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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 14 days ago

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Christmas Reruns 2024–Day 26: Girls’ Trip Fairytale Ending–Jen’s Tale

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t! One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia. A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns. So here you go! Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Word Count: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 27 28 29 30 31

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Notes: This story is the 4th of an eventual 5 chapters of a story I wrote for the birthdays of @jrob64, @snowbellewells, and @kmomof4.

CS Genre: Season 6 fix it fic

Jen didn’t know what she expected transportation via storybook to be like, but she was delighted to discover it was something like entering a snowglobe. Snowflakes swirled around her, and she watched with delight as they landed on her arms, her shoulders, the ends of her hair. Each one was different, but each was thoroughly exquisite in its own way. She knew that most people didn’t get her love of winter and snow but it was beautiful and fascinating, and she would go on loving it despite what anyone else might say.

So engrossed was Jen in the snow swirling around her, that she barely noticed moving from her place in the cabin until the air cleared and she found herself just inside the Charming’s flat. Her eyes fell first on the tremendous, festively decorated Christmas tree in the sitting area and then the simpler evergreen wreath hanging on the inside of the door.

So it was Christmastime in her version of events? Well, why not? Wasn’t Christmas the time for magic? And she would need some heavy duty, industrial strength magic to fix the mess Isaac had made of the latter part of season 6.

“So Hook….he killed my father? Okay, that’s a little tough to process.” she heard David say from the kitchen area, and suddenly she knew just exactly where they were in the story.

She hung back for a moment, trying to figure out just the right time and the right way to intervene.

“I was hoping I didn’t have to tell you,” Emma said, sounding defeated from her perch on the breakfast bar.

“Where the hell is Hook anyway?” David asked, aggressively pacing the kitchen. “He didn’t have the guts to come tell me himself?”

If anything, Emma looked even more dejected. “There’s more. Hook, he … he left town.”

“What?” David exclaimed, finally coming to a stop and staring at his daughter in disbelief.

“We had a big fight about him hiding this, and I told him if he wasn’t ready to trust me that, that we shouldn’t talk for a while,” Emma said, “so I guess he wasn’t ready, because Leroy saw him on the docks, and he got on the Nautilus and just…sailed away.”

At this, Jen found herself shaking her head, hurrying forward to intervene.

“Emma,” she said gently, “are you sure? Are you absolutely SURE that’s what happened?”

Emma looked up, anger and pain written all over her face. She spread her hands wide. “He’s not here, is he? What am I supposed to think?”

“I know how hurt you are by all that happened,” Jen said, “but hasn’t he shown you yet that you don’t need to put up your walls to protect yourself from him? Hasn’t he proven how much he loves you?”

“Not enough to keep from hiding things from me,” she muttered.

“Kind of like how you hid the truth about the shears and your destiny as savior from him?” Jen asked, being careful to keep any hint of accusation from her tone.

“That’s….that’s different!” Emma spluttered, jumping from the counter and striding purposely toward the coat rack. “I’ve gotta get to the station. Look, whatever you or I or anyone else might think of him, the facts are the facts, and the fact is that Leroy saw him leave me. End of discussion.”

As though to punctuate her sentence, she stepped out the door and slammed it behind her. The Christmas wreath on the door fell to the floor with the violence of the action. David moved forward to replace the decoration on its perch.

“You know I’m right, don’t you David?” Jen asked.

He didn’t look at her, instead taking long moments to adjust the wreath just so on the door. Finally he turned back to face her. “She’s my daughter, Jen, and she’s hurting, and he’s the cause of it, whatever led to it. My focus has to be on helping her heal”

“But if things aren’t exactly the way they look…if maybe this is the work of a villain or something,” Jen said, “wouldn’t the ideal way to help her be to figure out the truth? And you know Killian. You know how much he loves Emma. Doesn’t he deserve the benefit of the doubt?”

David frowned, and Jen could tell her words struck a chord in him. “I suppose you’re right.”

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

With another delightful swirl of snow, Jen found herself transported to the sheriff’s station where David and Emma were discussing digitizing files and the merits of busywork to help dull the pain. She decided to hang back in the shadows, watching to see how this scene played out.

“I’ve got just the thing to mend a broken heart,” Regina said happily, brushing snow off of her coat as she breezed into the station and held up a small piece of paper rolled into a scroll.

Emma eyed it warily. “Whatever spell that is, I don’t want it. I’m seriously not in the mood for magic.”

“Who said anything about magic?” Regina said unfurling the scroll which was covered in so many images of the season, it looked like Christmas had thrown up all over it. “It’s a two for one drink coupon for that new club, Aesop’s Tables. Seems they’re having a big Christmas sale. It’d be a shame to waste it!”

David stepped up, looking at the coupon and shaking his head. “Really? You think half priced liquor is the way to go.”

“I certainly do,” Regina said. “We need a ladies night out, me, Emma and Snow. We go early enough, we can get back in time for Christmas eve with the family.”

Emma looked unimpressed at the suggestion. “Remember she’s in a sleeping curse? She’s at home. Asleep.”

“Well, she doesn’t have to be asleep,” Regina said with a meaningful look at David.

“Oh come on! I just woke up!” he said. Regina gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes. “I guess she doesn’t have to be asleep.”

Emma got to her feet, clearly in no mood for any of this. “I can’t. I’m about to go on patrol, and shouldn’t you be trying to break that curse?”

Regina blew out an exasperated breath. “Well, I’m working on it, but I could use a break. We all could. I know you’re hurting, and I know you’re trying to hide it because, well, you’re Emma, but you can’t just run from this.”

Emma gave her a hard look. “I didn’t run. Hook ran, so, there’s nothing more to say.” She placed the last file on the pile in front of her with rather more force than strictly necessary, and then headed toward the door. It was abundantly clear that she was running from the conversation as much as she was heading out on rounds.

“You know,” David said speculatively as she walked out, “I’ve been thinking.”

Regina snorted, “a dangerous pastime.”

He glared at her and then went back to the topic at hand. “I’m not sure it’s true. I’m not sure Hook really DID run,” he finished.

“Well he’s not here, is he?” she asked, gesturing around the office to make her point. “Seems your daughter has some reason to think he skipped town.”

“Leroy,” David said.

“I beg your pardon?” Regina said.

“Leroy’s her reason,” David said. “He apparently saw Hook on the docks, told Emma something about Hook getting on the Nautilus and sailing away.”

Regina tutted derisively. “Leroy? Emma’s just going on the word of that gossip girl?”

David shrugged. “You know how hard it is for Emma to trust, how closely she guards her heart. She’s hurting, but you and I both know Hook. That man isn’t capable of loving by half measures. It doesn’t make sense that he’d decide he doesn’t trust her and just….cut his losses and skip town.”

Jen nodded in satisfaction. That’s the David she knew, rather than the clueless one Isaac wrote, the one who was ready to believe the worst of Killian at the slightest provocation.

“I guess you have a point there,” Regina conceded, “and we do have a psychopath running around trying to separate Emma from all her sources of support. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe it’s time to give the pirate the benefit of the doubt.”

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

With another swirl of snow, Jen found herself in the sitting room of Emma’s house. She smiled as she saw the tall Christmas tree in the corner, bedecked with lights and garland and all manner of hook, swan, storybook and Disney character ornaments.

The smile slid from her face as she spied Emma and Henry sitting together at opposite ends of the sofa. Henry played on his phone, earbuds in place while Emma slowly, gently placed Hook’s possessions in his chest. She hesitated as she reached Liam’s ring hanging from its chain. She held it close, looking down at it, the tears coming to her eyes in spite of herself.

Beside her, Henry seemed to notice her distress. He pulled the earbuds from his ears. “Mom, you okay?”

Emma took a deep breath and decisively placed the ring in the trunk and closed the lid. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered. “I have to be,” she added under her breath. “Henry, can you take this out to the shed later?”

Henry nodded. “Yeah, whatever you want.”

That was it? That was all Henry had to say on the matter? Clearly it was time for Jen to intervene again.

“Take a moment to think about this Emma, Henry,” Jen said. “Look at what’s sitting before you. Hook’s chest, filled with all his most prized possessions. If he was going to leave you, why would he leave all of that behind?”

Jen saw a small glimmer of hope dawn in Emma’s eye, but just as quickly it disappeared. “I don’t know, but I’ve already told you. I have to face the facts. Holding on to false hope only hurts worse.”

Beside her, Henry furled his brow. “Jen’s got a point, mom,” he said, Jen nodded in satisfaction. Maybe the Truest Believer was ready to work his (metaphorical) magic once more. “Killian spent two hundred years trying to avenge my grandma Milah. Once he loves someone, he loves them forever.”

There was that tiny spark of hope in her eyes once more. It lasted longer this time before it faded. “But sometimes love is not enough. Seems that’s the case with Hook.”

“Mom, he literally went to hell for you,” Henry said. “You two were proven True Love. When Zeus wanted to send Killian to his ultimate reward–to the place he truly belonged–he sent him back to you. You really think he gave all of that up over an argument?”

Emma took a moment to think this over and seemed to be on the verge of responding when there was a brisk knock on the door, and a moment later David and Regina strolled in.

“Regina…what the hell?” Emma asked, getting to her feet.

