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donteattheappleshook · 8 months

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(not so) young, drunk and alone 1/1

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else. Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

(We'll give this a light M)

Oh hey, it's me, neglecting all the WIPs for something new.

This fic is a little birthday present to myself. It's completely ferral and I had very little control over it but I listened to Dial Drunk on repeat for 3 days and then this happened. This fic is unbetaed but thank you @the-darkdragonfly for answering all my texts and rambling calls while I was writing it!

A Silver hook story because apparently everything I write is now...

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work)

******

(not so) young, drunk and alone

She shouldn’t be allowed to look at him like that. Not with a smirk caught between her teeth in a way that makes his throat dry and his pulse race. Not with the barely restrained promise of a laugh he’s sure would come out in different company that makes his face burn and and his eyes unable to meet hers. He can’t look at her when she looks like that, and she’s looking at him like that, and he looks - he assumes not great.

So he focuses on the floor instead. The floor is safe. The floor doesn’t stir up conflicting and confusing feelings he’s managed to ignore for the better part of a year. The floor doesn’t make him question every terrible decision he’s made in his life that led him to this exact moment. The floor is… moving. It’s not supposed to do that. Although that’s likely the booze, he rationalizes. But the floor isn’t interested in being rational so Killian lets his forehead fall against the bars he’s already holding onto in an attempt to stay upright. The bars are nice, they’re cool and solid and it slows the spinning in his head a fraction.

“Big night?”

He takes a full ten seconds, counted slowly, and a few deep breaths before raising his head again and facing that smirk. It doesn’t help. The absolute delight in her eyes delivers the same gut-punch it always does - even if it’s at his expense - and the soft blonde curls that have fallen from her probably hastily pulled up bun make him ache to reach out and brush them away from her face just so he can feel the strands between his fingers.

He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it. He should have just let the sheriff keep him in this bloody cell. It’s not as if he hadn’t slept it off a night or two in another cell in another town throughout his youth. But he’s not so youthful now and the sight of the cold, hard bench, the thought of his aching back and the copious amounts of rum still coursing through his blood had been enough to send him over the edge into madness apparently. So he’d pressed the blurry little “absolutely not” in his contacts and called the only person he knew in this whole bloody city.

“Swaann.” He attempts a smile but it turns into a wince as he manages to slur the single word. When he works up to meeting her eyes again - so green, like the sea glass he used to collect on the beach when he was a boy and that takes his breath away every time - there’s a bit of pity mixed in with the amusement.

He feels pretty pitiful. Forty-five and so stumbling drunk that he’d been tossed out of the pub and into a police car, only to be forced to face the one person he’d hoped the rum would chase from his mind. He’s too old to be acting like this. Even with his wits sloshing around in the drink he’d tried to drown them with he knows he’s too old to be acting like this. When you’re young, it’s funny, an anecdote for another time - spending the night in the drunk tank. When you’re his age, it’s just pathetic.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Her voice is sweet, with a laugh still hiding somewhere behind it, and it’s the first sound since he was brought here that hasn’t made his head feel like it was being scratched at from the inside.

“You shouldn’t’ve come here. S’the middle of the night,” he tells her. She doesn’t belong in this sad little room in this sad little jail with the lightbulb that keeps flickering in and out. Still, he can’t stop the stupid smile that finds residence on his face whenever she’s near - because she is here. She came to get him.

Emma raises a brow in a way he thinks she may have picked up from him. “You called me three times.”

He blinks. Fuck. He doesn’t remember that. He looks at the sheriff waiting a little ways back who nods in confirmation, giving Killian his own pitying wince like he tried to stop him. Killian sighs. “‘Mm usually much more charming.”

She rolls her eyes but smirks again as the sheriff slides a key into the ancient looking lock. “Yeah, I know. Come on, Graham’s going to let you off with a warning -”

He nearly falls flat on his face when the door he’d been leaning against swings open.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with him, Em?”

Oh great, they know each other. He’d be more annoyed at her cozy relationship with the unreasonably attractive sheriff if he wasn’t a little bit grateful to the man who caught him and is still holding him up now. If he can just get his legs to go back under him where they belong…

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

Killian feels himself being passed from the man who smells strikingly of the forest, to the woman with the irreplicable scent of honey and drugstore soap that overwhelms him with the memory of every time he’s had his mouth or his hand on her skin. The fingers of his one remaining hand burn with the urge to feel her under them again so he balls them into a fist as she drapes his arm over her shoulders. “What about you?” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s who the question is directed at. “You going to be okay to walk out of here?”

Sheer determination not to make an even greater fool of himself than he already has in front of Emma Swan is the only thing he can attribute to both not falling right over with the nod of his head, and the steadiness of his first step as she leads him out the door.

He stumbles three times between the building and her car. She catches him every time with a hand on his chest, her head turning so that her hair brushes his cheek and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose after the first time - though he can’t really trust his own thoughts at this point since they have to be yelled at him through an ocean of rum.

“It’s your bug!” he beams at the old, yellow car. “I love your bug.”

“You hate my bug.”

Oh, right. He does hate the car that broke down every other time they drove to his hotel in the middle of the night, the one that had broken down the night they met. ‘I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just my car is literally on the side of the road right now and the tow won’t come for another hour at least and there’s… smoke.’

It had been an interesting night, getting an Uber in a strange city to go pick up a stranded woman from a dating app who'd been on her way to his hotel for anonymous sex - a woman he found out had lied about her age when she pointed out that the 1993 beetle was older than she was. ‘I didn’t think you’d swipe right if you knew there was a whole high school senior between us.’ ‘Anything else I should know about?’ he’d teased when they were back at his hotel room where she’d managed to get him out of his shirt with impressive speed. ‘Is Anna even your real name?’ ‘Uhhh, about that…’

She leans him up against the aggressive yellow of the door as she fishes in her pockets for her key. Her cheeks have gone red from the cold and it reminds him of the flush that would sometimes come over her skin if he found the right words or the right touch.

“You’re so lovely.” His thumb is tracing over her cheek though he doesn’t remember raising his hand or reaching for her.

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, Jones. So not gonna happen tonight, but nice try.” This time her smirk is wicked and if he had any real control over his body or his brain he would kiss it right off her smug mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything!” he swears, prosthetic on his heart as she unlocks the passenger side door. “I’m just grateful you came all the way out here to rescue me. My knight in awful yellow armour.” He gasps. She rescued him from a dungeon. “Bloody hell, Swan -” He speaks slowly, managing to get almost every word out coherently. “I’m the princess.”

He’s waiting for her to come to the same mind-blowing realization as he has, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Get in the car, your highness.”

It takes an impressive amount of self-control for him to sit still and keep his hand to himself despite his racing heart and thoughts as she leans over to help him secure his seatbelt. Because he’s not supposed to have those thoughts. And his idiot heart can keep its cruel reminders to itself. He shouldn’t have called her. He hasn’t called her - not in months. Not since he realized his mistake and knew this thing between them had to come to an end.

He’s missed her so bloody much.

“Killian.” She’s beside him now in the driver’s seat and saying his name like it’s not the first time she’s asked him this question. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I…” Shit. He knows this. He’s got this. Think. There was a hotel. A big hotel with really good room service. Maybe they could go there and he could buy her room service. She always liked that. ‘Listen, I know I came over here for sex and that was great and everything, but there’s a freaking lobster grilled cheese on this menu so do you think I could be here for sex and room service tonight?’ She’d looked at him with that same wicked, eager smile and he was already reaching across her for the phone. ‘I feel like I should be concerned that you seem more turned on by this sandwich than you did by anything else tonight.’ ‘Well, it’ll probably take them a little while to deliver it if you want another go at out-seducing bread and cheese.’

“A hotel,” he tells her finally.

“Yeah, I kind of figured. Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which hotel, Killian? Which hotel am I driving you to?”

“Oh.” He knows this one! “Mine.”

She sighs, forehead falling against the steering wheel for a long moment. He waits, not sure what he did wrong but positive that he did something. “Okay,” she says, sitting up and starting the car. “It’s late. You can sleep it off on my couch for tonight and I’ll drive you back in the morning when you’re less… wasted.”

She sounds frustrated and he thinks it might be his fault. He looks at her carefully as she turns out of the parking lot, really looks at her for the first time since she walked back into his life a moment ago. Holding his breath against the eyes and hair and skin that always try to steal it away, he takes note of her messy hair, the lack of any makeup, the grey sweats he knows she likes to sleep in. He looks at the clock next, the late - or rather early - hour shining angry, bright and orange. He can figure this out.

“I’m sorry.” He’s an idiot. She glances at him before turning back to the dark highway ahead of them.” “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He hangs his head, hoping he looks sincere and not just as pathetically pissed as he is. “I woke you up.”

“Really, Killian, it’s fine. I was just going to bed.” He looks at the clock again and he envies her youth not for the first time since meeting her. He supposes he’s up this late as well, but that wasn’t by choice. That was the rum’s decision. The rum always makes bad decisions.

“But it’s cold.” She must be cold. She’s always cold and he made her go outside. She hates outside. She probably hates him now. ‘Listen, I’m all for this whole hooking up when you’re in town no strings thing.’ She waved a hand in his general direction. ‘Big fan of everything you’ve got going on here. But it’s cold as balls outside, so from now on you can come to mine and I can stay inside where it’s warm, or I’ll see you in the spring.’

The smirking curl of her mouth tugs at her cheek but he doesn’t reach for it again. “Yeah, it’s November.”

November. The last time he saw her it had been the dead of summer, both of them hot and sticky and barely dressed, stretched out in front of the single standing fan by the bed in her little apartment with no bloody air conditioning.

He misses that apartment. Misses being there with her and letting her make him boxed mac and cheese while he complained about her eating habits. Misses the ridiculous sheets with little Millennium Falcons on them that she’d found when he was running late to meet her that one time. He’d made her wash them before putting them on her bed - ‘fine, mom’ - and then listened to her make Star Wars puns from between her thighs until they tightened so hard against his ears he couldn’t hear anything at all.

And he misses the way she would smile at him when she opened the door, just before she dragged him inside, asking about his flight between heated kisses and frustrated hands. ‘I hate your stupid ties’.

He’s a bloody idiot and he should have never stopped calling. Or he should have stopped calling a long time ago, before there was anything to miss. They had a good thing going, an understanding, no strings. He’d reach out when he was in town for work and they would meet for one or however many nights he was staying. No expectations or dates or sleepovers, none of the complicated stuff. And he’d screwed it up.

His feet slip dangerously against the icy ground - at least he’s pretty sure there’s ice, or the ground isn’t staying still again - as Emma practically hoists him out of the car. “You remember the stairs right?” she asks, ducking under his arm again to steady him. She fits well there with her arm wrapped around his waist.

He hadn’t remembered the stairs. Though he should have, he’d complained about them enough times. ‘What’s so wrong with an apartment with an elevator?’ ‘Aw, can your old knees not handle it?’ He’d caught her as she bolted up the last few flights at his glare, laughing the whole way, and he’d spent enough time on his ‘old knees’ to make her take it back. This time, he’s not so sure he can handle it as he looks up at the rotating stairs that seem unable to settle on a height.

“It’s either that or you’re sleeping in the lobby, Jones.”

He considers it. “Is that David guy still your landlord?” The one who was particularly hostile to the man in his forties coming over at random hours of the night to visit his twenty-eight year old tenant. ‘Give him a break, he still thinks I’m the sixteen year old kid he illegally rented to when I first moved here.’

In fairness, Killian would probably judge himself too if he were in the landlord's shoes. He has judged himself many times for becoming a stereotype of Dicaprio-sized proportions. But the alternative would have been resisting Emma Swan, something he’s incapable of doing - or at least had been until that morning he ruined everything.

“Okay.” The stairs are still moving.

“Hold on.” She takes out her phones - there’s definitely two of them - and holds them in front of his face. “I just want to get you on camera saying that I’m not liable if you fall down these stairs and break your neck.”

“Is that really necessary?” He got that whole sentence out in one try.

“I know you have a lawyer.” ‘You have a what? Wow, I knew you were older but I didn’t know you were like, old old.’ ‘I don’t think it counts if you’ve stolen from parent’s liquor cabinet.’

“Fine. Don’t sue Emma if I die. She’s very nice and doesn’t have any money anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“It’ll never hold up in court.”

“That would be way more convincing if you could pronounce all your consonants.”

The climb takes twice as long as it should and he’s forced to stop once when he makes the mistake of looking down and his stomach rolls violently. ‘I swear to god if you puke in my hallway I’ll leave you here to sleep in it.’

“I don’t remember there being this many floors.”

“It’s four floors. You’ve done two.”

He might die.

He doesn’t die, but just barely, and when Emma leads him through the door and into the studio, she practically drops him onto the old couch. It’s not her fault; he’d made himself very droppable in the last few minutes. At least he landed on the couch and not the collection of wooden crates she’s glued together next to it. ‘That’s not a coffee table, Swan.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is that or is that not your coffee cup on it right now?’

He doesn’t see her for a few minutes, his head too heavy to lift, but he can hear her moving around the apartment and he can picture her, walking through the kitchen on her toes. ‘It’s not weird, shut up.’ ‘I just thought you’d like to know that most people use their whole foot.’

When she finally comes back, he forces his eyes open, unsure who exactly glued them shut or how they did it without him noticing. Fuck she’s beautiful. Even through the boozy marinade he’s made of his head he can see that, and he wants to tell her. He could. He could blame it on the rum. But that would be a bad idea. Complicating things between them would be a bad idea. They’d already gotten complicated enough. God, he’s such a fuck up. Things were good, they could have stayed good. He just had to go and ruin a good thing with his stupid, greedy heart.

