#ship » i have a shirt that keeps your smell ; you keep one too in parallel (betty and henry)

[heartsunholy-a]

tag drop for @sensibiliitatem / @wickedpraycrs

[harmony88]

Okay so I saw your post yesterday from journey's end where you said something about how the Doctor wants to snog Rose when she says she built the dimension cannon to come back to him and I just want to read your take on that PRETTY PLEASE!

Oh, anon! How lovely if this had been reality! Let's just say it is. Ask and you shall receive :) Also put this on Ao3 (I'm sure its been done before but this was too fun)

He knew hugging her was going to feel like coming up for air. The amount of times he’d imagined this moment was astronomical and overwhelming, and even so, he was entirely unprepared for what it would feel like to actually hold her again.

He’d come up with a million scenarios. Dreams about falling into the parallel world by accident and scooping her back up and then escaping with mad laughter, holding hands just as the walls were sealing off again; visions of somehow finding her on a beach in this reality with her hair smelling of sea salt and sand. In those, he would wrap her up in a hug that made them both dizzy, and of course, he'd spent an absurd about of time coming up with silly daydreams of just casually stumbling across her in a coffee shop, making some flirtatious comment  that was much too simple for the heartache they had both been through.

Not entirely unlike what he'd said to her today, he supposed, as he had laid dying in her arms.

Long time no see.

It had been far too long. But, by some miracle or utter cleverness, here she was. Her chest was pressed against his, her lips were on his shoulder, kissing him and also breathing him in, and he just held her. The very thought of letting go was more than his hearts or soul could bear, so he didn’t, instead he opened his eyes and looked at Donna, who was giving him a coy smile full of relief and joy. So much swam between their eyes in that single look, and he knew without her having to say that she was thinking about that day so long ago, standing in a wedding dress, watching him try not to cry.

And he knew that right now, she was bloody happy for him.

Her name was Rose.

“I missed you,” he said without meaning to Rose's ear, and his eyes pulled away from Donna to look at her as she loosened her grip around his neck. He swallowed hard, because she was already too far away again and he was already falling, losing himself to her sweet honey scent and beautiful eyes, and the longer he looked at her the harder it was to imagine they’d been apart for as long as they had.

He didn’t know how he’d survived, and he refused to even think about having to go through it all again, not when she was finally here, and when her hands came to rest on his chest directly over his hearts, Jack averted his eyes, noticing the way the Doctor’s eyes seemingly widened.

"I'm starving," he said, looking at Donna. "And if we have to keep fighting today, we should -"

"Right, yeah, we should," Donna said, but neither Rose nor the Doctor noticed when they left and headed to the galley. They were just staring at each other, and when he exhaled her name, his breath brushed her cheek.

“Rose….”

“I missed you, too,” she whispered, and he nodded, smiling a little at her before he pulled her back into a hug, and this time he realized they weren’t being watched. So his hands, which he’d made sure to keep on her upper back before, fell to her waist, forcing her breathing to hitch a little, a sensation he could hear just as much as he could feel, and it was intoxicating. “I missed you so much.”

He stayed silent, but his lips pressed onto her hair, and his fingers debated about slipping under her shirt and her leather jacket, but the moment he realized that's what she was wearing a sense of dread filled his entire body, and he let out a shaky breath when he decided to keep them where they were. “Do me a favor?” he asked quietly, and she nodded. “When this is over, I want you to throw away every single leather jacket you own.”

“What?” she asked, pulling back a little and raising her eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“It reminds me of...saying goodbye,” he said softly, wearing his hearts on his sleeve for the first time in years and he found himself utterly terrified by it. But she just bit her lip and cupped his cheek, and she looked down at her jacket.

“Funny,” she began. “It reminded me of you.”

His face softened, and when her eyes looked up to his, there was a tenderness in them that was making his breathing feel sharp and painful. He just let his Adam’s apple bob as he tried to accept those words, and she stepped closer to him, her eyes never leaving his face as he brushed his hand across her arm, feeling the tangible evidence that she was here, in the flesh and in leather, and he fought the urge to kiss her forehead.

He lost, and before he knew it he was tasting her skin, savoring the sweet concoction that was Rose and sweat, and her hips buckled into his. She let out the smallest moan when she did and his hearts began to speed up, and suddenly she felt too far away again.

He touched the leather jacket, and they both remembered.

You were fantastic. And do you know what?

“Doctor…”

“Rose…”

So was I.

They were so close, so beautifully close, and he started to lean down, ready to kiss her, ready to just give in because he was simply tired of fighting this and he supposed there was some truth to that stupid saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, when the TARDIS sounded an alarm and everyone’s attention snapped to the console. He grabbed her hand, not about to not touch her, and they ran over to take a look at what was going on. Jack and Donna were there, too, and whether or not they actually ate their snacks or had been listening at the door like petty teenagers didn’t matter at all as they read the readings, and Jack stiffened.

“What the hell?” he asked.

“Something is looking for us," the Doctor said.

“There’s a massive Dalek ship at the center of the planet,” Jack said, looking at the screen. “They’re calling it the crucible. I guess that’s our destination.”

Rose and the Doctor shared a glance, but Donna was trying to play catch up, and she looked back down at the controls. “You said these planets were like an engine. But what for?”

“Rose,” the Doctor said, a thrill running through him completely at the fact that he was able to do that and look at her face while he did. She bit her lip, probably thinking the same thing. “You’ve been in a parallel world -”

He made sure to smile with his eyes at her at the word ‘been’, because it was the past, and it wasn’t true anymore, because here she was, perfect and pink and yellow and in the damn flesh, and she smirked a little, realizing that was a game he was going to continue to play and she was certain of it. He’d make it light hearted and fun, of course, but she knew and he knew that really, he would say it as a reminder that he wasn’t dreaming.

She squeezed his hand.

“That world is running ahead of this universe. You’ve seen the future. What was it?” he asked.

“The stars were going out,” Donna told him instead, remembering suddenly, and Rose glanced over at her. She nodded.

“One by one,” she added. “We looked up at the sky and they were just...dying.”

He stared at her, waiting for her to continue, and she began to look at her feet. She couldn’t wait to tell him this, she'd thought about it so much, but she wanted to do it alone, and right now they had...well….a few too many people. But he needed to know and time was running out, so sod it.

“Basically we’ve been building this, erm. This travel machine...This, dimension cannon, so...well - so that I could…” she tried to say, but she could feel Donna and Jack’s eyes on her and it made her hesitate. The Doctor’s eyes darted to her lips before they found her eyes, and his face was hard to read, though there was the ghost of a smile tugging on his lips.

“What?” he whispered.

He needed to hear her say it.

“So I could come back,” she mused, and he gave her a classic grin, full of teeth and his clicked jaw, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his hand found hers again. He hummed happily as she rolled her eyes, because they could both feel the flirty banter lingering in the air. She bit her lip as he continued to smile like an idiot at her. “Shut up.”

She was teasing, but her voice became a little breathier than it had been, the way he was looking at her was simply too much, and his smile fell, his tongue tapping the back of his teeth as he suddenly had this hungry look in his eyes that she’d never quite seen before, and she stopped breathing when he spoke next.

“Make me.”

His hearts were pounding, and her face, which was a little shocked at first, suddenly became determined, and neither cared nor remembered that Jack and Donna were there as she grabbed his lapels and pulled him to her. He wasted no time. She was lonliness' remedy, the thing he craved more than the air in his lungs, and his mouth was on hers before he could process it.

She cried out when he pushed her against the controls, tongues lapping and hands cradling her waist like they were before, only this time his fingers slipped beneath her shirt, dancing on her skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind them, and Jack stared in shock. Donna blushed and then turned away, walking over to Jack and making him step aside as well, because they both heard the panting that was starting to stir from both of them, and they figured if the world was ending, they should at least get this.

So they slipped back into the other room for as long as they could.

“Up,” the Doctor groaned.

“What?” she gasped, shuddering when his lips found her neck.

“Your legs. Put them up. On the seat,” he ordered, nipping a little at her. She laughed and kissed him, but she did what he said and groaned when he suddenly rubbed her in just the right spot with his thigh, and that leather jacket they’d debated about was being unzipped. "Oh, I missed you."

“Doctor,” she whined, and he just nodded.

“I’m right here,” he whispered. “I'm not going anywhere.”

She nodded, letting herself be spellbound for another moment, but her eyes caught sight of the monitor and she tried to pull away.

“We have….the planets, we -” she tried to say, but his lips were on hers again, and he sucked on her bottom lip. She whimpered.

"So?" he whispered, and she sighed.

“We can’t...not right now, we -”

“Yes we can,” he growled. “We can. I don’t care. I want you. I don't want to have to wait, the universe always makes us wait and I'm tired of it.”

Her jacket was nearly pulled completely off as his kisses grew more frantic, hot and wet and needy and full of so much guilt, perhaps. Guilt for losing her, guilt for not finding her first, and she rocked into him, making him cry her name as he slammed his hands on the console.

But the TARDIS still had her wits about her, and just as they began to tear each other's clothes off, making it so his suit coat was completely unbuttoned, she shifted and threw them both to the ground.

Rose winced when her shoulder hit the grating and he looked at her worriedly. His pants had a bulge that hadn’t been there a moment ago, but before they could yell at the TARDIS or resume what they were doing, the Old Girl jolted again, and he pulled Rose to his chest.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, you?” she said, and he nodded, standing up and helping her to do the same. Donna and Jack were back in the room, looking a little nervous, and everyone knew the storm was getting closer.

“In that parallel world, you said something about me,” Donna whispered, looking at Rose. The Doctor looked at Jack, who was smirking and pointed down to his pants, and he just made a face.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, and Jack just beamed.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he teased, but Rose was looking at Donna carefully, and when she slipped her hand out of the Doctor’s to walk to her, he panicked.

“Rose, come here,” he said, unable to stop himself, and she stepped back so her side was touching his.

“The dimension cannon could measure timelines -” she began, and the Doctor gave her an adoring smile, wanting to ask her so many questions about it he could hardly stand it. She just nudged his side. “It’s weird, Donna, but they all seemed to converge on you.”

“But why me?” she gasped, “What have I ever done? I’m a temp from Chiswick!”

The TARDIS jolted again, knocking them all down, and the Doctor’s hands were securely on Rose’s waist as they stood back up. His hearts were pounding, and they all stared at the door. The scanner beeped.

“The Dalek Crucible,” he whispered, and for good measure, he kissed Rose’s hair. “All aboard.”

He looked at the hand in the box for a fraction of a second as they headed toward the door, because he’d seen a version of this timeline that he was just desperately hoping was not about to come true. But if it did, he'd try to be okay with that.

He'd try.

[heartsunholy-a]

@wickedpraycrs

We kept trying to have the talk, and then we realized we hate the talk.

[katierosefun]

ok so i know you like taylor swift, and i project my ships onto music and i thought i would share my most recent obsession and it’s All Too Well as an obitine song!

okay okay anon, this is...this is correct. (and also thank you for this because i was going to work on an obitine longform fic today anyways) 

idk something about the lyrics: 

oh, your sweet disposition / and my wide-eyed gaze / we're singing in the car, getting lost upstate

screams young obitine, don’t you think?

you taught me about your past thinking your future was me / and i know it's long gone and there was nothing else i could do / and i forget about you long enough to forget why i needed to

something about that and obitine is punching me in the gut right now, anon. i see this song as mostly from satine’s perspective, but this verse could def. be from obi-wan’s perspective just because...something something about satine sharing memories of her childhood/background and,,,idk i think there has to be a part of obi-wan that knew that satine might have wanted him to stay so that’s where the ‘thinking your future was me’  kind of comes into play, and now i’m sad-- 

after plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own / now you mail back my things and i walk home alone / but you keep my old scarf from that very first week / ‘cause it reminds you of innocence / and it smells like me

this. this is what kills me. first of all, all too well is just one of my favorite songs (and 12/13/14 year old me listened to this song on repeat for at least a few years just to sit in my own feelings lol), but like...yeah. something so intimate and sad about obi-wan and satine being on the run together for a whole year. 

have you ever lived with someone for a whole year? basically been with them twenty four hours a day, seven days a week? and then slowly falling in love with them and then suddenly having that all come to an end--like...i would imagine that does something to your head and your heart and agggggh-- 

'cause there we are again when i loved you so / back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known / it was rare, i was there, i remember it all too well

i feel like at this point in the song, we would be transitioning to present-day: obi-wan and satine reuniting on mandalore in that one episode in season two. oh, hello, here we are again...and for some reason, i always imagined obi-wan saying goodbye to satine in the sundari palace throne room (idk why), and i imagine that there has to be some parallel between that and this scene when obi-wan walks into the throne room again only this time to greet satine after years of separation and ugggh 

in essence: thank you for sending me down this rabbit hole of...they and taylor swift--

[swiftlythebest]

In Defense of Lake Meriwether

All right, strap in folks, we’re discussing an unpopular opinion! Lake Meriwether is not a bad character and she goes through some realistic growth. Additionally, she and Felix are shown good development and I ship it. Yikes, lots of unpopular opinions in so few sentences. 