“Your Charming father and I have been talking,” Regina said, “and we’ve come to the conclusion that you’re being an idiot.”

“I’d like to point out for the record, that that is not the conclusion I came to,” David said with an exasperated glare in the direction of his step-mother-in-law. “I said that I thought your pain might be clouding your judgment.”

“Technicalities,” Regina said with a wave of the hand.

Emma rolled her eyes. “As much as I’m enjoying the bickering at my expense,” she drawled, “is there a point to your visit?”

“We were thinking,” David said, stepping forward. “How many times in this town has a villain screwed with things and made circumstances seem different than they are in order to despirit the heroes and further their plan? How can we be sure Gideon didn’t, I don’t know, do something to make Killian leave?”

There was that hope in Emma’s eyes once more, and this time it stubbornly refused to fade. “Do you really think that could be the case?” she asked.

“Of course!” Henry said, “and we know what Gideon’s trying to do! He’s trying to separate Emma from all her sources of support before the final battle! It would be just like him to get rid of Killian, her true love.”

“But…” Emma said, starting to protest once more, but far more weakly this time.

“Emma he’s your True Love, and that’s a special kind of magic,” David said, placing his hands on her arms. “Don’t you at least owe him–and yourself–trying to figure out for sure?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Emma said, “but how? Forget why he left. We don’t even know where he went.”

Jen stepped up, looking at Regina. “It’s Christmas time. Surely there’s some sort of…I don’t know…enchanted Christmas ornament ro something that can help us out.”

“I don’t know about an ornament,” Regina said slowly, “but there is the legend of the Christmas wreath.”

“What legend is that, mom?” Henry asked.

“Well the evergreen wreath is a symbol of everlasting love, right?” Regina asked. “You know, evergreens never shedding their green needles, the circle the symbol of that with no beginning or end, all of that?”

Emma shrugged.

“Well, apparently, at Christmastime, the wreath has a special, even greater magic,” Regina says. “The magic of the season enhances its True Love properties, and, in short, if someone is True Love, it’s said they will be able to see their True Love in it, assuming they adorn it with something meaningful belonging to said True Love.”

“One problem,” Emma said. “I don’t have a wreath.”

“But Grandma and Grandpa do!” Henry said excitedly. “They made it together and it’s on their door! That could work, couldn’t it?”

Regina groaned. “Given how utterly sickening their True Love is, I’d say a wreath they lovingly made together might be the perfect option.”

“And as for something meaningful to Killian,” Emma said, reaching into the trunk and grasping Liam’s ring, “I’ve got the perfect thing.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” David asked with a broad smile. “Let’s get back to the loft!”

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

“I don’t see anything,” Emma said dejectedly several minutes later.

Regina had poofed them directly to the loft, and Emma had wasted no time in draping Liam’s ring over her parents’ wreath before staring into the center of it.

“You have to believe, Emma,” Regina said, “truly believe in the strength and everlasting nature of your love. You need to put all doubts from your mind.”

Emma took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and then looked back through the center of the wreath. She gasped, hearing him before she saw him.

“Emma? Emma are you there? I didn’t mean to leave. I was on my way back to you and Gideon, he sent me away.”

Slowly the picture began to emerge from within the wreath. Killian seemed to be in some exotic place, a place in the desert. If Emma wasn’t mistaken, he was standing beside…was that Ariel?...and he was speaking into what looked like a seashell.

“Seems he’s trying to communicate via ‘shell’ phone,” David grinned. Regina groaned and Emma shushed them both, concentrating on what she was hearing from the wreath…or shell…or whatever the hell was happening.

“I would never leave you. Emma. He wanted me out of the way, and I love you. I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m trying to get home to you, and I won’t ever stop until I do.”

Tears of relief filled Emma’s eyes and spilled down over her cheeks. “Killian?” she answered.

Through the wreath, she saw him start and look down in wonder at the shell in his hand. “Emma? You’re there?”

“I’m here,” she said tearfully. “I hear you. I love you too!”

“I’m trying desperately to get home to you,” he said. “Christmas is tomorrow, and I couldn’t bear to spend it without you. Do you have any suggestions?”

Emma looked around at Regina. “Anything more to that wreath legend?” she asked. “Can it, like, transport someone?”

“Well,” Regina said slowly, “I suppose it’s possible, if he could find a wreath of his own and something of yours to tether them together. Maybe the wreath could bring him home.”

“Are you there, love?” Killian asked.

“He can’t hear you?” Emma asked Regina.

She shrugged. “Well he’s not my True Love.”

Emma rolled her eyes before telling Killian what Regina had just conveyed to her. It was a matter of just a moment to get everything arranged. As luck would have it, Ariel had, among her tremendous collection of random things, a Christmas wreath, and Killian was able to tether it to Emma’s by adding her engagement ring to its boughs.

There was a flash of Christmas lights, and then he was there, back in the room with them.

Jen held her breath, knowing what was coming, thrilled at the prospect of being a witness to it. She pulled back to give them a bit of privacy, even if she had no intention of withdrawing entirely from a scene of such great importance to her very favorite fictional couple.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” Killian said, taking her hand. “I should have told you what I did to your grandfather all those years ago, and I should never, never have even considered running away.

Jen noticed the tears in Emma’s eyes, her watery smile as she looked up at him. “It’s okay. I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to tell me the truth. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She turned away, trying to pull him with her, but he held his ground. “No,” he said, “no, there’s something I have to do before I get pushed into another portal and this time, I’m gonna do it the right way.”

Killian reached into his jacket pocket, wincing with the pain the movement caused his bruised body. He pulled out the engagement ring and Jen noticed how brilliantly it shown in the light of the Christmas tree behind them.

“Swan,” he continued "I know that you face an uncertain future, but there’s one thing I want you to be certain of–that I will always, always be by your side.” He sunk to one knee gazing up at her with every ounce of the love and adoration he felt for her. “So, Emma Swan, what do you say? Will you marry me?”

While normally not nearly as exuberant as Krystal, it was only with great difficulty that Jen restrained herself from squealing. The scene had been beautiful and romantic when she’d watched it on her TV screen–multiple times–but being there, in person–there were no words.

And then when Emma got to her knees beside him, took his face in her hands, gave him her yes and then kissed him tenderly, there was no way Jen could have held back her ecstatic sigh.

Neither Emma nor Killian, who were thoroughly engrossed with each other and cocooned in their love nor anyone else in the room heard or noticed as the snow swirled one last time to transport Jen back to the cabin.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#cs fanfiction #cs christmas reruns #girls' trip fairytale ending #jen's tale #my fanfiction

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calamitoustide · 22 days ago

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For the ask game tell me things about remus pls !!

ask game

hiii! you also get a little web weave too because i really wanted to make one and couldn't help myself!

How I feel about this character: I love him I am shaking him in a snowglobe in my top five marauders characters for sure

All the people I ship romantically with this character: James is probably my first-person and then Sirius too other than that I don't put him with anyone else but also I could probably be talked into anyone. I've seen him shipped with Frank which could be something I could see it. Just not Regulus I can't do Regulus.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: James <3 he's all I need!

My unpopular opinion about this character: He would under no circumstances be close to Regulus Black in any capacity which isn't really about Remus but like... it is at the same time. I also think too much of Remus revolves around Sirius it might just be because I'm over in jegulus world but everything I hear about Remus includes Sirius. I don't know if these things are unpopular it's just the first things I've thought of.

my OTP: Wolfstar I like moonchaser better I'm more interested in them but I don't see them staying together forever

headcannon: That man is so touch-deprived but his love language isn't physical touch and everyone knows that so no matter if they're physical with the rest of the group they aren't with him so it takes him a second when someone leans their head on his shoulder but then he just melts into it.

#yeah the headcannon was because i was thinking about moonchaser im always thinking about moonchaser #remus lupin #ask game

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santaverse · 2 months ago

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That Familiar Feeling... (pt 3)

Quickly throwing on his coat, North reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his snowglobes. He tossed the trinket forward, causing a small vortex to open up.

“ D-DON’T YOU KNOW WHEN TO QUIT, YOU MORTAL FOOL?! “ The Christmas Phantom was still being pursued by the mysterious Superhero Santa. He tried saying all sorts of threats to shake the deluded Santa Claus, but nothing worked.

“ NEVER!! “ The spandex wearing Santa replied. “ SuperKlaus is a FORCE of nature! He is the WINTER BREEZE within the North Pole! He is the- OOF!! “

Suddenly, SuperKlaus collided with North, who now stood in front of him, thanks to the power of his magical snowglobe. The guardian simply looked down at him with a smirk.

“ Nothing gets past the belly! “ He chuckled, then turned to the disgruntled Santa. “ Are you okay, Phantom? “

The hooded Santa grumbled.

“ WH- NO I AM NOT! I WAS CHASED FOR FAR TOO LONG! “ He sinisterly rubbed his hands. “ NOW, HOLD THAT DELUDED FOOL STILL WHILE I BANISH HIM FOR HIS CRIMES!! “

“ That won’t be necessary. “ Super Santa replied with a raised brow. He knelt towards SuperKlaus and gave a worried look. “ Let’s just see if our new friend is alright… “

North nodded, then turned to see how the others were fairing.