“Here.” Two little pills and a frighteningly large bottle of water are set down in front of him. He’s not sure what the pills are but he’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t try to poison him even if he is an asshole who called her in the middle of the night after ghosting her for months. Pretty sure. The water sounds like a good idea.

“Have you eaten anything or did you have rum for dinner?”

“There were peanuts at the bar,” he tells her after guzzling down enough water to drown himself with. She shakes her head and walks out of his line of sight again. This time she comes back with a bag of crisps and he thinks maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as he thought because they’re the kind he likes most.

“Eat that, drink that, and take those,” she orders, pointing to each with a stern look. “And then lie down on your side so I know you won’t choke to death in the night, and get some sleep.”

“Yes ‘mam,” he salutes.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He wasn’t trying to be cute. But it makes him unreasonably happy that she thinks he is. She rolls her eyes at his probably once again dumb smile and repeats, “eat,” before disappearing where he can’t see her again.

When she comes back this time her hair is down, falling over the shoulders of her oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt she’s apparently had since she was twelve, and he wants to whine or cry at how desperately he wishes he could reach for her and what an idiot he is for being the reason he can’t. She’s carrying an empty garbage can, a blanket draped over one arm.

“Do not puke on my rug. It’s the only new thing in this whole apartment and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.”

Killian leans over from where he’s stretched out on the couch that’s too small for him, running his fingers over the blue and white pattern and nods. “It’s lovely, very soft.”

She’s silent for long enough that he looks up again, only to find her with her lips pressed so hard together against a laugh that he can see her chest lurch with the force of containing it. He frowns, looking from her to the rug and back again before realizing that he’s been stroking the rug with his prosthetic hand.

“Emma… I might be drunker than I thought.”

The laugh that bursts out of her is loud and horrible and obnoxious and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time. He’s missed that sound, the one that had shocked him so completely the first time he heard it that they’d both ended up on the floor, stomachs hurting and eyes tearing, neither able to remember what had set her off in the first place and unable to stop giggling like teenagers.

“Aw, babe,” Emma crouches down in front of him with a pitying look before beginning to work the straps of his false hand loose. Her hand settles soft against his cheek once it’s free, smirk still lingering on the corner of her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as drunk as you are right now.”

Her face is so close to his that his heart forgets how it’s meant to work, stopping and racing of its own accord. He wishes she would close the distance, that he could feel her mouth against his for the first time in months, or that she’d simply stay here with him for the rest of the night because the distance and the silence between them has been more than he can take. He doesn't know how he ever convinced himself that staying away would eventually make the ache for her fade.

She smiles at him again, giving his cheek an affectionate pat before draping the blanket over him, the soft one he knows had been her prized possession before the rug. “Get some sleep, Killian. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as hungover as you’re going to be tomorrow either.”

He’s not sure whether or not the way his fingers close around hers before she can pull away was his idea or the rum’s, but she’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something and he doesn’t know what he was going to say or what he was thinking. He just knows that he missed her and he screwed it up - and then he screwed it up again, possibly beyond repair the second time.

Being in this city that he managed to avoid for months in the hopes that he could forget about her has been one of the worst decisions he’s ever made. To think he really believed that he could live here, that he could take the job that was offered and not be haunted by her every waking moment, not dread and hope to see her around every corner.

Being naive enough to think he could ignore the draw of her is how he ended up in that bar tonight. He’d tried to figure out how many shots of rum it would take to make him forget that he loves Emma Swan, but it seems there isn’t enough rum in the world for that - or at least not enough in that bar.

She’s still looking at him and he wishes she wasn’t watching him with a hesitation and a carefulness that hadn’t been there before. It had always been so easy between them; he’d never felt less self-conscious with another person in his life and now it’s all consuming. She’s lost the carefree warmth he used to see in her eyes, like he took it with him when he left that morning and didn’t come back.

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment in her sigh. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “Not for calling you tonight. For not calling you. Every other night. I’ve been an ass and I’ve been a coward. You didn’t deserve that.” By the grace of whatever gods might be listening to his poor apology, he doesn’t slur a single word.

Her pause is long enough that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he can’t read her expression through the haze of booze and exhaustion swimming around in his head. He should let go of her hand, but he’s painfully aware that this could be the last time he gets to touch her and she’s not pulling away.

She sighs again. “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re feeling better?”

He lets go. “Aye, Swan, whatever you want.”

She walks away. Beyond repair then.

***

Killian jumps, heart pounding. He feels like he’s woken from a coma, body so heavy with sleep that parts of it aren't responding to him and never having been more confused than he is in these first few moments. It’s daytime, but it’s not morning, the light is too dim, and he’s asleep but not in his bed or in his hotel room, on a couch he recognizes but can’t really place. He has a vague recollection of things that may or may not have happened while he lay here; the sound of someone moving around the room, someone saying his name, a door shutting, an angry car somewhere far off and the bark of a dog somewhere close, the sound of keys and the strange sensation someone poking him in the face - hard.

All of it feels like a fever dream now as he looks towards the tinny sound of the belligerent man’s voice coming from the phone in her hand.Oh no. Oh god what the hell had he done last night? He recognizes the room, the soft blanket he’s under, the long legs clad in grey sweatpants perched on the table in front of him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to look at her.

“Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

If you’d like to save this message, press - there's a loud beep before another message begins to play. Bloody hell. He remembers the pub, and the cop - sort of - and he remembers that little line on his phone screen. ‘Absolutely not’. From the looks of it, he absolutely did.

“Heey, isme again. I don’t think I told you where I am. Is’not great, Swan. They put me in the jail.”

He winces, sitting up carefully, head still light and disoriented. “Did I…”

“Mhm.”

Another wince. “Are they all-”

“Oh yeah.”

“‘M not even that drunk. The sherfs just got a commpelex or something.”

“Swan, we really don’t have to -”

“Shh, this is my favourite part.”

Killian hangs his head. “I - Oy, I’m on the phone, sherirff! Don’ they teach you manners at cop school? The cops in your city are rude, Swan. Hey! No - iss my phone. I can call whoever I want.” There’s a shuffling sound that stirs up a faint memory of trying to back deeper into the cell, then a small shout and he remembers why his ass hurts and that he’s probably got a bruise on his hip the size of the one on his ego. Emma has her lip caught between her teeth again, flashing him the same look she had when she arrived at the station.

“Hello? Swan? Oh, right. Yur prolly asleep. You should be asleep, that’s good. I jus’ called ‘cus I…” For a blissful minute he thinks he might have had the sense to hang up, the silence on the other end dragging on and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then the message rings out again. “I can't remember why I called you. I think somethin’ made me think of you.” His voice gets softer and so does her expression for just a moment.

“That happens a lot. I been thinking ‘bout you a lot, all the time, really. And not just in a sexy way and not just yer face.” Killian hangs his head. “Even though I’m a fan of your face. And all your other parts too.”

He wishes he could just perish right here and now, wishes the dull ache in his head would become an aneurysm and take him out without a fuss.

“I been thinking about those ridic’lus tiktoks you used to send me and when I was in meetings ‘n I jus’ wanted to be with you. I don’t know anything about Taylor Swift anymore, Swan - I don’t know how to find those myself.” There’s another pause but he knows better than to hope this is over, much of this coming back to him now in mortifying waves.

“I’ve too many shirts in my closet now - It’s so many shirts. I always brought extra ‘cause I knew you’d steal ‘em an’ then you’d walk ‘round your kitchen in ‘em with no pants like yur a sexy Winnie the Pooh or somethn’ and I had to watch you climb yur counters while I had a heartattack ‘cuz you wouldn’ jus’ let me get things off the top shelf for you. Bloody stubborn.” There’s a sigh over the machine. “I don’t want this many shirts, Swan…

‘Anyway I - What? Who does? Sorry, Swan the sherf is being rude again. He wants to know if yur picking me up. Are you picking me up?” There’s so much hope in his past self’s voice that he almost feels bad for him. But he also knows what a bloody idiot that man is and it’s hard to feel anything but the overwhelming urge to disappear into this couch and not have to listen to any more of his drunken rambling. “That would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. Gnight, love.”

To delete this message press - She hits a button. Message saved.

Killian braces himself for the next one. Gods, how many of them are there? But this time it’s not his voice that comes out over the speakerphone, it’s another man, Irish and vaguely familiar through the sleep and the unfortunately returning memories.

“Hey, Emma, it’s Graham.” Killian’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of another man calling her in the middle of the night. Of course she wouldn’t have sat around pining like he did, not for a man who treated her as carelessly as he had. Of course - “Listen, I don’t know who this guy is but he says he knows you. I thought maybe he was one of your clients but when I asked him how he knows you he just asked me if I’ve ever been in love...”

The brow Emma raises at him is equal parts question, challenge and amusement and he feels the blood rush from his face. Fuck. He wonders whether four floors would be high enough for him to end this misery if he just went out the window.

“Anyway, just let me know if this is another Walsh situation and I’ll make sure he stays in here, alright? Goodnight, love.” Killian can’t even begrudge the man or the endearment he adds to the end of his message when he’s only looking out for her. Probably a good thing she has someone to keep old, drunk dickheads away from her.

He hears another beep of her mailbox and braces himself for whatever’s coming next. “Hi, love, ‘m sorry for calling so much. I know I made too many ms’takes to be ‘loud to say this, but… I miss you, Swan… And I’d jus’ really like to see you again.”

End of messages. To -

Emma shuts the phone off, setting it down next to her on the coffee table. She tilts her head to see his face which he’s currently trying to bury in his hands. “Sounds like you had quite the night.”

“I thought I’d be more hungover.” His head hurts and he’s tired and his mouth is dry but he expected to be near death after the way he threw them back last night.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Oh. He does the math of how long she’d let him sleep in her apartment after everything he’s done - after she picked him up.

“At one point I had to make sure you were alive. But I figured if you were able to leave such eloquent voicemails last night that you probably weren’t in danger of alcohol poisoning.”

“Swan, I…” He’s fully aware that he deserves her mocking but he’s too humiliated to even begin to try and explain his behaviour last night. How can he without explaining everything right down to that morning in July where he messed up the best thing in his life.

She takes pity on him, giving a small shrug. “Forget about it. Everyone says stupid stuff when they’re hammered. Everyone calls people they know they shouldn’t.”

“No, Emma -” He finally lifts his head to look at her. “That wasn’t…” He needs her to know that wasn’t what this was, she wasn’t just some drunk dial in the middle of the night. He thinks of how many times in the last three three months he’s looked at that contact in his phone, her name replaced with a reminder that he should not and absolutely could not go there. She mistakes his hesitation.

“You okay?”

“No.” He needs to talk to her, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. But he can’t find the words in his tired, muddled head to tell her without telling her everything. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

Emma smirks. “Yeah, we established that last night - a bunch of times.”

“I mean it. It wasn’t -” He rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep and avoid looking at her. “I didn’t just call you because I was drunk. I’ve wanted to call you. For months. Last night just gave me an excuse.”

“You needed an excuse to call me?”

He sighs. “I was coward enough to convince myself I did.”

When he finally forces himself to face her, he finds her watching her phone, fingers wrung in her lap and lips pressed together tightly the way they always are before she asks something that’s answer matters to her.

“How much of last night do you actually remember?”

“Most of it, I think.” It’s been coming back to him in increasingly horrifying details since she played that first voicemail.

“You said a lot of stupid stuff.”

“I know.”

“How much of all of that was true?”

“All of it.”

She raises a brow. “All of it?”

“Aye.”

“Sexy Winnie the Pooh?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I stand by what I said.”

He wonders which parts of what he said she’s focusing on as her silence stretches between them, heartbroken when he sees a little wall go up. This is why he stopped calling. He knew this would happen.

“It’s fine. It’s not like you owed me anything. We weren’t -”

“Don’t do that.” His hand reaches out for her, fingers playing carefully with the fabric of her too-big sweatpants. “We may not have been in a relationship but we weren’t nothing.” He won’t let her excuse his behaviour, not after they spent over a year in each others’ lives only for him to disappear from hers. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were.”

“So then why did you stop calling?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard her sound even though she hides it well and he can’t bring himself to look at her. “I liked what we had going. I liked spending time with you.”

“Aye, so did I.” Too much.

“I guess I thought - I guess I thought we were friends at least.”

“We were.” His fingers dance along her calf through the fabric he can’t stop fiddling with and he feels the muscle tense but she doesn’t pull away from him.

“So then what gives?” The anger in her voice makes his gaze snap up to hers. Finally. He’s been waiting for her to be angry with him, she deserves to be angry and he deserves it too. It gives him that small flicker of hope he’d been unable to find until now, a hope that if she’s angry, it’s because she cared enough to be hurt. “Why did you just…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Disappear.

“Because I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what? Hook up? Jesus, Killian, I’m a big girl. You didn’t have to run away because you were over the benefits part of this friendship.”

“I wasn’t. I left because I broke our rules.”

“What rules?”

The ones they’d so carefully established when they decided to continue this arrangement beyond the first and second time he saw her. The ones that were meant to keep either of them from getting hurt like they both were now.

“The last time I was here, we fell asleep and woke up in the morning still in your bed and I…”

“That’s why you freaked out? Because you accidentally slept over? That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He can hear the disbelief in her voice and also the relief but he’s not done. “It wasn’t like a hard and fast rule -”

His fingers curl around the back of her knee, squeezing as he draws her attention. “That’s not why.” He traces his thumb over the fabric covering her shin and he knows he has to tell her because he can’t do this anymore without telling her and he can’t go back to how things were.

