#not the best manip in the world but I just did it this evening as I felt like it

[candyflossfairy]

𝑚𝑟. 𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑛 (𝑒.𝑚. 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: Dad!Eddie x Teacher!Reader. It's that time of year for parent-teacher conferences, and you finally meet Ronnie's father, Mr. Munson.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 18+ only, unprotected sex (p in v), slight choking, Jacobs Ladder piercings.

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 3.7k

𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠: Eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple . My work for @newlips milestone of love!

Your first year of teaching was going by pretty well. The students were sweet, fun, and for the most part, they listened. Of course, sitting in a classroom all day was tough work for second graders, they got a little restless after lunch. You didn’t mind it, though. There was a lot of gift giving that made it all better. Notes, drawings, coloring book pages, apples, even one gave you a glass apple with the words World’s Best Teacher! on it that you kept on your desk. It was sweet, really. All of them were, in their own ways.

Even the ones that acted out more than others.

Like Lucy Carver who had a knack for acting like a princess and bribing others with lunch money to do classwork for her. 

Or her step-brother, Ronnie Munson, who would pick on his sister relentlessly and talk loudly in class for attention. You knew it was for attention, because you saw who picked up Lucy every day and who picked up Ronnie. He was missing out on some motherly love. You hated Chrissy Carver for that. There were days when she did pick him up, but most of the time it was Mr. Munson, or Wayne Munson, Ronnie’s great uncle that would pick him up. 

You hugged Ronnie a little tighter than the other kids. You made sure he did his classwork and helped him when he needed it because of it. Not to say you had a favorite, you just knew which kids needed an extra push. It was sad that at such a young age he felt like he wasn’t getting enough love from his mother, even if he didn’t know that’s what he was feeling.

He was a cute kid, too. Looked like a carbon copy of his dad—dark curls and chocolate eyes. It was better that way, you thought. When he was older he wouldn’t look in the mirror and see his mom staring back at him.

It was parent-teacher conference day. You were nervous for your first one, but your colleagues assured you that there wasn’t much to be nervous about. Some parents were dicks when it came to their child’s grades, but for the most part it was manageable. Plus you got a better insight on what parents helped their kids at home, and which ones left them to their devices.

“Lucy is doing great as far as her social skills. She’s developing them very well. She also has a talent for math—on the days she decides to do it.” You explained to Mr. and Mrs. Carver, “I think a little more encouragement from the two of you and she will be on top of her schoolwork more.” 

“So you’re saying it’s our fault?” Mr. Carver spat.

“Jason—” Mrs. Carver chastised.

“I’m not saying that at all, Mr. Carver.” You said calmly, giving him a smile, “But I do think restricting the amount of money you give to your child will keep her from paying others to do her schoolwork for her. She’s a very smart girl when she applies herself.” You continued.

“Thank you very much for your time. We will keep that in mind.” Mrs. Carver said, as they stood up. She picked up the progress report and the two of them stepped outside.

You sighed, pressing a hand to your face.

“I feel that way after interacting with them too,”

You shot up straight, a soft flush to your cheeks. 

“No, really, they can be pretty awful.” Mr. Munson stepped inside, shutting the classroom door behind him. 

“Is… Mrs. Carver not joining us?” You asked, clearing your throat as you shuffled your papers before looking for Ronnie’s. 

“Chrissy? Nah, she tries to forget that we both exist as much as she can.” Mr. Munson told you with a playful grin, as he grabbed a chair on the other side of your desk. He turned it around before sitting in it backwards, his legs spread widely and his crotch on display from the wide hole in the back of it.

You kept your eyes on his face, even though it was in your peripheral. Mr. Munson was attractive, covered in tattoos, a labret piercing above his chin, one in his eyebrow. He also had muscles that strained against his shirt from many days working at the mechanic shop in town. You hadn’t been there since you’d moved to Hawkins, but you did know he worked there.

Single mom’s talked about him quite often. He had a little bit of a reputation for fixing problems that they’d had. 

Not to mention, he was a bit older than you — not by that much. He was in his late 20s, you were in your mid, it wasn’t bad. 

You didn’t know why you were thinking about this. You were having a parent-teacher conference about his son. It had nothing to do with the fact that you hadn’t had sex since you’d moved here. It didn’t have to do with the fact that Mr. Munson was too sexy for his own good.

You swallowed, and looked down at Ronnie’s progress report.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You responded. 

“Nah, no biggie. I’m more upset for Ronnie’s sake than my own. She’s been a bitch since she married Carver.” He shrugged.

You snorted a chuckle at that, trying to hide it. You’d seen how snooty she was, too. You couldn’t imagine her ever being any other way.

“It’s true. She used to be a sweet little thing. Loved me and our boy. Carver’s…persuasive. I’m just glad we split up before Ronnie could remember much. He doesn’t remember her like that. I think it makes it hurt less — sorry, didn’t mean to like — spill on you. Anyways, how’s Ronnie doing in class?” 

You swallowed back your thoughts. So, you’d been right. Mrs. Carver didn’t care for her son much. 

“He needs a little extra pushing from me from time to time. He does like to aggravate Lucy and awful lot and cause disruptions, but he’s been getting better since the school year first started.” You started off, looking over his progress report. You highlighted a few grades and slid the paper over to Mr. Munson.

“These zeros are homework assignments he never turned in. It’s not particularly hurting his overall grade, but if you can get him to do them, I’ll give him seventy-five percent credit for them. I know single parenting is much harder than it looks on the outside, so I’m willing to work with you, and him, to make sure he’s able to move up next year.” You smiled at him kindly.

“We appreciate that.” Mr. Munson nodded, looking at the report, “These aren’t hard assignments either, huh? I guess they just got lost in the fray of things.” He laughed, before his eyes flicked to you, “Though, it’ll be a shame that I don’t get to see your smiling face every morning after he moves up.” 

Your cheeks flared pink at that, and you brushed some hair behind your ear. You couldn’t tell if he was flirting or not, but… God, you hoped he was. 

“Well, I’ll still be here next year… so there’s no shame in dropping by to see me.” You smiled at him, folding your hands on your desk.

“No? Wouldn’t be weird if I… came by and saw you without my kid?” He asked, grinning back.

“Definitely not.” You hummed.

Mr. Munson looked at the time, before standing. “Our time slot is up.” He mused, turning the chair back around the right way. 

You bit your lip, before standing. “My last one ends at eight.” You said quickly.

“Oh? Did you…want me to come back?” His brows lifted.

You nodded.

“Alright, I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harrington. Goodnight.” You shut your door after your final meeting and bellowed a sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you leaned back against the door. It had been a long day, and for the most part people hadn’t been awful, but there had been a select few who had been awful.

There was a soft knock on your door, and you opened it back up.

“Oh, Mr. Munson —” You had forgotten, so wrapped up in everything, you had forgotten he was going to come back. Your cheeks flushed again and you stepped aside to let him into your classroom. 

He kicked the door shut behind him, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Did you not expect me to come back?” He asked, grinning a bit.

“No—it’s not that.” You laughed, “I just. You know.” You shrugged. “I’m glad you’re back.” You rubbed your arm nervously. 

“Yeah?” He chuckled, stepping closer to you, “And why’s that?” 

You were almost nose to nose with him. You could feel his breath fanning over your skin. You swallowed, thickly.

“Mr. Munson—” 

“You can call me Eddie.” He cut you off.

“Eddie—” You started, “Is Ronnie taken care of for the night?” You had to make sure.

“Took him to his great uncle Wayne’s. He loves it over there. He’s set.” He gently lifted a hand and brushed some of your hair back.

You wet your lips, and his eyes flicked down to them. 

“Why don’t we go back to my place?” He suggested, his hand gently resting on your jaw. He rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip and you couldn’t ignore the warmth that flooded between your legs at that. 

You nodded, numbly, and turned to gather your things. He watched you from afar as you placed all of your paperwork into a binder and shoved it, and your laptop, haphazardly into your school bag.

“Wanna meet me there, or ride with me?” He asked, winking at you.

“Either is fine.” You cleared your throat.

“You like motorcycles?” He chuckled. You raised your brows before nodding.

Fuck, that was hot. He had a motorcycle? He should just breed you now.

You let that thought wash over you as you followed him out of the school, stopping only to put your bag into your car before swallowing thickly as Eddie handed you a helmet.

“Safety first.” He winked at you, pulling his long hair up into a bun at the base of his neck. You tried to not think to hard about him putting his hair up to eat you out, but it wasn’t easy to ignore. 

You slipped the helmet on and clipped it into place. He straddled the motorcycle. 

“Alright, throw your leg over like I did and hold on tight.” He grinned at you.

“What happened to ‘safety first’?” You asked, raising a brow at the fact that he didn’t have a helmet on.

“For you, sweetheart. Not for me. I like to live dangerously.” He laughed loudly.

You shook your head in amusement as you took his hand, throwing your leg over the back of the bike. Surprisingly, you didn’t fall on your face or stumble, and settled into the seat behind him.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and held on tight.

He was warm, body toned. You couldn’t wait to see what it looked like naked.

He turned on the bike and kicked up the kickstand, revving the engine a few times before he took off out of the parking lot.

You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in you as he raced down the street. It had been a while since you’d done anything fun. Moving to Hawkins had been a bit of a poison to your social life — sure, you had the other teachers at Hawkins Elementary, but most of them were much older than you and had lived there their entire lives.

He pulled up to the only apartment complex in Hawkins; a newer building you had been told. They looked fairly nice from the outside, and you couldn’t wait to see the inside. 

Eddie pulled into a parking spot and kicked the stand back down, shutting the bike off. 

He helped you off of the bike and tilted his head towards the stairs in front of you. “Just up those.” He told you.

You followed him up to the second floor and he unlocked the door first door you came to, letting you in.

“Home sweet home. It’s not much, but it’s ours.” Eddie smiled, shrugging his jacket off. He hung it on a chair in the small dining area and stepped into the kitchen. 

“You like beer?” He asked.

“Yeah, a beer would be nice.” You nodded as you looked around.

The front area was a decent sized living room, connected to the small dining room that held a small round table with four chairs. The kitchen was connected to that. There was a short hallway right in front of you. You had to assume the bathroom and bedrooms were back that way.

“Here,” Eddie handed you the beer, popping his open before sitting on the couch. “Make yourself comfy.” He said, propping his boots on the edge of a beat up coffee table.

You followed his suit, sitting next to him on the couch. You crossed one leg over the other, popping your beer open.

You took a sip. It was cheap, but it would take the edge off of whatever nerves you were feeling.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, just quietly sipping from your beers. It wasn’t awkward persae, it was just… different? You both knew what you were here for, so you weren’t sure why he was playing worlds best host.

You just wanted him to fuck you already.

You downed your beer in the next second, placing it on the coffee table.

“Woah, want another one?” Eddie asked.

“No,” You said, and feeling a spur of confidence, you uncrossed your legs and threw one over his lap, straddling his legs.

He smirked up at you, letting his legs fall from the coffee table. 

“Hi,” He said, learning around you to put his beer down.

“Hi,” You responded, smiling down at him.

His hands gently rested on your waist, pinkies on each side pushing up your shirt to feel your skin. 

You reached forward, and brushed his hair off of his shoulder. 

��Kissing, or no?” You asked, your voice a soft whisper.

“Why wouldn’t I want kissing?” He chuckled.

You shrugged. “Some guys think it’s too intimate.” 

His brow furrowed. “Sex is intimate.” He laughed.

You shared a smile with him before leaning in to kiss him. His lips were softer than you had expected, the stubble on his lip scratching your skin softly. You didn’t mind it, really. He was…so fucking hot.

He nipped your lip softly, and you parted them for him, allowing his tongue to invade your mouth. He tasted like beer, and cigarettes. You didn’t mind it as much as you thought. However, maybe it was because it was him. 

You brushed the thoughts from your mind, biting at his bottom lip, your teeth lightly clanking against the piercing there. 

Tattooed hands pushed up the sides of your shirt, fingers squeezing your sides, pinkies slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You could feel them toying with the edge of your underwear, too. 

You broke the kiss for a breath, panting softly as his mouth made its way to your neck.

“No hickies.” You said quickly, “I don’t need the kids asking questions.”

Eddie chuckled against your skin. 

“Bedroom?” He asked, nipping softly at your pulsepoint.

You nodded; and up you went. He had lifted you like you were nothing and he carried you down the hallway. He dropped you on the bed and pulled his shirt off, displaying more tattooed skin. He climbed onto the bed, pressing a knee between your legs as his hand cupped the top of your head, his elbow resting near your shoulder as he kissed you, his entire body covering yours.

You moaned into his mouth as his knee rubbed against your mound. You reached between you to press your hand against his half-hard cock in his jeans. He responded with a soft groan.

You stayed like that for a long while, teasing each other, him with his knee and you with your hand, your lips never leaving one anothers. 

It had almost became a game. See who would last the longest before they asked to go further.

You were losing. Your hips were guiding themselves up against your will, rubbing your clothed pussy against his thigh. You weren’t getting much friction from this, but what you were getting was making you soaking wet.

You popped the button of his jeans open, and reached past his boxers as a concession. He had won.

You gasped at what you felt in his pants, breaking the kiss.

“What?” He asked, his voice deep and husky as he continued to rub his knee against you.

“You’re—”

“Yeah, I know.” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss at your neck again. 

He hooked his fingers in your shirt and you lifted up to let him pull it off, still a little in shock at what you felt.

His hands were then working at your pants, unzipping them and dragging them, and your panties off in one fell swoop.

His pants were next to go, and you were both naked, but—

Your eyes met his cock. It was large, the tip red and wet with precum… Your fingers gently brushed across the bottom of the shaft. Nestled there in a row were five bars. He had his cock pierced.

You swallowed thickly, wondering what it felt like for those piercings to be inside you. Especially with how big he was.

“Doesn’t hurt — at least no one’s complained.” He chuckled, “And it’s been fully healed for a few years, so nothing to worry about on my end.” 

“You did them all at the same time?” You asked, a little shocked.

“Yeah, hurt like hell. But looks fuckin’ hot, don’t it?” He grinned.

You nodded.

He grasped himself in his hand and slapped it against your pussy, making your insides clench tightly. With his other hand he spread your lips and started tapping again, this time against your clit. Your legs jolted softly with each tap, your lips parted in a soft moan.

“Damn, you’re so fuckin’ wet.” He sighed, rubbing his cock against you. “You on the pill?” 

“Yeah,” You nodded.

“Good.” 

Neither one of you needed for you to get pregnant right now. That was unsaid between you.

He tapped your pussy a few more times, before lining himself up and pushing in.

Your back arched, a low moan leaving you. Your eyes fluttered and your head tipped back.

“That’s it… that’a’girl…take it.” He sighed into the warm air between you. 

“Fuck, Mr. Munson..” You moaned.

He laughed softly. “You like callin’ me that? Alright, honey. We can pretend I’m a lot older than you. Bet you flick that pretty little clit of yours at home thinkin’ bout me and the other dads, hm?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you nodded. There was just something so fucking hot about fathers to you. You wanted to have someone like that in your life. Someone to raise kids with you. 

“Say it.” He grunted, as he pressed fully into you.

“Ah—! I touch myself thinking about you!” You gasped, your legs circling tightly around his waist.

That’s not how he wanted it, though. He grabbed you tightly by your thighs and wrenched your legs up until they were on his shoulders. He scooted closer to you so that your hips were angled up.

Now, now he was impossibly deeper.

You moaned helplessly, grasping at the sheets.

“You got a pretty little cunt here for me. Soaking wet and tight, mmm…” He sighed, pulling out and thrusting back in. 

He found a medium pace that you both seemed to like for now, his hand sliding up your thigh and squeezing. 

“You like being choked, baby?” He asked breathily, his free hand brushing up your chest.

You nodded, your lips parted. You couldn’t make words come out right now, you were fucking gone.

His fingers circled around your throat, fingers pressing into your pulse point. Your back arched higher, your head tipping back as you moaned out.