“ I’M THE EASTER BUNNY!! HEEHEHEEEEE!! “

“ No you’re not!! “ Nicholas responded. “ P-Please stop jumping! We’re gonna get you down… somehow!! “

Reason scratched his head from underneath his hat.

“ How are we gonna do that, son? “

“ I-I-I don’t know!! Uh, j-just give me time to think and- “

Suddenly, the muscular Santa appeared from behind the two.

“ Oh Mister Bunny!!! “ He shouted up. “ I’ve got a big juicy carrot right here for yooooou!! “ He waggled his gloved finger and smirked.

Nicholas and Reason gave a confused look to each other, then to the new Santa.

“ Who are- What are you doing? “ Nicholas asked. “ If you do that he’s going to- “

“ CARROTS?! THE EASTER BUNNY LOVES CARROTS!!! HUHUHUH, WHEEEE!! “ The faux Easter Bunny immediately hopped from the chandelier.

“ JUMP!!!! “ Nicholas gasped. “ W-We can’t just catch him!! We need a blanket! No, some mattresses! Some snow! Uh, uhhh, uhhh… “

Reason stared over to the Muscular Santa. The man was holding his arms out confidently. The western Santa raised a brow, then put a hand on Nicholas’ shoulder.

“ Hold on, Nicholas. Let’s see what our new friend does here. “

“ Mister Reason, no! We can’t just expect him to- “

“ HYYYAH!! “ Just like that, the strong Santa Claus caught the faux Bunny Santa in his hands. “ Ooh, he’s much lighter than I thought! “

Nicholas was flabbergasted.

“ Wooooah… How did you do that? “

“ Oh this is nothing, really! “ He shrugged. “ Once you've stopped a truck with your bare hands, catching a guy is child’s play. “

Nicholas blinked a few times. “ O-Okay…!! “

“ Well then, if you two excuse me, I’m going to give this Santa to that big Santa- the one with the tattoos. “

The Muscular Santa hoisted the Bunny Santa onto his shoulder, then turned around, searching for the others.

“ Oh dear… O-Oh dear… Oh dear… “

Knees trembling, Jim slowly walked through the chaos of the workshop. He winced at the toy robots chasing the Yetis, gasped at the Santas who were stuck underneath piles of teddy bears, and whimpered at the Santas he could clearly recognize who were trapped in wrapping paper.

“ F-Fred… Slim Santa… Action Santa… S-Scott… Klaus… oh dear…. H-h-hoh dear… “

It wasn’t long until Jim was near him- the Santa that was at the center of all this chaos. The amnesiac Santa immediately began to hyperventilate.

“ I can’t do this… I-I can’t… “

He grabbed his head, then looked up to the other Santa. But as he stared at this new Santa, something seemed… off.

As the mysterious Santa stood with his hands outpouring magic, his eyes were wide, his mouth was hung open, and he appeared very tense. Whoever this Santa Claus was...

He was absolutely terrified.

Jim’s breathing became calmer as he watched this stranger stand petrified. He knew he had to help.

“ U-Um… “ Jim found the courage to speak up as he inched closer. “ H-H-Hello there… Are you… okay? “

The other Santa Claus remained motionless. He didn’t even look at Jim. After a few silent moments however, he spoke.

“ …I-I don’t know. “

“ Y-You’re using too much of your magic… “ Jim motioned towards the others. “ It’s causing a mess- “

The other Santa interrupted Jim.

“ …I don’t know h-how to stop… “

Jim lowered his eyebrows.

“ ...O-Oh. I’m sorry. “ He took a beat, then asked. “ Um… What’s your name? “

“ My… name? “

“ Y-yes, what is your name? You’re a Santa Claus, s-so do you have a name? “

“ Santa… Who? “

#into the santaverse || ( drabble post! )#[ only one more after this!!! ]#santa... who? || ( jim! )#guardian of wonder || ( north! )#forgotten adonis || ( santa w/ muscles! )#VENGEANCE OF A MALL SANTA || ( the christmas phantom! )#apprentice and successor || ( nicholas! )#santa of the frontier || ( reason! )#christmas crusader || ( super santa! )#confused crusader || ( superklaus! )#amnesiac antics || ( oddball santa! )#slyfallen santa || ( santa who! )

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altschmerzes · 1 year ago

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i just wanted to say the way you write roy… weeping crying shaking you like a snowglobe it is. So Good. like he cares he’s desperately trying not to care he’s desperately trying to Show that he Cares he has no idea what he’s doing he needs to be useful in some way at all times or he explodes… like. Screams. You Write Him So Well. he isn’t even my chosen blorbo and every time i read something you write from his pov i lose my mind a little. okay that’s all love u byeeeee <3

aaaaaAAAAAUUUGH you see characterization is. so, so important to me and this is like. i am holding this message close and hugging it tight thank you so much..... that is Exactly what sort of a person he is to me and i'm so SO beyond pleased to hear that my take on roy is one that resonates for you - even if he's not your chosen blorbo XD. i love writing his pov so much it's honestly one of my fave povs to be in. he's so...... there's so much to him i just wanna put him in a jar and shake him around and i'm so thrilled that the results of that ring true to you :') seriously thank you again this is. augh.

#gav gab #NICE TO MEEEE #gav answers #fic testimonials #i am always so so so anxious all of the time about my characterization #no matter what the 'he would not fucking say that' posts haunt me and im like #WOULD HE? IS THIS OKAY? AM I DOING OKAY? IS IT TERRIBLE? ETC-

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domesticated-feral · 11 months ago

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2 for teen wolf

and the shipping asks, 20 for scackson

Teen Wolf + 2. ..my three favorite characters and why I love them so much.

EZ number one is the one, the only, Jerkson Bitchmore, loml - lizard on my leg. he just latched onto me one day in 2021 and i havent been able to pry him off since.

I guess the whole secretly insecure jock archetype resonated with me in some way. I totally get his need to be absolute perfect at lacrosse because I was the same in the peak of my swimming career before I had to forcibly tone down my obsession with my timings and stuff 'cause I was suffering too much for my own good. the dedication to obsession pipeline is a slippery slope and i was skiing down it at top speeds :/

number two rn is scott because scottuary got me feeling hyped!!

but also scott is such a good character, he's someone i could and do take inspiration from. and gosh, i love scott mccall!!!!!! <3 <3 <3

number three would be derek!

i just wanna put him in the microwave and watch him spin around slowly right now. that's all. oh wait, i wanna write something in his pov again. i love writing derek pov fics. (especially scerek with derek pov, absolute chef's kiss writer's keysmash)

Scackson + 20. …how and when they should get/should have gotten together.

im a firm s1 scackson should've happened believer. like that obsession jackson had with scott should have either 1. awakened the bi in him or 2. he had known he's been bi and his bi-ness does the most bi thing ever and turned his obsession into a crush.

also big scackson hc is that jackson is scott's bi awakening (hc may contradict since i also have this sentiment with sciles, scerek, etc etc but whatever, these are my emotional support headcanons)

so me being a sucker for secret relationships also puts that in the mix along with jackson first off giving his reasoning for getting into all of this with scott as just a way to 'keep scott in check' bwahahha no. the exact opposite is happening where scott is keeping jacky boy in check.

BUT, im also a sucker for post-canon rekindlements so i would also be quite chuffed with a unsaid crush from either party in the start of the series that gets requited when they're proper adults urghhhhh the past history of it all *shakes this imaginary scenario like its a snowglobe*

#scackson ilysm let me write you over and over and over again pls #Scott McCall #Jackson Whittemore #Derek Hale #loml - lizard on my leg #Scackson #Teen Wolf #feral says things #thank you for the ask!!!

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krikeymate · 1 year ago

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For song suggestion things because this just came on shuffle and I’m sat here crying at 2am thinking about Tara.

Ethan Jewell - Snowglobe

I'm slamming you against a wall. Don't even talk to me about Ethan Jewell man. His music really enhances my depression. I listen to him all the time.

Snowglobe is SUCH a Tara song.

Imagine you're in a snowglobe, right? / And all these people keep coming and shaking you around / It's above, below you, and then you're on the ground, the snow flutters around / Searching for a soft place to land -> Tara feels trapped. In this town, in this family. She's stuck while everyone around her can just... leave. Her life, it feels like a circus act, a spectacle for people to gossip on. They're always whispering about her, about poor Tara with the hard life, with the shitty family. This is her childhood. She's protected, put in a bubble, a little isolated and only seen from afar. An accessory for her father, a trinket for her mother, something to be cherished by her sister.

The person stares and appreciates, but not for a tad / Bit later they begin to shake more violently, and you begin to trip less valiantly / And then it all comes crashing down -> As she gets older, pity becomes more questioning. People expect more, they want to know more. They want more from her. But she has no one to hold on to. No hand to help guide her through this, through growing up. Sam doesn't want to talk to her anymore, she's pulling away and she's always so angry. The world becomes a little darker, a little colder, and then Sam's gone.

You wake up in a cold sweat, it's 3 am, and you're still depressed / Why is this happening, where did I go wrong / Is God angry at me / Or am I just another sad song / Another sad, sad song /Just another sad, sad, sad, sad, song -> What did she do to deserve this? To be so alone. Was she not worth staying for? Did she drive them away? Why wasn't she good enough.