Sidenote before I delve into everything: there is certainly a danger in media made for children and young adults being looked at through the lens of someone not in that target audience. I am 26, meaning the way I’m going to consume media differs from that of a teenager, especially considering that we’re apparently in different generations (which is weird, but that’s a whole other story). All of that is to say that I am an adult talking about a piece of media made for teenagers by older adults. It’s complicated, and I am in no way claiming that what I have to say is universally correct.

This whole whatever it is ended up being really long, so I’ll put it under a cut. Also, I know a lot of people probably won’t want to read it.

Sense of Identity

First of all, let’s keep in mind that Lake is 15/16. I have no idea how old people reading this post are, but if you’re older than 16, and out of high school, try to remember how you were at that age. Your brain hasn’t fully developed and much of your sense of self comes from interactions with your family and peers, not so much the world at large. That’s certainly altered by the widespread reach of social media, but someone that age is still navigating identity and their place in the world with limited experience. We can’t expect a girl who has grown up in a privileged bubble to be a bastion of morality. We can’t hold her to the same standard we would a full-fledged adult. She acts like a typical 15/16 year old who is insecure and trying to hide it while living in the shadow of her best friend. 

And hey, it’s true, Lake is primarily known as Mia’s best friend. Mia is described by Felix as the hottest girl in their grade and loved by everyone. Mia has the affection of the cute new boy, as well as the popular jock that Lake initially likes. I’m glad they don’t fall into the trap of making that friendship toxic and unbalanced, which is so often the case. I think within their friendship, they are very much equals who love and value each other. But to the public, Mia is more liked than Lake, and she is definitely at least somewhat aware of that. Lake is not Summer Roberts or Lydia Martin in the sense that she is not viewed as a highly desired person in the same way those other two characters are; she is viewed that way by the nerdy love interest, but not the student population as a whole. There are definitely parallels to be made with Summer and Lydia (Summer especially when you consider the intense similarities between Lake’s speech about public couples being scrutinized and Summer’s incredibly similar speech to Seth in Season 1), but that’s not one of them.

Lake’s mom sucks. It’s clear that Lake has grown up in a household where her every move was judged and she was made to see more flaws in herself than she had. Think about how that must have affected her psyche and pressured her into believing that who she was to the public was what truly mattered. That’s ingrained in her. We see that almost immediately with her being obsessed with Creek Secrets and trying to make herself more appealing to Andrew at the party. I’m not sure she knows who she actually is, just who she’s been molded to be. She wants approval and in the beginning, it’s clear she really only gets that from Mia and Felix, albeit, the latter is from afar.

Importance of Friendship

Once she and Mia begin to hang out with Victor and Felix, she begins to shift. We do see it even before when she confronts Andrew at the Battle of the Bands, showing us that she at least in some way knows her worth, but I’m not sure how much at that point. Victor and Felix add a new dynamic to her friendship with Mia and give her more people to genuinely think she’s great and make that known to her. While she’s still clearly insecure, we can see that start to chip away. When she impresses them with her excuses, something she’s likely only done to Mia so far, you can see how their approval makes her light up. And Felix’s compliment is quite possibly the first step towards her developing feelings for him.

DJ F Bomb on the Track

So we’ve now arrived to the Felix of it all. I want to say that I absolutely love Felix. I think he’s funny and sweet and a great friend; he was my favorite right off the bat and that opinion was only reinforced as the series progressed. Our first introduction to Felix is outside of whatever image he has at school and with his peers. We are told about his status as an outcast by him a few scenes after we’ve gotten to know him, so we already have formed our opinion of him beyond his public image. We know he’s quirky and anxious, but it comes across as endearing; the audience doesn’t know that his unique personality is not the main thing working against him. To Lake, and a vast majority of his peers, he’s Lonestone, an awkward and weird boy who doesn’t fit in and has a truly unfortunate nickname and reputation. We don’t have five years of taunting to affect how we view him. The audience view of Felix versus his peers’ view is important to distinguish when talking about why Lake is so hesitant.

Felix initially comes on too strong. He recognizes that in Episode 7 and, with the help of Pilar, he learns to back off a bit. The angler fish speech is sweet, but was I the only one a little put off by how obsessive it sounded? He’s saying someone should sacrifice everything for the one they love, which is a lovely sentiment in a fairytale, but a bit much when you’re 16. His growth isn’t as explicit as hers, but he still does have to soften his approach in order to really make it work.  And I want to be clear that while Felix is definitely a better person than Lake, I’d caution to say he’s a better character, in the sense of complexity and growth. I like him more, as I think pretty much everyone does, but Lake is a layered character with logical development, which shouldn’t be overlooked because you may not like her as a person. 

It’s supposed to be Felix for her. We as an audience, as well as Felix, know it when she says the same thing he said about DJs in episode 3. She catches on a couple of episodes later after they steal the cake, but she’s clearly in denial. Lake likes Felix. And she seems to like him more and more as the season progresses. But he doesn’t fit into that perfect image she has spent so long cultivating and trying to maintain, so she’s having to come to terms with that throughout their relationship. When she shoots him down for the dance after seeing his apartment, you know she doesn’t want to. It’s clearly killing her to say it, but she’s not there yet. And Felix knows his worth so he ends it, which also clearly kills her.

She told him upfront that no one could know, and she repeats it a lot. He can walk away if he’s not comfortable with that, and we do see him almost do that in episode 8, until she tells Mia. He’s right to want to revisit that part of their relationship around the dance, and especially after baring his soul to her at his apartment. He’s right to break it off when, after such an emotional afternoon for them, she still won’t be seen with him. He’s right to accept an invitation from another girl. His reaction is completely valid. 

She doesn’t expect to be jealous at the dance because she thinks it’s the natural progression of things. Kieran is the kind of boy she always saw herself with: a popular jock. And then he’s boring. He talks about working out and fantasy football and it’s boring. She can’t be herself with him. Then there’s Felix, at the dance with another girl who seems to make much more sense paired with him. He’s wearing a goofy ruffled shirt and joking about the smell of his hair and telling Lake he just wants her to be happy. I think she needed to see that what she thought she wanted she actually didn’t, and also that the boy she liked genuinely cared about her as a person, not just an object of desire. He makes her happy, something I’m not sure she had fully admitted to herself until that moment. And yeah, the big public declaration of love is a huge cliche and overdone and all that, but it works so very well in visual media.

Conclusion?

Look, all of this mess is to say that Lake is not a bad person, nor is she a bad character. We all latched onto Felix pretty quickly, so naturally, our standards for him were going to be sky-high. But in a show of tropes, this relationship was obvious from the start. Lake felt authentic, like a scared teenage girl navigating her self-esteem, public image, overbearing mother, and falling for someone unexpected all at the same time. She grows and develops, learning to go for what truly makes her happy, not what she thinks should make her happy. 

TL;DR: Lake is a complex, realistic portrayal of an insecure teenage girl with an overbearing mother, who spends a lot of time in her best friend’s shadow. She’s in denial of her true feelings for Felix for a while, going so far as to sabotage something she knows is good and right in order to continue to feel secure. By the last episode, she has grown and learned enough to understand her own autonomy when it comes to her happiness. We should all cut her a little bit of slack and let the immature 16-year-old be immature and 16, while learning how to be just a bit more mature.

[austennerdita2533]

I'm so happy that you love Folklore too! It's not just my favorite Taylor Swift album, but easily one of by favorite albums, full stop :) Here's a fun challenge: which Folklore songs remind you of a certain ship? So is there a Folklore song that makes you think of literati? Another one that makes you think of a Grey's ship? A third that makes you think of Elizabeth/Darcy? A fourth that reminds you of Klaroline and - I'll shut up, you get the idea :) Pick any Folklore songs/ships you want!

Taylor Swift’s latest album is a masterclass of musical poetry and storytelling. Rarely do I download every song a musician puts out on a new album (I tend to pick and choose), but I can genuinely say I never hit DOWNLOAD so fast in my life before than I did with Folklore! I love all sixteen tracks! I’ve been listening to them on a loop for two days straight and I imagine that’s likely to continue for the foreseeable future.

Also, YASSS! That is a fun challenge! It’s also one I can manage because I’ve been thinking about how certain songs/lyrics apply to many of my ships since I first started listening anyway. Prepare yourself. This is gonna be long. 😁

Okay SO, for Literati... 

If I’m angling to lean into s3-s6 angst that was Rory and Jess at that point in the OG series, then I’d say the 1 is a good fit. That song has the same energy as someone who’s writing a goodbye letter to a loved one that will never be sent. It’s cleansing. Cathartic. An exorcism of feeling. It absolutely reeks of regret and longing with just a touch of look-back-over-your-shoulder-and-wish, just wish, that things could have been different:

“But we were something, don't you think so?”

“And if my wishes came true It would've been you“

“But it would've been fun If you would've been the one”

However, if I’m in more of a They’ll Come Back to Each Other mood with Literati then I think this is me trying screams Rory and Jess. That song emanates nostalgia! It’s haunting in tone (with the echoes, with some slight vibrato). The lyrics bleed with feeling, with emotion that should have rusted long ago but hasn’t. Love is still as red as it was at the beginning of everything only now...only now there’s realization and an attempt at atonement for past mistakes...

“I didn't know if you'd care if I came back I have a lot of regrets about that Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway“

It's hard to be anywhere these days When all I want is you You're a flashback in a film reel On the one screen in my town (the town, of course, made me think of Stars Hollow)

I just wanted you to know That this is me trying At least I'm trying

For Darcy and Elizabeth, I think seven works well for them in spots. If you listen to the song, there’s a little bit of an echoey timber to the way Taylor sings it and that gave me the sense of how classic love stories/literature kind of ripple across time, you know? How the pages may crinkle or yellow over the years, but they still leave their mark. Plus, there’s also the piano in the background. Almost feather light. It mixes with what sounds like violins in places. Idk, it has a slight P&P 2005 vibe about it to me:

“Please picture me in the weeds Before I learned civility” >> (Because did Darcy learn civility before or after Lizzie eviscerated him mid-proposal at Rosings? Did Lizzie learn to temper her prejudice before or after Lydia ran away with Wickham?)

“Passed down like folk songs Our love lasts so long“ >> (Elizabeth says herself she’s going to be happier than Jane because “[she] laughs; [her sister] only smiles.”)

I have a couple for Klaroline, too. hoax jumped out at me for them first because it’s layered with darkness and angst. The imagery pops. It’s all smoking guns and eclipsed suns and screaming on cliffsides; which, for a pair of supernaturals, and for an Original who has a history of leaving blood in his wake, I think some visuals of misery and violence are a fitting thing. I’m also obsessed with the piano in this. The way she strokes her fingers over the keys - quick tap, tap, taps then a slow one or two in places - gives you a sense of running. It’s a great parallel to her lyric about “sleepless nights.” Here are some other Klaroline-heavy lyrics in this song:

“You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart But what you did was just as dark Darling, this was just as hard As when they pulled me apart” >> (This whole section just booms with “I’ve shown kindness. Forgiveness. Pity. For you, Caroline It was all for you” energy.)

“Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in Don't want no other shade of blue But you No other sadness in the world would do“

peace is the other song that had me crying in Klaroline. I like the softness of it, the vulnerability. I imagine it more from Klaus’s perspective, though, because it strikes me as more confessional in nature. Like it’s a revelation that’s being dragged across his teeth and he wants to scream. Almost as if these aren’t necessarily feelings he wants to share, or wants known, but there’s just no holding them back now. He’s thrown off the lid. Caroline needs to be able to walk toward him with her eyes wide open, so he only speaks truth, he only speaks honesty now. Similar to hoax, this song has darker imagery as well. There’s fire and fences and trenches and all that jazz:

“Your integrity makes me seem small You paint dreamscapes on the wall“ >> (Same energy as “you’re strong, beautiful, full of light.”)

“And you know that I'd Swing with you for the fences Sit with you in the trenches” >> (basically a promise that he’d fight FOR her and WITH her)

“But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm If your cascade ocean wave blues come All these people think love's for show But I would die for you in secret“ >> (THIS IS THE PART THAT HITS ME THE MOST BC so much of Klaus’s love is shown not spoken, so yeah, he dies for her in secret all. the. time. already. There are 5 other ways I could interpret that as well. But I will spare you haha)

“The devil's in the details

“Would it be enough If I could never give you peace?” >>With supernatural enemies everywhere, there won’t be much peace, will there?

I get walloped with Braime/Jaime and Brienne feels every time I listen to epiphany. Like, it’s actually rude how much this song makes me think of them. I can close my eyes and hear their swords clanging, taste the blood of their injuries on my tongue; feel the ash claw their throats, sting their eyes. Just--ah! The two of them serving, fighting back-to-back, two knights with an unspoken oath to protect a love they haven’t even voiced out loud yet...*cries*

“Only twenty minutes to sleep But you dream of some epiphany Just one single glimpse of relief To make some sense of what you've seen

“With you, I serve With you, I fall down Down Watch you breathin' Watch you breathin' out Out“

invisible strings makes me think of Shirbert/Anne and Gilbert. I love the pluck of guitar strings and how it has this air of innocence and sunshine and green grasses about it even though it’s being told/sung from a hilltop of experience. There’s so much imagery in this song, so much color and figurative language, that I can’t help but think it’s perfect for our imaginative dreamy-eyed girl and the boy who’s adored her since he first tugged her pigtails and called her Carrots in that schoolroom:

“Green was the color of the grass Where I used to read at Centennial Park >> (Can’t you just picture Anne lying in the grass, a book in her hand, flowers in her hair?) I used to think I would meet somebody there Teal was the color of your shirt When you were sixteen at the yogurt shop“

“Time, curious time Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs Were there clues I didn't see?“

“Wool to brave the seasons One single thread of gold Tied me to you“ >> (Love the warmth and vibrancy of this. The wool makes me think of Avonlea blanketed in snow; the gold has me drinking sunshine, smelling goldenrod in October)

“Time, wondrous time Gave me the blues and then purple-pink skies“

“And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me?“ (Love the idea of the string representing their friendship, how it never snipped. How it only braided together, growing tauter, closer, all the time.)

august hits me with a waterfall of Darvey/Donna and Harvey feels. There’s a wistfulness about this song that settles in my gut, twisting it with longing, with musings of all those Almosts in relationships that were so close to coming to fruition then never did. It’s so incredibly reminiscent of how Donna and Harvey toe the lie between friends and almost lovers who-are-nearly-there-but-not-quite for 12 years. IT HURTS SO GOOD.

“Back when we were still changin' for the better >> (THIS IS SO EMOTIONALLY RESONANT IT HURTS) Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Canceled plans just in case you'd call”

But I can see us lost in the memory August slipped away into a moment in time 'Cause it was never mine And I can see us twisted in bedsheets August sipped away like a bottle of wine 'Cause you were never mine >> (Obviously I’m swimming in the angst of this until my fingers get all pruny.) 

Finally there’s mirrorball which is Jisbon/Jane and Lisbon all the way! It’s funny because when I first listened to Folkore I thought that’d be one of the last songs I’d pair with a ship?? YET HERE I AM. Jane was in the carnival circuit growing up and I cannot, for the life of me, stop attaching him to all the descriptions of the circus/revelry. So much of his schtick throughout the show comes down to trickery and observation, which he uses to size people up, and sarcasm, which he often employs as a defense mechanism to keep people at an emotional distance. I like the theme of this song for him and Lisbon. As the mirrorball, he’s shining his true self only for her. She’s the only person who sees his “shattered edges”; she’s not distracted by all his “glistening.” Here are my favorite lyrics that are applicable to them:

“I'm a mirrorball I'll show you every version of yourself tonight

“I can change everything about me to fit in You are not like the regulars The masquerade revelers Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten” >> (Okay, so this makes me think Jane’s on camera confession to Erica Flynn: “I’m looking for someone who…uh, someone I can trust. Someone strong. Someone at peace with themselves. Someone better than me. Someone who knows the…worst side of me and still loves me.")

“And they called off the circus, burned the disco down When they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me”

“I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me“

I will stop there because otherwise I could sit here analyzing songs and ships for the rest of my life, boring you to tears haha. Thanks for this, lovely! (And obviously I’d love to hear some of your song/ship matchups as well!) xx

[heartsunholy-a]

@wickedpraycrs // @goodnessfilled // @joneshead

[photo credit]

[luckylq13-blog]

When your legs don't move in the proper range of motion

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[heartsunholy-a]

betty cooper @ henry stockton on the daily:

[theavengerfairy]

One Step Closer - Prologue

Previously known as “Gravity”

Before we start the story, I just wanted to give you, my readers, a couple disclaimers. First and foremost, this fanfiction and pairing is NOT AN ATTACK ON RUTHARI OR ANY OTHER RUNAAN SHIPS! Second, this story takes place in a parallel but alternate timeline where Runaan isn’t married or in any prior relationships and his sexuality is open to the interpretation of each individual reader. Please think before you comment and just be kind to one another, myself included. Next, there is an original species of Ocean elf in this story as opposed to a Tidebound elf character because I started this story and created the particular character long before the name of the Tidebound elves was released. Lastly, the time frame for this story is between seasons 2 and 3. That is all; now please enjoy the story.

Opeli just had to pick him. Given the nosedive that his luck had been taking as of late, Marcos shouldn't have been surprised when the aforementioned advisor of Katolis' High Council chose him out of all the other competent souls in the Royal Guard to go seize from Viren's former study any magical objects that could prove potential dangerous to the kingdom, a category to which the mage's entire collection more or less belonged to, and dispose of them, but as the soldier drove along the bumpy, winding trail through the woods that enclosed the castle, his internal organs continued to twist themselves into a knot so complex it would have baffled even the most proficient pretzel chefs in all of Katolis.

"You need to relax, Marcos." he tried to reassure himself as he gripped the reigns of the two slow but stocky Clydesdale mares pulling his cart so tightly that his knuckles were turning the color of alabaster, the tightness in his chest leaving him feeling somewhat winded since he couldn't draw in a deep, solid breath of crisp air. "Viren is locked up tight in the dungeon, and without him, none of these items can hurt you....probably."

Glancing back at the bed of the wagon behind him, he half expected to find that one of Viren's trinkets had managed to wiggle its way out from underneath the large tarp that he had secured over his load and snuck up behind him, ready to pounce, but he found nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe this was just going to be another ordinary assignment where nothing went wrong.

Then the horses gave a frightened shriek, and Marcos' voice along with two others screeched out an equally shrill reply as the guard yanked sharply on the reins, bringing the cart to so abrupt of a stop that he nearly went tumbling from his seat onto the two mares' backs.

"Benny! Jaime!"

Once he had managed to settle down the startled horses with a few gentle pats and soft shushes, Marcos shifted his attention in the direction from which the other voices had come only for his heart to drop like a stone in his stomach when he saw two identical little boys sprawled in the dirt in front of him, their caramel-colored eyes brimming with tears behind their slightly long, unkempt hair as one caressed his left shoulder and the other clutched his right arm tightly to his chest. Hearing the rapid thumping of running feet and heavy panting, the soldier's hand instinctively flew to grasp hold of the hilt of his sheathed sword only to fall back his side when a slightly older youth, likely the two boys' brother given his similar hair color and skin tone, broke out of the brush and dropped into a slide, throwing his arms around the two kids as soon as they were within reach.

"This is why I told you two not to play near the road! You need to be more careful!" he scolded them, his voice reprimanding but gentle as he drew the twins to him.

"W-We're sorry, Luka!" they blubbered in reply, clinging to him tightly as he helped them to their feet.

"Don't be upset with them. I should've been watching where I was going." Marcos exclaimed as he leaped down onto the forest floor and made his way towards the huddle of siblings only to stop when the older boy, Luka, shot him a warning glare. "They're not hurt, are they?"

"They're just a little bruised, lucky for you!" Luka snapped sourly as he positioned himself protectively in front of his brothers, his leery eyes flitting back and forth between Marcos and the two horses, who had begun to munch innocently on some tufts of grass that had shot up in the middle of the road. "You should keep those beasts under better control before they actually harm someone!"

Marcos blinked slowly once, twice, three times before quickly throwing his fist over his mouth to try and suppress the surprised chuckle, causing Luka's scowl to deepen.

"You think this is funny?! You royal guards really are just a bunch of insensitive, pompous boneheads, aren't you?!"

"No, no! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just that Momo and Bae-Bae here are the most docile horses out of the entire royal stable; they wouldn't hurt a fly. Your brothers just startled them is all." Marcos hurriedly apologized. Noticing the skepticism still painted on Luka's face along with the fear radiating off of Benny and Jaime, who peered at him nervously from behind their brother, he removed one of his armored gloves and stooped down along the side of the road, plucking a handful of the dandelions growing there, "Here, I'll show you."

Though still somewhat scared, Jaime and Benny leaned out a little bit farther from their hiding spot and watched with interest as Marcos held the flowers out to the two mares. Lured by the sweet aroma, the two horses raised their heads and tenderly nibbled on the treat until there was nothing left, followed by gently licked the soldier's open palm to make sure they got every trace of the taste.

"See? Nothing to be afraid of."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say. Come on you two, we better get home." Luka griped rather loudly as he grabbed his brothers' hands and started pulling them in the direction from which he had come.

Marcos' brow creased with concern. "Are you sure you boys are okay? Why don't you let me escort you home? It's not safe for a bunch of kids to be wandering alone in the woods."

"We're fine. Besides, I'm sure whatever royal mission you're on is much more important than us." Luka crowed back before disappearing into the foliage with his brothers, the leaves and branches concealing them so well that the only evidence left of their presence was a steadily fading rustle as they left Marcos alone without another word.

"O-Okay! Just be careful!" he called after them, though he figured the effort was likely futile. Heaving a heavy sigh, he started to climb back into the driver's seat of the wagon only to halt when a potent uneasiness washed over him. Biting the inside of his cheek, he swiveled his head to look scrutinizingly back at his cartload of magical knickknacks, but once again nothing appeared to be out of place.

"You're being paranoid again, Marcos! You'll never make a good guard if you don't stop being such a scaredy cat!" his conscience squawked irritably, its voice sounding oddly similar to that of his disapproving Aunt Cadence who had always insisted on him becoming a healer like his uncle. The likeness made him shudder and he hastily spurred the two mares forward before his mind had any more reason to scold him, ignoring as best to could the nagging dread that continued to construct a bird's nest for itself out of his stomach and intestines.

Luka's eyes did not leave Marcos until he and his cart were no more than a speck in the distance, and as he dropped down from his hiding spot in the large oak tree that overlooked the road, his lips twisted into a wicked sneer.

"All clear!" he shouted.

Immediately, Benny and Jaime darted out of the bush at the base of the tree and scrambled to their brother's side, eyes gleaming with excitement as each boy nudged the another aside so that he was the center of Luka's attention.

"How did we do, big brother? Huh, huh? Were we good?" Benny chattered eagerly, his words all tumbling together into one giant, incoherent heap as they flew from his lips at inhuman speeds.