“Fuck, you’re a sweet little thing..” He groaned, speeding up his pace.

“Mr. Munson—!” You whined out, his cock pressing over and over into that spongey spot inside of you.

“Yeah, baby. Say it.” He chuckled.

There was something so inherently dirty about this, even though it was all legal. It was probably because you taught his son at school, really. You couldn’t think about it now, not with his cock pressing into your gspot, and his piercings rubbing up against your walls with every thrust.

“Mr. Munson!” You moaned out again, your hips lifting higher with every thrust. 

You could feel your orgasm growing, the heat in your belly getting hotter and hotter until the rubber band snapped, your cunt clamping down on his cock and spasming as you cried out helplessly. 

He released your throat, his thrusts never stopping. He groaned, and a few moments later he was pulling out and spilling his seed on your belly.

You were both panting heavily as he dropped onto the bed next to you. 

You laid there in silence for a long while, your insides burning from overuse. It had been a while since you’d been fucked, especially by such a thick cock.

Fuck if you didn’t feel good, though.

“Here,” Eddie said, leaning over to grab you a few tissues.

“Thanks.” You hummed, sitting up slightly to clean the cum off of your belly. You tossed them into the trashcan nearby as Eddie stepped across the hallway into what you now knew was the bathroom.

You waited for him to finish cleaning up before you went in yourself, relieving your bladder and cleaning up. 

When you came back into the room, Eddie had laid out a shirt for you on the bed.

“You can stay over. Wayne is supposed to take Ronnie to school, so he shouldn’t be here in the morning.” He said, smiling.

You nodded, pulling his shirt on before climbing into the bed.

Eddie flicked off the lights before climbing in after you, his arm wrapping around you waist. He pulled you close, your back flush against his chest.

You felt safe that night, and got the best rest you’d had since you moved to Hawkins.

The next morning you were awoken by the front door slamming loudly.

“Daddy!” 

Oh, shit.

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Five Years [The Snap Trope]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Snap event 1. Characters are put in the situation surrounding Thanos' Snap. "Matt disappeared five years ago, much like half the world. Frank took over his lease, just to have a place to stay. What happens when Matt and the rest of the world return?"

Warnings: Can be read as either platonic or romantic Fratt.

WC: 1,099

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

The consistent hum of Hell’s Kitchen reverberated in Matt’s ears, a white noise symphony he’d learned to love over the years. The electric buzz of the billboard across the street, the steady flow of traffic from surrounding blocks, the occasional punctuation of dogs barking or taxi’s honking.

He shuffled around his kitchen, making himself a cup of midday coffee in preparation for looking over some rather tedious case files that afternoon.

But in an instant something was different. The flow of the city changed below, overwhelming Matt’s senses. There was screaming, it seemed like the number of heartbeats dropped in an instant, and the distinct sound of tires screeching and cars hitting things echoed throughout the city.

He dropped his mug, not even sure if he heard it crash amongst the dramatic shift in sensory input of Hell’s Kitchen. But he could tell something else was off.  His skin was clammy, head spinning. He thought maybe he was going to pass out.

Just as suddenly as the sensation came over him, it was gone.

“I have to clean that up.” Matt thought, remembering the dropped mug at his feet

But when he shifted his focus to the floor, the coffee wasn’t there. No warmth hit his skin from heated liquid radiating upward, no broken shards of ceramic sliced his hands as he reached down. The hardwood was clean beneath him.

He tilted his head curiously, listening to hone in on whatever the hell was happening. Sure, he could hear the usual sounds of his apartment, but it felt different. 

He couldn’t smell the leather of his sofa. In fact, all the furniture seemed to be different, based on the way the air rushed around the room and bounced off of the various frames and fibers. There were many things unfamiliar about the room; a throw blanket draped across the back of the different couch, the taste in the air of cheaper coffee than he’d ever buy coming from the canister on the counter, and he could smell the mud on a pair of boots by the door that were definitely not his.

Another heartbeat suddenly appeared before him.

“Red! Sonofabitch!” he shouted

How had Frank suddenly appeared in the middle of his apartment without him noticing?

In a flash, Frank was across the room, drawing Matt into his arms. His heart was racing, thundering in his rib cage as he pressed Matt into it. He smelled as he usually did; gunpowder and metal mixed with earthy cologne.

Frank Castle was not a hugger.

What in the hell?

“Jesus Frank. Why are you in my apartment? And what the hell has gotten into you?” Matt asked

“S’ kinda been my apartment for a while now.”

“What?!”

“Matt, you’ve been gone. Shit, it’s been over five years now.”

“Frank, what the hell are you talking about? This is my apartment, I was just making a cup of coffee and gonna review some files for a case I have going to trial this week.” 

Frank let out a sigh, guiding Matt to the sofa and sitting beside him.

He did his best to explain Thanos and how the world fell into chaos. How Matt and half the population disappeared in an instant, and now it seemed since he was back, so was everyone else. 

Frank’s heartbeat didn’t waver, his bizarre story of The Avengers losing to a magic gem wielding alien true.

Matt was unsure what to say, where to start with the number of questions he had.

“And you’re here because?” he finally asked

Frank chuckled.

“Like I said, I live here now.”

Matt’s eyebrows flew up, curious as to how that happened.

“Things got chaotic, someone had to keep the kitchen safe.” Frank nodded toward the window

“So you moved into my place?”

“Eh– I started just crashing here to help Karen out. She was convinced you were comin back soon so she paid your rent for a while. Figured it wouldn't hurt to stay here. Then when Fisk got out and she had to run, well I’d kinda gotten used to it here.”

“Fisk is out? Where is Karen, is she okay?!”

“She’s fine. It was a bitch getting her out of New York once Fisk figured out you were gone. He went after her but Foggy and I got her safe. She’s got a new identity, livin somewhere none of us know, just in case. She’s got a husband and a kid and everything. She checks in every once in a while just to let me know she’s still safe.”

“Foggy!” Matt jumped up, hearing his best friend’s name

Frank put an arm on Matt’s shoulder, sitting him back down beside him.

“Nelson’ll be here soon enough.” Frank reassured, knowing this would be the first place Foggy would rush when he heard the news

Matt rubbed the fabric on the furniture beneath him. It was soft, like a suede or velvet, and it smelled distinctly like Frank. 

“So what, did you not like how I had it decorated before?” Matt joked

“Nah, it was all fine. Little much for my taste. But I kinda got blood on a lot of stuff and had to replace it.”

“Did you keep anything of mine?”

“After a few years, I convinced Karen you weren’t coming back. Guess I’m gonna get an earful from her soon.” Frank stood and walked across the apartment, stopping in front of the closet under the stairs. “I donated most of your fancy lawyer suits, but I did keep this.” 

He opened the doors and Matt heard the all too familiar sound of the old trunk squeaking open. Frank ambled back over and handed something to Matt.

The crimson mask felt just like Matt remembered it, the latex and fiber composite textured and abrasive under his fingers.

“Mighta missed you, Red.”

The corners of Matt’s mouth tugged upward at Frank’s sentimentality. Oh how these last five years had softened him.

“Well, I’m gonna get going.” Frank commented “Let you and Nelson have your reunion.”

He began walking toward the doors.

“Frank, no. It’s your home too now, I can’t kick you out.” Matt said, standing and reaching out his hand to stop him.

“Nah, I was just keeping it waitin’ for ya”

“Frank, I mean if half the world just came back, rent’s gonna fly up and it’ll be a bitch to get a new place.”

“You askin’ me to stay?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Frank nodded his head, walking back over and placing his large hand on Matt’s, both of them now holding the Daredevil mask.

“Okay.”

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 1

And we’re back with the first chapter of Part 1 for A Mistress to No One! I’m sorry I’m so late in posting this evening, but I did finish writing the fic today and that took up most of the day! So we do have a final chapter count! Thank you for your patience! 

More hugs and belated birthday celebrations to my bestie @hollyethecurious​, for whom this fic was written! Thank you to @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing eyes, and running tackle internet hugs to @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Emma, Killian, and Cora in the artwork! Love all you ladies very much!

Enjoy this new chapter and please let me know what you thought!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later ch)

Words: 2640 of 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/ current chapter

On Tumblr Prologue

New tag list. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​

So without further ado, here we go! Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Part 1

Ch. 1

Dearest Reader,

The most sought after invitation of this year’s season must be the Jones’ masquerade ball, to be held Monday next. Indeed, one cannot take two steps without being forced to listen to some society mama speculating on who will attend, and perhaps more importantly, who will wear what.

Neither of the aforementioned topics, however, are nearly as interesting as that of the two unmarried Jones brothers, Killian and David. (And before anyone points out that there is a third unmarried Jones brother, let This Author assure you that she is fully aware of the existence of Henry Jones. He is however, sixteen years of age, and therefore not pertinent to this particular column, which concerns, as This Author’s columns often do, that most sacred of sports: husband-hunting.)

Although the Misters Jones are just that- merely Misters- they are still considered two of the prime catches of the season. It is a well-known fact that both are possessed of respectable fortunes, and it does not require perfect sight to know that they also possess, as do all the Jones offspring, the Jones good looks.

Will some fortunate young lady use the mystery of the masquerade to snare one of the eligible bachelors? This Author isn’t even going to attempt to speculate.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

May 18

~*~*~

“Emmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaa!”

The decibel level of Zelena’s screech was enough to crack the windows. Emma hurried up to the bedroom of her step-sister, not that she’d ever been acknowledged as such, barely able to catch her breath.

“Yes, Zelena?”

“My tea is cold,” she informed Emma with a haughty sniff of disdain.

It wasn’t when I brought it an hour ago, Emma thought, but didn’t dare say. Zelena’s treatment of Emma was nearly as bad as Cora’s, and Emma knew Zelena wouldn’t hesitate to smack her upside the head, or any part of Emma’s person she could reach, if she so much as rolled her eyes at whatever Zelena had complained about this time.

“I’ll bring you a fresh pot,” she said instead. “Would you like me to leave the biscuits?”

“I want fresh ones,” she said, looking down her narrow nose at the plate as if it had the audacity to offend her somehow.

“Right away, Zelena,” Emma said, with a small curtsy. She picked up the tray and carried it out of the room, where she nearly ran into Regina coming down the hall in her costume for the Jones masquerade ball next week. She was dressed in a riding habit of soft tan breeches and a high collared, fitted, light blue velveteen coat over a white blouse. Tall dark brown riding boots and gloves completed the ensemble.

“Oh, Emma,” she cried, surprised. “I was looking for you. What do you think of this costume?” She turned around slowly and Emma looked critically at the fit and asymmetrical hemline of the jacket, which was short in the front and came down to her knees in the back. The costume fit her beautifully and the pale color of the jacket contrasted nicely with the darkness of her hair and eyes, making her quite lovely indeed.

“You look wonderful,” Emma said sincerely, causing a light blush to color Regina’s cheeks.

“Thank you. Mother has been an absolute bear all week about the masquerade ball. And I know I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t look my best.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Or if she thinks I don’t look my best. She’s determined that Zelena or I snag one of the Jones brothers, you know.”

“I know.” Emma almost felt sorry for Regina. Cora’s ambitions and expectations for her daughters were high indeed and Emma was thankful she didn’t have to suffer under them. She had enough to suffer under from the detestable woman.

“And to make matters worse, that Whistledown woman has started talking about them again.” Regina rolled her eyes and snagged a biscuit off the tray in Emma’s hand. “It only whets Mother’s appetite.”

“How was today’s column?” Emma asked. “I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.”

Regina slowly munched on her biscuit before speaking. “Oh, just more of the same. There was a rundown of the Blanchard Ball last week and a bit about Baron Marionette. It seems he’s disappeared again, and in the middle of the season! Then a rather longish piece on the Jones masquerade. It was all rather humdrum, actually.”

Emma bit back a sigh and struggled not to roll her eyes. What wouldn’t she give to live Regina’s humdrum life for only a single day? Well, she certainly wouldn’t want Cora for a mother, but she’d love to be the one attending the ball instead of just reading about it. The Whistledown Society Papers was Emma’s only real enjoyment in her life. Cora worked her to the bone, but she could usually find enough time to read the column when it was released. In it, Emma found glimpses of the life that could have been hers if her parents had made their union legal.

But she wouldn’t complain. She couldn’t. She was far better off in this situation than she could have been after her father died. He’d left Emma with nothing, other than a roof over her head. Her father’s will had at least given her that until she turned twenty, but for some reason, Cora had seen fit to keep her on as a virtual slave for over a year after her twentieth birthday. She probably didn’t want to take the time to try and find, or pay, a new maid. But if working as a slave, waiting on Cora hand and foot, was the devil she knew, then the world outside was the devil she didn’t know, and so she had stayed.

“I’ll let you go then,” Regina said, drawing Emma’s attention again.

“Yes, your sister is waiting for more tea.”

“I’ll see you later.”

Emma turned and started making her way down the stairs to the kitchen.

~*~*~

The day of the masquerade, Emma found herself on her knees, her mouth full of pins as she made last minute alterations on Cora’s Queen of Hearts costume. The gown had fit perfectly last week when it arrived, but when she put it on after lunch, she declared it a quarter inch too loose.

“How’s that?”

“Too tight.”

Emma took out a pin and put it right back in where it had been. “Now?”

Cora twisted this way and that. “It’ll do,” she finally declared. Emma smiled to herself as she helped her step out of the gown. “It needs to be done in an hour if we’re to make it to the masquerade on time.”

“Of course.”

Cora swept out of the room only for Zelena to barge in like a rampaging elephant. “Emma,” she snapped. “There is a tear in the hem of my gown. It must be repaired immediately.”

“I have your mother’s gown to alter first…” Emma began.

“I said, IMMEDIATELY,” she shrieked. Emma snapped her mouth shut to keep the words she wanted to say behind the guardhouse of her lips.

“Let me see,” she said, gathering the hem in her hands. She examined the hem of Glinda the Good Witch’s gown until she found the offensive tear. It was barely an inch and on the side of the dress. It would have never been seen nor made worse over the course of the evening. “This will take no time at all to repair, Zelena. You’ll have it back in plenty of time. I promise.”

Zelena sniffed indignantly. “Be sure I do. If I’m late for this ball, I’ll have your head on a platter.”

“You won’t be late,” Emma assured her. Zelena moved toward the door just as Regina came through.

“Ugh, Regina! Watch where you’re going!”

Regina’s hand flew to her chest in alarm. “You frightened me, Zelena! Oh, Emma,” she said, turning her attention to her, “Could you put my hair in a French braid for the ball?”

“I have your mother’s gown to alter first and then a tear to repair on Zelena’s gown.” Regina’s face fell and Emma tried her best not to grimace. She hated to disappoint Regina. Of all the members of the household, Regina was the kindest to her. “I’ll do my best though. Your hair is lovely even with nothing done to it.” Regina’s face broke into a small smile as Cora burst back into the room.

“Have you started on my gown yet?” she demanded.

Emma sighed. “Not yet, I’ve been speaking to Zelena and Regina.”

“Get to work!” Cora screamed.

Emma sat quickly and began work on Cora’s costume, muttering under her breath.

“Faster than immediately, quicker than a hummingbird’s wings…”

“What did you say?” Cora snapped, her eyes narrowing at Emma.

“Nothing, ma’am.” Emma looked back down at the dress in her hands.

“Well, whatever noise you were making, cease immediately. Your voice grates on my nerves.”

“Mother, Emma will be doing my hair in a French braid for the ball.”

“Fine, fine. Oh, Zelena,” she said, turning her attention to her other daughter. “You look absolutely exquisite. The pink of your gown just complements your hair so nicely.”

Emma’s blood boiled at Cora’s dismissal of her younger daughter, and she shook her head slightly to try and encourage Regina not to take Cora’s words to heart. The effusive praise of her first born- the kind of praise that was never directed toward Regina- was hardly warranted, in Emma’s opinion. She thought the color clashed horribly with Zelena’s hair, but nobody had asked her opinion.