And he thinks that just maybe, she’ll want to hear it. Because as small and insignificant as it may seem, those aren’t her sweatpants, they’re his, lent - stolen - after a rather frantic afternoon in his hotel room six months ago where he may have torn her skirt in his haste to get it off. ‘You need better quality clothes, love.’ ‘Is this you finally offering to be my sugar daddy?’ They have his bloody initials on them - a strange gift from his lawyer friend. And she hasn’t gotten rid of them, didn’t toss them away when he did the same to her. She still sleeps in them.

“I freaked out because I liked waking up with you, and I started thinking that I’d like to wake up with you every morning.” He’d been hot and sweaty and sore from sleeping on her old mattress but he’d looked down at the woman wrapped around him despite the stifling heat, her cheek pressed to his chest and her hair in his mouth and he knew that he wanted this, wanted her, maybe forever. He hears her small intake of breath, his thumb still stroking her skin though the fabric as though it’ll give him the strength he needs. “And I hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…” He can’t finish and so she does for him.

“Milah?”

“Aye.” His reason for never wanting anything more, love lost in the same instant that cost him a piece of himself. He’d told Emma about her, one night when they’d lingered a little too long entangled in the aftermath. He didn’t know the details of her reason, only that she’d been far too young and that he’d hurt her deeply enough to make her wary of anyone who claimed love or devotion.

“I hoped that if I stayed away for a little while that it would fade away and that we could go back to how things were because I knew that if I told you I would lose you. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed you and the more I wanted you and I realized it wasn’t going to go away - because I loved you.”

Killian watches her for a reaction as he tells her the truth he’d been hiding from her for months and from himself for far longer, but she remains unreadable, fingers still wringing nervously in her lap, breathing a little shaky. But there’s no abject terror in her gaze as she waits for him to finish.

“And by then I’d avoided you for too long and it was too late to tell you or try to go back to how things were and I lost you anyway. Then I managed to convince myself that it was for the best because this wasn’t what you wanted and you deserved better anyway.” Better than an old widower with a used up heart who’d run the moment things became real. “But I thought you had the right to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you. I left because I cared too much.”

Fabric slips from his hand as she stands, circling the coffee table and leaving him feeling untethered without her and with a barrier set between them. He focuses on the rug, her reaction expected but no less painful, as she paces the length of her glued together crates a few times.

“Okay two things.” Her tone snaps his gaze up to where she moves anxiously and restlessly in the small space. “First of all, that’s the last time you make a decision for me.” He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I don’t need anyone to decide what I do or don’t deserve or what I can or can’t handle. If you want to know what I want, you ask me. You talk to me like the grownup you keep pretending that you are.” That one hurts but he nods. It’s all rightly earned.

“You’re right.”

“Good.” She stops, shoulders squared as she faces him from across the table. “Second.” He waits, the anger from before no longer sustaining her as he sees the wall she hides behind slip just a little. “You said you loved me.”

He’s not sure what answer she wants, but he gives her the truth. “I love you, Swan.” Try as hard as he did not to, he knows it’s not going away. And he’s not willing to attempt another eight shots of rum a second time to make sure.

She nods. He waits, or she waits, he’s not sure who’s supposed to speak here only that he needs to know how she feels and he’ll wait as long as he needs to.

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want?”

“What do you want?” He’d give her whatever she asked for at this point as he watches her bite her lip and definitely doesn’t wish he was the one biting it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Fair enough.

“Look, I get running away from feelings - I’m very familiar with the concept. But the way you did it was really shitty and -” Her voice goes quiet, arms wrapping around herself in a move so full of self-preservation that it breaks his heart a little. “It hurt, okay?”

Her words, thick with betrayal and rejection, pierce sharp through his chest, painful and deserved as she avoids his gaze as determinantly as he’d avoided hers. God, he’s an ass. He’d pieced together enough about her past from the small glimpses she’d given him late on those nights where they were still tangled naked in her sheets and the dark lent them the boldness to be vulnerable to know that she’d been left before.

He joins her on her side of the table, reaching to touch the soft, golden waves that he’s spent months wishing he could tangle his fingers in again. “I’m sorry.” He pushes them behind her ear, thumb stroking over her cheek like her skin could break beneath his touch.

When she looks up at him her eyes are red and wet he pulls her to him without thinking. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, Emma feeling fragile in his arms for the first time since he met her. She’s a force, his Swan, a tempest that could devour a thousand ships and it hurts to see her storms wane.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brings a hand to stroke the hair at the base of her neck, feels her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks against her brow. “I’m so sorry, love.” His lips brush over the crown of her head and he feels her arms slip around his waist, holding tight to the back of his shirt. He holds her just as tightly, nose settling in the crook of her neck where he presses another kiss and whispers a thousand more apologies. “I’m an ass.”

“Yeah, you are.” Her voice comes muffled from where her face is pressed against his collarbone and he laughs in relief to hear her tease him. He pulls back enough that she can lift her head to face him, eyes still red as he wipes at the dampness left on her cheeks. All he wants is to kiss her and spend the night and the next day and every day after that making this up to her, but he knows better than to push her.

Her hands slide from his back to his chest as she meets his gaze and takes a steadying breath. “I still don’t know what I want. You’re not the only one who’s bad at dealing with feelings and you just put some pretty big ones out there.”

“I know.” He doesn’t expect to hear the words back, not after three months of silence. But if she gives him the chance to stay and try to win her heart then he’ll spend forever earning back her trust.

“But maybe, if you’re still in town for a bit, you could stay for dinner.”

It takes everything he has to contain the ecstatic smile that wells up from his chest, afraid he’ll scare her off. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He’s not leaving her again. Not unless she sends him away.

***

“When do you go back?” she asks when they’re sat at the kitchen island. ‘What, exactly, do you have against real furniture? Especially tables. They seem particularly discriminated against.’ ‘Do you see any room in here for a twelve-piece dining set?’ He swallows the bite of the boxed mac and cheese she’d made him cook ‘Because I’m still pissed at you and I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer through this.’ ‘Sadist. Can I at least add -’ ‘No.’

Killian looks at his watch. “My flight was an hour ago.”

“What? You should have said -”

“And miss all the delicacies that Maine has to offer?” he asks, lifting his mismatched bowl. “It’s fine, Swan,” he adds when she looks genuinely concerned. “I’d rather be here.” He can get another flight at the last minute before he’s due back in New York on Monday. Getting his things back from the hotel, however, may be a tad more difficult.

“That’s sweet and all but I think you’d also rather be employed.”

“Aye, well, I may not be employed there much longer anyhow.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh god, don’t tell me you left them voicemails too.”

Killian snorts. “No, I’ve just… had another offer.”

His heart pounds frantically as she asks, “where?” terrified that he’ll scare her off.

“Here.”

“Here?”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to take it, not after realizing how much I’d miss you if I was here. But, well, that was before I drank a full bar. And this town does have its benefits.”

She gapes at him and he can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “You’re not moving for me, right? You want the job? Because I told you I don’t know what I want or if I can even do… whatever this maybe is and I -”

He reaches for her hand, calming the rambling that had started. “I do want the job, but of course I’m moving for you, Swan. And I know you’re not ready to decide anything, and I’m not asking you to. But whether you do or don’t decide that what you want is me, I’m going to be right here while you figure it out. I’m not going to leave you twice, Emma. I don’t want to miss you like that again.”

Emma just stares at him, mouth opening and then shutting with questions that don’t find voice and he sits, stewing in the worry that he said too much, asked for too much. He swallows as she jumps out of her seat, his turn to ramble now as she rounds the island.

“I mean, I will have to go home and get my things and resign but I -”

“Shut up,” she tells him, hands sliding into his hair and mouth colliding with his.

He’s more than happy to do exactly that, wasting no time in gathering her up in his arms and pulling her close, returning the kiss he’d missed so damn much all these months, missed the feel of her soft and warm against him like this, for the little sound she makes when his own hand tangles in her hair just hard enough that he can keep he there a little longer.

“Wait,” he breathes and her hands pause where they’d been working the buttons of his shirt free. “Maybe we should slow down.” There’s a part of him screaming at his stupid mouth right now for the words falling out of it. “You said you don’t know if this is what you want. So maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”

She barks out a small laugh. “You’re moving to another city for a ‘maybe’ and you don’t want to rush things?” He doesn’t really have an answer for that.

Her brow and mouth quirk up in one devastatingly attractive motion that has him ready to go back on everything he just said. “This was never our problem,” she reminds him, fingers tugging the buckle of his belt loose. “We’re good at this part. Everything else is where we get messy.” She works the button of his jeans open next. “So just try not to make any more big confessions while you’re inside me…” She runs her teeth over the skin below his ear as she slides her hand into his jeans and he nearly chokes. “And we should be fine.”

“Bloody hell.” His rational self may judge him later, but his current self has Emma Swan with her hand around his cock trying to get him out of his clothes and he’s already established that he’s not a very smart man. “I promise.”

***

It’s a strange feeling to be laying here, wrapped up in an old duvet and Star Wars sheets with Emma’s head on his shoulder and her fingers drawing patterns over his chest. They’ve never done this part, never lingered beyond the time it took them both to catch their breaths before untangling themselves from one another and going about their day - or tangling themselves again. He likes it, but it’s strange, new, something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not with anyone.

“This is kind of weird right?” she asks, breath warm against his neck.

Killian laughs. Bloody mind reader.

“Aye, a bit. I think I’m out of practice.”

“I never practised in the first place.”

He presses a kiss to her hair. “But, it’s not bad, right?” She can probably hear his stupid heart racing as he waits for her answer.

“No,” she shakes her head, sliding her arm around his waist and fitting herself more snugly against his side. “It’s not bad.” He can feel her smile against his skin, glad she can’t see the absolutely ridiculous one stretched across his own. They lay there a little longer, the room darkening with the earlier and earlier nights as he begins to dread the fast approaching hour where he’ll have to leave, until Emma shifts. “My neck hurts.”

“My arm’s asleep.”

She sits up and his arm is flooded with the sudden relief of no longer being squished, but he misses the warmth and the closeness of her immediately. He has two arms. Who really needs both? He’s done fine with one hand. “Where are you going?” he asks when she rises from the bed, reaching for his shirt that she tossed on the floor and he made himself leave there. ‘Do not fold your clothes while we’re in the middle of having sex or I swear I’ll put mine back on you fucking weirdo.’

“Thirsty,” she says as she finishes buttoning it. “You?”

“Aye, thanks.”

“Water? Or would you prefer rum?”

“Hilarious.” His stomach rolls, not finding her so funny. She certainly seems to think she is, smirking as she fetches two water bottles from the fridge. “You know you’re going to have to give me my shirt back this time. It’s the only one I’ve got.” At least until he finds out if the hotel hung onto his suitcase when he missed his checkout. “Unless you have the others squirrelled away here somewhere.”

“I thought you had ‘too many shirts, Swan,’” she reminds him in a poor imitation of his accent and he rolls his eyes. She hops back onto the bed, climbing into his lap to sit astride his hips. His hand and wrist settle on her waist, the shirt in question riding up and making him groan at the feel of her pressed against him.

“Aye well I’ve only got the one to wear out of here tonight and while you look infinitely better in it than I do -”

“Like a sexy Winnie the Pooh, would you say?”

He sighs. “I’m never living that one down am I?”

“You want to show me your hundred acre wood?” Killian lets his head fall back against the headboard as she laughs herself silly. “I have another solution,” she tells him, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking, maybe, since you’ve already missed your flight, and you probably don’t have a hotel room anymore, that you could stay here tonight. And maybe we could give that whole waking up together thing a shot.”

Her cheeks are flushed, freckles bright against the soft pink as she looks up from her hands to catch his eye. He kisses her hard enough that she’d have fallen right off his lap were it not for his arms holding her steady and close to him.

“That a yes?” she asks, mouth curling against his and he catches that smirking bottom lip between his teeth like he’s wanted to since she showed up at the station.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods and it’s him smiling against her mouth now. “For tonight at least. But I think there’s still a lot of grovelling in your future before it becomes a regular thing.”

He kisses her again, rolls her onto her back beneath him. “Then I’d better get started right away,” he says, lips finding the length of her neck as he begins to work free the buttons of his stolen shirt.

“Well, you did promise you would write poetry about my boobs.”

“I what?” He looks up only to see her wearing the same confused frown as himself before her eyes widen with laughter and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god. You haven’t seen your texts have you?”

Fuck.

*******

Tagging the usual people but let me know if you want to be removed or added!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @kazoo5480 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12 @anmylica @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr @killiansprincss @goforlaunchcee @motherkatereloyshipper

#captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs angst #but also just a lot of funny drunk Killian #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan #this thing is ferral guys #I don't even know what this is but I hope you like it #silver hook #silver killian

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zoeyslament · 2 months

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Zoey headcanons from my google doc :3

-Lesbian + possibly arospec (demiromantic)? She feigns attraction pretty easily though, she’s very flirty

-Frequents bars and clubs, very high alcohol tolerance, gets buzzed and flirts with everyone, then acts offended when they do it back (unless they’re hot)

-When sober though has some EXTREME internalized homophobia. Her parents and grandparents are very religious.