Cause here we are again in this endless fucking snow globe / Round and round we're shaken, stared at like an alien probe / The snow's overwhelming, defeating every sound / Please, giant human, can you just drop me and smash me to the ground -> Every day it's the same. Life just becomes a series of repetitive motions. Smile, pretend to be happy, pretend like the heart inside her chest isn't held together with tape. Go to school, laugh with her friends, come home to an empty house. She wishes it would just stop. That something would change. Anything.

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #fandom music tag #why do I regularly trigger myself? because nothing i do matters. no matter what positive changes i try to instill it leaves me feeling empt #because it changes NOTHING. i'm still depressed. i'm still a loser with no future and no prospects. reliant on the people around me.#but the people around me don't make me happy. they just make me anxious and stressed. i have to put on a mask and pretend to be someone els #and i am so so tired #but anyway ya'll should really listen to this guy cause his music is a vibe and really just cuts straight through to your heart

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lem-argentum · 2 years ago

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holds out my hands with him in them

#lem text #📸 gold and bones <3 #puts him in a snowglobe shakes him around <3 #<- i’ve looked into trying to do this before.. you can make homemade snowglobes.. <3 #if i made a clay figure of him or something in his tundra outfit the snow would be fitting..!!

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imaginesbymonika · 3 years ago

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Mischief and Bagels |Prologue

A humor B99 x Marvel Crossover.

Plot: Loki fleed Asgard and he is now roaming the earth. Only the mightiest heroes on earth could stop him- with the help of the world's mightiest detective (in his opinion), who knows the streets of Brooklyn like the back of his hand.

Characters: Y/N x various marvel characters, Y/N x The Squad of the 99, might some Y/N x Matt Murdock and Y/N x Jake Peralta who does his best at flirting.

masterlist

A/N: no one’s dead, infinity war and end game didn’t happen, everyone’s fine <3

Song to listen to while reading:

"Are you sure, I'm at the right place?", a young y/h/ed woman asks, as she swivels around on the sidewalk. She eyes the detectives and police officers that make their way past her in confusion.

"Yeah, Y/N, for the millionths time, you are.", Tony Stark, who is on the other side of the line responds: "I can see you through the security cameras, by the way." Y/N perks up in search of the lens. "Now, please- turn around." A soft sigh leaves her lips before she does as she's told.

"That's the NYPD building.", the y/h/c woman reports.

"Yeah, I know.", Tony's voice is fatigued, and judging by the way it gets cut off every few seconds he is slapping himself with the phone. "Are you sure, I'm-".

She can pretty much sense, how Tony runs a hand down his face:" At the right place? For fucks sake- Yes! Now would you please go inside to the third floor, and ask for Captain Holt. He will explain everything to you. Steve will likely show up in an hour or two."

Jake Peralta, who is sitting at his desk absently stares into the small snowglobe he's holding in his hands. For the past couple of hours (days if he was being honest) he has done nothing but that... shaking the ornament and eyeing how the tiny snowflakes fall on top of the roof of the gingerbread house.

The last weeks have been frustrating, something has been happening in Brooklyn lately. Something big, if not huge- and SHIELD told the whole NYPD, that they weren’t permitted to act on it until further notice. Which basically meant never.

They've been put on time out.

"Dude.", a voice lets out, and without looking up he moans in response.

"Not now Rosa, can't you see that I’m unbelievably busy?" "Dude!"

The detective takes a deep breath before he abruptly turns his head in the direction of his friend. Only to make eye contact with Y/N Y/L/N. As in Avenger's Y/N. As in "Killer Queen". As in his dream girl. "Hi.", she says and looks down at him, an inelegant smile emerging on her lips. Jake opens up his mouth and tries his best to answer, but when he realizes that no words are coming out, he shuts it again.

The hero in front of him lifts her eyebrow: "I am looking for a Captain Holt, I was wondering if- wait, are you okay?" Y/N glances at him, with visible worry on her face. In the last few seconds, Jake hadn't blinked. Not once. The young woman stares at him for a brief moment, before she turns around: "I think we might need a doctor- I'm not really sure."

"Nah, don’t mind him. He‘s okay.", Rosa answers and nods her head towards a door: "That’s Holt's office, just knock." Y/N flashes her a sharp smile, before turning once more to look at Jake: "Get well soon, I- I guess."

He watches her as she walks away. Y/N knocks at Holt‘s door, before slipping into it. "Damn, Jake.", Rosa states and sits down on top of his desk. "Smooth." But her friend doesn't react to her comment, instead, he turns to his friend Charles Boyle. "Did you see that?!"

"If I saw that? I made a picture of your interaction in my head. If you two ever get married, I have proof of the minute she fell in love with you. Right-", he points against his temple: "Here.".

Jake stares at his friend, and his smile slowly fades: "You could have simply said yes, you know." Charles nods and holds both his thumbs up.

"Did I fall asleep on my desk, or was that really Y/N?!", Jake asks, his eyes lightening up. Rosa nods: "Yep, pretty cool!"

"I heard, she fought aliens in space." He leans back in his chair, pointing his finger towards the ceiling. Amy Santiago, who sits at the other table rolls her eyes before she proceeds with her paperwork: "Didn't they all do that?" “Yeah, but I just know that she did it like in a really cool way, you know- with her powers and all." He makes a couple of hand gesticulations, acting like he's hurling energy orbs around the room.

His performance gets interrupted when the door to Holt's Office opens and the Captain steps out, followed by the young Avenger. "Emergency meeting in five- everyone meets in the briefing room!"

#b99 #b99 imagine #b99 fic #jake peralta x reader #jake peralta #rosa diaz #amy santiago #charles boyle #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #mcu #marvel #matt murderdock #steve rogers #iron man #Tony stark #crossover #Spotify

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seraph-writes · 3 years ago

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shakes u around like a snowglobe /aff

You already know I’m here for that Rendog Content <3

Headcanons for first time?? With a bit of knotting!! as a treat!!

- 🪶 Anon

❝ RENDOG FIRST TIME HEADCANONS ❞

Hello feather anon beloved <3 Ren content you want then you shall get! Sorry for any spelling mistakes PFFF, we're a little all over the place rn.

Includes: Knots, Marking, Slight Breeding Kink, slight implications of petplay?

• As soon as he'd find out this was going to be your first time? Oh the man would be so respectful, he'd make sure there was a safe word between the two of you if he ever got too much, he'd absolutely go over boundries with you too, he wants to make your first time as enjoyable and good as possible, he will keep a mental list of things you like, things you don't like ect. Puppy just wants to put your comfort first.

• Of course! he is absolutely flattered and honoured that you want your first time to be with him! His tail is wagging like mad, and he is making it his mission to make you feel SO good. He's gonna make sure this is gonna be all you think about, until your legs are able to walk again.

• Of course, Ren being a werewolf he absolutely wants to mark you up. wherever you're comfortable with he's gonna leave gentle (or hard if you'd like) bitemarks and hickeys, He'll absolutely leave some on your thighs, the feeling of you squirming as he bites the more sensitive areas is heaven for his ears and eyes, just knowing he's completely undoing you just by marking you as his drives him wild.

• You bet he's got one hell of a knot, of course he'll be gentle at first since this is your first time, but let him and he'll show no mercy in thrusting into you and filling you up to the brim, growling and keeping you close to him so you can take every inch of him and he can make sure you're all filled up all nice and pretty just for him. Just knowing you're able to take him so pretty with such pretty moans coming out of you is the highlight of his day. Be ready to stay for a long while, not only does he have stamina like no tomorrow but it'll take a while for him to calm down and be able to let you get free of his knot.

• Again, your first time is important to him, so expect him to constantly ask you if you're okay, if you need anything or if you'd like to take a break. He knows he can sometimes get too into it and your feelings matter to him.

• If you're nervous about everything? he'll make sure to make it a little goofy, he'd crack a few jokes here and there, anything at all to ease your nerves, he'll take it soft and gentle, anything to make sure you're okay and don't need to be nervous.

• The aftercare KING, anything you want to feel less sore and he will get it done, massages? yes right away! Food? coming right up! a bath? Consider it done! Cuddles! Aye aye ! He'll never leave you hurt or sore, if he bites too hard for your liking or in general then he'll happily play doctor and make sure it heals quick and helps you make it feel better.

• If you want to take a bit of control during your first time if you're that kinda person, give him head, Ren will absolutely melt. He'll be whining and squirming in seconds, he'd almost be drooling at the feeling, ready to do whatever you want. You want him to be on his knees for you? Want him to call you a certain nickname? well this is your ticket to that, Ren adores giving, but him receiving anything in return? Oh he's putty in your hands, call him a good boy or a good puppy and it's over, he's at your beck and call.

• Ren is a very open-minded person, he'd be down to try whatever it is you want too for your first time, he believes the whole "Don't knock it til you try it" saying, he's happy as long as you're happy, whatever you want then he'll try his best to please, he's the ultimate package, he can be whatever kind of top of sub you want, and he'll happily oblige.

#🐺.chr #🪶 anon #Feather anon #Ghoulish Requests

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reidecorating · 4 years ago

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Like Ivy

Request: “Being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me.” and “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you.” I’m thinking something Christmas-y with Reid - Anon

A/N: I do apologise for procrastinating on getting this out, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t terrible. Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, my present to you is the longest fic I have ever written. I had so much fun writing it so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! Happy holidays <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Best friends yearning & best friends pining - but make it festive. Entails Secret Santa, the classic penny behind the ear and waltzing.