“You’ll surely attract the attention of one of the Jones brothers,” Cora continued.

A smug smile formed on Zelena’s lips as she cut her eyes toward her sister.

“You look lovely, too, Regina,” Emma interjected.

Regina’s eyes brightened at Emma’s statement. “Do you really think so?”

“I do,” she replied. “You’re going to have a wonderful time.” Emma sighed. “I so wish I could go.”

Cora scoffed and Zelena snorted inelegantly. “Oh, that’s rich,” Cora exclaimed. “They don’t let bastards out in society, you know.”

Emma inhaled sharply at the blatant insult. “Of course I didn’t expect to go. I only wished I could.”

“Well, what’s the use of wishing for something that will never happen?” Zelena chimed in. “That only leads to disappointment.”

At that moment, old Granny Lucas, the housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. She had a small smirk on her face and shot Emma a wink. To say that Emma was surprised would be a grand understatement. The stern older woman had always treated Emma well enough, but she didn’t think Granny had enough joy or mischief in her heart to indulge in such a frivolous action.

“Emma, are you even listening to me?” Zelena broke Emma from her stunned confusion.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked.

Zelena huffed. “Nevermind. Just be sure to get my gown finished on time. If we’re late, you’ll be to blame.”

“Of course.” Emma bent back to work and wondered again about Granny. Why would she wink?

~*~*~

Three hours later, Emma and the other servants stood at attention as first Cora, then Zelena, then Regina took their seats in the carriage that would take them to the Jones Masquerade Ball. It was only a few blocks away, but Emma knew how much Cora loved to make a grand entrance.

As soon as they were gone, Emma turned back toward the house. She was looking forward to an evening free from obligations. Whether it was an oversight on her part or just the excitement of the evening, Cora had neglected to leave Emma with a list of chores to accomplish while they were gone. As soon as she entered the house, Granny appeared at her side, grabbing her elbow.

“Hurry,” she said, “We’ve no time to lose.”

“What are you talking about Granny?”

“Come with me, come with me,” the old woman urged. She led Emma up the stairs to the servants’ bath where she found the other housemaids bustling about around a steaming tub of water.

“What is this?” Emma cried.

Granny grasped her by the arms and looked right into her eyes, a beaming smile on her face. “You, Emma Swan, are going to the ball!”

~*~*~

An hour later, Emma had been transformed. She’d been bathed and perfumed, her hair twisted up into an elegant chignon with long tendrils left loose to frame her face. A trunk Emma hadn’t noticed at first was opened, and Emma gasped at the contents. Gowns that had belonged to the late Earl’s mother, her grandmother.

At the very bottom they found a gorgeous, shimmery, blue gown, trimmed with silver accents at the top of the v-neck bodice and where it met the tulle skirt, which sparkled like stars in the sky. The silver accents also decorated the illusion sleeves topped with white feathers. Emma felt like a princess just brushing her fingers over it.

It fit her perfectly.

“Ooo, look,” Granny said, “I found matching gloves.”

Emma reached out and took one of the long, elbow length white gloves from her and examined it closely.

“Look, it has the Glowerhaven crest and initials.”

“Sarah Louise Spencer,” Granny said. “Your grandmother.”

Emma looked at Granny in surprise. No one had ever verbally acknowledged Emma’s blood ties to the Spencer family.

“What?” Granny asked, indignantly. “It’s true. And it’s high time we stopped tiptoeing around the truth. It’s shameful that those girls are treated like the daughters of the house when the Earl’s true blood is relegated to being a servant in her own house.” The other maids nodded vigorously. “Just once. Just this one night, Emma Swan, you will be the belle of the ball.”

Emma turned and looked at herself in the mirror.

“Is that me?” she whispered, stunned by what she was seeing reflected back at her.

Granny nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright. “You look lovely, my dear.”

Emma couldn’t speak over the rather large lump that had formed in her throat. It made her realize just how much the other servants cared about her, even after her father was long gone. They all stood admiring the end product of all their work this evening.

“Here’s your mask.” Granny handed her a silver demi mask with elegant swan detailing around the right eye that would cover the top half of her face. It tied at the back so her hands would be free. “Now all we need are shoes.”

“I have nothing even approaching appropriate for such finery.”

One of the housemaids held up a pair of silver slippers. “From Zelena’s closet.”

Emma shook her head. “Her foot is much larger than mine. I’d never be able to walk in them.”

“What about Regina’s, then?” the other asked. Emma shook her head again.

“Hers are too big, too. I should know, I’ve cleaned enough scuff marks off of them.”

Granny huffed. “There’s nothing for it then. We must raid Cora’s collection.”

Emma tried not to shudder. The thought of walking around all night in Cora’s shoes was rather creepy. But it was that, or go barefoot. Moments later the housemaid returned with a pair of white satin slippers, trimmed in silver. They looked like they’d been made to go with the gown she wore. Emma slipped her foot into the shoe. Another perfect fit.

“Now listen to these instructions very carefully,” Granny urged her. “The coachman has returned from taking the countess and he will now take you. But he has to be waiting outside when they are ready to depart, so you must leave not a minute after midnight for him to make it back there in time. Do you understand?”

Emma nodded and looked at the clock. It was a bit after nine, so she’d have over two hours at the ball. She felt tears well up in her eyes.

“Thank you so much,” she breathed.

“You have a good time, my dear. That’s all the thanks I need.” Granny gathered her close in a tight hug before releasing her.

Two hours. Two hours that would have to last a lifetime.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Ch2 will be up on Sunday and our favorite couple will finally meet! See you then!

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Tuesday, April 25

AMANDA: Is it weird? We’re mean to each other and we like each other.

BUFFY: Well, it depends. I mean, sometimes that’s how people relate. Being mean to each other… even mortal enemies. Then with the… and that leads to no good— absolutely no good— and much confusion, and then it’s over— absolutely, seriously, definitely over— and that’s confusing, too— the over part— which it is. Over. So maybe.

~~Buffy Season 7 Episode #134: "Potential"~~

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[silverloreley]

It does help!

I would have had to explain a few things anyway and I sure can’t expect people to watch four 3+ hours movies (although he’s only in the 3rd and 4th) just to understand the character, at worst he could pass as an OC, but I’ll put stuff in the notes, if I pick him.

Thanks for the trust, although I don’t know how deserved it may be ;P

Thanks!

eahravinqueen

@silverloreley I did hear of Elsa ms Loki as a ship and it’s a vibe too! Defo go for it if you’d like! Loki being in descendants works! Maybe antic of there being another Loki (there’s already one from Hercules the series and stuff)

@silverloreley Loki from the MCU I assume! MCU and Star Wars are basically Disney so it’s chill. Complicated still but maybe Loki in tryna use the tesseract gets to your descendants verse! Yep from a diff universe so it stops over complication of tryna add the other marvel characters. You can add that the descendants verse is hard to travel to and Loki only managed during the time they tried to bring dead villains back

Yup, that one, the ship was a huge fixation for me a few years ago, I had fics planned and made fanarts and manips, especially around the 4th season of OuaT! (I have a tag for it on my blog, if you’re interested)

I don’t consider anything after The Dark World as Loki canon (gagnarok and the stupid series are retcons and endgame was so bad I stopped watching it midway and never picked it back) so I’d start from there. I mean TDW Loki is my favourite Loki anyway, on par with preThor1!Loki.

In fact, I was thinking about using the Convergence as it’s seen in TDW as a way to have Loki end up by accident in Descendants’ world (and perhaps use a previous Convergence to explain how the different places and eras meshed?).

With Auradon’s purity culture, they’d still label him a full Villain even if he quite literally just died to protect Jane so they’d bring him back to life (or find out he survived and ship him) on the Isle and call it a day.

I thought about his escape with the Tesseract, but that would become a plot hole because a thing that powerful (it’s one of the pieces of the thing that created the universe!) surely would be able to break the Barrier even from the inside. Moreover, that would bring the Avengers and/or Thanos straight to Auradon and I don’t want to deal with that, I more or less abandoned the MCU fandom for a bunch of reasons and I don’t plan to write for it, with the sole exception of pre-retcon Loki.

Anyway, your input helped a lot, I could get the murk out my ideas by exposing them a little, now I have to decide what to do ;) I’m just indecisive so maybe I’ll give a try writing a draft for both and then pick which one feels better. Thank you both!

This is about the Elsa on the Isle fic, I was wondering if you'd like to help me out over a bit I can't decide about.

See, I'd like to add a non-Disney character in the fic to pair him up with Elsa but I don't know if I should. I mean, I know it's my fic and I can do what I want, I just don't know if he'll fit and/or if it would be too confusing for the readers (the character is from an Italian movie series that had little success outside but I love, I am writing fics for that series and pulled Elsa into it so now I'd do the reverse) as I'd have to explain his backstory and I'd hate for him to be misunderstood and disliked.

Otherwise, my other ship for Elsa has always been Loki, although pulling him on the Isle would be a tad complicated, I like the idea but I don't know if I should put it down.

Opinions?

Hi! I'll do my best!

Well, like you said, it's your fic, so you can do what you want. ;) I think it could work if you explain his backstory and everything within the narrative, and maybe something in the notes about what he's from. If it's written well enough it would work. And I have no problem believing that you'll write it well enough.

About Loki, I haven't ever watched that. All I know of him from what I've read about Norse mythology, which probably isn't the same version as this Loki.

Hope this was helpful?

[galactic-pirates]

So this is going to be a thing...

[halliescomut]

KinnPorsche Week 2022- Day 3: Favorite Couple

I did you a bit of a favor today and chose not to write a full thesis and I MADE YOU SOMETHING! (I don't know that it should be called fanart; I'm an internet old and I would just categorize it as a photo manip, but idk.)

So clearly, my chosen couple for this is Kim x Chay. I 'm not going to say they're the best couple, and technically, by the end of season one, they're not really a couple anymore, but their story just really hits me. It hits me because for both of them it's their first love. Like, there is an age difference there (of about 4 years I'm guessing) and initially I think we assume that because Kim is older, more worldly, he would have experienced love before, but I don't think that's true. I think Kim has had romantic/sexual relationships, but those don't have to involve love. I think due to his upbringing he would reflexively keep people at a distance, and I especially think he would avoid even the possibility of a true connection after Kinn's experience with Tawan. (I have my own headcanons about Kim's feelings being used against him by his father, and how his past has affected him, but I won't get into those here.) I think the lyrics for Why Don't You Stay pretty clearly express this as well:

All this time I sink, drowning like a stone - Tryna close my eyes, shut my ears on this throne - Losing my way home, then you came along - Everywhere we are, felt like where I belong - Lost in your eyes there was no place I could hide - Take me inside and let me live in your mind - No pain tonight, this place is reserved for only you and I - 'Cause I wanna stay on your side - Even if the world come crashing down tonight, we'll be fine - Hold me close and we'll just leave it all behind - Why don't you stay

My point is that, we are watching two people truly fall in love for the first time with Kim and Chay, and it's unique from the other couples of the series because Chay is so unguarded. And you're rooting for them, and Chay is this adorable piece of sentient sunshine and Kim has always felt like he's drowning in darkness and he's desperate for that light. And you know Chay is lonely, and you know Kim is lonely and you just want them to feel seen, and heard, and important, just for being who they are. So as noted in the quote in the picture, with first love you open yourself more than any other time. Because at that point you've never been hurt by a romantic partner, you've never experienced that loss, so you don't hold back the way you do every future time. And this type of love is so wonderfully portrayed in the series. Like it's heartbreaking to watch, not because you know they won't work, but just because we're all watching this knowing that first loves so rarely turn into only loves. Like, we kind of know the likely ending, but we're still hoping so hard.

I also really love the connection with music for them. There's a quote "where words fail, music speaks" (Hans Christian Anderson, apparently, who would have thought) and that's definitely a central theme in their love story. Chay's first connection to Kim is through his music, and, yes there's the fanboy aspect, but as Kim can't help but open up, Chay's feelings clearly become more than just idol worship. Like, yes without a full understanding of who Kim is, there's no possibility of a workable relationship, but my point is that by episode 12 Chay's feelings were definitely about more than just 'loving his music idol.' (gif credit to : julielilac )

And then we have Kim, who's probably dealing with someone for the first time who has a genuine interest in him as a person. He's literally spent his entire life being used as a pawn, being seen only as his name, a representative of his family, and then as WiK he's in this new position where he's more a product than a person. And remember that music connection; Chay loves the emotions in Kim's music, and he wants to know the person who made it. It's not just about WiK being famous. Of course Kim would find it incredibly hard to turn away from someone who SEES him, who WANTS to see him.

Watching Kim go through those moments over and over again where he's telling himself 'the best thing for Chay is for me to go', and warring with his heart because he doesn't want that. And like his siblings, he's never had the opportunity or ability to just allow himself to have something that's just for him.

I also do really like the creative decision of the show to present the depth of the relationship after it's already over. Like, you're watching these sweet moments for 7 episodes and then those last two where you fully get a glimpse of just how deep their connection had become, and your heart's broken all over again. It's just so well done.

I'm gonna stop here, because I should, and continuing on is just going to turn into character profiles, and that's not what this post is about. Special thanks to Jeff and Barcode for acting absolutely beautifully in this show. Absolutely amazing work.

Also, if you'd like maybe some insight into how I see Kim and this particular love story, I do have a songfic up (link). I'm working on a second chapter from Chay's perspective, but spending several hours a day writing these KP week posts is slowing me down a little.

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Summary: you awake on the 1st of October in a strange house.

Warnings: vampire au, blood drinking, kidnapped? Ageplay(if you squint?)

An: So this was caused by @angryschnauzer and @captainsy-cookiemonster and their little post here

Taglist: @thatgirly81 @isitmine @tinabean37 @loserrlauraa @henrythickcavill @plainbrunettelbl @dummiesshort @cynic-spirit @pandaxnienke @two-unbeatable-beaters @libbymouse @wolfieash @eldarwen333 @princesssterek @mom2000aggie @luclittlepond @beck07990 @watercoolerpaint @sofiebstar @secretlywriting @mansaaay @summersong69 @utterlyhopeful-fics @hisangelicdemon @moonlacebeam @monkeyluver4546 @cherry-piee @justanerd1 @mcenziehughes @omgkatinka @kaylamontaniz @grandfanficstation @miss-rebel-without-applause @paintballkid711 @mary-ann84 @wetzilly @lyrarodriguez @amberangel112 @sillyrabbit81 @grandfanficstation @bratty-bug @blakerogue @pussyverson @thelastsock @the-soot-sprite @littlefreya @viking-raider

Manip is by @nix-akimbo did pop it in new reblog but tags are being shitty!

You peeked around to the offensively bright room filled with oranges and golds from the tree outside. Squinting you could just make out the sight before you. There was a man, stunning tall and regal. He turned facing you with a grin you froze at the sight, his teeth were perfect bar from the slightly elongated fangs decorating either side of his smile.

You woke,vision blurred the colours of autumn almost burning your eyes as you stepped around the unfamiliar home. The room opened in to a large windowed room, you frowned hissing pawing at your tender eyes and stepped back.

"Ah there we are! Good girl i was wondering when youd awaken my pretting little fledgling~" he uttered a voice like silk as he moved closer to you slowly face set into a wide grin as he approached.

You panicked for a second and made to move away from him, but then something caught your attention. A scent- like caramel or syrup. It was sweet and delicious. Suddenly you felt thirsty. Like you were dehydrated and dying, your throat tightened and you felt dizzy and lathargic. T happened so fast you couldnt understand, al, you knew was that you needed to quench this insane thirst.

Your eyes locked onto the steaming mug in his hands and you lunged, faster then youd ever been able to move and tried to grasp the cup and steal it from him. But the male was much faster and pushed you back into the dark hall and tutted at you.

"No no stay! Little one?! STAY! good girl... thats it the suns still to bright it will damage your eyes and you won't be able to hunt properly. There see you just stay in the shadows for now." His command changed and you felt yourself comply only lifting your hands out silently asking for the cup e was slowly offering to you. You didn't pay attention to his words, nothing in the world mattered more then to quench this thirst that burned your throat.