-Raised Catholic but doesn’t believe in anything as of right now

-Dog person who doesn’t mind cats. I gave Zach and Josh a pupper named Cosette (Coco for short) who Zoey babysits

-Speaking of Zach, he and Zoey are twins. Their parents never told them which was technically born first but Zoey likes to pretend she’s older. Their birthday is August 19th.

-“I’m not being an asshole, I’m a Leo and the moon is in retrograde 🙄”

-Favourite food is her mother’s homemade raspberry pie, but if you ask she’ll tell you its salad or something to sound healthier. Her favourite drink is taro milk tea.

-Orders salads at restaraunts and then steals off of other people’s plates.

-Had a Mean Girls style Burn Book in middle school. Speaking of Mean Girls, her gay awakening was Regina George.

-Passenger princess <3

-Not the best cook, but she does it well enough to meal prep for herself and her roommates during the week

-Her all-time favourite movie is Legally Blonde

-Not a fan of swimming. She just likes to lay in the sun on a beach towel and work on her tan, probably slightly tipsy off wine coolers.

-Posts the most UNHINGED SHIT on social media. “GRWM to visit my asshole grandma or something”

-Wannabe influencer, good at making people jealous

-Was best friends with Harmony Jones in middle school, they had a falling out in high school since Zoey got popular. Now they’re roommates again. It is not fun for either of them.

-Babysits Linda’s kids from time to time. Much like Linda, River is her favourite.

-Kids love Zoey, and Zoey loves….one or two kids lol

#hatchetfield #zoey chambers

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dc-marvel-crossovers · 7 months

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Crossover Fanworks Celebration Masterlist

Thanks so much to everybody who participated! We're still waiting for a couple late entries, but here's the wrap-up of all the fics that were fanworked and their related works. You can find the Ao3 collection right over here.

It seems like everybody involved had a great time, so it's very likely that this will be a repeating event. If you'd like to join in on the next one, follow us here and/or send us a message about joining our Discord!

Knaves All Three by @ginbenci: gen, focused on Steve Rogers, Bruce Wayne, Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, and Tony Stark. Funny comedy-of-errors identity porn. 7922 words, rated T.

All Three Knaves by @o-kaythislooksbad

Playlist by @bittercape

Third Wheel by @kangofu-cb: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Established Bucky/Clint. Roleplay gone hilariously awry leads to a hot-as-hell threesome. 10,776 words, explicit.

Sequel by @carcrash429

Bookbinding by @moonshinebindery

Remix by @there-must-be-a-lock

Playlist by @capriciouswrites

Won’t You Stay Awhile? (I’m Staring At A Ghost) by @daddyswickedqueen: Jason Todd/Steve Rogers. Steve gets picked up (and flustered) in a dive bar; sexy, but also a great look at both characters. 5022 words, explicit.

Podfic by @betrayedbycinnamon

Remix by @sammialex

Sequel by @darbydoo22

Moodboard by @drgrlfriend

Snow On The Beach by @bittercape: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Interconnected vignettes of a developing relationship — some funny, some fluffy, some smutty, and some all of the above. 13,181 words, range from T to explicit.

Art by @o-kaythislooksbad

More art by @o-kaythislooksbadkay

Timestamp by @betrayedbycinnamon

Spider and Bat Friends by @emmacortana: mostly gen. A series of standalone fics about Peter Parker in Gotham. Mixed bag with something for everybody: some wildly creative crack, some angst, and more. 170,897 words total, mostly rated T.

Podfic by @graham-cracker-guillotine

Art by @wyxan

The Stockings Were Hung by @betrayedbycinnamon: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes and background /Clint Barton. Christmas lingerie, insecure Jason, and a tender, reassuring Bucky. 3945 words, explicit.

Remix by @darbydoo22

Moodboard by @kangofu-cb

Sunrise On The East Side by @wyxan: Tim Drake/Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, established Peter/MJ. Spilled coffee + endearingly awkward Peter; luckily MJ is a boss and very comfortable doing something about his crush on Tim. 8816 words, explicit.

Remix by @there-must-be-a-lock

Podfic by @noxnthea

Finders Keepers by @drgrlfriend: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton. Adorable “meet-ugly” courtesy of animal friends. Clint and Jason aren’t used to romance, and Bucky decides to change that. 3081 words, rated T.

Art by @bittercape

Podfic by @daddyswickedqueen

Remix by TheologyDiscography

Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock

What's in the name by @graham-cracker-guillotine: Peter Parker & Bruce Wayne centric. Feel-good fluff and humor. 2142 words, rated G.

Podfic by @carcrash429

Art by @o-kaythislooksbad

blood upon the snow by @carcrash429: One fic is Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes; others are gen, focused mainly on Clint and Dick Grayson, with appearances by Natasha, Roy, and others. Fae Clint fantasy AU with great world-building. 11,900 words, rated T.

Art by @o-kaythislooksbad

Podfic by @noxnthea

Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock

can't start a fire without a spark by @mightymightygnomepriest: Frank Castle/Jason Todd. Frank saves a puppy and gets caught in the rain. Soft and sweet and sexy. 3468 words, explicit.

Remix by @daddyswickedqueen

Sequel by @bittercape

getting better in the worst way by @o-kaythislooksbad: gen, featuring characters from Moon Knight, Doom Patrol, Teen Titans, Hulk, and Venom. Creative canon mashup with characters that don’t get a lot of representation in fic. 80,064 words, rated T.

Moodboards by @there-must-be-a-lock

Hawksnest by TheologyDiscography: Jason Todd/Clint Barton. Post-Under The Red Hood friends-to-lovers with a fun twist on Clint’s story. 3359 words, rated T.

Podfic by CainPods

Sequel by @o-kaythislooksbad

Marshmallow Crime Lords by @noxnthea and @there-must-be-a-lock: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, but the relationship isn’t the focus; lots of BatFamily shenanigans and fluff. 46,440 words, rated T.

Remix by @bill-longbow

Sequel by @bittercape

Art by @wyxan

Podfic by @flowerparrish

Playlist by @carcrash429

If It's A Highway by @there-must-be-a-lock: Jason Todd/Bucky Barnes, Lost Days/post-CA:TWS canon fusion. 77,122 words, explicit.

Timestamp by @bill-longbow

Art by @wyxan

#marvel #dc #dc marvel crossover #crossover #crossover fanworks celebration #art #fic rec list #podfic #jason todd #clint barton #bucky barnes #peter parker #bruce wayne #tony stark #steve rogers #frank castle #winterhawkhood #dc/marvel

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dreamingofyeo · 6 months

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𓏲๋࣭ ࣪ A siren's song࿐࿔𖦹ִ

Chapter 6: Passage of hope ࿐࿔𖦹ִ

~ details in masterlist

~ playlist

~ 1,372 words

~ chapter warnings: none

~☆彡 tumblr's algorithm works off of reblogs so please consider it if you like my work :)

Playlist song key

🕸️ambush

🕯️rain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeosang pov

The appearance of the blue bird had been the first indication, it resurfacing in the market had been confirmation. San at the bar had been a beacon of hope, his magical healing gifts no match for any petty potion Vervona could acquire. Mingi and Wooyoung in the shadows had been the trigger in their plan. My crew, they finally found me. A single subtle nod toward San was all they needed to act first and ask questions later regarding rescuing my new friend with me.

As the arms I recognise as Jongho’s wrap under my own I can’t help but grin. The sharp inhale of breath to my left an indication of a scream about to escape, I clamp my hand over her mouth and she thankfully takes the hint. With that, Jongho and, to take a guess Yunho, pull us from our seats and down the hidden trapdoor beneath the rug. To be fair to her, when the elixir arrived in front of us, all it took was as a pointed look for her to take the hint, she’ll fit right in.

~🕸️

The shouting and gunshots continue above our heads as the trap door closes and is jammed shut by Jongho with a strategic placement of some kind of plank. There’ll be time for reunions later, for now we’ve got to move.

We begin to run down the passage way, carefully placing our steps in the darkness. My new friend, obviously not called Cara Jones, grasps my wrist and pulls me to a stop, speaking in a flurry of panic. I can just make out her features in the darkness; they’re paralysed in a state of shock and fear, yet when her eyes meet my own they somehow soften.

“Yeosang, who? Where-“

“My crew, there’s no time to explain right now we need to move.”

I feel bad for cutting her off, but she’ll thank me for the time saved on explanation later. With that, we begin running again. The sounds of gunshots are fading now, thankfully.

The tunnel goes on for what feels like forever, it must be an old smugglers passage, I hope she’s not afraid of spiders, there are cobwebs undoubtedly all over us by this point.

I call out to my crew members, the relief evident.

“Yunho, Jongho how the hell-“

It’s my turn to be cut off now apparently.

“No time for that right now Sangie, save it for Capt’n.”

Yunho clips back excitedly. Jongho laughs under his breath.

The sliver of light in the ceiling at what must be the end of the passage brings with it all the hope imaginable. Upon reaching it, Yunho delivers 1 firm knock followed by 2 scrapes of his dagger; the exit trap door opens and as I look up I see the face of my Captain’s first mate. Park Seonghwa.

~🕯️

He spares a moment to smirk down at me, shaking his head as he laughs into his chest before extending a rope down. I look over at my friend, she is looking at me with an expression akin to relief. I stifle a chuckle when she registers the cobwebs coating her and her features morph into horror. She frantically gestures and pleads with her eyes for me to swipe them away, I do so gladly. Yunho and Jongho gesture for me to take a hold of the rope, and so I do.

After a minor struggle we all get safely out of the passage, resealing and camouflaging the trap door. When satisfied, I look at my surroundings, we’re in a secluded dune on a beach. Palm trees reach high above us, effectively hiding our forms from the worst of the sun’s unforgiving rays.

Seonghwa’s voice snaps me out of the momentary daze. His tone thick with the kind of authority I’ve taken for granted all these years, a tone I’ve missed dearly.

“The Illusion is about 10 minutes from here, had to hide her in a cove. Let’s move. You can explain our extra crew member to Hongjoong when we’ve put some distance between us and the Crimson.”

“Aye.”

The contrast in emotions from now to the last I spoke that word is immense, and reminds me again how much I’ve missed everything.

I can’t help but grin at him, before gesturing to my friend to follow. I really hope she entrusts me with her real name soon.

The slow trudge through the sand feels even longer than the passage, not for the distance, for the anticipation. Seeing the ship’s billowing white sails after so long is a feeling I fear I will never be able to do justice to with words. I’m home.

The feeling of climbing aboard tops that; setting my feet down upon those all familiar planks, they creak as if to say ‘welcome back’.

Readers POV

The amount of emotions which have coursed through your body in the past 20 minutes is beyond description, terror and confusion taking centre stage. These pirates are different though, they’re Yeosang’s crew. If he trusts them then you will at least attempt to.

The door to the main cabin swings open and the remainder of Yeosang’s crew run to you all- or more specifically to him. Though you’re now stood rather awkwardly to the side, you’re more than happy to watch the scene of such pure chaos and joy unfold.

A man with hair similar to the navigator’s in length bounds over like a puppy and practically tackles him to the deck. You can already tell he will be a lot to handle simply from the positively manic expression across his countenance. His sheiks of excitement sounding across the deck remind you of seagulls, you suppress a chuckle at the thought. Yeosang’s muffled greeting into his shoulder makes you smile just as wide as the man though. From this, you learn his name to be ‘Wooyoung’.

Another - the man from the bar you suddenly realise, shows some level of restraint. His eyes and soft despite his wide smile. He opts to simply rest a hand upon Yeosang’s shoulder before crushing him in another hug when he’s released from his first. You catch his name too, it is ‘San’.

A third man ducks out of the cabin, black hair cropped close to his head with the top framing his face. His face changes from stern and intimidating to the very picture of happiness, his smile wide and crinkling at his eyes. There is a long gun of some sort across his back, he must be responsible for the lanterns going out. He doesn’t bother to wait, instead opting for a group hug- to which Wooyoung eagerly joins. The final choked greeting from Yeosang informs you that his name is ‘Mingi’.

One last man exits the cabin, his posture leaking with authority. Though he wears no signature hat, he must be the captain. The others back away from Yeosang and give them space for a more formal reunion, after a firm hand shake the captain also wraps him in a warm embrace.

The man you assumed to be the captain steps away and observes his crew with a content smile before speaking up. His tone is loud and authoritative, yet unable to mask the sheer happiness emanating from him even if he wanted to.

“Now then men.”

Everyone instantly settles down, you could swear even from the distance apart you were that there are tears in Yeosang’s eyes. His smile settles from wide and gleeful until it is almost akin to a pout, holding back whilst receiving word from his captain.

“We’ve achieved our mission. But before we can celebrate our reunion, we need a little distance. So, to your stations.”

He smiles kindly at Yeosang who practically hops skips and jumps to the cabin where you assume the maps to be held, he pulls himself up though and beckons for you to follow.

Before you reach him, you feel a hand close over your shoulder.

“We will address the elephant in the room when we’re at a safe distance, his safety is my priority right now.”

Though laced with kindness and reassurance, you feel a shiver go down your spine at the captain’s words…

<-chapter 5 ~ chapter 7->

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist (open)

@baek-at-it-again95 @amalialoved @lilactangerine

@vampzity @edenesth

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dragongirl642 · 7 months

Text

Davy Jones x female reader (soulmate au) part 2

Author note:

It's been a while but a sequel is here!

Cross-posted on Wattpad.

Part 1

-----------------Start-------------------

(Y/n) pov:

Life on the dutchman was getting off to a great start. Can you sense the sarcasm?