Warnings: Fluff, proceed with caution :)

The Cathedral of Santa Maria. Spencer had finally put his finger on it. The small glass dome encasing a building, with doors small enough to allow entrance to ladybugs who may practice religion, adorned unmistakable timely Italian architecture and ornamented pine trees, all dusted with flitters of snow. For the past week, Spencer had caught sight of the trinket each time he wandered past where it sat, as one of the few other decorations surrounding the name plate displaying in gold Times New Roman ‘DAVID ROSSI’, on the often unoccupied desk. So, he gathered that it must be important. Filing away his final stack of paperwork for the night, a silver paperclip glistening in the artificial light, Spencer made a mental note to ask the man about it the next morning. Standing from his usual office chair slouch, he stretched his limbs, feeling a series of clicks in his back as he regained his posture, only to bend back down in reach of his satchel. He made his way home giving tight lipped smiles of encouragement to the few agents sprinkled about the room, working over time. Haphazardly, he pushed the arrow pointing downwards with a cardigan clad elbow. As if on queue, his phone buzzed to the simultaneous ‘ding’ of the lift.

I understand you’re nocturnal, but I hope you’ve gotten home by now! If not, text me when you do so, safely :)

He didn’t realise he was grinning from ear to ear until an aggravated looking bureau member from a floor above, evidently itching to get home, cleared his throat to gain Spencer’s attention. “Sorry,” he grimaced. Noticing the button for the ground floor having already been lit up, Spencer stepped inside and stood as far away, as was possible in the small space, from the rankled looking man and his briefcase. A dimple appeared on his cheek as he remembered you, two years, three months and seventeen days ago - not that he was counting - offering him cherry scented hand sanitiser from a small bottle, and, only after he’d nodded, gently grasping the tips of his fingers to steady his shaking hand as you poured the gelid liquid into his palm. The act was so pure he chose against telling you that while alcohol based hand sanitisers reduce the number of microbes on hands in some situations, they don’t eliminate all types of germs - making soap and water the most effective way to go. Since then, you occupied his thoughts in the same way ivy grew along bricks of long forgotten towers. In abundance, in the most beautiful way. He turned his attention back to the tiny mobile he was holding.

On my way right now. I have a date with microwaved leftovers at midnight, can’t miss it. Will do.

The next time his phone buzzed was when he’d dozed off on the way home, using the concave pane of a metro window as a shoulder to lean against. He waited until his feet landed on the uneven pavement of his stop to open it.

Tomorrow you have a date with a properly cooked meal, at mine. What is it that Hotch always says? That’s an order, not a request.

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened as he read what you had written, his brain immediately carrying variables in an effort to slow it down by convincing himself that friends make each other feel this way. However, when he counted the rose flush on his cheeks and nose whenever you were around, the looks you shared which said more than words ever could and the way you held each other nearer than the distance between the sky and the ocean where they met at the horizon after close calls and mentally grappling cases, it didn’t quite equate to being just friends. Dwindling leaves clinging to their branches shuddered as scissors of winter wind pruned the trees scattered about. Spencer’s pale hands slid into his coat pockets, hiding from frostbite. On the short walk to his apartment, he admired the twinkling lights on either side of the streets, feeling as if he were a plane which had just landed upon a runway in the night. Candy canes, reindeer and eccentric portrayals of Santa Claus glowed amongst bushes and on porches, making Spencer wish you were there to see them too. It wasn’t rare he found himself wanting to share everything he did with you. Pretty things made him think of you. Eventually reaching the familiar building, tiredly, he followed wreaths and holly all the way to his undecorated apartment door.

You? Cooking? I’ll bring a fire extinguisher. Home safe. Goodnight, sleep well.

He kept his promise, despite seeing the time was nearing to one in the morning and being doubtful you were still awake.

Hilarious :/ and I will, knowing you’re alive. Goodnight Spencer :)

Spencer coveted for nights when he could tell you goodnight from right beside you, perhaps with his hand draped around your waist while yours tugged at his hair. He wanted to fall asleep to the scent of your skin and whatever soap you’d picked up from the store that week, not the quiet hum of his vintage fan. His microwave beeped, acting as an alarm to return down to earth from the clouds, presenting him with far less than gourmet potatoes. Realising he would take your burnt cooking over this any day, he settled for a sandwich.

∗∗∗

“Did you know that snowglobes were invented in France. They were first introduced as ‘water globes’ at the Paris Expedition Fair in 1889, and, to no surprise, the first snow globe actually contained a tiny scaled Eiffel Tower covered in snow,” Spencer lectured, almost putting the two agents who had struggled enough to get out of bed, back to sleep. The days were slow. Annual leave for a majority of the bureau was looming nearer and files kept them busy as the jet gathered dust. “Glad to hear the French contributed something, other than their opprobrium of a language, to this world,” Emily complained, from her desk. “Well, baguettes… Croissants, parachutes… Aspirin-“ Spencer was halted by the unimpressed look on Rossi’s face, as he hovered on the edge of Spencer’s table, a bushy eyebrow raised in vexation. “What’s with all this talk of snowglobes, kid?” The older man squinted at Spencer, craning his neck towards this, the way he did to suspects behind the glass of an interrogation room. “Since you brought it up,” he smiled smugly, swivelling in his chair from one side to another. “What’s the story behind the Santa Maria sitting on your desk?”

“Yeah, the eighties have come and gone, Rossi, isn’t it a bit late for repentance?” Emily let out a sly smile, walking over to also lean against Spencer’s desk with a steaming mug in hand. “It was a gift from my grandmother, handmade, I take it out every Christmas to help get in the festive mood,” Rossi explained. “Also, that was very funny Emily but now… I can’t help but recall what Garcia told me about the time you got a little tipsy and licked peanut butter off J-”

“No one told me it was National Congregate Around Spencer Reid’s Desk Day today.” The three agents turned their heads in unison to find who the voice belonged to, Spencer’s breath hitching at the sight of you. You stood before them, an upturned magician’s hat in hand, semi-curious as to what the ending of Rossi’s sentence would have been if it weren’t for you interrupting. “Y/N!” Emily waved, flashing a smile. “You’ve taken an interest in magic and didn’t even think to tell me,” Spencer feigned a hurt look. “Spencer, I knew magic wasn’t for me after I did the card trick you taught me, wrong . Six times,”

“It was seven. Plus, the student is never as good as the teacher,” he suppressed a smile. “Or maybe the teacher just isn’t good,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s a little hostile, someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Spencer defended himself, putting his hands in the air. His eyes held a glimmer of mischief as if to say ‘we know something that you don’t’ when they met yours. Emily’s jaw dropped. “That… Didn’t sound suggestive at all,” Rossi pursed his lips in concern, looking back and forth between the pair of furiously blushing agents. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” you winked at Rossi. Basking in the radiance of your laughter washing over him like the sun, Spencer chuckled along. “Anyway, what’s with the hat?” Emily questioned. “This,” you shook it by its brim, “contains the remaining names for this year’s Secret Santa, courtesy of Miss Penelope Garcia. I was just ordered to present it to you all. She calls it being her ‘little elf’ - I call it unpaid manual labour - but pick a name, any name,” you encouraged. You watched as Spencer’s tongue comically poked out as he eagerly concentrated on picking a name, elbow bent at a worrying angle. “I just want to say that every time I get a gift that isn’t alcohol, I’m slightly disappointed,” Emily turned to you as it was her turn to fish for a piece of paper. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you grinned at her. You watched Rossi’s expression as his eyes skimmed the name in his hands. “Oh, and Rossi, yes, there’s a budget,” you called over your shoulder, causing them to laugh as you gave them a wave. Slinking away from the comity of the bullpen, back to Mrs Claus’ lair, you retrieved the only remaining name. You paused in the hallway to double check if you’d read the glittery scrawl correctly. Spencer Reid. It was just your luck. You were prepared to engage in hand to hand combat with Garcia, seeing her office looming ahead. “Penelope. I hate you. I love you,” you kissed her cheek, placing the top hat on her curls, “but I hate you.” She recognised the tone, beaming at the implications. “Thank me later, beautiful!” She called after you as you rushed away to get started on completing the mountains of reports you had been avoiding thus far.