"Here we go~ drink up, it'll make you big and strong" he hummed handing you the mug which you greedily began to drain. You didnt stop to question the colour- the dark crimson liquid nor the fact his eyes flashed a red hue before the icey blue returned.

You growled at him feral and low as his hand moved closer to your prized cup and snarled snapping your jaws at him completely lost in a haze of savagery. But he chuckled and cooed at you petting your hair, he looked like a proud parent as he praised you.

"There such a good little girl~ look at you not makig a fuss? Not one drop spilled" he uttered as you tried to turn and shrug him off, for some reason you were protective of the cup, even after you drained it. You growled and spun away from him lapping at the light residue inside to cup, swirling you finger inside and then sucking it trying to clean every drop.

"I must apologise my love, i was too eager. I've watched you for some time. But had to wait, autumn is the best time to create new fledglings the longer nights and such. But i may have acted to quick" he explained vaguely not that you listened closely you were to busy hissing and snapping your teeth at him as he moved a lithe arm around you trying to pry the cup from you.

"But it just means you'll be a few weeks ahead of the others this year, whoch is not necessarily a bad thing" his little monologue continued and he paid no mind to your quite frankly odd behaviour. You were acting like a beast but couldn't stop it. For some reason this little cup was now the most precious thing in your life. You'd kill for it.

But the mystery man managed to steal it from your clutching hands. And stepped back from you with a grin, he was beaming at you like you were a cute puppy. You snarled and made to chase him as he stepped back but found your feet firmly fixed to the floor.

"Dont panic remembered i told you to stay~ your just being good and obeying. Now lets get you some more blood hm?" He explained making you calm some but your eyes followed the cup, locked onto it as he moved about what you now realised was a big kitchen.

"B-blood?" You finally snapped out of what ever crazy spell youd been under. He laughed turning to you while a chuckle and nodded pulling the small iv bag from the microwave where it had been cooling, he couldn't have his newborn suffering burns.

"Yes of course sweetheart blood what else do you expect vampires to eat?" He said with a chuckle and bit off the small tube and began pouring more into the mug as he walked back over to you.

"Now pace yourself, you could vomit this back up if you get too greedy just like a baby" he warned before handing you the cup once more.

You tried to deny it, wanted to feel sick at the thought and argue that he was mad. But you couldnt. The blood smelt divine, li,e the sweetest of nectars.you had no control quickly snatching the cup with a vicious snarl and began to down it growling at him fiercely quickly finishing the cup full and snatched the bag to before feasting on that as well. All the while as he watched with a serene look on his face pleased as punch.

"Another?" You hissed snarling at him nodding your head to the microwave which caused him to chuckle and turn to retrieve the other bags he'd prepared. You'd ask questions later but for now you needed to stop this maddening thirst.

[liaromancewriter]

Please could I request the piggy back prompt for Ethan and Cassie?

Carry You Home

Premise: When Cassie needs a savior, her husband Ethan Ramsey is there for the rescue.

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine)

Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff.

Tropes: There was a Fundraiser / Hurt and Comfort

Words: 1,330

A/N: I will admit I struggled with this request as I just couldn’t see it in my head. But then I got this idea for a manip (the pic below) and the fic grew from there. I hope you like it! I’ve set this after their wedding.

The King Charles Country Club was teeming with the who’s who of Boston society. Philanthropists rubbed shoulders with minor celebrities and venture capitalists looking for the next big thing to park their money. It was all in the name of medicine and science, at least that’s what the guests told themselves even if tax breaks were more of an incentive than intellectual curiosity.

Under normal circumstances, Dr. Ethan Ramsey of Edenbrook Hospital wouldn’t have been caught dead at an event like this. But his wife of two months — he still couldn’t believe he was married or that it had been his idea — had told him that attendance was mandatory for the Head of Diagnostics and the Chief of Medicine of the hospital benefitting from this largesse.

At least with a crowd such as this the scotch was more than passable, he thought, watching his better half, Dr. Cassie Valentine work the room. Every smile made the donor feel important. Every persuasive argument delivered in a honeyed voice parted them from their not always hard-earned dollars.

She might have left her family business and their insanely wealthy lifestyle behind, but she couldn’t switch off those Valentine genes. And he couldn’t be prouder of how she used her knowledge of both worlds to stay focused on the mission Naveen had started.

He found himself smiling when he caught her eye across the room; her eyebrow lifting as he raised his glass in a silent salute. Five minutes later, she had deftly worked her way to where he was standing at the edge of the bar, near the French doors leading to the terrace outside.

“Having fun?” she asked, taking the drink from his hand to toss off the remaining liquid.

She grimaced as spirits were not her thing, even if she did indulge him now and then.

“Not up to your usual snuff,” she commented with an exaggerated accent, “but I suppose it’s passable enough for the Great Doctor Ramsey.”

“Watch it, Rookie,” he warned in a tone he normally reserved for unruly interns.

But it was a losing effort, always had been, and he found himself chuckling as she handed him back the glass.

“I think we’ve schmoozed enough, don’t you?” he said, taking her hand in his.

“We?” she said incredulously as she turned to face him, one hand resting on her hip. “I did my part. You gave up after the first hour!”

“Which was thirty minutes more than we had agreed to,” he parried.

“Fine,” she said, not hiding her exasperation. “I think I’ve milked everyone here for all they’re worth anyway.”

He swallowed a retort when the event photographer appeared and asked if he could take their photo. Cassie immediately jumped on the idea, which gave him the chance to draw her in close, smiling at how they leaned into each other.

They made their way to the exit, stopping briefly to chat with John Maitland, the new medical director that Ethan had hired as his deputy. It was his job now to shill for money, leaving Ethan to focus on the parts of the job he liked best: patient care and physician training.

He and Cassie were halfway across the courtyard when she suddenly cried out in pain, stumbling into Ethan. His arm automatically went around her, preventing an awkward fall, but her left foot still twisted at a weird angle.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking around to see what had tripped her.

“My heel broke!” she exclaimed.

Her hand clutched his arm for balance as she raised one foot to show him where the golden spiked heel had nearly detached from the red sole.

“This is so unfair,” she wailed. “I hardly ever get to wear these shoes because they’re not practical for running around the hospital. And the one time I do…”

“Stilettos aren’t exactly practical for walking on cobblestones either, Cassie,” he said, crouching down to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself too badly.

“Heels can be very practical, Dr. Ramsey,” she scoffed, whimpering when he pressed on the tender skin around her ankle which was turning a nasty shade of red.

“Of course,” he mocked. “The fact that they make your legs look six-feet tall is of no consequence, right?”

“You weren’t complaining about my heels last week when they were digging into your ass,” she shot back.

“Ankle’s not broken or sprained,” he confirmed, shooting her an incensed look. “Just twisted at a bad angle from when you stumbled into me.”

As he rose from the ground, his fingers slowly trailed up her bare legs, enjoying the way she stilled at the touch. His hand continued its journey upward, sliding beneath her skirt to cup her between the legs.

“You’re evil,” she shuddered when his long finger stroked a particularly sensitive spot through her panties before he moved his hand away.

“I’ll go grab some ice from the bar,” he said, smirking at her flushed face.

“Let’s just go,” she said, taking his hand in hers as she turned in the direction of the parking lot.

She took one limping step only to stop when she realized she couldn’t put pressure on the injured foot, especially as it was still encased in the broken shoe. The difference in height between the two feet was just one more complication.

“Need a ride, Rookie?” he joked when she tried to move forward for the third time.

“I’m not a child, Ethan,” she said, frustrated more at her inability to move than his tone. “Besides, I’m five-seven and 145 pounds of pure muscle. If your old knees can’t handle running, they definitely can’t handle my weight.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m six-three and a lot heavier than your 145. I can easily carry you in my arms,” he countered. “Didn’t I prove that on our honeymoon?”

He moved in front of her, his back to her as he bent down slightly to make it easier for her to hop on.

“Come on,” he said, patting his back to indicate that she should get on.

Cassie started laughing at the sight of the oh-so-proper Ethan Ramsey kneeling before her as if he was a horse.

“Ethan, no!” she said between giggles. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, turning his head to watch her, a smile spreading across his lips.

“The car’s not that far and no one’s watching. You know you want to, babe,” he quipped.

Cassie could admit that he had her there. A piggyback ride from the Dr. Ramsey? The former intern in her would have enjoyed that tea for days.

She grabbed onto his shoulders with both hands, climbing onto his back, and holding on tight when he straightened. She wrapped her arms around his neck while her legs hooked the front of his thighs.

Her face came to rest beside his, her lips brushing the underside of his jaw as she murmured thank you.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his mouth angling down to touch her lips. “Ready to go home?”

“Always,” she said, eyes full of love, “I’m here for the full ride.”

Her laughter filled the air as he started walking, bouncing her lightly and then exaggerating a stumble as if her weight was too much for him. But then he started running towards the car, chuckling when Cassie tightened her grip and squealed at him to slow down.

By the time they reached the car, they were both laughing so hard that he had to set her down on the trunk. Trapping her there between his arms, he leaned in to rest his forehead against her. Her eyes stayed open, her face tilting up to close her mouth over his, her tongue tracing the edges of his lips before he parted them for her.

Lost in their own world, neither noticed when raindrops started to fall or the party guests that stopped and stared before wordlessly moving past them, unwilling to interrupt such a tender moment.

Tagging in reblog

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[decennia]

i give u free reign to infodump ab all of the knights and the og army bc i am vv intrigued agjgssgsh

THERE IS SO MUCH HERE OMFG MORAL OF THIS STORY NEVER ASK ME TO INFO DUMP BECAUSE I WILL TAKE FULL ADVANTAGE OF IT—

I've separated it into sections:

The Knights of Walpurgis, and the motivations for their assigned sins.

Dumbledore's First Resistance, and the motivations for their assigned virtues.

The dynamics between the opposing contenders.

Given the sheer volume of information, I've included a cut. Please enjoy this manip that I am still very proud of.

THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS (later known as Death Eaters) Tom Riddle (Pride)

Pride and arrogance were very large contributing factors to Tom Riddle's downfall in the end, and honestly, the whole idea for the gifset came from Florence + The Machines' Seven Devils playing while casually thinking of Dagrim and Tom, and then about how perfectly Tom would fit as Lucifer.

Dagrim Patil (Avarice)

When questioned about what she wants, and what Riddle promised her in exchange for her unwavering loyalty, her response is, quite simply: everything. Dagrim grew up starved not for affection, but recognition. And what she was denied in childhood, she would take in adulthood by force. Her philosophy is that if something is worth wanting, it is worth taking.

Cantankerous Nott IV (Lust)

We know so little about Theodore Nott's father from the source material, other than he was elderly, and he raised Theo himself. And that he was a Death Eater, of course. His name is an ode to his ancestor, the Cantankerous Nott who created the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood directory. I assigned him "lust" purely for the events leading to the conception of his son (sis, it gets messy).

Abraxas Malfoy (Envy)

Abraxas Malfoy envied Tom Riddle to the point of a half attempted mutiny. He was quickly put in his place, his co-conspirators made examples of, and spared only for his close friendship with Dagrim, who pleaded for his life. Riddle, who trusted Dagrim to a fault for all she'd done to earn it, conceded. Abraxas would later prove himself to Riddle again, regaining his seat among Riddle's favoured generals. He was the one who taught Lucius to never disobey the Dark Lord, and he was not a kind teacher.

Ulysses Mulciber (Gluttony)

Indulgence and excess, spoiled rotten and filthy rich. The Mulcibers were the richest of the Sacred at one point in their lives, rivalled only by the Malfoys. Ulysses never knew the meaning of "enough," and was a glutton not only in all manners of vice, but also for cruelty, dealing it out carelessly with little to no regard for the repercussions he was well protected from by his noble standing and wealth. He was one of Riddle's greatest allies and sponsors, and instrumental in his rise to power.

Carmilla Avery (Wrath)

Carmilla was in the year above Riddle, and was quick to anger and slow to calm. Her temper was legendary, and even her younger brothers – also admitted into the Death Eater ranks – feared her. She had an untempered fury, a rage at the world for no reason at all. She developed an unhealthy codependency with Abraxas Malfoy, who served to have a soothing presence over her. People seldom survive crossing her, as her reputation dictates.

Serafine Lestrange (Sloth)

Serafine is not lazy (as the sin "sloth" would suggest), she just lacks the motivations to pursue the goals that are expected of her. A particularly bright witch, and a wealthy one too, she never applied herself at school for she didn't see the need. Instead, she fell into a fascination of the Dark Arts, where she met Riddle, perusing the Restricted Section. She is rather discontented with life, disillusioned from already such a young age. She initially joins Riddle's gang for the excitement of it all.

DUMBLEDORE'S FIRST RESISTANCE (later known as the Order of the Phoenix in its official conception in 1970)

Albus Dumbledore (Patience)

Name a man more patient than Dumbledore, I'll wait. Better yet, he'll wait, because he's patient as hell. So patient, in fact, he waited until after Harry's supposed death to come to him as a hallucination and tell him about how he was a Horcrux.

Rathin Patil (Temperance)

Temperance is abstinence, and I wanted to explore the kind of toll having his sister so far gone into the dark would have on any man, let alone one who really cared for her and wanted to do right by her. Rathin is not a perfect man, he is still fallible, and unfortunately, he develops a dependent comfort in inebriation when Dagrim disappears with Riddle. He pulls himself back together, especially when he becomes Isaiah Moody's partner at the Ministry, and he begins to pursue Miraya.

Miraya Varma (Diligence)

Methodical and persistent, Miraya Varma earned herself a position at the Ministry immediately out of Hogwarts where she would later go on to form her own task force within the Ministry specifically designed for the interrogation and recommended sentencing of dark wizards and witches. She has been known to put her duty first, up until the birth of her son, Divyansh Patil, father to Padma and Parvati.

Isaiah Moody (Humility)

For a very long time, people seldom knew the Moody name, and that was the way Isaiah liked it. He believed that his line of work would endanger his loved ones (in spite of his wife being in the same profession) and so he never took credit for the numerous arrests he made. It was Isaiah who suspected something was strange about Morfin Gaunt's arrest while investigating the Riddle Massacre, and consulted Dumbledore about it. Once his identity was discovered and he was viewed as a threat by Riddle, an attack was made on his heavily pregnant wife, jeopardizing her and his unborn boy's (Alastor) life.

Minerva McGonagall (Chastity)

Mini Minnie is seventeen, my dudes. But not only that, Minerva grew up with a religious father (he was canonically a reverend), who probably taught her his values. Also given the fact that Minerva was the first of the younger generation to participate and involve herself in the war (she sought out Dumbledore and enlisted herself into his Resistance, fearing her family would be made into another statistic if she didn't at least do something to intervene), she really didn't have much time to think about something as arbitrary as the concept of virginity. Also, it's the 1950s.

Corinne Scamander (Kindness)

Corrine is honestly the greatest. She has all of the tenacity of Tina, and the best qualities of Newt. It was Dumbledore's previous bond with Newt that encouraged him to recruit her, and she willingly accepted, because of course she would. She'd always been the soft spoken girl with a tender touch and a love for life, and she was often the advocate for hope in the resistance. She was adept in a few healing charms she'd learned from her father, and was something of a specialist in magical beings, proving herself to be highly valuable while Riddle was expanding his ranks with all manner of dark creatures.

Declan Diggory (Charity)

Sacrifice is in the Diggory blood, and Cedric's grandfather, Declan, was not the first to prove it. He also, unfortunately, wasn't the last, but he sure was one of the best. Selfless to a fault, Declan would willingly get hypothermia if it meant someone else would have warmth. Diggory's contributions to the war effort consisted of offering sanctuary and shelter to muggleborns who received death threats, and orchestrating the evacuations of targeted muggle residences. He was the leader of a small faction of the resistance, including, but not limited to: Fleamont Potter, Enoch Longbottom, Wilhelm Shacklebolt, and Ramona McKinnon.