I'm cold, tired, narrowly avoiding being constantly drenched by the leaky ceiling, and the food is terrible. I've been here three days and I want to die.

I haven't seen the infamous Davy Jones since my unwelcome boarding of The Dutchman. Sure, I'd seen his shadow on the wall a few times, I don't think he realised I could see him, and I'd heard his footsteps late at night when I was trying to sleep; but he hasn't actually come to talk to me again after the whole soulmate revelation.

Meals are delivered twice a day. A small cup of gruel in the morning and another cup of gruel in the evening. Everything tastes and smells of fish. I'm sick of salt. I'm sick of fish. What would I give for an apple or anything really; that wasn't pulled from the briny blue.

However, there is one ray of light in this perpetual darkness. A hole in the brig wall. I've been keeping an eye out outside.

The second I see land; I'm going to make a break for it.

I've tested the hinges on the cell door, and they were as easy to remove as I expected. Just use a stray board anchored against a bucket and lift and voila.

Right now, the ship was gently rocking as soft rays of sunlight drifted through the hole. Lighting up the cell and filtering through a few remaining shards of glass in the window, casting the coral encrusted walls in vibrant hues pinks and blues and greens. If not for the constant rumble of booted feet above, it's almost peaceful.

The opposite of yesterday's violent ride. I'd been thrown around the cell as the ship bounced and dipped in the waves. I had several bruises from where I'd hit the floor and the bars until I'd been flung back and become trapped on the bench during the storm, by hooks made of coral that twisted and looped around me, like the ship was alive.

Well, moving on. New day, new opportunity.

Warm beams of sunlight stream through the hole in the hull.

I skip over and look outside. The warming rays feel like a blessed balm on my skin, chasing away the bone chilling cold.

Land!

There on the horizon. A dark strip of green and yellow.

A beach? An island? A town? Whatever it is, we are getting closer.

Lady luck must be smiling upon me today. I can hear the shouting of the crew above. My breakfast was delivered about 2 hours ago, so I have a few hours to make my escape without being seen.

First, a disguise. I move to the bench and started kicking the coral. Adding a few more pieces to the pile I had been gathering for days under the bench.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I froze, listening for approaching footsteps. The sounds had come no closer than what I assumed was the end of the corridor. Hearing no more steps, and no tell-tale breathing, I set to work. Ruffling my hair out, I pick up a few pieces of coral and begin to entwine them in half of my hair.

'Uh this will be a pain to remove later.'

Picking up some more coral I hook it in the laces of my boots, snag it onto my clothing and around my belt.

Looking down, I give a wiggle...The coral swayed but didn't fall off.

'Alright, disguise is in place...Now I just need to not die.'

Gripping the vertical bars of the door, I squat low and brace before straightening out my legs. The door lifts and I fall back slightly before lowering it quickly. The clang as it hits the floor is muffled by the crew above. At least I hope it is.

Creeping quickly forward, a glance shows no-one around the cells. I crawl up the stairs and step among the crew, hunching slightly so the coral obscures my face. The monstrous crewmembers spare me no more than a passing glance, the few other human (or still mostly human) newcomers hurriedly dart between the more established crewmembers carrying bundles of rope or cleaning supplies.

The dutchmen is dark, if not for the streams of light pouring through the various cracks in the hold and from the stairs. The shifting of the crew flows around these beams; those cursed to wander the dark veil of death, subconsciously seeking the light.

I look around for the stairs. 'Keep moving like you have a purpose (Y/n), and no-one will question you.'

I weave through the hull until the brightest beam of sunlight guides me to the stairs. Just as I make to ascend, a shadow blots the light and I jump to the side. Backing into the area besides the beams, hiding in their shadow as the hammer-headed crewman descends.

He pauses at the bottom and sniffs the air, head tilting as he looks around confusedly. Searching.

"Oi Maccus!"

He perks up at the call of his name, head snapping towards the piranha-headed crewman calling from the depths of the hold. The cat-o-nine-tails at his belt sways along with the ship, barbed tips stained dark with memories of violence.

I crouch subtly more, hands pressing into the beams at my side as I strive to inch further into the shadows.

The wood vibrates, the beat complicated, unlike the natural shudder's ships make as the waves toss them to-and-fro or the marching tempo of booted feet crossing the deck.

A rhythm...music!

I wonder where it's coming from. But, there's no time for that.

The beat seems to seep into my hands, soulmark tingling in time. I quickly pull my hands away from the boards and look around.

I sigh in relief, as Maccus goes to see what the whip-carrying crewman wants, I scramble around the corner and up the steps.

Head down, eyes darting around, I make my way to the stern.

Scales.

Coral.

Wounds.

Seaweed.

Pearls.

Eyes.

Starfish.

Teeth.

Shells.

In the light, the crew look even more horrifying. No longer hidden in the shadows of the hold or the shade of the night. I keep my eyes down as I grab a bucket sitting near the steps. Lifting it to hide my chest, I slink through the crew.

Looping the deck takes almost an hour.

Blending in with the other deckhands low in the hierarchy, means stopping every few minutes to scrub absentmindedly at the deck or rails.

Just keep your head down and keep looking.

"Oi, watch where you're going."

I stumble back as a shell-encrusted crewman shoves me to the side. I stumble against the railing and fumble with the bucket, almost dropping it.

Shit, did they see anything? Suspect anything?

I throw a glance at their back from under the coral, but they walk away uncaring of the "lowly deckhand" they'd just accosted.

I can't help the sigh that escapes me and quickly pretend to scrub the railing.

Davy Jones Pov:

I find myself crossing the line again.

Stretching my senses through the walls of my ship to check on the woman in the hold.

When we sailed through storms, I made sure she was held safe.

When the cold became too great, I ordered my crew to sail to warmer waters.

Now, I am here again, at the bottom of the steps to the hold. Just a few steps away from turning the corner and standing before the bars.

Every time I so much as have a passing thought of her, the words on my wrist burn and I find myself standing here again. Drinking in this strange feeling of calm emanating from just around the corner. Listening to their even breaths.

'I want to talk to her.'

No sooner had this thought crossed my mind, that the hole in his chest pulsed in mimicry of a distant heartbeat. A surge of rage swells within and I turn to leave.

I step though the Dutchman's wall and emerge in my cabin.

The gleaming keys of the pipe organ glimmer and I find myself drawn to sit and play. As I always am.

A familiar melody fills the air, and my gaze is drawn to the music box. Her gift.

For the first time in years, I stutter over the tune.

The air turns bitter and my soulmark begins to beat, not like a heart, more like a drum. I do something I've never done before; I draw my gaze away from the music box and focus on the keys, not to focus on playing the music box's melody, but to play something new, just to see if I could. With the beat of the bond in my chest and an electrifying spark on my skin, I begin to play.

At first, I test the keys carefully.

A high note here, a low chord there.

Slowly a melody begins to emerge.

Flickering up and down the keys with the unpredictability of flames, accompanied by the steady beat of a blacksmith's hammer at the anvil. Melodies whispering low, then swelling into a crashing crescendo, then drawing back with the unshakeable predictability of the tide.

The pitted surface of the keys, the distant groans of the crew, the creaking of the ship. All begin to fade away as the music fills the air.

The music box is open. I don't remember opening it. The melody

"Calypso."

I don't dare voice the words I wish to accompany her name.

Can I ever be free of you?

A flickering catches my eye, and I look up to see a face reflected in the crusted metal of the organ's pipes.

I hear a sigh. So soft I almost miss it. The tone is relieved, of fear released.

I take a moment to place it before I realise it must be her, in the brig.

I pause. The mark burns again, and I'm suddenly filled with the need to know just what had scared her so.

I stand, clenching my good fist and unable to stop my beard's tentacles writhing as sudden unease grips me.

I almost charge through the walls of the Dutchman, landing heavily outside the brig.

The door lies on the ground, the cell is open and empty.

The cell is empty.

No!

How dare she escape?

Did she leave me?

Where is she?

Conflicting feelings swirl within me; sudden rage at the brazen audacity of the escape, sorrow at the apparent abandonment, and fear...fear that I would never see her again.

These emotions catch me off guard with their strength, but I'm helpless to resist the siren song of their pull.

My soulmark burns and I draw on the strength of the Dutchman and authority as her captain.

Find Her!

(Y/n) Pov:

There isn't a small-boat on this cursed ship.

It makes sense. They never go on land and the ship full of creatures who can breathe underwater wouldn't need a means to escape a sinking ship.

I stop in the shade of the stairs, rubbing my temples to ease the stress headache I can feel building. Crouched under the railing, with the bucket in front of me, so it looks like I'm cleaning the barnacles of the aged wood.

Suddenly there's an unknown pressure. A whisper. Spreading through the crew like a ripple in a pond. Slinking up from the depths of the hold and up onto the deck.

It looms over me, and I fight to catch my breath. Its anger and sorrow clawing at my skull.

Suddenly the ship vibrates as a distant muffled roar-like sound travels up from the hold.

The eyes of the human-looking and distinctly non-human looking crewmen alike all cloud over for a moment, all overtaken by the powerful force seeming to emanate from the very bones of the ship itself.

The crew begin to murmur. Eyes and feelers shifting this way and that.

"Escapee."

"Find the girl."

Oh No!

I quickly slip through the door beside me, wincing as the crew outside begin to shout. The wooden interior is worn and covered in algae like the rest of the ship. Which makes sprinting down the short corridor hazardous. I almost slip down the short stairs at the end, hitting the wall when they twist back on themselves.

There's another door. Heavy and pitted with barnacles, hinges leaking rust. But it opens smoother than I would have thought it would.

There's light. A pale blue light fills the room. Streaming shadows flicker and wave on the ceiling, but there is no pool of water or windows to make these reflections.

The room is a dead end.

A bunk to my left, a chest to my right, and a massive pipe organ dominating the opposite wall. The silver pipes gleam and shimmer and pale bone keys shine bright against the encrusted frame.

I approach the instrument.

Maybe there is a secret lever or a space behind or somewhere I can hide.

Close up, I can make out the pits and scrapes making a pattern of age across many keys, while others are worn smooth; whoever plays this must play the same song a lot.

I reach out and feel around the sides of the organ, before kneeling to look underneath the keys. There's a faded elegance to the organ, and a beauty to the way the coral spirals with the grain of the wood. I knock on the panels below.

Clatter-Clack.

I freeze. Something just fell.

A gentle melody begins to fill the air. I crawl back and something catches on my foot. I awkwardly turn to roll out from under the organ and grab the object.

It's a music box. The sorrowful melody continues to twinkle from the small locket as I pull myself to stand.

My soulmark burns.

"What are ya doing'uh?"

I flinch, almost dropping the locket but I catch myself and instead slam it shut. I spin on the spot and hold the locket behind me like a child caught dipping into the pantry before dinner.

Davy Jones is stood in the centre of the room. Thunder in his eyes and chest heaving like he's run a marathon. He stomps forward to loom over me. "Why are ya here?" and not in the brig.

The music box is freezing in my hands, even as my soulmark continues to throb and burn.

I fish for an excuse, but don't dare step back or lean away. "Um...I..." the reflection of the organ in his eyes catches my attention, "...I heard music..."

The captain's eyebrows (ridges?) raise slightly in surprise.

"It felt nice so I was wondering where it came from." Time to make a gamble. I lean forward slightly, "do you play?"

Something unreadable flashes in his eyes, and his expression darkens.

Oh shit! Subtle shuffling back as the tingle of a bead of sweat drips down my back. This is how I die. I gulp.

Davy Jones' gaze snaps down at the sound before he meets my eye again and steps forward. He circles past me and takes a seat at the organ.

I jump as he starts to play, the air vibrates from the force of the sound coming from the pipe organ. The vibrations from the music reverberate through the deck beneath my feet.

The beat feels familiar.

The vibrations I'd felt earlier, they must have been him.

The music weaves around us, seeping into the wood and coral of the dutchman.

It doesn't look like he will stop anytime soon. I take a hesitant step forward. No movement. I take another, and another, and soon I'm stood beside him.

For a moment, I'm transfixed by the flurry of movement as his hand and beard tentacles fly across the keys. His eyes are closed, brows slightly furrowed.

I know I've never heard this song before, but something about the melody feels familiar. The push and pull of the tide, the steady beat of a hammer on steel, the call of a gull, the crackle of flames.

Something inside me tugs at my heart and the locket is quickly tucked back into its place as I slowly inch closer to the fearsome captain.

There's a space beside him on the seat. If he notices me sit, he doesn't show it.

His eyes are closed, face softened in contemplation. A shadow falls over him from the brim of his hat, outlining the angles and ridges of his face and, when it angles just right, giving me a glimpse of the human face he once bore.

His clawed arm rests on his thigh next to me, the sharp tip resting on the edge of the organ.

I reach a hand forward to rest a finger against the wooden frame of the instrument under the keys; just beside his claw. The vibrations that travel through my hand are soothing.

I can feel the cold brush of his claw against my knuckles. I don't move, either to pull away or place my hand over his arm.

He doesn't move either, just continues playing that hauntingly familiar song.

I close my eyes, taking this moment to rest before I plan my next move.

It sounds like home.