The day had come to a close, a headache making a home for itself in your head. Scanning the, now, mostly empty room, you caught sight of the back of Spencer’s uncombed head. Double checking that not enough people were around to be reprimanded by HR for misconduct, you inconspicuously made your way over to him snaking your arms around his neck and burrowing your nose in its crook. “Hi,” he chuckled, amused at the sudden affection, his unoccupied hand immediately reaching to grasp one of your wrists. Spencer had followed your strict, but coffee induced, orders earlier that morning telling him not to distract you unless, one, he was dying, or two, something was on fire, because you were determined to finish the numerous write-ups you had left until today. “Hi,” you mumbled into him. “Ready to go home?” You asked sweetly, arms still slung around him, pulling your face away to get a glimpse of his soft features. Your heart stopped for a little while, at the beauty of him. He was breathtaking. You refrained from tracing the small bump of his nose with your own, and settled for admiring the five o’clock shadow presaging a hidden jaw. The part of Spencer that craved domesticity was enchanted by your simple question, the word home resounding in his head, acting as an old film reel for projections of images of the two of you together; leaving work together, going home together. Little did he know that, as if through an unnoticed telepathy, just a few inches away, the same images occupied your own head. Coming home to an empty apartment had become tedious. You allowed yourself to give into your daydreams of returning home to Spencer - with Spencer. Spencer, with his warm eyes and words that drip like syrup from his tongue. You wanted nothing more than to revel in him filling your senses once the cologne from the day had been washed away, and hear him harp on about the history of mattresses, attempting to retain questions to ask him later in your memory bank, as you capitulate to sleep. “As a matter of fact, I finished most of what I had to do last night so I am ready to go… home,” he tested out the word, to which you had assigned a brand new connotation, feeling a flutter in his chest. You quickly rescinded your arms as you peripherally detected a flock of agents returning from what you assumed was an afternoon break. Spencer suddenly missed your body on his. Having already packed your things, feeling accomplished noticing that the pile of folders on your desk had shrunk significantly, you packed Spencer’s things to save him time, aimlessly throwing the strap of his satchel over his head for him once he had ungracefully shoved his arms into a blazer. “Hang on,” you gently pulled at his shoulders to meet your height, carefully fixing his tag and creased collar. The blush on his face, at the feel of your cold fingers brushing the nape of his neck, said everything he didn’t - save a meek, “Thank you.” You smiled at him in return. “Wait,” his eyes widened, “I need this,” he mumbled, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a large black bag, decorated in gold intricacies. He didn’t explain it, but you knew that if Spencer had something to say, he would come out and say it, just all in good time. “Now are you ready?” You eyed the thing curiously, and glanced back at him. “Let’s go,” he motioned his arms in front of him, with a small nod, letting you lead the way.

Afternoon rays of sun fought their way through clouds, battling with the winter air to warm the people mingling outside as you made your way towards the crowded station. “Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, intuitively slipping an arm through his when the sun began to disappear altogether. Your cheeks grew warm as you realised your compromising position, feeling your heart rate return to its usual pace once he relaxed into your touch. “Hm?” He turned to look at you, letting his river coloured eyes unabashedly scan your face. “You look like your mind is far away,”

“What’s on my mind is definitely not very far away,” he said, quietly. That glimmer had returned. You noticed that the crease between his brows had disappeared, indicative that whatever thoughts were rattling through his brain, were good ones. You hummed a smile, content with his contentedness. “So… Hand it over,” he extended a palm a second later. “Hand what over?” You asked, genuinely confused. “A penny,” he said as if it was obvious. You blinked up at him, unfazed by the joke, as he bit his lip provokingly. All of a sudden he stopped walking, eyes still on you. “Just… Hold on a moment,” he whispered, squinting at you as he reached a hand towards your cheek. You remained still, thinking that Spencer had finally lost his mind. “Here it is!” He exclaimed, breaking out into a smile as he retrieved a one cent coin from behind your ear. “What!? You’re kidding! That was brilliant,” you beamed at him, eyes wide in bewilderment. “For a second there I thought you had gone crazy,” you teased. “Magic does that to people,” he nodded, satisfied with how impressed you seemed. “Ah, but alas, you gave me a very ambiguous answer, so I,” you snatched the penny from his fingers, “am entitled to a refund.” Spencer shook his head with a soft smile. “You might need to use that for the bus if we miss the next train,” he informed, hurriedly examining the watch on his upturned wrist.

No trains were missed, that day, the two of you arriving at your door in time for the six o’clock news. “Here, let me take your coat,” you offered, putting it on the small rack beside the door, placing yours adjacent to it. Spencer relished in the warmth of the place, setting his things down. “So, I’m thinking we get a proper meal in us, and then you can help me decorate this dreary place,” you instructed. He wanted to let you know that anywhere you are is far from being dreary, but something told him that was far too sappy, so he settled for a simple, “Sounds good.” He took in the familiar apartment, its walls embellished in old paintings snagged from secondhand stores and books scattered about on almost every horizontal surface, in a certain disorderliness that said, yes it’s messy, but everything has its place. “Also, I hope you know that you’re only leaving in the morning so make yourself at home.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the two of you; you falling asleep at his apartment out of feebleness, him at yours, and more often than not, it involved discarded games of Scrabble as the two of you settled for debating the rules instead of actually playing. Lately, he’d been craving it more and more - and so had you. Spencer would never say no to that offer, but he was taken aback. “But I didn’t pack- I don’t have-“

“Eidetic memory is slipping I see,” you giggled at his flustered state. “I told you, I kept finding toothbrushes, sweaters and socks here every time you left, so I made a drawer full of your things, since you practically live here anyway,”

“An entire drawer? I didn’t think I was missing a whole lot,” he responded, nose tinted red. “I have to water my plants quickly, before I put dinner on, but feel free to shower,” you said, still laughing quietly. “Let me help cook, first. You need someone to disassemble the smoke alarm,” he raised an eyebrow at you. One ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron and half an hour of seasoning a chicken, spilling sweet potatoes and bumping elbows later, the two of you stood back from the counter, you boasting to Spencer about how nothing had turned to ashes, and him pointing out that the oven hadn’t been turned on yet. Soon after, you put the oven on high, humming an indistinguishable carol over the shower that could be heard running from the next room. A warm, tingling feeling overcame you.

By the time you had showered, Spencer stood serving - a well timed and flawlessly cooked - chicken, wearing mitts matching the baggy flannel pyjamas keeping him warm on top of the open oven. “Smells good,” you complimented, slightly startling Spencer. He stood at the small wooden dining table, mouth agape at the sight of you. He was sure his heart was a puddle. “I like your sweater,” he praised. You glanced down slightly confused, shortly realising that your sweater, with its much too floppy sleeves, reaching a little way above your knees, was actually his. “Oh, I’ll wash it and give it back to you at some point,” you said shyly. “I was wondering where it went, but don’t worry about it, the colour looks nicer on you than it does on me,”

“Nonsense, you know that’s not true.” Soon enough, you found yourselves digging in - not before you expressed your gratitude towards food that wasn’t charred for the first time in months. You sat across from each other, your reindeer sock clad feet occasionally tapping his beneath the table. Spencer’s heart was full, marvelling at you from where he sat, wishing this could be something he could experience forever, much preferring it over a stale sandwich. You watched him intently through your eyelashes, chin resting on your interlaced hands while he taught you about how the thalidomide scandal emerging from Germany led to safer drugs in the pharmaceutical industry, the lecture prompted by an article he’d read recently. It continued into getting the dishes cleaned up, his rambling only being interrupted by your intermittent questions which incited further tangents, or requests to pass the tea towel. His voice was a ruffled silken sheet, on which you would like to lay for eternity. Admittedly, you found it difficult to focus on retaining any more information than the odd date, due to being too focused on the way his lips moved to form every word he said, hopelessly enamoured by the overly enthusiastic expressions he made to match the tone of what he was saying. Eventually, he wandered towards the living room as you stacked away the final plate, butterflies still spurring in your stomach from when his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you.

“Spencer Reid effortlessly navigating technology, Christmas miracles really do exist, huh?”

“Actually, I just remembered watching you choose music, instead of paying attention to the road, that one time you drove me to work,”

“I was most definitely paying attention,” you huffed out a laugh, slightly bashful at the thought of him remembering small things you do. “You hit the kerb four times! That was the day I vowed to never let you transport me anywhere,”

“I see your argument, and I raise you with the counter argument: the kerb hit me.” Sitting with his back against the couch, legs sprawled out over the rug beneath your coffee table, Spencer couldn’t hold back his laughter. After watching you disappear into the kitchen, he busied himself with reading the holiday edition of Reader’s Digest laying on the table. He recounted you telling him that you had accidentally drunkenly subscribed to it, and never bothered to cancel the subscription, the first time you’d caught him reading an issue. You emerged a short while later, with drinks in both hands. “Bonjour monsieur, on tonight’s menu, we can either open this Merlot or, drink Capri-suns like the sophisticated adults we are. Your pick,” you said, hiding the juice pouches behind your back and noticeably waving the bottle of wine in front of you. “I have a feeling it isn’t my pick,” he let out a laugh, “so just fill a glass with enough Merlot for two,” you were on your way to get a glass before he had the chance to finish. “Your wish is my command!” You called. Spencer put down his magazine once he saw you rushing towards him with a large glass of wine in hand. “Of course you opt for Christmas Jazz over Mariah Carey,” you teased, hearing the music he’d queued floating from the withering speaker in the corner of the living room. It was the kind of music that would play in the diner of an expensive hotel, you noted. “I can change it if you’d like?” He began reaching for your phone, when you halted him by grasping his arm. “No, it’s good, I like your taste.” Spencer grinned sheepishly, taking the glass from your hand as you sat down beside him.