DYNAMICS (just the contenders for now because this is hella long)

Albus Dumbledore vs. Tom Riddle

Adversaries, a fair deal of mistrust and guilt from Dumbledore's side (upon reflection, he'd been the one to introduce Tom to the wizarding world; even though he knows that if Riddle had been left unchecked, the risk of him becoming an Obscurus would've resulted in catastrophe all the same). Riddle sees Dumbledore as nothing more than a foolish old man, a pest, and an obstacle to overcome at first, but learns to begrudgingly respect Dumbledore's strength and mastery of magic (after all, Riddle only knew him as the Transfiguration teacher before, and thought the accounts of Dumbledore's victory over Grindelwald had been exaggerated to great effect). Riddle's hubris was believing he could defeat Dumbledore on his own, thinking himself already stronger than Grindelwald ever hoped to be.

Rathin Patil vs. Dagrim Patil

Rathin had always been very protective of Dagrim, and loved her dearly, although his acts of affection were often misinterpreted as pity and condescension. This only served to push them further apart. When Dagrim turned to the Dark Arts and found solace in Riddle, it revolted Rathin, as he was hugely against the corruption the Dark Arts has on the performing witch or wizard, and wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy. He still very much loves her, and it hurts him to fight her. Dagrim, on the other hand, finds catharsis in duelling her brother, believing it to be justice for the way her parents treated her and the little he did to dissuade them.

Miraya Varma vs. Cantankerous Nott

A mutual respect and an academic rivalry, Cantankerous and Miraya were not friends by any means, but not enemies, either. Cantankerous even went as far as to warn Miraya of an impending attack, allowing her to evacuate the building. But although he knows she's clever, he also knows that she's incredibly stubborn, and displayed little surprise to find her awaiting him in the now vacant building. They are equally matched, and their unique relationship spans several decades, even into Cantankerous' failed run at Minister for Magic, and Theodore and the Patil twins' time at Hogwarts. She was present at his trial following the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, and watched as he was sentenced to life in Azkaban for his crimes as a Death Eater.

Isaiah Moody vs. Abraxas Malfoy

Given his profession, Isaiah has a lot of enemies on the Sacred Twenty-Eight who are loyal to the Dark Lord. One such enemy is Abraxas Malfoy. When Tom gets word of Moody's involvement in solving the Riddle Massacre, he sends Malfoy and a newer Death Eater, Evangeline Rosier, to hinder the investigation. Abraxas and Evangeline were responsible for the attack on Isaiah's heavily pregnant wife, who, if she hadn't been an Auror herself, would've never survived. Alastor Moody was prematurely born at St. Mungo's following the attack, and all of Isaiah's efforts were turned on exacting vengeance on those responsible. Malfoy went into hiding, but Isaiah, ruthless, managed to hunt down Rosier. She died under questioning, setting in motion a vicious cycle of vengeance between the Moodys and Rosiers. Once Isaiah had been killed by Evangeline's brother (Evan [who was named after her] Rosier's father), Abraxas deemed it safe to rejoin society.

Minerva McGonagall vs. Ulysses Mulciber

On the list of things Ulysses loathes, he would put half-bloods above muggleborns (although he turns a blind eye to his Dark Lord's blood status when it conveniences him). Half-bloods only serve as a reminder of the lowest and weakest of his kind; the unworthy muggleborns, the lecherous blood traitors, the vermin muggles. Mulciber prides himself as something of a "purifier," and finds great enjoyment in pruning family trees that have been poisoned by muggle blood into purity once more. He takes a great interest in Minerva McGonagall, given that she is an incredibly powerful witch at such a young age, and he wonders how glorious she would've been had she been a pureblood (a twisted and untrue belief among the Sacred Twenty-Eight during that time). Minerva, the threat of Mulciber weighing heavily on her, places her family under Dumbledore's protection. She vows to stop Mulciber and his perverse idea of justice.

Corinne Scamander vs. Carmilla Avery

It didn't take much to enrage Carmilla Avery, and Corinne had been caught in the tempest Carmilla's fury since the day they'd met. Carmilla, who took great pleasure in picking on people she deemed lesser, made a target out of Corinne, perceiving her kindness for weakness. During their time at Hogwarts, Corinne had gained the attention of Avery for being a blood traitor and a muggle sympathizer, which only strengthened Carmilla's vindication. Corinne, who had been friends with Rubeus Hagrid prior to his expulsion, and who had almost fallen prey to the basilisk when she had heard Myrtle Warren's cries from the bathroom, never lowered herself to Carmilla's level nor did she rise to any of the challenges. This hurt Avery's ego, as she thought this was Corinne's way of claiming herself better than her. It wasn't until after Hogwarts that Carmilla's growing resentment came to a head, and, without the protection the school offered Corinne, Carmilla was looking to finally put an end to the blood traitor line of Scamander.

Declan Diggory vs. Serafine Lestrange

Declan and Serafine were childhood friends who drifted apart during their time at Hogwarts, particularly when she fell in with Riddle's crowd. She is viewed by Dumbledore as having the power to sway the entire outcome of the war, for if Serafine could be persuaded into leaving Riddle, her cousins (one of whom is the father of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange) would surely comply, and the families who held the Lestranges in high regard would be inclined to follow. This makes Declan and Serafine key pieces in Dumbledore's game of strategy. However, Serafine was disowned long before she defected from the Death Eaters, leaving the Lestranges firmly in Riddle's grasp. Although Serafine claimed to feel nothing for Diggory, she still refused to deal any real harm to him when they duel, in spite of having ample opportunity to do so; something which Riddle picked up on. She was later forced to torture Declan in front of him to prove her loyalty to the Dark Lord, something which Declan permitted her to do, knowing she had very little choice in the matter. He was left for dead, but Serafine would later secretly return with Corinne to get him medical attention. She gives her son, Francis, "Declan" as a middle name.

[ilkkawhat]

content creator appreciation!! list five favourite sets/art/fic you've made and send this ask to five other content creators! 💕(Spreading some love and self appreciation to amazing content creators! If 5 overwhelms you, choose one, or three! Whatever suits you)

aw bless! I know I complain a lot about the creating process and at times, struggle a lot with appreciating my own works for what they are to me, but this is such a wonderful thing to get those good feelings back! 💜

(and lol...I’m pretty sure I broke the “five” rule but trust me...I have not felt this good about my creations in quite some time)

1. Specimen Stokes - CSI fanfic, currently ongoing

The idea for this one came to me at a pretty difficult time in my life, and is probably one of the only good things to come out of 2020. I got an ask from an anon who probably didn't even intend for me to write the ideas out, that asked me to choose between three AUs and the evil scientist vs detective AU stuck out to me the most--and so much so that I literally ran home (well, walked very fast out of work and drove as safely and quickly as I could lol) to write it, totally intended to make it a one shot and over 50k words later with a 2.5 hour playlist and a ton of visual edits, here we are.

I took a huge risk with this story because while most of my whump fics are probably not realistic for Nick to survive, going full on sci-fi and shrinking him has been such a blast, and while I was super hesitant to do it just cause I didn't know what people might think, I'm glad I did, because it seemed like the people who read it enjoyed the twist (though lmao I'm deathly afraid of how this next chapter is gonna be received)

And not only that but it just opened so many doors for me in terms of creativity, I've been straight up worldbuilding and already coming up with ideas for a sequel, not to mention again, a ton of edits some of which have been the best manips/fanart I've made--my favorite in particular are: this one, this one, this one, and this one (the shrinking gif in particular, since that was something I had never done before) and god I could just keep gushing but just know that this is probably the top creation that I love and I'm sure it shows lol (hell I even bought a bottle of crown royal just so I could have my own bag that hangs over a picture of Nick. I will 100% have my own fic shrine some day with items like these)

2. All In - CSI fanfic, the Veronica Saga (so far 2/3 planned fics have been posted)

The Veronica fics have been both a blessing and a curse for me lol. I'm just gonna very quickly get the bad feelings out and say that maybe I poured a little too much projection into Agony, and worry that maybe I broke Nick too quickly and far beyond repair--and damn, I sure as hell could have went way harder with Atrophy (and honestly I feel I didn't capture as much as I wanted to in that one.) I've wanted to delete Agony in particular so many times which may sound ludicrous given that it's my longest fic yet (over 100k) but...I'm glad I didn't.

If Naomi is my self insert for who I would want to be, how I would want to have a relationship with Nick, etc, then Veronica represents that dark, whumpy side of me that just wants to watch the world burn. I can't tell you how much fun it is to write this villain who's just off the rails crazy and doing things to Nick that make it seem like a horror movie. I've given this series so much thought and though I haven't updated Agony in almost a year, I'm far from finished and can't wait to keep going with the story--the finale especially, I think, is going to be some of my most emotional work yet.

And just like Specimen Stokes, it's opened up many doors for visual creations as well--the chapter graphics (this one is the best one IMO, and would be the cover if this was ever turned into a novel), moodboards (this one is my favorite, encompassing all three fics), and even a trailer for the third fic have given me so much to express, and hell, I'm even tagging certain gifs from george's other works that inspire me for this universe of suffering and it's all just so...great. I def remember the feelings I had when I came up with Atrophy, all of the aesthetics that have swirled in my head for it and some catharsis it gives me when I write the really visceral scenes.

(and for the fic shrine, I have one of those wooden mannequins that I love using for the moodboards to represent Nick in this ficverse)

3. Ficverse: Parker and Madison Stokes - CSI fanfic

There is just so much to this ficverse I love, and so much more I have yet to explore.

As I even state in the description of the series, I really had no direction at first--though I always knew who Parker and Madison's mother was, and am now running with that thread, it took me a few fics to really get a grasp on who they are, how they're like Nick, how're they're different than Nick, etc and I have found myself just so connected with Parker in particular. Their mother, Naomi, was the first OC I made for CSI and grew up with me as I grew up with her and with Parker, I feel like it's like I'm kinda getting more of that, especially with the themes I want to work on in First Flight (a fic which, will hopefully be another one of my best emotional ones though there's gonna be a gut wrench in the middle)

And on another personal level, I had felt so connected with my audience during the process of Last Breath--a fic which was literally handed to me on a platter by an amazing writer with both enough detail to tell me what they wanted but enough freedom for me to do what I wanted, and was made better with some pepper from others, that is an experience I'll always cherish and never forget. All of the discussions I had, all of the twists and turns that came in my head because of it...I didn't want that to end, and I guess that's probably why I'm still writing stories of these two kids, and still feel so invested which is why I'm going harder in First Flight 😂

(also worth noting the again, visual creations--I made an entire chapter of just that, which is a practice I intend to do with all my bigger fics like this one)

And if I ever get to it, I'd love to write the actual like, "San Diego" series I have in mind for Nick leading into this universe (well, and taking place alongside it, because my CSI: San Diego series would probably end with Madison's birth) but until then, I'm having a blast doing the occasional one-offs and again, doing that deeper dive in First Flight (have I said lately how much I am loving what I'm gonna do in that one? cause HOO BOY it's gonna be a trip) and just...having Nick and his kids, and the memory of a character that was meant as a conduit for me to interact with him, and all of the adventures along the way with returning faces and expansions on the newer ones (I love writing Cassie and Eli and how their relationships have evolved with Nick over time)

(and for the fic shrine, I have my own Dallas Cowboys Build-A-Bear named Nina that sleeps next to me every night)

4. Grave Danger edits/gifs

Being that Grave Danger is my all-time favorite episode of CSI, only fitting that some of my favorite photo based works (outside of what I’ve shared for fics cause trust me I am a fan of all of my GD fics too lol) have been made from that episode. I’ve been known to find ways to make so many things from just one episode before (coughDOCTOR WHO MIDNIGHT MONDAYScough) and trust me, if I had photoshop back in the day, I would have tenfold the amount of Grave Danger stuff

But anyway, here’s some of my favs off of the top of my head: running up that hill nick/greg gifset, still script edit, gif script edit (from a version of the script that changes a few things about the episode and make me wish we got it that way instead lol), a nick & grissom gifset--the style of which I did for a warrick version and intended to do a cath and sara one and probably still will someday, a hamilton inspired nick whump edit, down in a hole by alice in chains edit just to name a few!

5. General Nick Angst/Whump gifsets

Kinda cheating with all of this, I know, but I do kinda just lump certain creations together into categories, and this category is concepts made out of inspiration from songs/realizations/just sheer desire to do something grand for my favorite guy, and I have spent hours on a lot of these gifsets, more hours than usual when making gifs (well depending on how fast my computer is going that day lol)

Nick Angst set kinda focused on the trauma that made him a person (warning for the babysitter thing)

my shot from hamilton for Nick (I remember I did this after I had done a request of this for Jack 😂)

a quote that I’m pretty sure I did a mac set before for too, but the “break” gif is probably one of the best gifs I’ve ever made

i was from a very potter senior year for Nick because I was listening to that song on a loop for a whole week

just a crafty Nick whump set based on quotes said to him during times of hurt

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 2 Ch6

We are back with the concluding chapter of part 2! This was one of my favorite chapters to write and I so hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! 

I have invited folks who have read the book to guess what scene inspired the fic, and I think I’ve received one guess, so here’s a hint. The scene is in this chapter! So I will expect some speculations in y’all’s comments! Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me! It means more than I can say!

All the love and thanks to @hollyethecurious​, for whom the fic was written, @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing expertise, and @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Leroy and Astrid and Killian I used in the artwork. Love you all to bits, ladies!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later ch)

Words: 5900 of approx 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/ current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5

New Tag List! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @fleurdepetite​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Dearest Reader,

In spite of an answer in the affirmative, Killian Jones was absent from the Rosen ball last evening, much to the quite vocal dismay of the resident debutants, and their mamas.

According to Lady Jones (his mother, not his sister-in-law), he’d left for the country over a week ago and has not been heard from since. But fear not for his health or well being, Gentle Reader, for Lady Jones seemed more vexed than concerned for her wayward son.

In the past few years, no less than two couples each year met their future match at the Rosen ball. But if any matches are to come out of this year’s soiree, Lady Jones’ second born will not be among the grooms.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

April 7

~*~*~

There were certain advantages to a long, drawn out recovery from illness, Killian soon learned.

The first was the sheer quantity and quality of food he’d partaken of from Mrs. Miner’s kitchen. He’d always been well fed when he stayed at My Cottage, but Mrs. Miner had truly gone above and beyond as he recovered.

Second, for the first time in his adult life, he had time to himself. He could read, draw, or simply daydream without feeling guilty about neglecting some task or other.

But the best advantage to lying abed, by far, was Emma. She popped in several times a day just to check on him, bring him food, sometimes simply to read to him. He had the feeling her care for him came from a desire to show him with actions her thankfulness for his saving her from Neal Gold. He didn’t actually much care why she came, he was just glad she did.

She’d been quiet and submissive at first, very much a servant in every way, but Killian put a stop to that behavior quickly. She was absolutely delightful- beautiful to look at, engaging to converse with, pleasant to simply be in the same room with- but he had to admit he also rather enjoyed her when she was mad enough to spit in his eye. He would ask her to join him when she brought his meals or tea, then he’d purposely engage her in conversation- sometimes needling simply for the pleasure of getting a rise out of her. They discussed all manner of things- from history, to politics, to literature. She constantly surprised him with her knowledge, and while she kept many things about herself hidden, he was beginning to get a clearer view of her upbringing.

She reminded him slightly of his mystery woman. It was no wonder that when he dreamt of her now she looked more like Emma than his rather faded memory. Yes, they were similar in appearance- both with long blonde hair and a very pleasing form- but the ladies' differences in station made Emma an unsuitable match for him. No matter how much he desired her.

And desire her, he did. Whenever they traded barbs back and forth in their rather animated discussions, he thanked God above that she was physically out of his reach, because if she hadn’t been, he would have been hard pressed not to haul her against him and kiss her within an inch of her life.