#fanfiction #fanfic #potc #pirates of the caribbean #davy jones #davy jones x reader #potc davy jones #x reader #davy jones x y/n

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mamirhodessxox · 7 months

Text

Hey There Delilah (Part 6)

Cody Rhodes x Fem OC!Reader

(Delilah Jones)

Storyline: Delilah was born and raised by the beach in L.A and grew up in a home where her parents expected her to go to Harvard & become a well known woman who marry’s a man who is a lawyer after high school. But that’s not what she wanted, She always wanted to own a boutique/flower shop & she did, once her parents discovered she wouldn’t attend college they left her to fend for herself but allowed her little sister Kinsley to visit or sleep over whenever, Her little sister always had an eye for WWE but Delilah never understood why but little did either of them know one of Delilah’s customers would become well acquainted. (Creds to @alyyaanna for helping me w the storyline)

Contents: Toxic parents, Angst, Fluff, Smut in later chapters, Based in May 2023, Alcohol, Violence, Corruption Kink, Size Kink, Daddy Kink, Crying Kink, Hand Kink, Praise Kink, Fingering, Smutty smut, Oral Sex, Mentions of drinking, Mentions of a custody battle, Lilah being a badass.

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

It was the last night of being in Australia & Mira decided it was time to have a “grown ups only” night & Rhea was to tired to go out from her recent matches so she’d stay at the Vila & be with Kinsley and start packing while everyone went out.

Lilah had no idea they would all be going to a nightclub so when she & Cody got there she was quite surprised but still happy to be there nonetheless, Cody kept an eye on her since nightclubs tended to have shady people there, Mira ordered a few drinks and got a fruity alcoholic beverage for Lilah since she was willing to try. Cody stuck around & held the waist while taking shots with randy & Jey while the girls tried new drinks. Lilah clung onto him as much as she could. The environment was loud & obnoxious & she wasn’t used to it & would often make sure he was still beside her. She zoned out frequently to tune out the overwhelming environment & Mira took quick notice.

“Lilah why don’t we find a restroom and wash up a little bit okay?” Lilah smiled meekly and nodded before getting up from the bar they were seated from & followed Mira to the bathroom while Cody let out a sigh giving Seth a look that he just wanted to be home with Lilah soon & relax. Moments later Lilah & Mira left the bathroom but noticed Nikki walking towards the guys at the bar which was concerning since nobody knew Nikki would be here. Lilah was becoming jealous & hurriedly towards the bar & immediately found her way back into Cody’s embrace

“There you are! Took so long i almost thought you ditched us sweetheart” he grinned down at her and noticed Nikki in the corner of his eye while she smiled and dragged her fingers down the side of his neck “It’s really loud here.” He nodded and kissed the top of her head while Mira spoke with Seth about Nikki making her way closer to the bar. Randy went off somewhere with Jey hoping to find a booth somewhere while Cody placed Lilah ontop of his lap & hummed holding her hips before kissing the crook of her neck “Not here.” She pouted but he shook his head “Baby ‘m not doing anything but giving you affection just relax” She whined before Randy came back “All the booths are taken, I think we should have a few more drinks, maybe buy a few bottles & start going home.” Cody nodded in agreement & Ordered a drink that he could share with Delilah while Mira went off to dance with a random guy she had just met which irritated Randy a little bit for whatever reason.

Cody took notice & smirked to himself before holding Delilah down against his lap once Nikki finally got ahold of the group “I thought I saw you guy’s here! Especially you Cody!” Lilah furrowed her brows “Oh, your here too, what about your other friend? You know? The loud one?” Randy glared while Seth rolled his eyes taking a shot “Nikki it was nice seeing you, not really but, We’re just trying to spend the night with each other before heading out.” Cody addressed while Lilah stood up a bit holding their shared drink looking at Nikki & Back down at the beverage and noticed Mira was coming back to get her drink really quick “Oh there she is! The annoying one! The one who likes being disrespectful to others because pretty girls threaten this little thing.” Nikki turned towards Mira pointing over at Lilah who was slightly tipsy & becoming fired up “Nikki thats enough.” Cody tried his best to make her screw off somewhere else but she didn’t budge “Cody c’mon! I’m just having fun, maybe we could go somewhere private an-“ Mira raised an eyebrow about to say something but Lilah splashed the drink in Nikki’s face and smacked her across the face which had everyone gasp & make Cody and Seth stand up fast getting inbetween Nikki while Cody took Lilah aside who was surprised with her own actions and apologizing while Mira & Nikki were yelling at each-other before Randy picked Mira up hauling her over his shoulder following behind Cody while Seth cleared his throat awkwardly

“Alright I think tonight’s over.” He looked over at Nikki and shrugged before sneakily reaching behind the bar & grabbing 5 different bottles of alcohol & leaving the club. Mira was standing next to Lilah “Girl why are you sorry? You literally had every right to slap her in the face! I’m so proud of you.” Cody was re-tying her heel straps & kissing her ankle “Let’s just all go home and relax oka- Goddamnit seth.” He sighed looking over seeing the man hold multiple bottles of rum, vodka, tequila, whiskey & something else “Worry about yourself, Also your fucking WELCOME, I’m pretty sure this is theft.” Jey nodded his head “It actually is Seth. You just committed a fucking crime in a whole other continent.” Cody spoke before standing up and hugging Lilah who was still freaking out while Randy walked them to their rental car.

After a good 30 minutes everyone came home & Lilah went stumbling inside pinching the bridge of her nose “Cody what if I get an assault charge!!” Mira shrugged hanging up her purse “So what? I have like 10” Cody glared “Not helping.” Seth snickered walking towards the kitchen & started making drinks while Randy stood infront of Mira with crossed arms “What the fuck was that?” She furrowed her brows “What was what..?” Randy glared “You just dance with random guys now? What the fuck.” Mira smirked “What’s it too you? Are you jealous?” She teased before prancing upstairs while Randy shook his head going into the back, Cody held Lilah’s face in his hands smiling “Baby you’re not gonna get an assault charge okay? Just go upstairs and relax I’ll be up there in a minute.” rhea came downstairs “assault charges for what?”

Jey giggled from the couch “She splashed a drink in Nikki’s face and slapped the fuck out of her for talking shit.” Lilah frowned in shame while Rhea smiled “Finally. She had it coming.” Lilah ignored her surroundings and went upstairs taking off her dress once she made it towards her room & untied her heels before observing her makeup and hair until Cody came in with ice water & a book she left on the coffee table, Lilah turned over still undressing herself to get comfortable “What’s on your mind angel?” He hummed out to her and tapped her butt while walking by getting ready to put something comfortable on, Lilah Shrugged taking off her bra before crawling onto the bed and making her way towards him and running her hands up his bare back which made him smile in a smug manner before turning his head to look over at her

“What are you doing over there baby, hm?” He questioned while running his hands against her breasts giving them a light squeeze before She smiled maneuvering herself onto his lap and press a kiss on his neck “I just really need you Codes.” She whined while he held her hips noticing she was still just a little bit tipsy “Sweetheart as much as I love screwing your pretty little brain dumb, not tonight okay?” She frowned tilting her head “Why not..?” She whispered before kissing his neck “Baby you’re still a little buzzed from the drinks & I don’t want to take advantage of you, your not sober enough to know what you want right now.”

Lilah frowned pulling back a bit while her bottom lip quivered a little bit but Cody shook his head “Hey, none of that alright? I promise when you’re not as tipsy as you are now we can do whatever your little heart desires.” He gave her a kiss and ran his hands down her back while she nodded “just really need you.” She muttered while he nodded in understanding “I know sweetheart and I need you too, but I need you 100% present with me first okay?” She nodded while he nodded back patting the back of her head before grabbing one of his t-shirts and putting it on covering up her half naked body & kissed her cheek “Let’s go take off your make-up okay?” She smiled jotting her head up in understanding while he picked her up and carried her all the way to the bathroom setting her down on the counter snd standing in between her thighs that ended up wrapped around his hips while he helped take off her makeup and brush her hair completely ignoring her slight whines of neediness for her own good.

“All done princess, let’s get you to bed alright?” He carried her back into the bedroom & placed her on the bed noticing she fell asleep already & carefully tucked her in & lying down beside her holding her close in his arms. Meanwhile Mira stood in her bedroom listening to Randy become frustrated over the fact she danced with another man but ultimately she never understood why he cared in the first place especially when they weren’t dating. “I still don’t understand why your pissed of at me for doing whatever the fuck I want randy!” She snipped at him but he shook his head placing his hand on his hips “Because it’s not fucking safe Mira! I care about you a LOT” he raised his voice but Mira smiled a little bit “you care about me?” He sighed nodding “Just, stop making unwise decisions Mira.” He frowned before walking out of her bedroom “Get some sleep we leave tomorrow.” She quirked up an eyebrow & rolled her eyes before closing the door after he left the bedroom.

Cody stood outside of his bedroom with crossed arms “If she woke up before you two morons can’t fess up about your goddamn feelings I’m going to beat your ass.” He told Randy who was confused with his feelings “I don’t know what to do, I want to be with her but I can’t bring myself to letting me love her.” He sighed while Cody glared “You can start off with not being a dick hole. I see how you treat Mira & So does Lilah. You treat her like dog shit.” Randy felt guilt and nodded before going into his room while Cody went downstairs facing Seth who was cleaning up the counter from spilling liquor everywhere “How is she?” He questioned while Cody opened the fridge searching for a snack “Knocked out, She tried seducing me and it almost worked but she’s still a little drunk & You know how I am.” He popped a grape in his mouth while Seth nodded “No fucking without sober consent.” Cody nodding holding up a thumbs up “You’re correct.”

Rhea set most of the luggage that everyone packed by the door so they could all leave without any hold ups. Cody closed the fridge patting Seth on the shoulder before making his way back upstairs into his room with Lilah & made his way back on the bed noticing she was awake “There you are.” She whispered before sitting up a little bit and kissed his cheek “Hey beautiful, you feeling a little better?” She nodded clearly more sober than a few hours ago. She leaned up against a few pillows next to him “had a short headache but I drank the water you set aside for me” he smiled running his fingers through her hair before leaning in to give her a kiss, She hummed softly against his lips and moved closer and ran her hand down his chest while he slipped his tongue past her lips multiple times. His breath hitched once her hand slipped into his pants & grazed her fingertips over his cock while she softly bit his lip before crawling down & tugging his pants off a little before running her tongue up his shaft making him groan & press his hand against the top of her head “fffuck…” he leaned his head back against the pillows and moaned once Lilah started jerking him off while licking off the precum from the tip of his dick before completely sucking him off & looking up at him while he tugged on her hair letting out moans & even whines.

“ff-fuck lilah..” She bobbed her head just a little bit before pulling away and leaving little kissing on his stomach while her thumb teased at his cock making him cry out just a little bit “Baby c’mon don’t tease me- I give you anything you desire.” She pouted and swirled her tongue against the head of his cock while drool ran down her chin before he grabbed her by the hair and shoved himself back into her mouth & started thrusting a little bit “acting like a f-fucking brat for no goddamn reason.” He scolded before leaning his head back feeling her tongue press against his cock while she jerked off what he couldn’t fit down her mouth before he started groaning & pushing her head down completely while he came inside of her mouth before she pulled away but he held her jaw shut “Swallow.” He became stern before pulling her up towards him and smacking her ass while she swallowed down his cum and whined at the quick strike from his hand “Are you gonna stop acting like a teasing brat now?” She whimpered nodding her head before he lied her down and tugged off her panties. The night was still young & clearly Lilah wasn’t getting anymore rest.

The next day everyone boarded their flight and spent multiple long hours in the sky awaiting to be home. Lilah was knocked out for exhaustion from the previous night and listened to music while Cody played thumb wrestling and rock paper scissors or other hand games while Mira & Randy were asleep heads against each other which seth got multiple pictures of, Rhea read a book & Jey watched a random movie, everyone kept themselves distracted from the long flight as they waited to comeback home.

The week long trip was amazing for everyone, Cody & Lilah became an official couple, Everyone became a friend group & most importantly gave each other long lasting memories. Absolutely nothing could go wrong, maybe, Once everyone was back home everything was somewhat normal.

Until it was Sunday Mass, Cody, Lilah, Kinsley & Randy went to attend church with Lilah & Kinsleys parents and for the first hour it was going pretty well, until after church Lilah’s father cleared his throat “Delilah we’ve had a discussion about you & Kinsley while you both were out of town & we came to the decision that it would be best that she should no longer see you until your life is properly collected.” Cody’s heart sank as well as Mira’s, Randy became tense “This is bullshit.” He muttered under his breath before he quickly went to take Kinsley away from the discussion and distract her by walking around the outside area of the chapel. “Tonight will be the final night she stays here but after this she is not permitted to be with you. Mirabella or Cody. You can only see her during school events that she participates in.” Her father addressed before Lilah cleared her throat looking over at Cody before grazing her fingers over her jaw clearly enraged. Mira snickered “You’re a sorry ass excuse for parents. Truly, you fucking disgust me, you have given Lilah a goddamn miserable life and the fact your willing to do it to Kinsley knowing she’s still to young to defend herself against her sorry excuse for shit parents sickens me.” Mira scolded Mr & Mrs jones while Lilah finally snapped.

“Mom, Dad, I respect and love you both with my whole heart, but I will have utter freedom to my life. I’m 23, but using my life as a threat against my own right to see my little sister will not end well with either of you. You’re not taking my sister away from me and I-“ her voice cracked a bit and as Cody was about to take over the conversation Mira stopped him “I will take you to court, personally, I will get custody over her. You will not ruin her fucking life by taking her away from me for your own fucked up control & if you do, I will make the entire summer your personal hell. So i would recommend you think about this decision thoroughly for the next 24 hours before I get a lawyer and a damn good one.” She snapped at them before her mom scoffed “Is that a threat Delilah?” Mira & Cody looked at each other glaring before Lilah shook her head “No, It’s a promise, If you make this decision just know you will ultimately loose custody over Kinsley in court especially when Mira & I have a lot of evidence one wouldn’t know how we could have of proof that you are not fit to be parents.”

