconscious Steve. His dark skin and dark eyes stunned her— a man of genuine beauty was protecting Steve. He looked at her, eyes intense and guarding.

“Who’re you?” His voice was suave and the gap in his teeth was charming. YN tried to fight back the urge to walk over and tell him just who she was— he obviously cared much for Steve. The bags under his eyes and the stains on his shirt were dead giveaways that he hadn’t left the hospital in a few days.

“YN Banner. Who are you?” Her voice was strong, and her gaze landed on Steve who looked very much worse for wear. A large gash that was deep enough to require stitches extended from the corner of his mouth to his earlobe, a black and green and red bruise on his opposite cheek let her know that the bone underneath his skin must have been completely shattered. The hospital gown he was wearing was pulled to the side to show more blossoming bruises and YN coughed, trying to rid her throat of the sudden lump that had taken root there.

The man made a noise of surprise and joy, a wide smile blossoming over his face before he stood and extended a hand.

“Sam Wilson. Wow, the famous YN Banner. Steve and Giovanna never shut up about you this whole week, it’s nice to put a face to the name. Nice to meet you, Steve’s girlfriend, YN Banner.” He smirked and his smile grew at the way she spluttered in surprise.

“I’m— we’re not— I’m not—“ She rushed, cheeks flaming to the tips of her ears. Sam laughed and stepped closer, moving to walk by her and out of the room, knowing she would want some alone time.

“He said the same thing when Gio and Natasha called him your boyfriend. Got more red, though.” And with that, and a clap on the shoulder, Sam walked out of the room.

YN’s gaze drifted back to Steve, and she pressed the backs of her cold hands to her face to try to quell the blush that seemed to have found a home there. She walked over to his side, pulling a chair to his bedside and reaching out, hesitating only slightly before wrapping both of her hands around his much larger one. The knuckles were bruised and bloody, clean stitches already looking to have been removed and she rested her cheek on them, looking at Steve’s face.

It was only a half an hour before his hand twitched in hers, and he grunted at the pain he felt immediately upon waking. He cracked his eyes open slowly, crusted closed with tears and other sleep residue and felt someone's hands tighten around his own.

YN was there, eyes tired but relieved and Steve’s heart rate monitor picked up when she smiled at him, softly.

“Hey,” She whispered over the music from the speaker Sam had brought in. Her tightened her grip on his hands and rested her lips on his fingers— not kissing them, but resting there and Steve cursed the machine beeping continuously and irregularly beside him.

“Hi,” His voice was raspy from the fight and smoke and water they had to pump from his lungs and the breathing tube from the surgeries he had received.

“Whose idea was it to take down SHIELD?” She asked, corners of her lips turning up. She already knew the answer, but it would be nice to have the opportunity to make fun of the man in front of her.

“Gio’s?” He tried and YN laughed against his hand, breath drifting over his knuckles and making the pink of blush creep up his neck. God, how the hell did someone as good as her make him so unbearably nervous. She had gotten even more beautiful in the four months they hadn’t seen each other.

“Nice try, Captain Bad Idea.” YN teased, and she pulled one hand from his grip to brush the back of her fingers against his forehead and his eyes fluttered shut briefly at her touch. To anyone looking into the room, they looked like a couple— two people so in love and so worried for each other, and both Steve and YN knew this, neither too keen on ruining the illusion. They only wanted to stay in this little moment for a few minutes longer— for as long as it took for reality to pull them away from each other once more.

____________________

Soon, Tony interrupted their moment outside of reality, needing to discuss and make plans for the future of the team and whoever remained of SHEILD.

“I’ll be back. Can you eat anything yet?”

“I think so,” His voice was quiet and he really, truly, desperately didn’t want you to leave— didn’t want to let you go already.

“Okay, I’ll find something good.” YN stood, squeezing his hand once before pulling away slowly and Tony raised an eyebrow at the way Steve almost seemed to reach after it, wanting her to come back so soon.

YN didn’t hear the way Tony teased Steve, comments of ‘gramps’ and ‘you know she’s too smart for you, right?’ Followed quickly by Steve telling him to shove it somewhere the sun didn’t shine. Instead, she walked over to the next room and didn’t even bother knocking before walking in and crossing her arms, glaring at her best friend who looked a little worse for wear.

“You look like shit, babe,” Giovanna said with a wicked grin.

“You’re one to talk. Really? Taking down secret government Nazi’s? Without me? How dare you.” YN dropped her stern act and padded over to Giovanna’s bed, lifting the blankets and curling under them, resting her head on her best friends shoulder.

“Sorry about that.” Giovanna shifted slightly and moved to face YN, glad she had chosen to invade her bed on this side, as she didn’t need to lay on the stab wound she had received only hours before.

“I told you not to die.” YN chastised lightly, and Giovanna patted her shoulder.

“I didn’t— I just got stabbed lightly by sex on legs.” She said and YN looked at her sharply.

“Excuse me?”

And then, Giovanna launched into a story of a man-- the Winter Soldier-- dressed in all black, hair hanging around his face which was, apparently, sculpted by Hades himself.

“And the best part,” Giovanna continued, pausing for dramatic effect. “It was Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier is Bucky Barnes!”

YN’s heart dropped to her stomach and she could feel the blood leave her face.

“What? Steve didn’t say anything about— oh, my God.” YN whispered, and she barely had time to even worry about Steve before Giovanna made a noise in the back of her throat.

“Oh, so you saw your favourite Beefcake before your best friend?” Giovanna teased, relishing in the way YN looked as if she wished the ground would swallow her whole.

“I— you were— Tony needed to see you.” YN stuttered and Giovanna rolled her eyes, squeezing YN closer to her. God, she missed her bumbling, pining, lovestruck best friend.

“Suuuure.”

______________________________

Tags (open, send an ask): @i-am-always-famished / @filia-sapientiae / @somekryptonitewriting / @fashionlive15 / @godlymissbalor / @fanfictionjunkie1112 / @nerdy-bookworm-1998 / @songforhema / @army-crawl-andersen / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @shynara51

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