A sharp knock brought him out of his musings and a grin broke over his face as he raised himself up in the bed.

“Enter.”

Emma poked her head in. “Mrs. Miner thought you’d like some tea.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Tea? Or tea and biscuits?”

Emma giggled adorably and Killian couldn’t help but grin. “Of course, tea and biscuits.”

“And you’ll join me?” he asked. She hesitated, as she always did, still feeling restrained by propriety, before she nodded, as she also always did.

She set down the service and went about preparing his tea and plate. “You are looking much better, Mr. Jones. Your color is back,” she commented as she handed them to him, “and you don’t look nearly as tired. I should think you’ll be back to your normal self soon.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed. “I do feel stronger.”

She sat down and he raised his eyebrow at her again. She sighed, even as the corner of her lips lifted, and fixed her own tea cup and plate. He was secretly pleased, or maybe not so secretly, that he no longer had to say a single word about her fixing her own cup and plate when she brought him tea.

“So what have you been doing?” he asked.

“Since I last saw you two hours ago?”

Killian just grinned delightedly.

“Mrs. Miner is preparing beef stew for supper and needed potatoes peeled,” she informed him, “Then I found a novel and spent some time reading in the garden.”

“Oh, really? How was the book?”

Emma smiled and sipped her tea. “It was silly and romantic,” she said with a small shrug. “I was enjoying it.”

Her cheeks blushed a lovely pink and Killian didn’t think she could be any more adorable if she tried. It also brought his musings from before she entered the room back in full force. He changed positions on the bed and bunched the coverlet around his waist.

“Are you alright, Mr. Jones? Would you like me to fluff your pillows?”

Killian inwardly groaned. If she came anywhere near him right now, he wasn’t sure he could control himself. And he was quite sure the visions going through his mind would not sit well with Emma herself.

“No,” he squeaked, before clearing his throat and repeating himself, in more of his normal tenor, “No, that’s not necessary, I assure you.”

Emma raised her eyebrow at him, expressing her disbelief at his words without a single one of her own. It probably should have alarmed him how easily they both seemed to read the other- much like an open book- but at the moment he was too agitated to care.

“Why don’t you choose something from my collection to read?” he suggested, anything to take his mind off his desire.

“Very well,” she agreed. “What would you like to hear?”

“Oh, anything.” He was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. Even her voice was affecting him.

“Poetry?”

“Splendid,” he assured her. Although he rather thought he’d have answered the same way if she suggested a book detailing the mating habits of creatures living in the arctic tundra.

She perused the books on his shelf before turning to him again. “Byron? Or Blake?”

“Blake,” he said decisively. If he had to sit through a single stanza of Byron’s romantic drivel, he’d probably lose his mind.

She moved back to her chair, gathering her rather unattractive skirts underneath her as she sat down. Killian frowned. It was the first time he’d noticed how ugly the dress she wore really was. Even the dress and cloak she wore the night they arrived was more becoming than this thing. He ought to buy her a new dress. She’d never accept it, of course, but perhaps if the clothes she now wore were accidentally burned…

“Mr. Jones?”

But how exactly would he be able to burn her dress? It would have to be off of her, of course, and that posed a certain challenge in and of itself.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmmm?”

Her face clearly conveyed her indignation. “You’re not even listening to me!”

“My apologies,” he said sincerely. “My mind got away from me. Please continue.”

She shot him a look that was equal parts resigned and perturbed and Killian nearly chuckled out loud. She began again and Killian fully focused on her face, but even more, her lips, which proved to be a severe error in judgment. Because now all he could think about was capturing those lips with his own. He squirmed in discomfort again. If one of them did not leave the room in the next thirty seconds, he was going to do something for which he would owe her a thousand apologies.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

Her eyes widened and Killian cursed himself. She looked hurt, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He simply needed to get her away from him before he hauled her into the bed.

“I- I- I,” he stammered, “I have some personal business to attend to.”

Relief flooded her countenance and Killian relaxed as well. “Ohhh,” she said in realization. “I see.” She dropped a small curtsy, before speaking again. “I’ll just leave you alone, then.”

“Yes, thank you.”

She all but ran out of the room and Killian jumped from the bed, running to the window. Good. No one was in sight. He removed his dressing gown and pulled on a shirt and breeches before looking out the window again. Still no one around. He prayed his luck held as he searched for his boots. Once he got them on, he went to the window again. Excellent. Still no one in sight. He swung one leg over the window sill, then the other, and finally shimmied his way down the large elm tree outside his room.

Once on the ground, he took off for the very cold lake nearby, to take a very cold swim.

~*~*~

Emma descended the stairs, heading for the kitchen, grumbling to herself.

She just couldn’t understand why Killian had so much trouble treating her like what she was, a servant. He kept saying he would find her employment in his mother’s household but he also expected her to join him for tea and engage in conversation with him as if she was of his same class.

If he would just treat her like a servant, her life would be so much easier. She’d have no trouble remembering that she was nothing but a bastard, an illegitimate nobody, while he was a member of one of the ton’s most wealthy and influential families. Every time he treated her like a real person- because in her experience aristocrats did not treat their servants like real people- it took her back to that night, that one perfect night, when she had been a lady of the ton. A lady of grace and beauty. A lady who had the right to dream about a future with Killian Jones.

He treated her as if he enjoyed her company. And that was perhaps the cruelest aspect of all. Because he was making her love him. More than she had these past two years, when he was no more than a dream. For now he was flesh and blood, and close enough to touch. But then reality would come crashing in and it hurt so damn much.

She entered the kitchen to see Mrs. Miner standing over the stove stirring the stew.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked, surprising the woman.

“Oh, no, dear,” she said, waving aside her offer. “The stew just needs a few hours to simmer. And besides, Mr. Jones has not been pleased that I’ve allowed you to do anything around here.”

Emma snorted. “I don’t know why,” Emma began. “I’m just a…”

“No arguments, if you please,” Mrs. Miner interrupted her. “He’s quite right. You are not a servant here, you are a guest. And I should have been treating you as such more than I have.”

“You already have been, Mrs. Miner,” she said, an affectionate smile on her face. Mrs. Miner reminded her of Granny in a way, especially from that night. The way she fussed over her, making sure everything was just right. “But I’m not a guest.”

Mrs. Miner looked over at her, an astute look on her face. “Well then, what are you?”

Emma didn’t expect the question and faltered for a moment. “I have no idea,” she finally said. “But, a guest…” she stammered, trying to make sense of her thoughts and feelings, “a guest would be someone from his social class, or at least close to it. A guest would be someone who had never scrubbed floors… or… waited on another person… or… or…”

“A guest is someone who the master of the house has invited into the house,” Mrs. Miner interrupted gently. “Don’t belittle yourself, dear. If Mr. Jones has seen fit to invite you into the house, then you are a guest. When was the last time you were able to live in comfort and not have to work your fingers to the bone in return?”

“He can’t truly regard me as a houseguest,” Emma said quietly, “because, if he did, he’d have installed a chaperone to protect my reputation.”

Mrs. Miner huffed. “As if I’d allow anything untoward to happen under this roof.”

Emma smiled. “Of course you wouldn’t. But in this world we live in, appearances are just as important as reality. And in the eyes of society, a housekeeper does not qualify as a chaperone, no matter how pure and strict her morals may be.”

“If that’s true,” Mrs. Miner sent her a significant look, “then you need a chaperone, Miss Emma.”

“No, I don’t,” she protested. “Don’t be silly. I don’t need a chaperone because I’m not of his class. No one cares if a housemaid lives and works in the household of a single man. No one thinks any less of her, and she wouldn’t be considered ruined by anyone who would consider her for marriage.” Emma shrugged. “And Mr. Jones thinks the same way, though he’d never admit it, because he has never said a single word about my presence here being improper.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Mrs. Miner informed her. “I don’t like it one bit.”

Emma smiled. Because it really was quite nice for her to care in the first place. “Well, if you really don’t need any help in the kitchen, then I think I’ll go outside for a walk, as long as I’m in this hazy position. I’m not a guest, not really,” she added when Mrs. Miner’s mouth opened in protest, “but I’m also not a servant, so I shall enjoy this freedom while it lasts.”

Mrs. Miner nodded in agreement. “You do that, Miss Emma.”

Emma left the cottage and started down the path that led to the nearby pond Killian had told her about. The sun was unseasonably warm, and she turned her face up to it, closing her eyes against its rays. The sunlight had always made her happy and she could feel her spirits lift from the anxiety and turmoil she’d experienced in the last few minutes, both with Killian and Mrs. Miner.

She opened her eyes, seeing a rather dense patch of forest up ahead. If she remembered correctly, Killian had told her the pond was hidden from view of the house by the trees, so she knew she was going in the right direction. She lifted her skirts slightly as she entered the canopy. The trees were dense and she had to step over tree roots and push stray branches out of the way to make her way forward. She could see a clearing up ahead and guessed the pond must be contained within.

But as she drew closer, she could hear splashing. With a gasp of fright, she realized she wasn’t alone. Who on earth would be swimming at this time of year? she thought. The water had to still be freezing this early in the season. She was only about ten feet from the edge, easily visible by whoever was in the water, so she ducked behind one of the large trees that lined the pond. Whoever was in there hadn’t spotted her and continued cavorting around in the water. Emma slowly poked her head out around the trunk and gasped in surprise.

It was Killian Jones.

And he was naked.

It was wrong of her stay. So very wrong. But she just couldn’t bring herself to leave. She moved back behind the tree and tried to find another hiding place. Perhaps something that would hide her and yet would give her a good vantage point. Was it terribly wicked of her to want to get a better look? Yes, yes it was. And she didn’t care one bit.

All her life she’d done the right thing, the safe thing. Only once had she deviated from that path and it was the single best night of her life. She’d tried to keep her eyes averted the other night when she’d undressed him, and when she did have to look at him to get his undergarments off, the shadows made by the candle kept him pretty well hidden from her curious gaze. But this was in the bright daylight. After all, what did she have to lose? She had no job, no prospects beyond Killian’s promise to secure her a position within his mother’s household. And she still wasn’t sure that was a good idea.

She spotted a large boulder off to the left with a low bush sitting in front of it, obscuring it from view. If she sat on the boulder, the bush should be high enough to keep her hidden. She moved slowly and carefully until she was seated on the rock, sitting as still as possible and keeping her eyes wide open.

~*~*~

Killian had never considered himself superstitious. Nor would he have said that he had a sixth sense. However, there had been a couple of times in his life when a sudden awareness washed over him. A kind of tingling sensation that told him something important was about to happen.

The first time was the day his father died. He’d been racing Liam on horseback when a sort of numbness had overtaken him, starting in his fingers and toes and rushing up his extremities until it centered in his chest, making it hard to draw a deep breath. It left him with a feeling of terror he’d never known in all his life. When they arrived back at the house, they received the news their father was already dead, having collapsed after being stung by a bee.

It was the kind of sucker punch none of them was prepared for. His youngest sister, Tilly hadn’t even been born yet, with Tink and Henry still young enough that it was unlikely either of them would even remember him. How someone so strong and vital could be suddenly taken from them, he just couldn’t comprehend.

The second time it happened was the night of his mother’s masquerade ball. Like the first time, the feeling had started in his extremities, but instead of numbness, it was a tingling sensation, as if he was waking up after sleepwalking. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end in the moments before he turned and saw her. Then, once he did, he knew exactly why he attended the ball that night; why he’d been born. He’d believed all of that then, but she’d proven him wrong by disappearing into thin air.

Now, as he stood in the pond, naked as the day he was born, he was struck again with an odd sense of being more alive than he had been just moments before. It was a good feeling, an exciting feeling.

Something was about to happen. Or perhaps, someone was near.

His life was about to change.

He stepped into a little deeper water before turning in a complete circle. He scanned the trees and bushes as best he could, but he could see no one.

“Who’s there?” he called.

Silence.

He hadn’t really expected an answer, but it had been worth a try. He squinted and did another sweep of the shore in the direction of My Cottage but could still see nothing. Moments later, something came over him and he suddenly knew exactly who was watching him.

“Emma!”

He heard a gasp, followed by a flurry of activity behind a bush on the shore.

“Emma Swan,” he yelled, “if you run from me right now, I swear I will follow you, and I will not take the time to don my clothing!”

The rustling of the bush slowed, but didn’t stop completely.

“I am stronger and faster than you, and I will catch up with you,” he continued. “And I wouldn’t put it past me to tackle you to the ground, just to be sure you won’t escape.”

“And you call yourself a gentleman,” she called, still hidden behind the bushes.

“Says the lady spying on a naked man,” he called back. Silence. Killian huffed in satisfaction. “Good. Now show yourself.” There was no response from the shore and Killian grew exasperated. “Emma, I already know you’re there. Just come out, already!”

He could almost see the petulant frown on her face as the bushes rustled again and she finally emerged. She was wearing the same dress, and seeing her there framed among the spring leaves and flowers made his desire to burn the awful thing that much stronger.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I went for a walk. What are you doing here?” she asked in return. “You’re supposed to be ill! I can’t imagine that,” she gestured vaguely at the water, “is going to help your recovery!”

“Were you following me?” he asked, purposefully ignoring her question and comment. It certainly wouldn’t do for him to tell her the truth about why he was here.

“Of course not!” she exclaimed. He knew from her expression she was telling the truth. He knew she didn’t possess the acting skill to feign that level of righteous indignation. She was too much of an open book to him. “I’d never follow you to a swimming hole. It would be indecent.”

Killian raised an eyebrow at her, not bothering to point out her hypocrisy, and her cheeks flamed in embarrassment. He lifted a hand from the water and motioned for her to turn round. “Give me a moment to get dressed, if you please.”

“I’ll just return home so you can continue your bath in privacy.”

“You will stay right there,” he demanded sternly.

“But…”

He raised his eyebrow again and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do I look like a man to be argued with at the moment?”

She stared at him mutinously.

“I will catch you if you run,” he warned her again.

Emma eyed the distance between them and then tried to guess the distance from here back to My Cottage. If he stopped to pull on his clothing, she might be able to make it, but if he didn’t…

“Emma, I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears,” he said, thoroughly exasperated. “Please stop whatever mathematical computations you’ve got going on in your head trying to decide if you could beat me back to the cottage and just do what I asked.” She still didn’t move. “Now.”

Sighing loudly and grumbling under her breath, Emma turned away from him. The infuriating man wasn’t being quiet as he emerged from the water. Now he was out, now he was picking up his breeches. She couldn’t help herself. Her wicked imagination ran away with her and she couldn’t say she minded. He could have allowed her to return to the house, but she supposed he did have the right to confront her with her wrongdoing, even if it was accidental. Her entire face was on fire and she dreaded his response when she finally faced him.

This was torture. He was purposely taking his time and her toes were falling asleep from how rigidly she was holding herself as she waited. She wiggled her toes in her shoes, and he must have noticed for he growled behind her.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not!” she protested. “My toes were falling asleep.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “And hurry up! It can’t possibly take you this long to get dressed.”

“Oh?” he drawled. She could practically see the raised eyebrow and smug smirk on his face.

“You are doing this just to torture me,” she accused.

“You find it torturous to be this close to me while I dress?” He sounded inordinately pleased at his statement. “I’m flattered. But you may turn around at any time. I asked you to turn around for the sake of your sensibilities, not mine.”

Emma huffed. “Asked, huh? I don’t recall you asking. Sounded more like a demand to me.”

“Point granted,” he acknowledged. “But you would concede that I have the right to speak to you about your indiscretion.” It was a statement instead of a question and Emma simply acknowledged it with a half shrug of her shoulders. “You may turn around, now,” he informed her gently.

She was a bit nervous to do so. Some of their banter back and forth and the way he almost seemed to enjoy getting a rise out of her made her worry that perhaps he wasn’t as decent as propriety demanded.