Hours of conversation and decking the halls with tinsel later, with wine flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes you moved the furniture to cater for your very own dance floor. Carefully, Spencer placed a hand below your ribs, touching you like new glassware, lacing the other with yours. Your unfettered hand, replaced the weight of the world as it rested on his shoulder. You recognised the look on his face as he settled into the close proximity, it was the same look that painted yours when you admired him whilst he failed to notice. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the man you held, making an indistinct halo of golden light appear above his unkempt hair. “I apologise for any damage caused to your feet,” you giggled, struggling to find a rhythm. “Here, follow my lead,” he looked down at your feet. “The Waltz?” Dazzled, you raised an eyebrow, a few seconds after recognising the box-like steps in unison. Spencer tried to focus on anything but your lips, glistening in the dull light, so close to his. “Mhm, I’m not exactly the most co-ordinated-”

“You don’t say?”

“That’s tough talk for someone I’ve seen fall up a flight of stairs,”

“That sounds made up, but as you were saying,” you laughed into his chest. “It’s simple because its a repeating pattern. Did you know that name of the dance comes from the German word waltzen, which means to turn, or to glide? Some say the dance itself comes from the folk music and dances of west Austria, but others debate that it’s a variation of the Volta, from the 16th century,”

“Interesting, makes sense to debate that though. I’m pretty sure volta means ‘a turning’ in Italian - although that’s mostly in reference to the turn of a new thought or idea in sonnets… I’m thinking of Shakespeare,” you chimed in. “Sonnet one-hundred and thirty being a classic example of that,”

“Of course you would know that,” you shook your head in awe, cheeks hurting from grinning too wide. The incandescence of the smile that hadn’t left his face all day was mesmerising, the honeyed expression tied together with the dimples on his cheeks and creases around his eyes. “What would you like for Christmas?” He mumbled, lifting a moment of peaceful silence. “If you pulled my name out of the hat today you’re going to have to be a lot more subtle than that,”

“Unfortunately not,” he pouted. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but I have Rossi,” he whispered the words into your ear, neglecting that no one else was around to hear. “What do you get a man who already has everything money can buy?”

“A new wife,” you joked, causing him to scoff. He studied your visage as you pondered his earlier question, still swaying to the soft piano sounds. “Honestly Spencer, being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me,” you finally answered, tilting your head up at him. Spencer thought his knees would give way. He thought his knees would give way, and he would hit the ground with enough impact to implode through the earth’s crust. In reality, he only stumbled over his feet momentarily, regaining his composure before you noticed him slowly becoming unhinged. “If that’s the case, I wish I’d picked your name,” he managed to utter, breathlessly.

The music which continued to play was drowned out by the sound of steady breathing, you were too caught up in each other to pay attention to the world. Wordless, you looked into his eyes, his actions parallel to yours. “You look beautiful right now,” he sighed. “Of course, you always look beautiful but, you know.” You shook your head, refraining from averting your eyes from his. He wished you believed it, promising himself to never abstain from letting you know until you saw yourself the way he did. “It’s funny you say that, because I was thinking the same thing. About you of course,” you rushed out the last part, realising the potential for miscommunication. “I love seeing you happy,”

“Well, as long as you stick around, you’ll be seeing a lot of that,” he spoke lowly, on the verge of telling you about all the things he felt for you. You hadn’t realised, but you had unconsciously moved closer together. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, lighting a fire inside your lungs, as he took yours away. Spencer saw all of the signs; the signs that this was not usual for a friendship. Maybe, if it weren’t for his defeated battle with fear, and doubt, he would have told you by now that he had fallen desperately for you. Spencer knew there wasn’t a drop of insincerity behind any of the kind words you spoke into him, he understood that you were his person, but he found it difficult enough to comprehend that someone could feel this strongly for someone. So, the implausible idea that someone could feel this way about him, was one he was not even prepared to entertain. “Y/N? I, um,” he tried, wearily. You gave him a soft smile, both tired arms laced behind his neck now as his rested on your waist. He dropped his sword. Once again losing the fight against his unreasonable insecurities, changing his mind at the last second. “I need to give you something,” his demeanour changed and he vanished from your line of vision. Your heart sank, hopes of hearing him say that the love you had for him was requited, fallen. Before you got too lost in your head, he emerged from the doorway with the same black bag you’d been inquisitive of. “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you,” he tucked his lip beneath his teeth. “Spencer…” you trailed off as he handed it to you. You sat yourself on the carpet, patting the spot next to you for him to join. “I thought I should give it to you now, since I’ll be in Vegas for Christmas,”

“Spencer, you really didn’t have to-“

“Go on, open it,” he ignored your humility. You gave him a look as you opened it - it being replaced with a look of elation as you realised what it was. In your hands, you held a scarf, long enough to hit the floor, striped in all your favourite tones. “I had to ask my mom for help with the tassels, but-“

“You took the time to make this? For me?” You exclaimed. Without thought, you draped it around his neck to tug him closer to you, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you so much,” you lauded, refusing to let go of him. “I think it was last winter, we were walking back to our hotel in Minnesota during a case, and you insisted that the both of us use my scarf to keep us warm, because you didn’t have one,”

“Ah, I remember that, except it ended up being one of the top ten worst disasters in U.S. history due to the height difference, and we both ended up falling face-first into the snow,” you giggled, recalling the way you had used up most of the hotel’s hot water afterwards. “Exactly,” he matched your expression, “seeing as you still haven’t bought one for yourself, even though we lose eighty percent of our body heat through our head and neck, I thought I would take matters into my own hands,”

“Well, I love it. You’ll have to tell your mother I said thank you and that I’m sending my love,” you finally dropped your arms from around him, out of fear of crushing his shoulders.

Once the zeroes had lined up on the twenty-four clock, Spencer sat where he usually resided on your bed, ardently admiring you as you folded away his gift. “Wait! Spencer close your eyes! Please!” You squeaked, immediately shutting the cupboard doors, realising your unwrapped present for him was hidden within. “Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes now sealed shut. “I didn’t want you to see what I’d bought for Secret Santa,” you let out, too exhausted to form a coherent excuse. “We only got those names today - well, yesterday, now - so how did you manage to-”

“Shoot,” you cursed to yourself, knowing his unintentional profiling would lead him to the conclusion sooner or later. Spencer’s eyes slowly opened. “Okay, let’s say if, hypothetically, I had intended on giving you something for Christmas anyway, but then drawn your name today, would you, hypothetically, be able to act surprised when you receive it from me at work?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I would?” He squinted at you, stifling laughter. Your hair was slightly messy and your drowsy eyes were visible to Spencer even without his contacts in. He thought you just looked so adorable, wanting nothing more than to hold you and share your warmth. “Anyway, come to bed,” he beckoned, his voice gravelly, giving way for the day. Obliging, you shuffled towards your bed before sliding your cold feet beneath the covers. Spencer turned to face you, resting his cheek on an upturned palm. “Sorry for ruining the surprise,” you whispered, tucking the duvet under your chin, bright eyes looking through him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, treasuring the sight before him. There had been a shift in the air between the two of you. Spencer held the wine accountable, but he could sense that you felt it too, a level of intimacy that you had not quite reached during previous nights like this. “Come closer, I need to exploit your body heat while I can.” Spencer listened to your instruction, inching nearer to you, his heart rate so high he was sure you could feel it when you nuzzled your head into his chest. “Goodnight,” you felt his chest rumble. “Hang on, the night isn’t over yet,” you mumbled, “talk to me,”

“About?” He asked, amused by your grit to avoid sleep. “Anything you want,” you yawned. “You’re sleepy,” he stated, coaxing you into getting some shut eye. When you tilted your head up and continued to blink at him, he gave in. “Have you ever wondered why a lot of our most vulnerable conversations happen at night?” You nodded in response. “Well, a study done by the University of Colorado a couple of years ago concluded that natural light from the sun actually regulates your circadian rhythm, or internal biological clock, which standardises your sleep cycle. According to their study, this sleep cycle coincides with sunrise and sunset, meaning that if you regularly expose yourself to sunlight, your body enhances its internal clock to align more closely with the natural light cycle,”

“Based on that,” you contended, words slightly jumbled, “our circadian rhythm would vary between seasons, right? And yours would be different, since you’re a literal vampire, to say... someone who surfs down in Florida because of disparity in sun exposure?”

“Precisely,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’m impressed you’re still paying attention, you look like you’re already dreaming.” Spencer nudged your forehead gently with his own, causing you to breath out a laugh. “Alright, so how does all of that relate to being more vulnerable at night?”

“It relates in the sense that the rise and fall of the sun reflects in our physiological, as well as emotional behaviour. During the day, we’re a lot more active, and at night, we become more relaxed and receptive. Hence, since your mind is at ease, all the thoughts and emotions that might have felt jumbled up during the day become clear, making them a whole lot easier to express,”

“Mhm,” you managed, eyelids growing heavy. “Do you… have anything to say now,” you whispered drowsily, eyes now closed, “that you can’t say during the day?” Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore. He was already so fond of you but as his hand settled to rest around your waist, feeling your warmness, he believed his ribs could collapse from the way he felt inside. As you dozed off, gradually, winter became less cold in his arms and dreamscapes of his tea leaf eyes. “And, she’s asleep,” he whispered, minutes after silence, into your hair, “but to answer your question, yes,” his lips planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, “I love you.” Of course, unbeknownst to him, you weren’t asleep just yet.