"Well, the two of you smearing your snot on my shirt wasn't really necessary, but other than that, you devils weren't bad." Luka clucked smugly, lovingly ruffling the boys' hair before resting his hands on his hips and leisurely throwing back his head. "What a dolt! That was almost too easy!"

"Too easy?! If it was so easy, you should've been able to keep him occupied for longer!"

Luka's smirk wavered slightly as his eyes flitted over to the raven-haired girl emerging from another one of the nearby bushes, meticulously plucking twigs and brambles out of her two stubby braids and brushing the dirt off of her skinned knees and elbows, but but it soon returned when he caught a glimpse of the sack dragging in the dirt behind her.

"Maybe you should've just worked faster, Lennie." he taunted her in the way all brothers do, snatching the bag out of her hand and surveying what was inside. "Still, it looks like you managed to scrounge together a decent haul....."

His voice trailed off as he stared into the sack, disbelief and disgust distorting his imp-like face to such a degree that the twins' couldn't help but grow curious and try to catch a glimpse of their sister's gains as well.

"What the heck is this? What garbage did you grab, Lennie?" Luka sputtered, his lips puckering and nose wrinkling as though the articles in the bag were actually emitting so horrid order that only he could smell.

"It was all garbage, Luka; that guy had nothing on him but junk! You picked a dud target!" Lennie trilled defensively.

"Okay, maybe I did, but you're the one who still snitched some of this rubbish!"

"Well we can't exactly go home empty handed! I grabbed whatever I thought looked restorable!"

"Restorable? We're thieves, not artisans, Lennie! These scraps are useless to us!"

Benny shot Jaime a perplexed look, "What's an artisan?"

Jaime shrugged his shoulders, "Beats me. Hey Luka, can Benny and I at least look and see if Lennie grabbed anything that we might want to use for our fort?"

"Psh, knock yourselves out. Go ahead and pitch whatever is left over, but don't throw away the sack this time, alright?" Luka grumbled before tossing the stolen scraps at the twins' feet and resuming his argument with his sister.

Benny and Jaime pounced on the bag faster than a pair of famished dogs, nearly ripping in two in their haste to flip it over and empty its contents onto the ground. To anyone who did not know their magical value, most of these items did indeed appear to be no more than worthless trinkets, but two innovative, imaginative mind of a child, even a bag of trash can prove to be a treasure trove.

"Jaime, look at this! It looks like a finger!"

"Why would there be a finger in a jar?"

"Because it's cool!"

"Hey, this looks like one of those rune stones from the book we snitched from the old librarian!"

"No way! That's totally fake!"

"Well so is your finger!"

"Is not! Hey, look at this-"

And so the boys continued to examine and sort each object as Luka and Lennie bickered, completely oblivious to their younger siblings' enterprises as they hurled petty jabs and insults at each other much like kids themselves, and aside from the occasional squabble over an item's identity or sorting, little trouble arose between the twins until they both grabbed hold of the last item, a small purse made of stormy gray cloth.

"Hey, hands off! I touched it first!"

"No way! You got to hold the last one!"

Clenching their tiny jaws in determination, the brothers pulled on their side of the purse, straining against one another till the bag finally tore in half and a flash of gold caught their eyes.

"Benny, Lennie actually got money!"

"Shh! Don't shout it!"

"But-"

"Shh!"

Glancing back at the two older children to ensure that they hadn't heard Jaime's outburst, Benny hurriedly began stuffing the handful of coins into the pockets of his pants, much to the astonishment of his lookalike.

"What are you doing?"

"Lennie and Luka always get all the credit even though we do all the hard work, but if we give these coins to Papa..."

Jaime's eyes brightened when he caught his brother's implication and his plump, youthful lips curved into a broad smile. "Let me hold onto some! Let me hold onto some!"

"Alright! Alright! Keep your voice down!"

After checking again to ensure that Lennie and Luka were still fully engaged in their spat, Benny quickly handed Jaime two of the four coins in his pocket only for the latter to suddenly scream and drop one of them, startling his brother in the process and thus rousing a squeal from him as well. Ironically, it was this unified exclamation that finally earned the attention of the other siblings.

"What the heck are you two squawking about?! Are you trying to get somebody's attention?!" Luka barked.

"S-Something moved!"

"What?! Where?!"

"O-On the coin!"

"Coin? You guys found coins?!"

"What were you saying about my haul being nothing but garbage?" Lennie quipped smugly before strutting over to the twins and plucking the discard coin off of the ground, "You probably just saw your reflection, you big baby-"

Her words were cut off by a surprised gasp as she too dropped the coin, though she hastily snatched it up again before it could hit the forest floor. Bringing it close to face, she stared at the glistening surface in disbelief, unable to believe her eyes.

"Oi, could you all stop screaming?! I'm starting to go deaf here!" Luka lamented, but his remark flew right over Lennie's head.

"...Luka, you know anything about coins with moving pictures on 'em?"

Brow furrowing skeptically, Luka strolled up alongside his sister and leaned over her shoulder, but all suspicion left him when he saw firsthand the blinking eyes, silently babbling lips, and flailing fists of what appeared to be an elf rippling along the surface of the coin.

"...I've never seen anything like this in my life...." he drawled, his jaw agape with disbelief. However, after a moment, a mischievous glint ignited in his eyes. "I bet Pops hasn't either! He's gonna love this!"

Lennie barely had time to comprehend what was happening before Luka suddenly ripped the coin from her hands and took off in a sprint, leaving her frozen in a state of shock until her mind finally caught up and she darted after him with an angry screech.

"Luka, come back here! That was my find! I'm giving it to Papa!"

In the blink of an eye, they both were gone, and Benny and Jaime simply stared at one another in silence for a moment as they too tried to process all that had happened. Lifting up his right hand, which still held the other coin, Jaime slowly opened his fist and stared down at the golden piece.

"Does that one have-"

"Uh huh. Do yours?"

Checking his pockets, Benny nodded mutely, and slowly, the two boys started to smile.

[streetsteel]

GET TO KNOW THE BLOGGER.

Can be used to get to know a bit about the person behind the screen!

1. FIRST NAME: You can call me Chief!

2. STRANGE FACT ABOUT YOURSELF: Uuuuh since I knew how to read at age 5, the kindergarten offered my mom to make me skip a year but we didn’t because she preferred me to be around kids of my age. 

3. TOP THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU FIND ATTRACTIVE ON A PERSON: Eyes, voice, idk does mouth count as one? (coming from someone who had braces i love me nice healthy teeth lmao)

4. A FOOD YOU COULD EAT FOREVER AND NOT GET BORED OF: cHEESE

5. A FOOD YOU HATE: i’m not a fan of veggies really it’s that dumb

6. GUILTY PLEASURE: GOING TO BED EARLY WHEN I CAN GOD THAT SLEEP THING IS SO GOOD

7. WHAT DO YOU SLEEP IN: Donald Ducking it with a tank top or a t-shirt 

8. SERIOUS RELATIONSHIPS OR FLINGS: A committed fling buddy would be nice lmao

9. IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN THE PAST AND CHANGE ONE THING ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WOULD YOU AND WHAT WOULD IT BE: mmmmmmmmmmaybe one but it’s about not slapping one person and slapping someone else

10. ARE YOU AN AFFECTIONATE PERSON: not physically, not much. 

11. A MOVIE YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN: LOTR uwu

12. FAVORITE BOOK: Under the Dome if we do single novel, HIs Dark Materials if we go trilogy uwu

13. YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO KEEP ANY ANIMAL AS A PET, WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE: HOW ABOUT A MURDER OF CROWS

14. TOP FIVE FICTIONAL SHIPS [IF YOU ARE AN RP BLOG, YOU CAN USE YOUR OWN SHIPS AS WELL]: OK THAT’S TOO MUCH OF A THOUGHT EXERCISE BUT HONESTLY TAKE A SECOND HERE TO THINK OF ALL THE PAIRINGS THAT MADE YOU HAPPY YOU FOUND COOL RP PARTNERS? YEAH. THOSE ARE MY FAVE. 

15. PIE OR CAKE: Cake uwu

16. FAVORITE SCENT: CAMPFIRE SMELL. Or the smell right after it rained. 

17. CELEBRITY CRUSH: hahahaha jason momoa is hot

18. IF YOU COULD TRAVEL ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD YOU GO: honestly? just go to my aunt’s cabin by the lake. get lost in the woods. disappear in there. become the old crone people think is a witch and play along with it

19. INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT: Ambivert bitchessss

20. DO YOU SCARE EASILY: Yes?

21. IPHONE OR ANDROID: Android.

22. DO YOU PLAY ANY VIDEO GAMES: Yep! I got a lot of hours into the Borderlands series and the Witcher 3. 

23. DREAM JOB: Back in the day i would’ve said history teacher but right now? I’m not so sure anymore. 

24. WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH A MILLION DOLLARS: This sounds like a very uwu answer but pay my family’s debts and keep the rest for a cabin by a lake.

25. FICTIONAL CHARACTER YOU HATE: Dolores Umbridge anyone?

26. FANDOM THAT YOU WERE ONCE A PART OF BUT AREN’T ANY LONGER: uuuh i used to be into SNK until suddenly we could see more and more parallels between the thing and really crappy shit lmao byeeee

TAGGED BY: @skulldxddy​ uwu 

TAGGING: you have a choice to either do the meme or do the meme (read with a more menacing tone) uwu

[girlbookwrm]

ok but why isn’t it called avengers assemble tho

AKA THE GREAT MARVEL REWATCH PART THIS-IS-NOT-AS-GOOD-AS-I-REMEMBER-IT-BEING-WHEN-I-FIRST-SAW-IT

Avengers is a movie that has not aged well for either me or The Roommate (aka @goteamwin) and we had a whole conversation about how at the time it came out we were excited about Avengers, even though neither of us were yet hip-deep in the Marvel fandom. But we were !excited! because !Joss Whedon! and now we are ?disappointed? because ?Joss Whedon?

This movie, in retrospect, might be The Tipping Point of Joss Whedon’s career? like? It contains everything that was Great about his movies but also contains the seeds of his ultimate self-destruction.

ANYWAY ON WITH THE REWATCH, AKA STEVE ROGERS AND THE CUBE THAT WOULDN’T FUCKING DIE

this opening scene is so expositiony and on the one hand at least it doesn’t contain a flashback but on the other hand? it’s bad?? It’s a bad start???

sidenote by The Roommate: so i know that it was recently confirmed that Loki was being mind-controlled in Avengers but also. Was there ever any question about whether Loki was being mind controlled? or am I just That Fangirl

Sidenote to the sidenote, By Me: She is not That Fangirl, but i suspect that she was perilously close to becoming That Fangirl at some point in her past.

oh hey phil’s here

i do appreciate that they’re prioritizing evac. that’s nice attention to a detail that usually does not get addressed.

the line about the tesseract “misbehaving” being followed immediately by a line about the Tesseract “behaving” dRiVeS mE FUCKING B O N K E R S I HATE IT SO MUCH????

anyway

Every once in a while I forget how hot Jeremy Renner is. 

The Roommate: Yeah it sneaks up on ya.

IT’S JUST BAD WRITING? MISBEHAVING AND BEHAVING ARE LITERALLY ANTONYMS.

ANYWAY.

“You have heart” is also maybe kind of bad writing.

We had to pause and rewind to confirm that yup Loki trips there, because he is having A Trouble (at The Roommate’s urging. Perilously close, my good dude.)

Loki like a labrador getting to ride in the back of the truck for the first time. The Smells! The Sights and Sounds!! The Wind In My Hair!!! THE EXPLOSIONS!!!!

Phil says: “what do we do” and I look at my roommate and say: “The dialogue in this movie is.......... not good.”

it’s just so out of keeping with the Professional Military vibe these three have going otherwise? it’s very ooc sounding to my ear??

anyway

I actually really like this scene with the Black Widow and the russians and that’s all i have to say about that.

actually, you  know what really Makes It for me? Phil bopping along to the sound of  Nat beating up bad guys like it’s on hold music. That’s Just Great.