She lowered her head and peeked over her shoulder to see his pants on his body and so she turned fully, gratified, yet mixed with no small amount of disappointment, that he was quite decently dressed, unless one counted the damp spots on his clothing where the water had seeped through.

“It’s very bad form to spy on one’s host, you know.” He leaned back against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles with one toe digging into the ground. He looked utterly relaxed and breathtakingly handsome.

“It was an accident,” she insisted, her voice a bit more breathless than she’d like.

“Oh, I believe you there,” he informed her. “But even so, given the opportunity, you took it.”

Emma’s cheeks flamed again. She was damn tired of how easily he flustered her. “Well, do you blame me?”

Killian shrugged. “Nope,” he said, popping the p. “I might have done the same thing myself.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “You would have spied on me?”

“I said ‘might’. I am a gentleman, after all.” He pushed himself away from the tree and slowly moved toward her, his blue eyes intense. “You’re a very beautiful woman,” he said, “in case you hadn’t noticed. And I have a hard time believing that you’re completely unaware of this thing between us. About how you affect me. About how I know I affect you.” He was standing right in front of her, his voice a whisper.

Her skin was hot and her heart hammered in her chest. The breath caught in her lungs and her hands trembled. Everything she’d ever dreamed of was swirling in his blue eyes and if he didn’t take her in his arms soon, she might collapse at his feet.

“Killian,” she breathed.

A slow smile spread across his face and she realized her mistake immediately.

“I like to hear you say my name.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t say that,” he urged, touching a finger to her lips. “Please. Don’t you know that’s not what a man wants to hear?”

“I don’t have any experience with men.”

Killian smirked. “Now that’s exactly what a man wants to hear.”

Emma raised a brow in doubt. She knew men wanted innocence in their wives, but Killian wasn’t about to marry a girl like her.

He touched a fingertip to her cheek and ran it down until he cupped her jaw with his hand. “It’s what I wish to hear from you.” He stared into her eyes for a moment and Emma could barely breathe. “Sometimes I have trouble believing you’re real.” His other hand came up and cupped the other side of her face. “I think I’m going to kiss you.”

“You think?” she whispered.

“I think I have to kiss you,” he amended. “It’s like breathing. Rather hard to live without.”

He lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. It was achingly tender and soft and Emma whimpered as his arms came around her and held her close. His tongue touched the corner of her lips and she opened to him eagerly. It was exactly the same as before, a gentle request, full of passion and desire. Two years of remembering the single most exquisite experience of her life and now she was reliving it.

“You’re crying,” he said, pulling back and catching a tear that had fallen unbidden from her eye on the edge of his finger. “Do you want me to stop?”

Emma shook her head vehemently. No, she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him to continue, because this time the clock would not strike midnight and she would not have to flee.

His lips took hers again. This time with more passion, more desire than even that night at the masquerade. Her mouth opened under the onslaught and his tongue took full advantage, searing her, branding her as his. His hands were not idle as his mouth made love to hers, fully possessing her. One held her tightly against him, where she could feel the desire he had for her, while the other stroked her side until he cupped her breast. His mouth left hers, as he peppered small kisses along her jaw and down the slope of her neck, making her shiver.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmured into her skin. “Tell me you want me, please,” he begged.

Oh, how she wanted it. How she wanted him. She wanted him to kiss her, hold her, love her. She wanted him to know who she was, that she was the lady from the masquerade, and yet at the same time, she never wanted him to recognize her. She was so confused, but one thing, one shining emotion rose above them all. She loved him. Well and truly loved him. And she would do anything for him.

It was that thought and that thought alone that pierced the fog enveloping her mind- the one that would have given him anything he asked for- making her pull back from him. As much as she wanted this, as much as she wanted him, she couldn’t forsake her own convictions, her own pledges to herself. If she didn’t maintain her own integrity, her own honor, what else did she have? For Killian would never love her the way she loved him. He would never marry her and bring her into his world, the one that, by rights, should have been hers. Even if he did fulfill his word to find her a position within his mother’s household, he would someday marry and leave her behind to continue on with his life, but if she broke every promise she’d ever made to herself for this one time, this one chance to be his, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

He looked at her somewhat dazed with desire and it nearly brought her to her knees.

“I can’t.”

“What?” The dazed look in his eyes gave way to confusion.

“I can’t do this.” Sudden clarity took over his countenance and his brow furrowed.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

The question made her pause as she truly pondered it.

“Won’t,” she whispered.

Killian swallowed hard at her response and his nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. “And why is that, I wonder? You certainly seemed willing a moment ago.”

“You want me to be your mistress,” she accused, and he couldn’t help the wince that overcame him at her words. “And I can’t do that. I won’t do that,” she repeated.

He reached for her, grabbing her around the waist. She stiffened in response. “I want you to be with me. Today. Tomorrow.”

“But you don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” she reminded him. “You will have to marry one day. And we both know you will not marry someone like me.”

Her words completely floored him and sudden clarity came upon him. “You’re illegitimate. Aren’t you?”

The blood drained from Emma’s face and he knew he was right.

“H- how…” she sputtered.

“But that doesn’t matter,” he interrupted her. “I don’t care that you’re illegitimate. Who was your father? Your mother?”

She almost told him she didn’t know, but then remembered her promise that she wouldn’t lie to him. “What does it matter?” she cried instead. “My mother died at my birth, and my father died several years ago. Yes, I’m illegitimate. And I will not condemn a child to the stigma I’ve lived with all my life.”

The heartbreak in her eyes and voice was breaking his heart as well. He really couldn’t blame her, given the life she’d lived, but he had to try one more time. Only once had a woman he cared for rejected him, disappearing as if she was nothing more than a dream, and he didn’t think he could survive it again.

“I thought you said your mother was a housekeeper?”

Emma gasped. She’d forgotten that she’d given him the same story she told everyone who commented on her manner of speech or her obvious education. Thankfully she’d told him that before she’d promised she wouldn’t lie to him.

Emma closed her eyes, not wanting to see his expression as she told him the truth.

“I told you the same thing I’ve told anyone who noticed the way I speak. I did it to keep my background secret.”

Killian watched her intently as she stood before him, eyes shut, wound tightly as a spring waiting for his response. Another possibility suddenly occurred to him. “Was your father a member of the ton?” If Killian hadn’t still been holding her by the waist, he was sure she would have collapsed. “Nevermind. Nevermind. Forget I asked. It’s not important. But, don’t you see? You wouldn’t be. I would care for any children we had. I could give you a roof over your head, fine clothes, jewels, good food to eat. I could give you everything you could ever want or need.”

It took her a moment to recover from his astute speculation, but once she did, she looked into his eyes and saw her own heartbreak mirrored back at her. “If you think that’s everything, Mr. Jones, then you probably wouldn’t understand why I must refuse.”

Her simple words cut him to the quick. He knew what she wanted, what she deserved, but she was right. Even though he didn’t hold a title, it would be socially unacceptable for him to marry a servant, even if she was an illegitimate daughter of a member of the ton. But there was one thing in her last statement that was also unacceptable. He pulled her closer to him and wrapped her in his arms.

“Mr. Jones!” she exclaimed. Her hands landed on his chest in a half-hearted attempt to keep him at a respectable distance, but he simply tightened his arms around her. “Let me…”

“Killian,” he interrupted. “I want you to call me Killian.” He lowered his head toward hers, waiting for her consent. She held herself stiff as a board for a moment and then relaxed in his embrace. As soon as she did, he closed the distance between their lips and gently kissed her. It was the exact opposite of what he wanted, but as a gentleman, he had to honor her wishes. He wanted her close to him. He could still pursue her- perhaps he’d be able to change her mind. “I’m still going to take you to London and find you a position in my mother’s household.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she protested. “You’re not responsible for me.”

“You became my responsibility when I realized what they had planned for you,” he bit out angrily. She knew exactly who he meant, and it made her heart melt in her chest. His finger ran along her jaw gently. “I will not see you cast adrift.”

Emma looked into his eyes. They were filled with heartbreak, but they were resolved as well. She wouldn’t be his mistress, but she could not deny him this.

“Very well, Killian,” she whispered. “I’ll come with you.”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Sneak peek of the new chapter will be posted on Wednesday! Don’t forget to guess what scene inspired the fic!

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Dwarrowtober day 7 - Hairstyles

Thanks to @mrkida-art I seem to have stumbled into a King Kíli AU, so have a little more. Beware the Feels. As always, this can also be found on Ao3

Also appreciate the hour an a half it took me to do that image manip xD

Beginning a new year

Ori rushed through the corridors, darting past crowds of workers coming off shift, weaving through the throngs where he could and tripping impatiently where he could not.

He was late already, though Kíli never faulted him for losing sense of time among the scrolls of the Library. Still, it wouldn’t do to be truly late to the celebration of the King’s Nameday, and so Ori hurried as best he could.

“I can’t do it!” Kíli groaned, wanting to toss the heavy crown clear across the room, though he settled for tearing it off his head and returning it to its pillow, wincing when it took out a few hairs as penance for his frustration.

“Can’t do what?” Ori asked, breathless and red-cheeked from running, closing the door behind him.

Kíli scowled at him in the mirror, gesturing at the mess he had made. “This!” Pulling violently on dark locks, he began unravelling the braids he had already replaited four times. “I can’t make it work, Ori, I hate this!”

“Kíli…”

Kíli sighed, hiding his weary face in his hands. “I’m sorry.” He was. Ori did not deserve to be yelled at because he feared he was falling short as King. The door opened once more, and Kíli expected Ori to leave him to his bad mood. The thought made him feel guilty a moment later; Ori would never leave without at least saying goodbye. He sighed again, staring at himself in the polished mirror resting against the wall.

Ori said something, but the words were aimed at the guards stationed outside his door, and Kíli could not what he asked for clearly.

Instead of leaving, he moved into view in the mirror, his face enviably calm. Kíli tugged viciously at a snarl in his hair, the teeth of his comb tangling in the black strands as though it, too, knew he was failing at the simplest of tasks.

What kind of King couldn’t even braid his own hair?

In the mirror, hair a tangled mess, he looked more like the young dwarf setting off on an impossible adventure than the wise King he was purported to be; he would never be what Thorin had been, what Fíli had been meant to be.

He was just Kíli trying to keep up with his life falling apart.

And now amad was gone, too.

“It’s not about the hair, I know,” Ori said gently, wrapping his arms around Kíli from behind. “Come here, love.”

Kíli buried his face in Ori’s soft knitted scarf, breathing in the comforting scent that clung to him, a strangely soothing combination of old dust, parchment, the sharp smell of spilled ink and the rosemary soap Ori liked. Wrapping his arms around Ori’s soft middle, Kíli squeezed him close, wishing there was time for more.

“Do you think…” He cleared his throat, trying again, “Do you think it will ever be easier?” Would he ever feel like his life fit him again?

“Yes.” Ori’s quiet confidence rung true and Kíli almost believed him.

Almost.

He sighed. Pulling away slightly, he steadied his breathing through sheer willpower, though he managed only the watery approximation of a smile.

“You should go get ready, too,” he said, willing himself to let go. “And I’ll try to…”

Ori’s smile was soft and sad when he nodded, pressing a kiss to Kíli’s forehead before moving further into their well-appointed rooms. “I will. Try not to fret, love.”

They both knew that was an impossible request. How could Kíli not fret on today of all days, one of the first times he had had to appear a proper King, crown and all? How could he not think – on his name day, no less – of the faces that should have been there to celebrate him turning a year older but would not be present as more than carved statues? All of them gone, buried and returned to the Stone as was proper, and he was alone in the world.

A knock on the door interrupted his morose thoughts, making Kíli look over his shoulder just as the heavy door swung open.

Dwalin.

He looks so old.

“Runner said you needed me?” Dwalin asked, brusque tone masking real concern as he looked him over, moving close enough to see the tangled strands of hair. “Ai, laddie,” he whispered, and Kíli found himself enveloped in a hard hug. He melted into it, seeking the warmth and safety of his earliest days when Mister Dwalin and Uncle together would banish all evils from the world.

“Dwalin,” he muttered, hoarse with unshed tears.

“I know, wee lad, I know,” Dwalin said, rocking him gently. “Let me help you.”

Kíli nodded into his broad chest, wiping his face as he turned back to the mirror. “Amad used to braid it,” he mumbled, running a few strands of hair through his fingers, hissing when they caught on his ring. His seal.

His duty.

“Thorin was as terrible as you with braids,” Dwalin offered behind him, picking up the discarded comb. “You come by it honestly.”

Kíli laughed, a spindly sound more like a sob.

Slowly, Dwalin combed out the snarls and tangles.

Kíli watched him in the mirror, seeing the echo of his own grief there.

“You miss him, too.”

“I do, laddie… I do,” Dwalin nodded, fingers tightening around the bone comb. “I always will.”

“But you… I remind you of him, don’t I?” Kíli asked. He had always shared Uncle’s colouring, even if their eyes were different, but as he grew older, he started to realise just how much of Thorin – or Dís, rather – was truly in him.

“Only in good ways,” Dwalin promised, one large hand squeezing his shoulder. In the mirror, his smile was wistful but genuine. “But never fear that I’ll forget the wee rascal you really are, Trouble.”

Kíli’s smile was wan but genuine when it stretched his lips at the familiar nickname.

“Only you would insult your King so,” he chuckled, wincing as the comb caught on a snarl.

Dwalin hummed a wordless sound of amusement.

Separating a measure of hair, splitting it into evenly sized locks, the old warrior began the task of braiding King’s Braids, the marker of the Line of Durin he had so often set in Thorin’s hair, fingers sure and familiar with the motions until the braid hung even and straight along Kíli’s temple.

“I will teach wee Ori,” he said, letting Kíli clasp his own beads around the end of the braid; too familiar an act for anyone but the King himself or his spouse. “He’s nimble-fingered like his siblings, and I think he might enjoy the moment between you as much as I did with my Thorin,” he added, a torrent of words for the usually taciturn dwarf.

Kíli flushed.

“We really should… make it official, as it were,” he mumbled, fidgeting with the other clasp in his lap.

“I don’t think there’s a soul in Erebor who doesn’t already know,” Dwalin replied drily. “But yes, you should. The understanding – Nori will tell you – is that you’re waiting only out of respect for the mourning period for Dís.”

Kíli’s cheeks went fully crimson, the heat spreading up to his ears as he ducked his head.

“Sit still, rascal,” Dwalin chuckled, swatting at him with the end of the second braid that had magically appeared along the side of Kíli’s flaming face, a perfect mirror to its mate. “That’s a good thing. Your amad was well-loved among our people.”

Kíli clasped the second braid with trembling fingers. “Do you think… Would she approve?”

Dwalin picked up the crown, resting it gently in its place, the two braids keeping it from slipping down to his ears. His large hands came to rest on Kíli’s shoulders, their weight a gentle comfort. “Dís always adored Ori,” he rumbled. “And so do I.” A grin spread across his face. “Even though it would make me related to Nori twice over.”

Kíli breathed a sigh of mingled sorrow and relief as he studied himself in the mirror. A dwarf in the steady prime of his life, not a young dwarf playing pretend.

He looked like Uncle Thorin.

He looked like a King.

“Thank you.”

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

🔻 Sun 11 Oct ‘20 🔺

Happy Sunday! Today is the anniversary of the announcement of Just Like You (dropped that night at midnight) and of the first Fine Line single, Lights Up, both of which are thought to be linked by both date and lyrical content to National Coming Out day, an originally American effort (thus the 'national') that has spread to be recognized internationally.

The JLY anniversary (3 years) was marked by fans pushing it up the itunes charts! “You guys are unbelievable,” tweeted Louis as for the second time in as many weeks an old release of his entered and topped the charts in multiple countries with no impetus other than fan efforts. Earlier in the day he had followed some sports collectibles accounts (and even followed the VP of marketing for one of those businesses on a whole other platform) and he let us know that he hopes we're all doing all right but that more importantly he was excited about the England game (the national football team going against Belgium), and made a prediction for the match (England to win natcherly but to give him his due they did do that, though his predicted scorer did not come through.) Paul Arthurs from Oasis managed to convey a world of weary dismay in a single digit, replying to Louis' tweet about being three when the iconic first Oasis album came out with a simple “3” (not for the 3rd anniv of JLY sadly.)