Her parents glared before Mira narrowed her stare at them “We’ll see you in court Mr & Mrs. Jones.” Cody spoke and adjusted his tie he wore for church before grabbing Lilah’s hand and and walking off to find Kinsley & Randy. Once they Did find the pair Mira cleared her throat before grabbing Lilah’s shoulder “I know a really good lawyer who can handle these court situations that we’ll be dealing with. I’ll call her when we get back to the shop.”

The last month of summer will not be easy for Lilah or her parents whatsoever.

🏷️ list: @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @agent-dessis-posts @adollonyourshelf @valkyrurr @alyyaanna @niknakbucks92 @mini-rhodes @southerngirl41

xtripleiiix’s Masterlist

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alovelywaytospendanevening · 4 months

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Lit Hub: How From Here to Eternity Contradicted Post-War America’s Wholesome Notions

From Here to Eternity was published between the release of the controversial first Kinsey Report (1948’s “Sexual Behavior in the Human Male”) and its scandalously received sequel, “Sexual Behavior in the Human Female,” in 1953. News stories reported reactions of shock, dismay, denial, and disgust as the Kinsey Reports’ charts about extramarital sex, masturbation, and queer orientations contradicted America’s postwar self-image and its proprieties. The love between Prewitt and Lorene is as doomed as the adulterous liaison between Sergeant Warden and Karen Holmes. It’s a wonder that Jones’s bold, rough, grimly realistic narrative managed to get published when it did (by Scribner, no less). A saturation novel in the densely textured tradition of Theodore Dreiser, the book is still shocking for its evocation of relentless hazing and the stockade’s brutalities, as well as the profanity-laced lingo of enlisted Army men. But the dueling tales of star-crossed lovers offer readers an abundance of human yearning and emotional sensitivity. It just happens that the men are in uniform. From Here to Eternity was not the only postwar bestseller contradicting America’s wholesome notions. In 1947, an audacious debut novel called The Gallery appeared. It was written by John Horne Burns, an ex-G.I. who served during World War II in North Africa and Italy. He was the opposite of Jones, in one respect: John Horne Burns was gay. Both authors presented intimate, intelligent portraits of characters whose quests for love bring them much suffering (as well as moments of joy and episodes of bliss). What profoundly connects their debut novels is that both Burns and Jones managed, in the epoch of Presidents Truman and Eisenhower, to write about sexual taboos, and specifically gay characters and gay encounters, despite that epoch’s rampant homophobia and the military milieus of their respective books. As for The Gallery, a unique novel comprised of 17 interlinked stories, only three (“Momma,” “The Leaf,” and “Queen Penicillin”) present gay male soldiers. Nonetheless, to do so in 1947 was nearly impossible; it was also hazardous to John Horne Burns’s fledgling career. Burns enfolds his boldest lines deep within the book. At the very end of “Momma” (the eponymous character presides over a gay bar in Naples), a British sergeant remarks to a fellow officer that they’re all “expressing a desire disapproved of by society. But in relation to the world of 1944, this is just a bunch of gay people letting down their back hair…” No movie was made of The Gallery, and so no iconic images exist to rival the beach scene in From Here to Eternity. But in Burns’s writing, he creates prose portraits akin to those magic moments on the beach. “She bent down and laid her mouth against his temple, passing down to his lips,” Burns wrote in “Moe,” the final chapter of The Gallery, as a G.I. and his Neapolitan lover say farewell. “There was no pressure in her kiss, but it sealed a wild peace he’d been feeling with her all evening. Her kiss made him hers…” (Full article)

#james jones #from here to eternity #john horne burns #literature #lit #gay literature #lgbt literature #lgbtq literature #gay books #gay fiction #gay #mlm #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #bookblr

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napollya-inspiration · 10 months

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@farrybarry requested #35 for the Spotify Wrapped Game

#35 on my 2023 Spotify Wrapped is Please by Daisy Jones and the Six (this is like 950 words I cannot seem to be stopped - but at least this one got a little spicy)

(send me a number between 1-100 and I'll write a drabble about the corresponding song on my 2023 Spotify Wrapped)

15 25 46 69

“You should go,’’ Illya says. The sound of cicadas is loud through the open window.

“Why?” Napoleon asks, easy grin on his lips. He’d lost both his jacket and waistcoat at one point. The first couple buttons of his shirt are open, revealing a tantalizing vision of chest hair.

“You know why.” They had this conversation a few weeks ago. Or rather, they hadn’t had it. Napoleon had poked as he tends to do. Illya had grown increasingly more uncomfortable, his lies stretching thin until he’d just told Napoleon that no matter what he might be thinking or feeling or fantasizing about… it doesn’t make a difference. Whatever is brewing between them would stay there until it fizzles and dies.

“I thought it wasn’t an issue?” Napoleon asks, pouring them both another glass of whiskey. Not leaving then, Illya thinks bitterly but accept the glass all the same.

“Is not good… to tempt fate like that,” Illya mumbles.

“You find me tempting? Why, I’m flattered.”

Illya rolls his eyes. It’s exactly this kind of carelessness that drives him insane. How could Napoleon not see the devastation this would bring down on them if they gave in? “I told you to stop.”

“But I can’t help how tempting I am, Peril,” Napoleon teases and Illya wants to wipe the grin off his face. Whether he wants to use a punch or a kiss, he’s not sure.

“I was not joking. You need to leave,” Illya says sternly, grip tightening on his glass. He can feel the tremor come on. He doesn’t trust himself around Napoleon. This has always been the problem.

Napoleon sighs and puts his glass down. “I wasn’t joking either, you know. All you have to do is ask.” He reaches out and his fingers on Illya’s exposed forearms burn like fire.

Illya looks down at them. Napoleon’s pale skin against the bruise that had been blooming there since his fight with a couple of THRUSH goons a few days ago. Fingertips find the scar from his training with the KGB a lifetime ago and Illya squeezes his eyes shut. “Please,” he whispers.

“Please what, Peril?” Napoleon asks sounding more breathless than Illya has ever heard him before.

“Stop. Please stop.” Fingertips on his arm still, then disappear. Illya opens his eyes, sees the resigned expression on Napoleon’s face. The flirtatious smirk from a few moments ago is all but gone. “I just- I can’t-” He tries to explain.

“I know,” Napoleon says bitterly. “I got that.” He throws his drink back and then makes a face. Illya feels helpless at the display of bitterness. It’s not something that Napoleon shows very often and when he does it is mostly directed at the CIA. Illya doesn’t know what to do now that he’s the cause.

“You are never going to let us have this, are you?” Napoleon asks and his eyes seem to pierce into Illya’s soul. He’s not pleading - that would be easier to handle. This is so much worse. The tilt of his head, the sweat Illya can see on his skin, the bruise he can see on his shoulder from a rough blow of a bat. How many times had he dreamed about giving in? How many times had he dreamed of reaching out and just taking?

He remembers the other day when Napoleon’s eyes had met his across the bar, one hand on a gorgeous woman’s waist. How many conquests would he watch disappear behind Napoleon’s door, knowing all it would take is a word?

“Illya?” Napoleon asks, drawing his attention back into the present moment. “Just say it.” Napoleon reaches out, takes his hand and pulls it closer until Illya can feel his muscles through his thin shirt, until he’s reminded the sight of Napoleon at the beach, ocean water running through the crevices between his muscles.

“Please,” Illya pleads, feeling his fingers start to tremble. “I need you to say no. Napoleon, please.”

“No, Illya, I won’t do that.” His hand on Illya’s wrist guides him, up and up until his fingers meet skin, until he can feel Napoleon’s pulse, strong and quick under his skin.

Illya is not a religious man, far from it. But he thinks of the apple all the same. Only a single bite, he thinks, desperately, forsaken already.

“I want this too much to let it go. If there is even a sliver of a chance…” He leans into the touch, the weight against Illya’s hand startling, “I’m going to take it. Even if it’s just a moment,” he whispers and it doesn’t sound like a ploy. It doesn’t sound like the shameless flirting that Napoleon engages in like it’s a sport.

Illya doesn’t make the conscious decision. The next thing he knows, he’s pushed Napoleon’s shirt open further, the revealed skin making him almost dizzy with want. He doesn’t want things, not for himself. Especially not a man. The firm muscles under his fingers, the deep rasp of Napoleon’s voice, it’s everything that Illya should not want to keep. But he’s here all the same, watching his shaking fingers undo the buttons of Napoleon’s shirt. He hears the hitch in his breathing with every inch of skin he reveals and wonders if he himself is still breathing at all.

“Napoleon,” Illya whimpers.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Soft lips touch Illya’s temple and he can feel the way Napoleon has to stretch under his fingers. There is no going back now and he was foolish to think he would ever be able to resist.

#this was the last one I had so I guess I'll be returning to my WIPs #napollya #spotify tag game #nici writes

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bailesona · 9 months

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" yes, yes, i understand the confusion. well, old chum, as you have likely noticed, the cost of inflammation has demanded that even the higher tiers of evolution must work for their supper. fortunately, dear ms. jones was quite receptive to the idea of a bar at her eatery, and so now you can enjoy a rather tasty little cocktail with your nibbles. so what will it be? eh? an elderly fashioned? a sexy beach? pina colorado? i'm very familiar with the art of mixology, so you say the word and i'll get to it. pay no attention to the cameras... "

OPEN STARTER! ( introducing test guest muse: lasz.lo cra.vensworth !! )

#( ' BUFFET-STYLE. ' / OPEN STARTER. )#( IDK IDK IF I'M DOING THE CANONS RIGHT BUT HERE )

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eldritchaccident · 1 month

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Timing: A bit after Teds got back from Canada Location: Jones Home/beachfront Feat: @vanoincidence and @eldritchaccident Warnings: none! Summary: S’more familial bonding

Pitching a fire was careful work. Each piece of tinder arranged just so. Artful, as if it wasn't something that was awaiting the spark to set it alight. Inferno, annihilation, rebirth. Bonfire season stretched out before them, only just beginning to settle into warm enough nights to sit outside on the beach and watch the dazzling sparkle of flame dancing along the waves.

Eventually, the tide would take over the stretch of sand, washing away even the ashes of Teddy's tireless work. And still they persisted. Crafting the tower, a monument to S’mores. Or, perhaps, to the ability to get to and walk around again. As long as they ignored the aching in their bones, everything was fine.

The sun had not set, Teddy didn't think they'd want to be outside in the dark on their own just yet, even if their little study buddy was already on her way. The promise of a bright night light put their mind at ease, even if theoretical.

The kindling struck up and smoked until the first flames appeared, Teddy smiled and sat back, taking stock of the sweeter supplies. Marshmallows, Graham crackers, chocolate, and a host of more experimental toppings. Some of which were kept on dry ice. Along with a thermos of liquid nitrogen. For science. Food science. Of course.

With the fire going, the snacks set, Teddy figured it was a good enough time to get some practice in. A looming threat, and a hopeful promise chasing them ever since Echo had them thinking a whole lot more about this power they'd apparently been born to. It was a pretty all consuming spiral, one they couldn't help but ruminate on so much they missed much of their surroundings. Including Van showing up on the beach.

—

Van had her own running supply of snacks for tonight’s event, all stuffed into a backpack instead of her regular tote. She could feel the shift of the red bull cans with every step, three new flavors for Teddy to try alongside her. The number of candy bars she had pulled off the shelves (all at various discounted prices) would probably end up squished by them, but she figured it didn’t matter considering they’d all be squashed between graham crackers and marshmallow, anyway.

The smell of the smoke reached Van’s nose first, and then as she rounded the corner to the beach’s opening path, she saw the glowing light visible against the sandy floor. “Teddy!” She smiled brightly at them as she approached, one arm in the air, waving haphazardly around. There was a click in her shoulder that she ignored, the pain still there from the time she’d got thrown to the ground by the dirt eating vampire.

“I brought some other stuff, too.” Van twisted her arm out of the strap of her backpack and held it up awkwardly as she began to unzip it, plopping down into a squat just next to Teddy. She began to unearth the various chocolate bars, as well as the cans of red bull. “These are kind of warm, I hope you don’t mind– Oh! Can we put them on the ice?” She motioned towards the cooler that Teddy was next to before rocking back onto her heels, planting her butt on the sand.

The fire was warm against her skin, a welcomed feeling against the dropping temperature as the sun pushed down further. Van wasn’t much of a hugger, but she felt inclined to give Teddy one. As she got to her feet, she threw both arms around them, giving him a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “What did Canada do to you, dude?” It was said with a soft laugh as she dropped back down next to them, grabbing her backpack so she could zip it back up.

—

With how much Teddy was startled by Van’s arrival, you'd almost wonder if they forgot anyone was coming by at all. A seashell in the tide, their attention was pushed and pulled so easily. Unnoticing the rising and the falling until it found itself completely buried in the sand. In this particular case, the sand was an experiment in holding an increasing number of marshmallows in a small spherical forcefield hovering over the fire, which promptly exploded as the caster was startled and dropped the current record of four sugary treats down into the flames below.

“Oh! Hey Junebug!” No tears were shed for the sugar feeding the fire, in fact, quite the opposite. The moment they heard the kid’s voice Teddy was all smiles, bursting to bits with joy as the younger caster kept talking and then opted for the hug, making Teds feel like they must be doing something right. Without much fanfare, Teddy took the drinks and added them to the cooler, sitting just beside the various experimental toppings, and the canister of dry ice chilled ice cream.