“‘‘“““budapest”‘‘““““‘‘ aka a clip from later in this movie but flipped.

we can’t talk about the brucenat yet that’s for the aou rewatch

“i’m sorry, that was mean” GOD RUFFALO IS SUCH A GOOD BRUCE???

also Natasha is clearly having A Moment whERE ARE MY 8000 METAS ON WHATEVER NAT IS CLEARLY HAVING A FLASHBACK ABOUT

hey it’s these shadowy figures from the shadowy global organization

“it’s won by Soldiers”--transition to--> Steven Grant Rogers this is an A+ transition and it just makes me angrier that we did not get the full Sadsack Steeb scene from the deleted scenes which is EXCELLENT.

SERIOUSLY. THAT’S A GREAT SCENE. I LOB IT.

*steve’s butt comes on screen*

Me: Ohhhhh say can you SEEEEEE

*the flashback happens*

The Roommate: THis is Un. Necessary.

Me, looking at her, knowing that the first time she saw Avengers she had not seen The First Avenger yet: ..............

Me: un necessary? UN? NECESSARY???

has Steve been sleeping at all tho?

“C eLeBRaTingG??” CELEBRATING WHAT, NICHOLAS? ALL HIS FRIENDS ARE DEAD???

“he’s... not from around here.” THAT IS WILDLY OVERSIMPLIFIED.

“Shoulda left it in the ocean.” 

“shoulda maybe left me in the ocean too” *tired old man sounds.*

Tony is. So Neurotic. About Everything. I Lob Him.

I Think the problem is at least partly that some of Joss Whedon’s lines (in this movie especially) are just so transparently set ups for Snappy Comebacks™

Pepper Potts is also equal parts mom and girlfriend and it seems likely that this is exactly why No Kids, Tony.

Oh Phil.

sidenote from me: Phanboy Phil is a perfect example of something that is Unexpected but Not Out Of Character. Joss Whedon loves doing The Unexpected but he’s not always so great at making it Not Out Of Character

“need a little old fashioned” I WOULD LIKE IT KNOWN THAT AT THIS POINT I WAS IN FACT DRINKING AN OLD FASHIONED CHEERS I DRANK TO THAT BRO

To Loki: Hey bro. how u doin? (spoiler alert: Not Great) u let ur hair grow out and i hate it.

MA’AM he calls her MA’AM steve is such a N E R D

sidenote, at this point i had to pause the movie because i was having An Emotion, because Steve is all sadsack talking to Fury and then equally sadsack talking to Phil and then he comes out of the Quinjet like “Ma’am. Dr. Banner. Word Is You Can Find The Cube. Why What A Wonderful Day It Is Here In The Future Golly Gosh I Sure Do Love It A Lot” in his Olde Tyme Radio Announcer Voice.

and it made me s a d

The Roommate: Well of course he’s talking like an olde tyme radio announcer he has anxiety and this is a stressful situation, so he’s using his Please Don’t Hate Me™ Customer Service™ Voice™

*sadness intensifies*

The Roommate: Steven. I know you were in the army but surely even you know that submarines do not have flight crews.

Maria Hill here, assessing Cap’s assets.

I talk (and will continue to talk) a lot of shit about this movie, but it gave us a lot of Really Good Things, and Nerd!Phil is one of those good things.

Cap’s suit is VERY MUCH NOT ON THE LIST OF GOOD THINGS.

Okay i hate to go on about this (no i don’t) 

But at this stage of the movie, the Avengers have only met Captain America. Like, he’s in the spangly suit, he’s got his Customer Service Voice on, his hair is pomaded to kingdom come, he tucks his plaid shirt into his khaki pants

This is Captain America

This is Not Steve Rogers.

None of the avengers have met Steve Rogers yet and that is just so

* S A D N E S S   I N T E N S I F I E S *

Who built this eyeball device? why? where does it come from? how do they get it? why is it like this? IT IS SO! UNNECESSARY??

“you crave subjugation” loki. Loki. LOKI. i feel like you are talking to yourself. this feels like you’re talking about you. just say you’re a bottom, find yourself a nice service top to take care of you and stop making these poor bastards part of your Extra™ Nonsense.

“we ended up disagreeing” said Captain America.

“nOt TOdAY!” OH HEY STEVE IS HERE GOOD TO SEE YOU STEVE.

“FoR an OldER FEllOW???” WHAT AN EXCELLENT TIME TO POINT OUT THAT TONY STARK, AT THE TIME OF THE AVENGERS, IS, LIKE, FORTY TWO. AND STEVEN ROGERS IS, LIKE, TWENTY-SIX.

*lightning happens*

The Roommate: OH YOU GUYS ARE SCREWED NOW

“I have a plan. Attack.” TONY TEDWARD STARK THAT IS NOT A PLAN.

Last Known Instance of Steve Using a Parachute.

Loki: I’m listening.

Me: Thor is already Gone. so that snappy comeback™ is for whomst???

CHILDREN. STOP FIGHTING. GRANDPA IS HERE.

“are we done?” yeah, they’re all just too Manly to say owwwwwww

Upon Rewatching It Is Painfully Obvious that the Producers Had No Idea that the Mind Stone was in the Staff.

“I understood that reference”

I know it’s overused, but it’s still a Golden line

Steve is so proud of himself.

Tony’s eyeroll is Un Paralleled.

God this is such a group project, and they all fit into their roles so well.

Thor: Well Meaning but Entirely Useless Jock

Steve: Neurotic Organizer With No Applicable Skills

Tony: Genius. Would Be MVP If He Could Be Persuaded To Give A Single Shit. Keeps Suggesting They Do Something Else.

Bruce: “uhhhhhhhh i just wanna finish my work here, and--”

Also: No one in this room is wrong, and that is actually pretty good writing, imo.

“I’ve got a cluster of shrapnel...”

Tony.

Honey.

That is not at all the same thing.

Stop comparing those things.

S T O P.

Thor: In my youth--

Me: THOR YOUR YOUTH WAS LIKE TWO MONTHS AGO.

so this scene with Loki and Black Widow feels very Blocked and Staged but that does not stop it from being Very Good, IMO and no I will not be taking input on that assessment, I really like this particular interpretation of the Black Widow.

Steve: Phase 2 is S.H.I.E.L.D. Uses the Cube to make weapons. Sorry, computer was moving a little slow for me.

HEY LOOK IT’S STEVE!! STEVE THIS IS EVERYBODY, EVERYBODY, THIS IS STEVE.

Fury: BECAUSE OF HIM.

Thor: me????

Me: THOR HAS LITERALLY DONE NOTHING WRONG LEAVE HIM A L O N E

a) clint rly likes that bow move but more importantly b) clint? u ok? does the brainwash gang get naptime? u look like u could use a nap, sweetums.

TONY LAST MOVIE U HAD THAT PACKED IN A SUITCASE WHY IS IT IN A BANK VAULT???

Did Bruce invest in some kind of specialty pant company? like? kickstarter or something?

Steve goes outside like It’s Cool I Don’t Need Air. 

digi steve is VERY DIGI.

let it be known that thor is coming into this VERY BLIND he has LITERALLY NEVER SEEN THE HULK BEFORE. is he just like, internally ???????IS THIS NORMAL FOR HUMANS?????????????????

“It seems to run on some form of electricity.”

AW STEVE’S HERE AGAIN. 

captain sassmerica

Steve does an awful lot of high kicks and i’m pretty sure he learned those on the Star Spangled Circuit

that arrow-in-computer thing is R I D I C U L O U S.

On the one hand, I definitely shipped Clintasha when I first saw this movie, on the other hand, I can totally see a brother/sister “we were raised in the same dysfunctional foster family” dynamic and I do actually like it.

“It’s Barton”

Natasha: *clint???* *HE HAS CHILDREN.* *AUNTIE NAT POWERS ACTIVATE* “this is agent romanoff. I copy.”

OH NO PHIL

do you remember when character deaths had meaning?

good times.

good. times.

sidenote:

The Roommate: I actually really like this Clint/Nat fight scene there’s no monologuing just Real Fighting

Me: Yeah, with Real Hair-Pulling and Real Biting.

*THONK*

Me: And Real Concussions.

LOOK EVEN PHIL KNOWS THAT LOKI IS BEING MIND CONTROLLED SERIOUSLY WHY WAS THIS EVER EVEN A QUESTION

god it’s so sad that phil is like “no this is fine. it’s cool. we all know that someone has to die in order for them to stop fighting like children.”

let. phil. clock. out.

Tony Stark: I Am Very Dramatically Leaving.

“old fashioned” NICK THAT IS R U D E. YOU K N O W WHAT YOU’RE DOING TO STEVE HERE.

“big and green and buck ass nude” THIS GUY. I LOVE THIS GUY.

what is this insta filter.

“cognitivive recalibration” becomes a meme in shield. like, that butterfly meme but the guy is saying “IS THIS COGNITIVE RECALIBRATION” and on the Butterfly it just says TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY.

Possibly The First Ever Steve Rogers Door Lean Scene™

The Roommate: The subtext that I got, from this scene, the first time I watched it, was that those cards belonged to Nick. Like, Nick had his own vintage set in near mint condition that he bloodied up

I just think it’s adorable that that’s where her brain went with that information. it’s nice. it must be nice for her.

Dear Dr. Selvig: Should You be gendering the Tesseract?

JESUS DID THEY DIP LOKI’S HEAD IN ELMER’S GLUE? IT’S SO GROSS AND GREASY??

“We’re damn sure going to avenge it” 

The Roommate: That’s not a good tagline.

Me: In their defense, it’s not a great name, and they were kinda stuck with it by this point

tony’s dead, these people are dead, maria’s dead from that grenade she caught earlier everyone is dead dead dead dead dead

The chitauri mean. Nothing. to anyone. and they don’t mean anything until Infinity War roles around, you know? that just. sticks in my head.

“did you stop for drive through??” YES. YES THEY DID. THERE WERE NO MEALS IN THE BRAINWASH GANG AND STEVE WON’T SHARE HIS THIGH ZIPPER SNACKS.

is it madness? Is It?? IS IT???

Peggy’s reincarnated husband???

“As a team” STEVEN GRANT ROGERS THAT IS NOT A PLAN.

bruce’s motorcycle: Puttputtputtputtputtputtputtputt

Nat and Cap are so in sync? It’s almost like they were trained by the same person?? But Where Could Natasha Have Learned How To Fight Side By Side With Someone Who Had Gotten The Superserum??? W I L D??????????

“And he didn’t invite me?” It’s ok tony u don’t invite him to civil war so.

Hulk And The Marvelous Wonderful Yes Good Very Smash Day.

he’s just having so much fun?

The Roommate: Steve in this suit is very Adam West Batman

Me: Tiny Turtle of Freedom!!

The Roommate: Yeah especially when he does that.

Clint: Nat whAT ARE YOU DOING??

Me: HER BEST

Jarvis is so tired. “IT’S THE SAME THICKNESS FROM THE INSIDE AS FROM THE OUTSIDE SIR.”

the SHIELD pilot here is very chilled out for a man about to commit mass murder.

“What, are you getting sleepy?”

aw steve’s here!

The Roommate: Pepper Potts’ superpower is saying no and calling the authorities. Her kryptonite is phone calls.

#accurate

no shawarma for you, loki

pooter!

“where are the Avengers?” TAKING A DAMN NAP. THEY’VE EARNED IT.

god that shot with the tesseract STEVE’S FACE JESUS CHRIST.

steve wear a helmet.

“...is to court death”

Thanos: *grins*

Me: IT IS SO PAINFULLY OBVIOUS THAT THEY DID NOT KNOW HOW THEY WERE GOING TO DEVELOP THANOS. LIKE THIS IS A CLEAR FORESHADOW OF THE THANOS/DEATH SHIP AND THAT! DOES! NOT! HAPPEN!

om nom nom nom nom nom 

(ps yes we did eat shawarma whilst watching this movie because of course we did)

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

‘til Midnight

chapter 4/5

ao3 | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3

twelve x rose, Into the Dalek coda

“Come on,” says the Doctor, breaking their silence. It’s a comfortable one this time. “Drink up. I make good hot cocoa, you know. Only the best ingredients.” As he talks he mops up the mess; in keeping with the diner theme there’s a silver dispenser of napkins on one edge of the table, flanked by salt and pepper shakers. It’s a ridiculous setup, but he’s thankful for the heat of Rose pressed up against his side, her hand resting lightly on his thigh. Yes, he’ll thank his TARDIS later. She’s a good ship. Pushy, but good. “You know, vanilla from the Chantor highlands on Rina’s third moon, sugar from Turees 9, cinnamon from Odom Goe.”