HSHQ is marking the one year since Lights Up opened the Fine Line era with a limited box set version of Fine Line and a rainbow lettering TPWK hoodie. The fancy box is matte black and includes 10 Tim Walker prints, a 'lyric zine', and white gloves (which are all very tempting but I'd say the attempt to make the black vinyl sound like a special perk didn't land QUITE as effectively.) HSHQ posted a shaky fancam of Harry yeling “Tina, she's gay!” on tiktok, Molly Hawkins mused about Do You Know Who You Are a year on-- “a good question for a weird year,” and in the Do You Know Who You Were section we got a glimpse of baby Harry courtesy of a childhood friend who posted footage of their yearbook. We see where he won the first of many Best Dressed awards (though someone else was voted most likely to win the X Factor but to be fair Harry DIDN'T win so they may have been on to something), and the pictures are just as adorable as you'd expect, but I wonder if he would still stand by the part in his quote where he says “I don't do walls”...

In non anniversary news, we got to see more of the 'Liam as a screaming gladiator on the attack' manip being used for the LP Show 3 promo courtesy of the artist, and Liam's depop and ebay sales (of his used clothes and jewelry and signed Hugo shirts) are ticking along and raising lots of money for Trussel Trust (all proceeds from sales are to be donated to the food bank.) Niall watched golf on TV at home with Amelia.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

May i request vivienne x mc where mc leaves vivienne after a huge fight and doesn’t come back, only to have her find mc not only living in Japan but also finds her figure skating her heart out during after hours because mc’s best friend owns the skating rink facility. Vivienne stays and watches mc skate but when mc sees her, she ignores her because mc is tired of empty promises and dancing around everything that goes on between them. Especially their feelings. Little bit angst but fluffy ending

Warning: Mentions of toxic behavior.

...

“Fair warning, Vivienne, but this is stalker behavior.”

Vivienne swallows, feeling the words curl around her heart like barbed wire. The thing is, after so many wounds, what’s a few more?

So all she does is pause, ignore it and mask it with her trademark smoldering smirk, her expression all teasing confidence.

“Never thought I’d hear that jab from you, Jace. You learn something new every day.”

Jace stares at her with all the judging intensity of a spectator, the kind that knows when the character on screen is going to crash and burn into a hopeless little thing. Vivienne meets their gaze with a defiant one of her own, because she won’t let that happen.

She’s too familiar with the bitter feeling of a mistake. She knows when to stop. What she’s doing right now? It doesn’t feel like that. It’s light with the possibility of a new beginning, raw with the pain of a past confrontation that demands healing. It’d be easy to bury it in her past, adding more to the ever-growing pile, but Vivienne has grown tired of running and escaping and pretending everything is alright behind a fake smile and- and… She simply had to change. For the better.

She needed to face everything. Make it right.

And MC… that’s her biggest regret. And her first priority.

…

She has been to Japan before. The memory feels like it belongs to another lifetime.

The urge to run it’s overwhelming. She sees anything or anyone that reminds her of MC and her body tenses like a cat about to bolt away from visitors, yet she marches on, determined. An hour later she finds herself in front of a skating ring facility, bigger than she had initially assumed it to be.

“I didn’t expect anything else but the very best for you, MC.” Vivienne murmurs, her pace slowing down for the first time ever since she left the apartment the Poppy had in Japan. Doubt began to creep in like a flood, snuffing all the courage she had managed to gather, rooting her in place for a long minute, hesitating.

People were beginning to stare. Well, they were more like brief, curious glances, but Vivienne felt each of them like a prickle in her conscience.

She could turn back. MC wasn’t expecting her. No one would know about this other than Jace and-

No. No, no. No.

If she went back to the Poppy’s apartment without at least a brief conversation with MC, everything would have been for naught. The failure would otherwise crush her. She needed to face this. Otherwise, had she even changed at all?

She took a deep breath, trying to piece her courage back together. Slowly, she made her way in.

…

MC didn’t have a talent for ice skating, but her passion more than made up for it. She glided along the ice, effortless, easing into a slow spin along the ring, as if she was taking in the view of everyone skating alongside her. Vivienne hadn’t been here for more than a second and she was already mesmerized.

Her body is graceful and relaxed as she goes, completely in her element. From this distance, her expression is nothing but a fleeting mystery – the seductress gets the sudden urge to chase after her ethereal figure, to marvel intensely that someone this perfect exists. Vivienne had seen MC on many situations before, but nothing quite like this. She looks so free, her movements light like a leaf caught in the wind, and the light falls on her in such a way that she might as well be glowing.

Her happiness shines through, and a slow, loving smile settles on Vivienne’s lips before she can even register it. Her hands grasp the edge of the ring and the cold sensation startles her out of her reverie, not sure when she had come so close, but basking in it.

This is the effect MC had on her. She had missed it.

Caught in the warmth of her melancholy, what she sees next hits much harder. One glance up reveals the full-splendor of MC’s face, less than a meter from where Vivienne is standing. She is there one second and gone in a blink, speeding to the other side of the ring, but it was enough time to burn her expression into Vivienne’s mind: a full-blown scowl, barely softened by the sheer surprise of a memory long forgotten, buried deep into the ice. There’s a clarity in her eyes that stuns Vivienne and steals her courage away, and they speak clearly a decision from long ago: MC doesn’t want anything to do with Vivienne anymore.

The urge sparks again and Vivienne throws herself forward, not caring one bit about the stares she receives. She circles the ring in record time, intent on following MC who is already heading for the exit, her pace surprisingly brisk despite the skates she is still wearing.

“MC!” No response, save for MC’s hands curling into fists. “MC, please wait!”

Still, MC does have some distance advantage. It’s all she needs to get to a room and shut the door in Vivienne’s face just as she catches up. It’s one of the rooms not open for the public, she distractedly realizes, only for staff. There will be no pressure for MC to open the door, though. She only needs a few minutes and a call for security to escort Vivienne out, but like hell Vivienne is going to let that happen without saying her piece.

“I’ll leave you alone after this, I promise.” Vivienne says against the door, raising her voice just enough to be heard over it. “Nothing empty about it, I assure you. I— I’ve had… some time to think. I’m sure you’ll be glad to know the rest of the Poppy gave me plenty of lectures and no rest whatsoever… Zoe most of all. And I deserved it, because I didn’t… I didn’t really take the time to notice how you were feeling. I just wanted to protect myself, and that was too selfish from me. It’s true I was scared to enter a relationship, but I had no right to act the way I did, to… to try and manip—”

“Leave, Vivienne.”

The seductress took a sharp intake of breath, wishing she had all the time in the world to make this right. “Hear me out.”

“I’m friends with the owner, you know. Security would come in a second.”

Despite her suspicions getting confirmed Vivienne can’t help but smile, moving one hand to press it flat against the door and lean there. “Don’t go all Karen on me now, MC. Just give me five minutes.”

“I won’t listen to anything you say. I know better than to believe in your words.”

“I’ll say it again: there will be no more empty promises between you and me.”

MC snorts, on the other side of the door. Vivienne wants to imagine she’s also leaning against it, arms crossed, defiant. There’s a beat of silence which makes her heart swell, and at the next second she’s back to tumbling over her words, almost desperate.

“It didn’t realize it as soon as you left. I—I thought I was safe. That no one could hurt me now because I had driven them off, again, but then I began to feel like I had lost a crucial part of myself. I didn’t realize how much those nights we spent together talking meant. I didn’t realize that at some point I had begun to… to feel safe, and accepted, I just kept my guard up and manipulating you so you wouldn’t get any closer. Not once did I stop to think about you, and the way I dismissed your feelings, even when you tried to talk to me—”

“Please, leave. I don’t want to deal with this.”

“MC…”

“Today was supposed to be fun.”

“MC.”

“It’s just— you can’t honestly expect me to believe this. That you’ve changed. It’s only been, what, three months? There’s no possible way—”

“There is.” Her hand falls to the handle, the other automatically moving to search for a pin to pick the lock, but she freezes mid action and forces herself to keep them still against her sides. The one who must open the door is MC, voluntarily. “I was just made aware of your side of the story. It took some time for me to fully process it, admittedly, but once I did—”

“Yeah, sure. Real convenient you didn’t process it sooner.”

“Once I did, I realized how manipulative and… and, frankly, toxic I had been. No one deserves to be treated that way by their partner—”

“Funny, I don’t remember you saying we were in a relationship back then.”

“To be honest, relationships are… tools, for me. It’s my job in the Poppy. My biggest mistake was operating like you were a mark, when you obviously weren’t.”

“You’re sounding like a real knight in shining armor.”

“I’m… merely admitting my faults. I was stupid.”

“The biggest moron to have ever lived.”

Vivienne blinks at that, letting her head drop against the door with a dull ‘thud’. “I can’t deny that. It’s the truth.”

“Right… well, I’m glad your toxic behavior is out in the open now. I… I was warned, in the beginning. Nikolai and Remy told me how used you are to running away. That as a thief you were amazing but as a romantic partner you were a mess. I didn’t listen. I thought I could get through you.”

“And you did, I just…”

“Yes, yes, you realized it too late. And after the whole Poppy yelled at you, probably.”

“…you aren’t wrong.”

“You said what you wanted. Can you leave now?”

Vivienne hesitates, torn. “I feel like there’s more to say.”

“Frankly, I don’t care about you or whatever you feel right now.”

“May I come another day, then?”

“Are you seriously asking that after—? No, no, I don’t want to see you anymore. I left for a reason, you know.”

“I’m well aware. I just want to show you that I have changed.”

“And what, do you expect a medal? Just go.”

Vivienne doesn’t. She grips the handle tight, trying to let it anchor her. “Please…”

There’s another pause. MC’s voice is softer, quieter when she continues. Vivienne almost has to strain her ears to listen. “You always avoided any important subject I wanted to talk about. You always danced around my feelings. No, you looked for specific actions or feelings to take advantage of them. I don’t want to go through that anymore. Whatever we had is over. Leave.”

“I didn’t come here trying to start dating again.”

“As if we ever were before.”

“The fact is you did get through me. You were one of the few people I ever felt safe around. I’ve already accepted I destroyed any chance I ever had with you… I just want to part on good terms. I can’t stand the thought that I hurt you.”

“I’m calling security.”

Gritting her teeth, Vivienne takes a few steps back from the door. “I understand. I respect your decision, MC. I’m… glad we could talk. Goodbye.”

…

The universe has a twisted sense of humor, sometimes.

She’s seating alone in front a café, reading a book Remy had recommended to her long ago, trying to look for a distraction. Her mind won’t stop replaying the conversation she had had with MC almost a week ago, and the memory only makes her soul twist in agony and regret and a little bit of frustration. Not for the first time, she finds herself wishing to go back in time and slap her past self across the face, for hurting a wonderful woman such as MC.

“I’m a mess,” she muses, staring at the book in her hands without really reading it. “A complete mess. I never do things right when it comes to these types of situations…”

Dean flashes briefly across her mind and she scowls.

“I swore not to play with my loved one’s feelings like you did, and yet here I am.”

The chair next to her scrapes, as if someone had suddenly dragged it out. The sound makes Vivienne go tense, one hand already preparing to poison whoever had managed to surprise her. That shouldn’t happen. She’s normally hyperaware of everything that happens around her, as any thief would be.

Just how distracted is she?

“Careful there.”

Vivienne blinks, startled, pressing her back against her chair like a caged animal. “MC?” She breathes, wondering if she’s hallucinating.

“Yeah. Hey.”

“What… what are you doing here?”

MC presses her lips together. Vivienne’s eyes are immediately drawn towards the action, and then she forces herself to meet MC’s eyes, intent on not making this awkward.

“I mean—”

“Jett called me.”

“What?”

“He explained things further. It’s not enough to make me want to mend our…” She cuts herself off, looking away for a moment, but Vivienne catches how her lips had stretched around the ‘r’, and her heart beats with abrupt panic when she realizes MC had been about to say ‘relationship’. “Not enough to make me want to return to the Poppy.”

“But it’s enough to make you want to hear me out?”

“I want you to listen to me.”

“Ah. Of course. Go on.”

MC’s eyes are like volcanos waiting to erupt, two intense pools of chocolate that Vivienne can’t help but drown herself in. “You said you wanted us to part on good terms. I don’t think that’s entirely possible, but having this conversation will help us both. You said it yourself – you manipulated me to ‘protect’ yourself, because you were scared. You made empty promises, like you would if I had been a mark. I was interested in you because you were a mystery. You presented yourself like this very experienced, seductive young woman, but I knew there had to be more. I never really got past your shell, mostly because you were toxic, but also because I didn’t want to force you to tell me what was going on.”

That was true. MC had always been respectful, skidding around subjects that seemed to bother Vivienne. She was ready to talk if Vivienne was ready, on those few sleepless nights. At the time, Vivienne had thought that it was because she had MC perfectly in her control when in truth MC had let her, because she trusted her.

And she had fucked things up, as usual.

“You say that you understand how much you hurt me, I say you don’t grasp it entirely. You wouldn’t have come here otherwise.”

“I’m tired of running away.”

“Anyone would be.”

“But it was because I was tired that I decided to come here. I wanted to set things right, even if it meant we’d go our separate ways later.”

“I’m glad you at least acknowledge how bad you were, even if it took something like this.”

“You helped me change for the better.”

MC hums, skeptical. “I hope your… next relationship has more truthful communication in it.”

“I’ll try to apply that to all my relationships, romantic or not. Well, so long as it doesn’t interfere with my job…”

The only two people Vivienne felt she could have been with were out of her grasp, anyway, one dead and one so deeply hurt she wanted nothing else to do with her. There was no point in pursing a romantic relationship anymore.

“I’ve noticed you guys haven’t done any heists lately.”

“We’ve been laying low. Mainly it was so the others had more time to tell me off, which I appreciate. And… what about you? Are you doing better?”

“A lot. Ice skating is very therapeutic once you get the hang of it.” She smiles, then, something small and easy to miss. Vivienne treasures the sight. “My friends have helped, too. I’m not hurting, anymore.”

“I’m glad.”

MC nods, silent.

“Thank you for approaching me, MC.”

“Thank you for letting me go. We won’t meet again.”

The words sting, but Vivienne doesn’t feel like she’s crashed and burnt. She feels free, for the first time in ages.

“Goodbye, MC.”

“Bye.”

[petalsmooth]

I really don't want to do these last four minutes...

RAS saying there are no Endgames now which is rich as opposite of what his writer room was saying after the fallout of 4-17. But then that is what happens when your actress is a brat constantly abusing your most popular actor because he dared to end a relationship...

No, despite liking Jabitha I am NOT happy to be in a world of disgusting Barchie even if they deserve each other....this guy needs to shut up.

RAS does nothing to suggest Jabitha are breaking up at all. I think? that’s him agreeing they are cute. Sorry lili stans....no breakup on horizon as of this podcast and since they have written scripts a little bit ahead...time to get better at editing manips.

I actually don't hate the guy upset about Bughead. Now I don't know what he has been saying all season long and he may be problematic but I'm ok with Bughead fans feeling betrayed and upset about direction they went down. Because I still feel that way. It's just I've accepted the damage done to Betty is too intense to recover from and I'm choosing what's best for Jughead now...which is Tabitha...and even if she wasn't there NOT Betty. RAS SHOULD be made to confront how he betrayed his biggest audience. If this guy wants to be the representative to bring that opinion to him, it’s fine. Although I would have preferred also called him out on what he did to Betty’s character.

First five episodes will inform rest of season in subtle and not subtle ways but some will take time to materialize. Oh. Like Betty being pregnant RAS? 

Only old ship RAS gives hope to is Choni. Probably because they don’t want to pay another actor to ship with Mads so cheaper to do a triangle there.