“Ah Canada was—“ What they’d said online and what actually happened were two different stories. One of them involved hockey. One of them involved deprivation torture. Teddy wished they’d just been roughed around a rink. It’d be a lot less complicated. They’d be a lot less distant, hiding behind a smile they hoped she wouldn’t see as faulty in any way. “—so weird, Van. SO weird. Did you know they have milk in bags up there? Just in BAGS.”

—

When Van thought of Canada initially, she thought of geese and Toronto. Then, she started to think about Thea and the life that her friend had had there, and how different it was in Maine. How she’d been Cynthia, and now she went by something else. Was Teddy somebody else in Canada, too? Was there something they weren’t telling her? Probably, but she didn’t feel the urge to yank it out from beneath him, because what would that accomplish? This was supposed to be a bonding moment.

“I’ve heard that! And their money smells like maple syrup, right?” That’d been a trap she’d fallen into, and she already knew the truth, but she wanted to see what Teddy would say to her. “Sucks that they have the queen on it, but at least the colors are pretty.” Not that their money was much better, but still.

Van noticed that there were a few marshmallows already in the pit and she frowned, then looked back to the package. They’d barely miss them, as it was– the remaining bag was filled to the brim with the fluffy sugar bombs. “So like, where do we start? Should we put the graham crackers with the chocolate near the fire so the chocolate melts and it’s not all weird and messed up?” Messed up as in a weird texture, but she figured Teddy would understand that without her needing to explain further.

—

“Wait really?” Teddy hadn’t spent long enough in Canada to actually exchange much cash, let alone go sniffing it. “I know it’s pretty colorful, but smells like maple too? Damn.”

One redeeming point for Canada apparently. Not exactly enough that they really ever wanted to go back, but hey. Can’t blame the whole country for one town that may or may not even really exist. Didn’t on google maps, but the documents in the town hall looked official. It was weird. Not a lot about that place added up. Not in a way that made sense unless you were looking at it from just the right angle. One Teds never really found. “All money should be colorful.” Teddy nodded to themself. “But we need to start putting fun stuff on it, not old dead shitheels.” At least monetary markers were something more comforting to muse about.

“Oh good idea, I got some more flat rocks on this side of the fire, we can probably put ‘em there.” Light danced around the pair as they circled the inferno. It chased away the darkness, gave purpose and strength to the night. Teddy hated feeling afraid. It wasn’t in their nature, at least it never used to be. Growing up demon, the only things that could even come close to terrifying them in the same way the simple darkness did now was maybe a whole cloister of nuns with guns. And that was… shit another fear that came from being locked in a room with something, awaiting a swift and assured death. Death itself wasn’t half as scary as the things that led up to it, they thought. The anticipation was worse. In the end, death might be more of a release and relief than they’d ever like to admit.

“Also got blankets and such if the wind picks up and you feel chilly. But I doubt it will, been pretty lovely all evening.”

—

“Are you messing with me? You know that’s not real, right?” Van could’ve let them continue to believe that it was true, or that she thought it, and so maybe that’s what Teddy was doing– allowing her to believe. Or maybe they were messing with her in a different capacity, or maybe they thought it was real. “Sorry I lied to you.”

“I hate money. Like, the idea of it, what it’s done to like… everything.” It was hard to not think about the arguments her parents constantly got into about money. They still echoed around in her head, tangling her up what it meant to be either successful or… the opposite. But now wasn’t the time to think about that! She and Teddy had a plethora of sweets at their disposal, and the night sky that bloomed over them was the kind that could only be dreamt up. She wanted to enjoy this time, especially now that Teddy was back. “But you’re right, um, colorful money would make things way cooler, and way better without the ugly dead people on it.” Was that rude? Would they come to haunt her? Maybe. She’d just hit George Washington with a cherry or something. Or was it an apple?

Van dropped into a squat next to the fire, careful to not lean too far forward or too far back. She unearthed the package of graham crackers and began placing them gently on the flat rocks as Teddy had explained, before setting single pieces of chocolate onto them. “This is like, the best way to do it.” She looked up at them with a big grin.

She looked towards the blankets Teddy mentioned and gave a small nod. “I think the fire will totally help out with that, but that’s like, super courteous of you.” That was the right way to use the word, right? She was almost positive it was, at least. “Um.. okay. Chocolate laid out, marshmallows acquired. Do we put on music? Or is that disrespectful to the night time or whatever?”

—

“Wait– Really? Well diggity shit. That’s lame.” Defeat. Utter total disappointment. Why shouldn’t it smell like maple? It should smell like maple. Teddy grumbled and fell backwards, getting a head full of sand and an eye full of stars. The stars are probably maple flavored. They wouldn’t disappoint. At the very least the North Star™ probably did. “Guess it makes sense though, when has a government run program ever done anything cool ever?”

Hating money. That was something Teds could get behind. The caster tilted their head upwards, shaking off a little of the sand just to get a good look at the kid. It was easy for them to say they hated it now that the Jones family was more flush with cash then they could ever dream of spending in one lifetime, but it wasn’t always that way. Fireside treats and the family secret S’mores technique came from that period. When they scraped together enough to survive, and sometimes had enough for a treat. When most nights were spent under the blanket of the cosmos, warmed only by the massive body their father could transform into.

“It’s unfortunately pretty useful, but…. Pretty much only because of all the shit it’s done to the…. Everything.” Two arms shot up in the air, waving around and gesturing to the whole of human civilization. “Hah!” Teddy snorted. “Yes, abso-fuckin-lutely no more dead ugly white guys. That’s number one.”

Van got to work setting up the crackers, so Teds figured it was time to get roasting. “The trick for the marshmallows is to find a pocket of the fire without any big flames, but some hot embers down below.” Up and at-em with a dad groan, Teddy found their own spot by the fire. Put two mallows on a stick and studied the gentle inferno for the perfect oven. “Then you gotta be patient. This way takes longer, but it makes for the best flavor.” They explained, exceptionally proud of their caramelizing skills. “Only turn it once you see it juuuuuust start to smoke. And turn it slowly too, that’s how you get it perfect golden brown.”

—

Van still wasn’t entirely sure if Teddy was messing with her or not, but only because their expression left so much to be discovered. She observed them for a moment, still not quite sure, but snorted at their comment about the government and how decidedly uncool it was. “I’d say the parks department is like, the only cool thing anywhere, but even they really mess up a lot of the time.” She had watched a 10 part Tik Tok series on why the park’s department sucked and had totally turned her back on them.

“Useful, yeah.” It was, and she knew it was, but it didn’t mean she was happy about it. Money sucked, and it got in the way of a lot of things. She didn’t want to think about the negatives right now, though, and as easy as it was to get wrapped up in them, she wanted to enjoy the here and now with Teddy, especially after they’d been gone for so long. “Yeah, like, put a tree on it or something.” The whole thing was technically made out of trees, right? “Or maybe that’s kind of messed up. I don’t know.” She didn’t really know a lot about anything, but it seemed like Teddy thought she did, and she liked that.

“I kind of like when the marshmallows get kinda burnt and crispy… there’s something about the burnt parts that tastes really good.” That, and it was because she always got distracted by roasting them that most of hers had come out burnt and she got used to the taste. “But I’ll definitely try your way. You’re the one with the inventive food things, so you definitely know what you’re talking about.” Van half-waddled, half-knelt to the side of the fire that Teddy was at and watched them as they roasted the marshmallows. “Those look a lot better than anything I’ve done, and I’m not saying that in like, a depressing way. I mean those look like they came from a magazine.”

—

“Parks and Postal service, the only parts I respect.” Teddy nodded along. “Imagine how much bullshit they have to deal with from the other branches. I bet they’d be about 87% more efficient if they were just like, allowed to do what they wanted.” They had watched no such Tiktok. But they had seen all of Parks n’ Rec. Multiple times. Hell of a show. One time someone compared them to an uncanny horrifying mix of Leslie Knope and Jean-Ralphio Saperstien. Teddy wore it like a badge of the highest honor for months.

“Are you good on that? Like rent and groceries and everything? Your car running well?” Normally, they wouldn’t be so direct. Their support usually came in subtle gifts and acts of service. But for some reason, the topic seemed to bother Van in a way that worried them. Maybe not bother, seemed too strong of a word. Disconcert? Upset? Teddy mused on it a bit while they waited for a reply. “Trees! Yes! Something anyone can get behind. Or like, take a vote on what's everyone’s favorite animal. If I could make money I’d put a little nudibranch on it, have you seen those little guys? They look like pokemon.” A little lilting laugh escaped their chest, finding joy wasn’t hard in good company.

“Heard, chef.” A little crispy. They could work with that. “Do you like the inside being molten or uncooked?” They could do the best of both worlds. Two marshmallows, one burnt and crispity, one golden and gooey. Pride swelled up as the kid came over, leading Teddy to preen like an egotistical peacock. “Ahh well, Whenever I’m with friends, I never do anything I don’t think I’m amazing at, so that’s step one. Always gotta impress, y’know?”

—

“I was told I shouldn’t respect the postal service by this one lady ‘cause my package got accidentally delivered to her house. She wanted to yell at them, but I don’t think they’re paid enough for that.” Van was glad that she was able to keep Vic from going and yelling at the poor postal workers, but it was a little bit annoying that it was something that kept happening. Then again, it probably had something to do with this stupid town and nothing to do with the actual workers. “Yeah, definitely more efficient, probably.” She didn’t really know a whole lot about government and the whole trickle down thing, but she was pretty sure Teddy was right.

“What? Yeah, uh– I mean, I’m not like, paying rent right now. Regan won’t let me pay rent. I gave her…” Was it alright to tell Teddy that she had given her bones? Probably, right? “Bones. There were some bones, and she wanted them, so that’s what I gave her. It’s a lot cheaper than rent, right?” Van let out a nervous laugh. Groceries weren’t really an issue either, mostly because Sly Slice was a source of food. Though, she was getting sick of pizza. “But um, I’m good! Totally good.” She didn’t want to take from Teddy, anyway, especially when they were already offering so much given the whole… both having magic thing. “A Nudi-what?” The topic of it looking like a pokemon did make Van interested, so she pulled out her phone and looked it up, nodding with confirmation at Teddy’s description. “It looks like something that’d be in the game, totally. Wait, that’s so cute. I want them on my money. Way better than old dead white guys.”

“Uncooked? No way, then it doesn’t get all sticky with the chocolate– Oh, crap.” She turned towards the graham crackers on the edge of the rocks, noticing that the chocolate was already beginning to bubble. She carefully moved them to a cooler side of the rock where they wouldn’t continue to cook. Van listened to Teddy as they spoke, and even if she couldn’t really identify with their sentiment, she felt like she needed to tell them that it wasn’t necessary. “I already think you’re like, super cool and whatever. Way cooler than Emilio, so.. I mean.” She shrugged, nudging the graham crackers towards Teddy so that they could place the marshmallows on top. “You can definitely tell him I said that. I think you should use that as like, the way you impress people. Just show them Emilio.” There was no way she’d say that she thought Emilio was cool, so she laid it on thick in regards to thinking Teddy was way cooler. “These look melted enough, right?”

—

“Nobody gets paid enough to be yelled at for a mistake, except maybe like… CEOs but they should be melted with the marshmallows I think.” Teddy hummed a little laugh, briefly imagining a screaming rich dude at the end of their stick rather than a sugary treat. Just like a bedtime story Leviathan would tell. Of comeuppances and shitheels getting what they deserve. “At the very least they’d be happier.” And happy folks tended to work better, or at least make it nice for everyone they interact with. If Ted knew how much trust Van put into their aimless rambling, they’d probably never shut up. So a change in topics was probably for the best.

“Oh! Right, The Death Doc is your landlord. I think I remember you saying that before.” Memories were so fickle, rudely getting lost and mixed up in loose imaginings and potential panicking points. “Bones eh? That sounds about right with her. Definitely cheaper than rent.” They agreed, whole heartedly. Not even missing a beat, as if that was the most normal currency one could offer. Bartering, Teddy thought, was a much better system overall. Everyone could get exactly what they want, or what they need. “Yeah well, if you get in a pinch, I got more food and room than I can shake a salmon at.”

Van pulled out her phone and immediately Teddy perked up. Her impulsive inquisitiveness was one of the things that they always admired about the kid. Reminded them a lot of themself. And the whole of the universe knew how much Teddy Jones loved themself. (Most of the time.) “We should make a club. Specifically so we can have t-shirts with our nudibranch mascot on them. Bet you any money Wynne would think these guys are cute too.”

“Atta girl, you are so right for that. Gooey is the way to goo.” Perhaps not the best phrasing considering the whole town had been covered in a terrible goo not half a year ago. Ahh well, time passed, and the consistency of melty treats was a far cry from the black ichor that messed up so much shit back then. “Oop.” Teddy let out a small sound of surprise as the graham cracker bases were nudged their way, absolutely ready to be made into the perfect S’mores. “Well you are a hundred percent correct on that, but he’s got some cool points. Maybe not from you, Junebug.” Carefully, the older caster split the two marshmallows evenly across the crackers, making sure both got a good amount of goo as well as the crispy golden shell, with specks of burnt just for that added texture and flavor. They smooshed the tops on and handed one over, primed for a cheers motion. “Melted to maximum deliciousness. Bone app the teeth.”

#wickedswriting #vanoincidence #eldritchaccident

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