Rose looks at him quizzically. “What about the cocoa?”

He gives her an ‘are you kidding me’ look as he stretches his arm across the back of the booth. “Earth, of course. Do you honestly think there’s better chocolate anywhere in the universe?”

She laughs, and he buzzes with the the feel of her body against his side.

“Right.” She leans her head on his shoulder and takes a sip of her cocoa. “Mmm, that is good. Not quite what mum used to make, but you remembered the cinnamon.”

He doesn’t tell her he stopped putting cinnamon in cocoa after she left, that just the smell of cinnamon was too painful a memory. And after today...well, we’re in the present now, aren’t we? Let’s not think about tomorrow.

Four hours, seven minutes, forty three seconds, forty two seconds, forty one seconds…

He sips his cocoa.

Kissing the crown of her head, he murmurs into her hair, “I did mean to get marshmallows, you know. Shall I?”

“Don’t you dare move.”

He chuckles. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Warm and content, Rose sighs and snuggles closer. After a few minutes her breathing evens, her heart rate begins to slow, her muscles begin to relax, one by one. He thinks back to the time of day and her job at Torchwood on the parallel earth, and then takes a measure of the exhaustion he’s noticed in her thus far. Softly the Doctor says, “Rose, how long have you been awake?”

She blinks up at him, and he can see the fogginess in her thoughts. “Um. Twenty… uh, twenty-two hours? Twenty-three? Give or take.” Her smile is sweet, more than half asleep already.

He stands and scoops her into his arms all in one motion; quite a feat, considering the ridiculous booth. She gives a little shriek of a laugh.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“Why, Doctor,” she says coyly, wrapping her arms around his neck and batting her eyes at him.

He freezes mid-step, nearly dropping her. “Rose,” he says, attempting to keep his voice as even, as gentle, as possible. “My Rose. You need to sleep.”

She struggles in his arms, panicking. “I don’t want to sleep, Doctor! I don’t have much time left! There’s not enough time!” She’s crying again, clutching at his shirt and pounding a fist on his chest. His hearts constrict. She sobs softly into his neck, tears soaking his collar, repeating over and over, “Not enough time… Not enough time…”

He sits her on the tabletop and takes her face in his hands. “There is time enough for us, Rose. There is.”

There isn’t. Not for him anyway. No matter when he says goodbye to her it’s going to break his hearts, but he has to make her believe what he’s saying. There is time enough for Rose and the Doctor, just not this Doctor, just not in this now… Every word he speaks feels like self-betrayal, but it’s all for her. She is all that matters.

“I need you to trust me. I promise I won’t let you sleep too long, but you’re done in. You need at least an hour. Can you trust me to wake you up?” He looks into her teary eyes, draws her close; he does not break eye contact as he gently kisses her lips. “I will not let you disappear while you are asleep. I will not.”

She relaxes, just a bit. “Alright. Take me to bed, Doctor.” She re-buries her face in his neck.

He groans inwardly. He’s almost certain it’s a sleepy, innocent remark, but his body can’t help but react. Is she trying to destroy him? She’s certainly trying to destroy his resolve.

Again he cradles her in his arms. She keeps her arms around his neck, one hand absently running through the hair at the nape of his neck. He can feel her breath against the skin of his throat. Once again a small part of his brain says “think of something else, think of frog slime in June, think of that time you climbed the same mountainside for thirty hours before you realized you were being misdirected,” but the louder part shrieks, “shut up shut up, treasure every moment of this; breathe her scent while you can, memorize the weight of her in your arms, because soon she will disappear and you will never see her again you idiot.”

In the end it’s no contest. Rose is here, and soon she will be gone, and every moment matters. Even the ones that bring exquisite pain.

Rose must be more awake than she seems, because he hears a muffled, “Doctor, you passed my room.”

“Yes.”

Soon she’s going to think that’s the only word he knows. Either that or she’s going to figure out that he’s avoiding certain subjects. This time he doesn’t want to explain that he’s taking her to his room. Or, actually, he doesn’t want to explain why he’s taking her to his room. They’d fallen asleep together in her bed before, many times. After a taxing adventure, after a long evening watching movies in the TARDIS, sometimes just because. He’d walk her back to her room, tuck her into her bed, and just...stay. But she’d never even seen his room. So he’s taking her there now, and tucking her into his bed. Partly so she can have the memory, but mostly so he can. So when she’s gone he can bury his face in a pillow that once cradled Rose’s head, so he can feel the ghost of her beside him, so he can imagine the sound of her breath and heartbeat echoing in his space.

Her scent won’t linger long, but he has a good memory.

Rose’s breath catches when she realizes where they are. Eyes wide, she says “You know, all that time we traveled together, I sometimes wondered if you actually had a bed of your own. You slept in my bed. You fell asleep in the library when you were really tired. That one time you fell asleep on a table on that human colony...Elizabeth, was it? But that was because there was ginger in the pie and you didn’t realize and you had all that wine and…” She can’t finish the story, she’s too overcome by giggles. It doesn’t matter, he remembers. And of course she’d fixate on that time he was drunk. He huffs. She giggles again, then continues. “But in all our time together you never said, ‘I’m off to bed’ or anything like that.”

Standing her on her feet, the Doctor rests a palm on Rose’s cheek. “It’s not a place I often bring people. Not ever, really. I come here to sleep, which is rare, or to think. It reminds me of home, and that’s not always a good thing. Not since the Time War, anyway. If I hadn’t lost y--” Pain flashes across his face, and her giggles disappear in an instant, replaced by heartache that mirrors his own. “But I did, so you never got to see this room. But now you’re here. With me.” He nods toward a doorway off to the side. “Washroom’s in there. I’ll bet the TARDIS put some pajamas in there for you.”

She blinks at him a few times, eyes wet with unshed tears, then rises on her tiptoes to brush the ghost of a kiss on his lips. Then she’s gone, disappearing through the doorway to change.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

When she slips out again a few minutes later she’s wearing soft blue pajamas, a set she’d worn when she traveled with him before. She’s fingering the edge of the tank top, and he can almost see the memories passing through her mind.

Resurfacing from her memories, she looks up to see the Doctor leaning against his bed. Apparently she hadn’t properly noticed it before. Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. “Doctor! That bed! It’s...it’s gigantic! It’s bigger than the entire room I had growing up. And are those actually stairs leading up to it?!”

“Well it’s not an entire staircase, just three steps,” he scoffs. “And while I’ll admit it’s large, I think you’re exaggerating a bit about the size. It is nice for stretching out in, though. I am sometimes rather tall.” He shrugs.

Rose crosses the space between them and wraps her arms around his waist, folding herself into his embrace. “Never stop surprising me, Doctor,” she whispers.

Oh, the metacrisis will be a surprise, he thinks, but quickly pushes that out of his mind. Here. Now. That’s what Rose wants.

“Into bed,” he says, and swings her up onto the soft mattress.

She squeaks in surprise.

“An hour, then?” he asks, automatically returning her smile.

“You’re stayin’, aren’t you?” She looks almost hurt.

“Of course. I won’t leave you.”

She looks at him like he’s daft. “I meant up here, Doctor. Stayin’ up here, in this bed, with me. I won’t go to sleep unless you’re holdin’ me.”

Just look at that stubborn face, those exhausted, shining eyes. How can he say no?

The tension in his shoulders eases the tiniest bit. “Then hold you I shall, my Rose.” He drapes his coat across the back of a nearby chair, toes off his shoes, and climbs the steps up to his bed. He’s not at all surprised to see she’s settled into the pillow he always sleeps on. She always seems to know these things. His hearts speed up just thinking that even for a short time his pillow will smell like Rose. Sliding across the bed and under the heavy quilt he pulls her body against his, her back pressing against his chest, his face buried in her hair. For a long moment they stay like this, just memorizing each other.

Rose breaks the silence. “Doctor, if I had a bed this comfortable I’d never leave it.”

“Superior--”

“Biology, yeah, I know,” she interrupts with a sleepy giggle. “But still…”

It’s his turn to interrupt her. “Sleep. The longer you stay awake the more anxious I get. Your fragile human body…” He runs fingertip along her bare arm and she shivers. He clears his throat. “Sorry. I forget myself.” He tries to put a bit of space between them but she pushes against him, and no words are needed.

He sighs, and he isn’t sure if it’s frustration or joy. Maybe it’s both.

“Alright.” His voice is low, soothing. He can tell from her breathing that she is nearly asleep. “I’ll wake you in an hour. I promise.”

Three hours, forty-four minutes, fifty-seven seconds, fifty-six seconds, fifty-five seconds…

“Just don’t leave me,” she mumbles.

“Never again,” he lies.

**

for @doctorroseprompts 31 Days of Ficmas || day 31 - midnight

[dictionarywrites]

mmm i’m not gonna be doing anything with this

egh, frostiron, man. i just never feel like it really WORKS. 

the point of this one was meant to be frostiron with dashingcollector as a sidepiece but like, i’m alreayd super done with it, so have 2k of a beginning that i’m not gonna do anything more with, ‘cause i’m just gonna delete the doc lol

it’s a shame to have wasted 2k worth of effort on it but like ! ah well. not everything works out. 

i might lift some dialogue from this to reuse - i’m really pleased with the loki & tan dynamic and i might reuse that knife moment in the Wedding Collection, but... egh. this just doesn’t work with tony in it, so i might come back to it and pick it apart for scraps. 

Once upon a time, Tony Stark was the heir to Stark Industries – a huge, sprawling company that supplied a lot of high-end electronics across the Earth, and then to the surrounding solar system, and a little bit farther. High-end electronics, of course, included weapons: weapons used on Earth, and then… And then weapons used in other places. In Star Trek, in The Original Series, war had always seemed like such a last resort. Earth government never seems to see it that way.

Once upon a time, all that happened – that was a long time ago.

Reaching forward, Tony shifts his hand over the control panel, letting his fingers drag through the holographic display it projects, his light sensor gloves telling the ship exactly where he wants it to go. It’s only a little cruiser, a three-man rig that runs with just one, and the saleable model has basic amenities – a two-bunk cabin, a one-bunk cabin, a kitchen/living room, and a whole lot of storage space. Of course, Tony’s tricked his out a little, but it’s still snug.

He likes snug, these days. Can’t stand spaces that are too open.

Not after—

“We are approaching Knowhere, sir,” JARVIS says, and Tony relaxes slightly, leaning back into his seat and setting his hands on his knees. The ship continues to take her established route forward, gliding with ease on the course he’s plotted and avoiding all the little chips of asteroid and space rock.

Knowhere sprawls before him, the sick sprawl of old flesh and exposed bone: the head of some long-dead Celestial, mined at every angle by scientific groups of all kinds. It’s gross, in all honesty – it’s damn gross.

Tony doesn’t need the money that comes with what he does. He doesn’t need to be a travelling engineer, do the big-ticket jobs from one space station to the next one, flying in, doing the big repair or co-ordinating the big project nobody else has the expertise to do, and flying off again. In all honesty, Tony has enough credits saved – he could buy himself a little planet or a modest space station, and he could be a homebody, work on his own projects…

But he needs the distraction, and he likes to travel. Like this, he has the best of both worlds: he works on his own projects on the long-haul through space, and he works on big repair jobs or rehauls when he arrives at his destinations.

“Docking at Port 432,” JARVIS says, and Tony nods, stepping up and out of the flight deck. He pulls on a dress shirt over his oil-stained vest, buttoning it up to the ARC reactor that glows under his sternum, and he changes his battered jeans for a pair of black slacks. A suit jacket is a little much, and he’d rather be able to let his iron suit bloom out from his wrists at the first opportunity – it’s best not to try that with a loose jacket, else… Well, suffice it to say, the last time was a little bit messy. As he puts on his shoes, JARVIS says, “Are you sure about this engagement, sir?