∗∗∗

A couple of days went by, and as more time went on, the less certain you became as to whether Spencer had really even said the words, wondering if the whole thing was just a fatigue driven hallucination your lovesick mind had conjured up. Waking up beside him the next morning however, tangled in a warm cocoon of cotton and limbs, had left you feeling giddy, smiling like a fool with heart shaped eyes as he attempted to feed you the waffles he’d made - which the two of you gulped down far too quickly than sanctioned, to avoid being late for work. When you didn’t succeed, and the clock had beaten you by ten minutes, you both wrestled past evocative looks from the rest of the team for the remainder of the day, JJ even singing something about the two of you ‘sitting in a tree’ . The soft, shared, smiles and light brushes of fingertips when he handed you coffee in the mornings left you wanting to concede; let him know that you would walk on burning coal for him, the more logical side of you reminding you that professing your devotion to him over an open case file consisting of a double homicide, three days before Christmas, was far from ideal. Spencer wanted the kind of love only the poets could express. This had become evident the evening you took him to a midnight screening of ‘Un homme et Une Femme’. You recalled leaning into him to translate, catching sight of his welling eyes glimmer in the dim lit theatre. Believing his love should be celebrated, you decided to withhold the unsurfaced feelings a little while longer.

Later that week, you all gathered around the BAU tree, a small framed picture of Derek decidedly hanging from one of its upper branches after Garcia had to be heavily persuaded, and eventually bribed, to not place it at the top, arguing “But he’s my star.” Spencer snuck behind you, subtly placing a hand on your back to glide through and place Rossi’s gift under the tree. “I want to let you know that I’ve been practicing my ‘surprised’ face in the mirror,” he discreetly whispered against your neck, making you roll your eyes. “Okay super sleuths, I know we’re all itching to fly away for a break, but hold your reindeer, because we are yet to kick off our annual Secret Santa,” Garcia excitedly exclaimed, shuffling in with two large sparkling bags. “I thought there was a budget?” Rossi quirked. “Yes, sir,” she looked smug, “for you.” The team shared smiles at Rossi’s perplexed look. “So, who wants to start us off?” Garcia chirped. With that, the festivities were under way. You held tight an abnormally large heat sensitive mug, which you were sure would also reveal a promiscuous image once warm - a gift from Emily, who gave herself away by insisting it would help your caffeine dependency - watching as the others tackled ribbon wrapping paper. You threw an impressed look Spencer’s way, that glint of knowing something the universe doesn’t returning to your eyes, when Rossi opened a small portrait of what looked to be a Venetian cathedral, the Santa Maria to be exact. Once the banter and excited chatter had died down, everyone turned to the recipient of the final gift, neatly labelled Spencer Reid, enveloped in brown paper and tied with deep purple ribbon. Penelope looked as if she were about to pass out. Spencer’s shifting eyes landed on JJ as she mouthed a small ‘you’re up’, causing a smile to tug at his lips when he eyed you gazing at him with the soft look he adored. Your eyes lingered on his hands as they swimmingly untied the mauve knot and tore open the paper to reveal a large leather-bound journal. He examined the old looking thing, trailing his fingers along the convoluted golden details of the artistic interpretation of a moon calendar adorning its umber covers, partially covered by thin leather straps. His mouth was slightly agape, shaking a little at how well you knew him, clumsily catching the matching novelty pen before it slipped out of the wrapping and onto the floor. You had picked it up at a forlorn occult shop after it had caught your eye while looking out of place as it lay surrounded by large crystals. Knowing in an almost divine way that it should belong to Spencer, you had bought it. He couldn’t help but look at you briefly, communicating a silent gratitude. “This is amazing,” he ogled, “I love it.” Your heartbeat was in your throat. He was yet to find out you’d filled the first page for him.

Shouts of Merry Christmas, long hugs and season’s greetings were thrown around the room before, one by one, everyone slowly bade their goodbyes. While helping JJ clear away torn reds and greens of gift wrapping, you caught sight of Spencer, ears and cheeks scarlet, with his nose buried in his new, opened, journal.

“We are asleep until we fall in love," you looked up from Leo Tolstoy’s one thousand page book and recited to me, once. Since you walked into my life, I’ve been wide awake. You know that I’m never far away, but this is for the days you need to let out some of what you hold in, without saying it aloud.

I love you too, Spencer.

Spencer read and re-read the words until he was sure he could recite them like the Lord’s Prayer. It was commonly Spencer who remembered small details and remembered paltry quotations, but this time, it was you. Sitting in the glow of the afternoon sun, one October, he had been reading War and Peace, and couldn’t help but share the line with you as you sat across from him, chewing through a much smaller number of pages and reading a collection of poetry. The woman he had been so captivated by, admiring from afar that day - and all others, felt the same way he did. In disbelief, he began breathing manually. Making sure he was deciphering the cursive lettering correctly, he scanned the page again. While his eyes were definitely not deceiving him, they remained glued to one word. Awake. The havoc caused in his heart by the train of thought hitting him so brutally, rivalled only Gare Montparnasse. You must’ve heard his confession nights ago. It was the only explanation for the ‘I love you, too’. You most definitely were awake. Profiling tendencies overcame him. With his basic background of graphology, he could make out that the last line had been written in fresher ink than all the others, confirming his hypothesis. For the first time in a while, his mind was quiet, the uncertainties which fought to float in, unable to make their way through as if the thee simple words you’d handed him were a barrier for them. He needed to talk to you.

Walking quickly towards the elevator, an overwhelming wave of anxiety crashed over you. You had subconsciously been avoiding Spencer for most of the evening, second-guessing whether or not you’d heard him correctly, whether he’d even meant the words in the way you’d interpreted, wondering what you would do if this friendship were to ever end. However, a more hopeful side of you contended to quiet those thoughts. He had to feel it too. There was no room in which you hadn’t shared a longing look. The feather touches, and dancing. So badly did you want to believe that he thought this too. A slender arm appeared through the closing elevator doors, tugging you back to reality, causing you to jump before quickly pushing the open button. “Spencer! You could’ve lost an arm!” You yelped. “It’s okay, I have two of them,” he huffed. He avoided your eyes for a moment, before inhaling half of the oxygen in the small lift and turning towards you. “I wanted to say thank you, for this,” he held up the book, “it’s gorgeous, and sort of… exactly what I needed - and not just the book itself but what you wrote… inside it,” he nervously looked at you. “Did you- do you mean what you wrote?” His tone of voice syringed into you a drop of hurt. “Spencer, I never want you to think that I don’t mean it,” your let out in a shaky voice, gently grasping his elbow. You visibly saw his body ease, a smitten smile replacing the lip being chewed at. His throat bobbed as he gulped before he spoke again, heartbeat in his ears. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you, Y/N. I don’t want you the way I want a best friend, I want you in a-” he sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist trying to find the words, “I want you in a way that means I want to fall asleep beside you, and wake up to you the next morning, for as long as the sun rises. I want you. I want you - no, need you, the way the tide needs the moon to rise and fall, I want you-” he swallowed, furrowing his brows at his feet, “I want you, like this.” Hazel eyes fluttering shut was the last thing you saw. Large hands lightly caressed your face, one travelling behind your ear, brushing your neck to delicately tangle in your hair. After years of wondering, you finally knew what his lips felt like on yours. His nose bumped yours lightly as you tasted his soft lips, their slight chap reminding you that winter had kissed them first. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, before one settled on his tilted jaw and another hid in his chestnut hair. He felt warm, everywhere you touched setting electricity through him. Even after you pulled apart, his arms remained on either side of your face, holding you like you were fragile. His breath fanned over your face, as you shivered, the fluttering in your stomach unsubdued. The elevator had long reached the ground floor, causing the two of you to bashfully laugh concurrently. You thought to yourself that Spencer’s crimson flush and wide grin was a sight you would lose sleep to gaze at. “All this time, I’ve been missing out on that,” you teased, watching him shyly bite his lip as he waited for you to say something else. “I’m very glad you said all of that because I’m very much in love with you, Spencer Reid, and, if you’ll let me, I want to love you, the way people love in all the books you’ve lent me,” you told him. At that, he was sure his heart was yours, fearlessly. So, making afternoon plans and debating which train to take, neither of you really caring as long as you were in the other’s company, you finally stepped out of the elevator, oblivious to the mistletoe that was hanging within it, but more than mindful of what was to come.

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 1 year ago

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Girls' Trip Fairy Tale Ending--Chapter 5 of 6

Summary: This is my combined birthday gift for Joni ( @jrob64 ), Marta ( @snowbellewells ) and Krystal ( @kmomof4 ). Happy birthday ladies! Four fandom friends are nearing the end of their annual girls’ trip when they’re suddenly visited by Isaac, the author before Henry. He gives them an each a gift–an opportunity to jump into any scene in the storybook they want and fix it. Large focus on CS, although other characters and relationships will be explored. A big shoutout to @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 for betaing!

Word Count: 2420

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew @annaamelll @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @gillie @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch @allyourdarlingswans @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @elfiola

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

Can also be found on: (ao3) (ff.net)

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“So Hook….he killed my father? Okay, that’s a little tough to process.” she heard David say from the kitchen area, and suddenly she knew just exactly where they were in the story. She hung back for a moment, trying to figure out just the right time and the right way to intervene.