“Nah,” Tony says, pulling on his sunglasses. “I’m not sure at all.” JARVIS lets out a low huff of sound, and Tony smiles slightly as he hears the docking procedure finish, the airflow clicking into ignition between Tony’s ship and the station. Moving swiftly out of the airlock, he allows the ship to lock behind him, and an attendant dressed in yellow and decked out with cybernetic enhancements meets him in the corridor.

“Good morning,” the attendant says, pinning up their brightly blue hair. “Name?”

“Tony Stark, he/him,” Tony says, and he draws a chip from his pocket, holding it on his palm and letting the attendant scan it. “Here to meet the Collector.” The attendant’s polite expression stiffens, and their expression becomes pinched and tight, their eyes distant.

“Yes, sir,” the attendant says crisply, and they deliver instructions without the slightest bit of small talk amidst the clean words, and Tony’s lip twitches in amusement as he steps into the lift that leads up toward the Collector’s Museum.

Taneleer Tivan is known throughout the galaxy as a renowned curator, carefully working upon his collection and expanding it as best he can. He’s a dangerous man – this, Tony knows. His facility houses living “specimens” as well as the average collector’s fucking trading cards, and it revolts Tony, disgusts him, but… There are other people, here on Knowhere. People who get hurt, if the life support goes down. And Tony knows that a lot of the specimens sell themselves to Tivan, that they give themselves over to being in a cage in a facility for the rest of their lives – does that make it better? That should make it better.

Sighing, Tony moves down the corridor, hearing the quiet clank of his boots on the metal grating. He moves in parallel to the great marketplace, which always stinks to high Hell of ammonia (he’d come here a few times, as a kid, with Dad…), and he moves quickly down a gangplank and in toward the Museum.

No ammonia here, but the scents are strong, and they’re different every time.

This time?

Place smells like ice.

Tony stops in the doorway, inhaling and taking it in, taking in that scent that smells of nothing, but is still so distinctive, cold… Standing at a metal desk, there is a human in a black tunic embroidered with silver accents that much the piercings through the shell of his ear and the side of his nose, and he is carefully shaving away layers of ice from an artefact with a tool that Tony can’t quite see. His black hair, which is glossy and long, is tied up in a loose bun, a shining silver hairpin keeping it away from the nape of his neck, and he wears a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

“You guys haven’t got contacts out this way, huh?” The man looks up, looking Tony up and down, and he frowns slightly. He has very thin lips, Tony thinks – they’re thin and pink, and pretty. His eyes are a bright blue, mirroring the ice he works on, and he watches Tony for a long few moments before he answers.

“You assume much,” he says darkly, and his voice is low and resonant, ringing in the air and surprisingly deep, coming from such a pretty face. “Anthony Stark, I take it?”

“Tony,” he corrects.

The attendant taps a button on the edge of his table, and Tony leans forward to catch a glimpse of the face in the display. It isn’t, as he had expected, the face of Taneleer Tivan, but another human-looking face, this one blond and with a golden moustache over his lip, his skin a rosy colour.

“Please advise the Collector that Anthony Stark has arrived,” the attendant says mildly. There’s an underlying sternness to his tone, as if he expects the other man not to obey – and it seems like he’s right to expect that.

“So formal,” Fandral chides, and the display looks directly at Tony, his pretty face shifting as he grins. “And with such a handsome man, Loki. You know not what you do to yourself.”

“I have no especial care for handsome men,” Loki says, his voice very snide indeed.

“How I have learned that bitter knowledge!” Fandral says, clutching at his heart, and Tony laughs as Loki’s thin lips twist into a scowl.

“The Collector, Fandral, now.” Fandral chuckles, but he gives a salute with a green-gloved hand, and the hologram goes dim. Loki holds up one bare hand, gesturing with two fingers for Tony to move closer, and Tony does, slowly walking into the room and slowly sliding to take the stool that Loki gestures to. It’s weird, to see a guy working on an artefact like this with his bare hands. Loki’s hands are ivory-white and marked with pink scars: a chunk of flesh is missing from the heel of his right hand, an unnatural dip showing between the meat of his palm and his wrist, and as well as the little cuts and drags and callouses, he can see a savage bite mark dragged over the fabric of his left hand. They don’t look soft, either, those hands: they look hard.

Tony’s mouth is a little bit dry as he watches them work, watches Loki drag his palm slowly over the ice and shave away another layer, allowing fragments of ice dust to fill the air in sudden clouds.

“What, uh, what instrument you using for that? Ice-cutter in the palm?”

“You are here to speak to the Collector,” Loki says primly. “Not to me.”

“What, I can’t speak with the locals?”

“I am not local.”

“No, you’re a little too pretty for that.” The compliment garners no response at all, not even a neatly raised eyebrow or a sardonic stare. It passes through the air between them, and Loki acts as if he hasn’t even heard it. “You, uh, you heard of me? Tony Stark.”

“Yes, of course,” Loki says. “You are the Collector’s 0800 appointment.” Tony frowns, leaning back slightly, but Loki’s thin lips twitch at their edges slightly, betraying the barest hint of a smile.

“Oh,” Tony says, sarcastically. “You’re a joker, I get it, real funny.”

“I have heard of you,” Loki allows, and a few layers of the ice come away at once, coming away from the left hand side and bearing the dark brown wood of whatever is frozen inside. Loki frowns, picking it up by the base and peering at it, and then he delicately shakes his head, a tiny shift of his head. “You hail from Midgard, do you not? You recently parcelled apart Stark Industries, your father’s company?”

“Midgard?” Tony repeats. “I’m from Earth.” Loki glances at him, and then he blinks.

“Oh, no… Midgard is what we once called your planet, upon the world upon which I grew up. Asgard.”

“Oh,” Tony says, his voice very quiet. Asgard is… old news. It was about thirty years ago, now, that the whole world was smashed to kingdom-come – they called it the Ragnarök, the Twilight of the Gods, and the whole disc (because it wasn’t really a planet) just… Collapsed. Hundreds of thousands of people died: Tony remembers being just a kid, and hearing it blow up all the subspace frequencies, seeing Æsir and Vanir crying in the streets of New York, back on Earth. “I didn’t realise you called us that.”

“The old ways,” Loki says distractedly, still peering at the wood. “Such as they were.” He returns, then, to his work, shaving away parts of the ice.

“It wasn’t so recent,” Tony says. “It was like, three years ago. That I did that.”

“Very recent,” Loki replies. “You Midgardians… Terrans, is it? Time passes so quickly for you. Three years is the blink of an eye, child.”

“And how old are you, huh? Three thousand?” It’s a joke, but Loki shows no sign of humour, and instead he keeps Tony’s gaze, his eyes widening by a fraction, his lips quirking into a tiny smile.

“Closer to five,” Loki says. “You see not the signs of middle age about me, the scant silver in my air, the wrinkles at my eyes?”

“Um,” Tony says, staring at Loki’s hair with an analytical eye and seeing no trace of grey. “No?” Loki laughs, and the sound rings like a distant bell. He’s pretty when he laughs: Tony notes the fact with a little bit of guilt. It’s been a long time.

“Your guess was correct the first time. I draw close to three-thousand and a score.” Tony shivers, feeling the immensity of that, of three thousand years. God. That’s— That’s freaky. That’s damn weird.

“And a score, huh?” Tony repeats, a little airily. He can’t quite keep the mockery out of his tone, and it makes Loki pause for a moment, glancing at him with slight surprise—

“Mr Stark,” says a voice from across the room, and Tony glances to the guy that enters. He wears a tunic like Loki’s, form-fitting and showing off the build of his chest under the silken fabric. Instead of black, he wears green, and the thread and the accents are a shining gold instead, matching the colour of his hair. He has a charming smile on his face, his blue eyes glittering with delicate amusement, and he moves like a dancer, all but skipping across the floor. “If I might present to you, sir, Taneleer Tivan: the Collector.”

He steps gracefully aside, and Tony looks at Tivan for the first time in— God. Thirty years at least. Tony’s no longer the little boy standing awkwardly at his father’s side, more distant that he’d like to be, unsure where to put his hands or where to stand. Tivan had looked down at him, imperiously looking down at Tony from the length of his nose, and Tony had been hyperaware of how dark the stripe on his chin was in comparison to his skin, how soft his hair had looked. Tivan had seemed like a creature of hyperbolic proportions: the black too black, the white too white, the eyes too deep, the nose too strong…

But he’d seemed tall, once upon a time. Ridiculously tall.

They’re the same height now, six foot two, an it feels strange to meet eyes with him, to look him in the face.

“Mr Stark,” Tivan says delicately, and he beams, showing white teeth and letting Tony shake his hand. They’re a little cold, Tivan’s hands, and Tony shakes the hand he’s offered firmly, watching as Fandral moves to stand behind Loki and speak quietly to him.

“You want me to detail your life support systems, right?”

“That is correct,” Tivan says, giving a small inclination of his head. There is a secretive smile on his face as he continues, and he glances over Tony’s shoulder before he does: “It will take some time, to perform all the… repairs on your own, even with the assistance of your drones, but I would rather… have somebody that I can… trust.” Something flies through the air, whistling past Tony’s ear, and he flinches: Tivan catches it out of the air before it can drive itself into his head, and he looks at it impassively. He doesn’t flinch. It’s a short blade, a throwing knife made of some kind of titanium alloy, and Tony moves to stare at Fandral and Loki. Fandral’s eyes are wide, and he is glancing between Loki and Tivan both, but Loki is scowling, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “And, ha. And also, of course… Somebody I cannot afford to… miss. Here in the museum.”

He tosses the knife back, and Loki immediately hides it somewhere in his tunic, but where, Tony couldn’t hope to guess. As soon as he has the blade back, he turns back to his work, continuing to shave the ice away from the wooden thing in his hands. His tight shoulders relax, and Tony doesn’t think he imagines the slight quirk of a smile on his face.

“Uh,” Tony says. “What the Hell was that?”

“Loki… sees slights where there are none to be seen,” Tivan says slowly, not without some amusement, “Please, Mr Stark. Come… with me.” Tony follows Tivan down a walkway and then up the stairs, moving into a clinical room not unlike a doctor’s office. Insects in glass cases line the upper parts of the walls, neatly sectioned out, and there is a mix of curation equipment and computer hard drives, and Tivan gestures neatly to a chair before his metal desk. Tony sits down, leaning back into it, but Tivan remains standing, leaning back against one of the counters at the wall.

“Who are they? Loki and Fandral? What kinda names are they?”

“They are Asgardian,” Tivan says, shrugging his shoulders. “They are… Hm. Hard workers. Well. Loki is.”

“Why keep the other one then?” Tony asks, and Tivan laughs, the sound resonant and rumbling.

“They come as a pair,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “But you are not here to ask… about my hiring practices. No? You are here… to work.”

“Last time I was here, Collector, I was with my dad, and we owned the biggest tech company in the sector. Now, I’m a two-bit engineer rocking around the universe in a souped-up motor car, and you don’t want to ask why that is?”

“I know why that is,” Tivan says immediately. Tony sees the understanding in his eyes, sees the comprehension: he knows exactly what happened back on Earth, back in that solar system. He keeps on top of the news, as much as he pretends to be isolated. “Family tragedies… So hard, I am sure. They do not affect me, or my museum, or my planet.” He says it uncaringly, without even the remotest piece of sympathy.

Tony feels relief.

“Okay, Collector,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Tell me what you need doing.” Tivan smiles, and Tony wonders, not for the first time, exactly how old he is. Thirty years and he hasn’t changed a bit, has stayed exactly the same even as Tony’s become a teenager and a young adult and now a middle-aged engineer, and Tivan…

It’s not a good thing to think about. It’s scary, creepy.

He doesn’t want to think about it.

He decides not to.

Ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ Ϟ

It’s on the sixth day of working on Knowhere that Tony sees Loki again. Loki is in the marketplace, sitting alone at a Jostori restaurant and eating with one hand, his right hand clasping a book. Tony always thought books would be rare, once he left planet Earth behind him, but they’re not – most space stations and planets have tons of them, and it’s only meeting people on small ships with limited space that you only see e-readers or electronic publications.

“You, uh, you eat Jostori food, huh?” Tony asks. He leans on the half-wall that closes the outside of the tables the restaurant has outside, and Loki glances up from his book, apparently surprised at being addressed. He looks Tony up and down, taking in the overalls he’s wearing, the streak of system coolant he can’t quite get out of his hair, and won’t be able to get out of his hair until he can get into the sonic shower on his ship. The job is big – damn big. Tivan had been right about that. It’s gonna take Tony maybe two years planet-side to revamp the whole system, and he and Tivan had worked out a system of order. He hadn’t been clear on why exactly Tivan wanted his entire life support system rewired and detailed, but… He’d given Tony a folder of potential pests he could expect to find, and at least six of them had been the size of dogs, so maybe that’s why. “That stuff,” Tony says. “It’s pretty, like, acidic, right? That stuff would kill a human.”

“It isn’t difficult to kill a human,” Loki replies smoothly, but he leans back in his seat, setting the book down, and he meets Tony’s eyes. Everything about his body language is open, relaxed: even his thighs are spread a little, and his left foot points in Tony’s direction. His lips quirk into the smallest smile, and Tony finds he likes the look of him, likes the way he looks with his tunic unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, bearing the silver vest he wears underneath. “You’re so… fragile.” Tony thinks of New York, thinks of the whole thing in flames, dashed to Hell with nearly everybody in the city dead, and all because of his company…

He swallows the thought, and does his best to put it behind him.

“Loki, right?”

“Loki,” he agrees, and when Tony puts out his hand to shake over the wall, Loki takes it. If he’d thought Tivan’s fingers were cold, they’re nothing compared to this guy: Loki’s hands are as cold as frozen marble, but his smile is— Well. Not soft, exactly. He looks like he’d eat Tony alive.

“I didn’t know Asgardians could eat acidic food either. That stuff’s like, what, a pH of three or four? That stuff’ll burn right through most people.”

“I’m not Æsir – Asgardian,” Loki says smoothly. “I hail from a planet named P’jar: the Asgardians and the people of Earth alike know it as Jötunheimr. My people have always eaten tough foods, fermented meats… Acid comes naturally to us.”

“So, if, uh, if I kissed you… What, you’d melt my tongue off?” Loki laughs, the sound full to the brim with dark amusement, and he sets his chin upon his hand, looking at Tony like Tony’s some fun new toy.

“I am a shapeshifter, Anthony,” Loki says softly. “There is no facet of my form that does not change, does not alter, with but a whim on my part.”

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Warped Cosmology

the series read as follows:

Superman … Monday … Cheezy Pouffs … Bacon … Stumbling … Trail Mix …  Punch … Friday … Preparation … Uncle Mudler … Normal … Backseat … Mudler-sense … The FBI … Unthinkable … Patience … Elephant Jokes … Cooking … Rickety Tables … Mr. Skimmer … Bert and Ernie … Midnight Confessions … The Moon … Bright Sunshine … Graying Skies … Darkened Night … Possibilities … A Thing with You ... Humming and Thrumming

@today-in-fic​

____________

He let her sleep, disappearing at dawn for a run, then sneaking quietly about the apartment, showering, eating, dressing, leaving again, this time with a note stating he’d be back by noon or before or after, depending on sun angles and Sno-Cone sale prices.

She found said note around 8:45am and promptly returned to bed, amused by how amused she was in her present situation. She’d never woken up in his bed, alone, with his note stating where he was and she’s sure as hell never crawled back into his bed to stretch luxuriously, surrounded by Mulderness and wrinkled sheets. Head nested perfectly in the pillow, she studied his ceiling, then his walls, the windows, curtains, blinds, dresser, mirror, shelves, shoes and map.

She was also naked.

That was possibly the best part.

She was naked and warm and cozy and had absolutely nowhere to go and nothing to do.

And she was in Mulder’s bed.

It was enough to send her rolling to her side, grinning into dented pillow like a college girl who’d just spent her first night in her boyfriend’s apartment. She was too damn old for that feeling but there it was, fluttering her chest, quaking her insides, wondering when he’d return and if he’d jump back in beside her.

Shutting her eyes, she pictured him sliding towards her, naked thighs pressing into hers, chest to back, lips to neck, hand to clit, face buried in the pillow for very different, sound-deadening reasons.

Yeah, she wasn’t waiting for him to get back to take care of a few things.

And she discovered that most of her recent nosebleeds came a few minutes after she did.

&&&&&&&&&

Showered, dressed, bed made, apartment cleaned, lunch debated, trash out, doctor appointment set, she settled down to check her work email, allowing one little slice of reality to intrude into an otherwise self-contained perfection. She was not pleased with the amount in her inbox and setting about deleting crap after crap, she only stopped when she heard the front door open.

Turning in the office chair, which creaked with every degree, she saw his solemn face, any hint of mirth wiped clean, “what happened?”

“Skinner called.”

She dropped him at the airport an hour later, her ticket not until the following evening, after her appointment, “no, you are not canceling, I don’t care how much you fight me, you are not canceling.”

Relenting quickly, not wanting to forgo her appointment any more than he did, “I will fly out tomorrow evening, okay?”

And she kissed him goodbye, apartment to airplane service, “I’ll let you know when I land.”

Tugging on his ear lightly, “you better.”

Once he disappeared into the bowels of the airport, she drove off, oddly empty inside at the unexpected parting and equally unexpected free afternoon and evening. Heavy debate happened between returning to Mulder’s apartment, going to Maggie’s to collect their things, going to work or going to her own apartment, a place she’d barely seen in a good month or so.

Cleaning orgy at her apartment won out, the dust a fine layer, the sense of abandonment acute … the reeking nightmare of rotting hell from the garbage grinder heavy in its revulsion. She’d stopped or had Mulder stop, to get her mail but never needing to get beyond the mailbox in the lobby, neither had smelled, once she’d inspected with flashlight and hesitating fingers, the small chunk of chicken skin wedged to the side of the disposal. Face wrinkled in disgust, she retrieved it, bagged it, washed her hands, emptied the fridge and immediately took out the trash. Next, windows opened, baking soda poured and grinder run, she moved on to the rest of the apartment, half wondering why, every time Mulder went somewhere without her, she cleaned.

It took a few hours to work through things, dinner break included but soon enough, her apartment was spotless, empty and just a tad lonely. She’d been surrounded by children, Mulder, mother and colleagues for weeks now and the stilled silence made her restless for contact, conversation, rescue from her own twisting thoughts.

Maggie for the win as she could hear Mulder saying in her head.

Arriving unannounced at her mother’s, she found several cars in and around the driveway. Making her way in, wondering if she ought to have called first, “Mom?”

Her mother’s voice drifted from the kitchen, “honey, we’re back here.”

She found her way to the kitchen, dropping off shoes and bag on the way, spying Frohike first, then Jake and Charlie, the biggest surprise being Skinner, in t-shirt and jeans, drinking a beer and in deep discussion with Byers. It was enough to stop her in her tracks and honest to God, shake her head in confusion. Delaying her ‘hello’ a moment, she finally returned to the warped cosmology of present day kitchen, “hi. What’s … what’s going on?”

Smiling as her daughter attempted a smooth entrance, “Melvin had some things he promised to show Jake so he and John came by for dinner along with your brother and nephew.” She saw Scully’s eye flit momentarily to Skinner and she continued, “and Walter needed another home cooked meal so I decided to feed them all. I would have called but I didn’t know when Fox was flying out.”

For no real good reason, she blushed, the discussion of her and Mulder floating out there, common and every day at the dinner table with friends and family carrying on their business without even a hiccup in the conversation. Wondering what the hell had happened to her world, she pulled up a chair, joining the fray, spending the next two hours in familial familiarity.

Eventually hugging her brother and her nephew goodbye, then, more awkwardly, Frohike and Byers, she was left with her mother and Skinner. She watched them both standing at the front door, waiting for the Gunmen to pull away from the curb. They were an awkwardly tall and small pair, her mother still balancing on crutches and boots, her boss with his hand friendly on her elbow, keeping her upright, the set looking, somehow, in some parallel universe … like they were supposed to be there, doing that exact thing, at that exact time … all the time.

She stared for too long apparently, because suddenly, there they were, looking at her, Maggie smiling, Skinner wondering, Scully dismissing outlandish ideas and poppycock notions as her grandmother used to say, “honey?”

Scully gave her standard, ‘I’m good’ smile, “yeah, sorry, just … lost track of time for a minute.” Turning on her heel, “I’ll go start the dishes.”

Maggie clumped after her, Skinner following behind, “you don’t have to do that. I can get them tomorrow.”

Hand already on faucet, “I don’t mind.” Calling to her boss, “Walter, grab a towel.”

“Back to Walter, I see,” as he retrieved the dish towel to begin drying.

“Dry them well, Walter or mom will make you wash them again.”

“Running a tight ship there, Maggie?”

Settling at the counter on a stool, Maggie reached for a stray cookie, “with four kids, it was tight ship or no ship and no ship meant chaos.” The silence hung only for a minute before Maggie broke it again, “Dana, what doctor’s appointment do you have tomorrow?”

Sidelong look at Skinner, who trained his gaze out the window, holding onto a shred of innocence, however falsely, given he knew she knew he spilled the beans about why she hadn’t gone with her partner. Had he been Mulder, she would have swung her leg up and kicked him in the rear end, “now, just promise not to get nervous, please, all right?”

“Dana, that is the silliest thing to tell someone and you know it. Now talk.”

“My nose has bled a few more times and Mulder made me promise to go back to the doctor. I made the appointment before Skinner … Walter …” glancing at him, “it really is awkward not to know which to call you now,” looking back at her mother, she continued, “called Mulder so Mulder told me to stay and fly out tomorrow after the appointment. Luckily he knows the sheriff and such out in Phoenix so he’ll have help until I get there.”

“Mulder told you to do something?” Skinner looked quite surprised, figuring Mulder would be dead if he ever told her to do anything.

“I know. I’m shocked I didn’t kill him on the spot.” Bouncing half a smile from Skinner to her mother, “things will be fine but I’d like to get to the bottom of this. I have a few ideas what it might be and I’ll take a look at the MRI myself as well.”

Maggie kept her motherly panic and clenched muscles to herself, exuding calm where no calm existed at present, “would you like company? You can pick me up and I can go with you.”

Knowing her mother and knowing the panic therein, nodded, “I’d like that. Thanks. I have the scan at 7am but I’ll come by and pick you up for the appointment around 3.”

“It’s nearly nine now. You should go home and get to bed if you want to be on-time.”

Once a mom, always a mom, regardless of age, stature and profession of children and she adored it, “I’ll head out in a few minutes. Just want to finish this and get some of my stuff from upstairs.”

Skinner finished his chore a moment after Scully, then, “I should be going as well.” Looking at Scully, “you’re not the only one who has somewhere to be at 7am tomorrow.”

Naturally, Maggie asked where and un-naturally, Skinner answered, an oddness in his voice conveying the nature of his life, a life where no one asked anything because there was no one to do the asking. Scully recognizing the familiar tone as well, having heard it from Mulder for the first year of their partnership, when she would inquire about his weekend or the new pile of books that appeared on the corner of his desk, the rustiness of voice, the stilted words trying to form a proper, conversational sentence.

She hugged him when she left, leaving him to put on his shoes while she headed out into the night.

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

CSBB: Part of the Narrative (8/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Story warnings: sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: Profanity, discussions of past relationships and canon pregnancy-related issues, and some snogging.

I hope you all know that your comments and likes and kudos and reblogs have been cherished and squealed over. Thank you to all the wonderful peeps at @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first and sixth chapters, which you can check out here and here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Chapter 8

Emma comes clean to Killian about her past, and they bond during their second date.

Killian

Killian stared through the small window at the front of his oven, hoping the conversion to Fahrenheit hadn’t utterly destroyed his mother’s recipe for Lancashire hotpot. He stepped back and glanced out the window above the sink. Even through the dark, the grey of the clouds promised snow, and it was already colder than he’d like. So this would be perfect, provided it cooked properly.

In the meantime, this cooking adventure was distracting him from his nerves about the night’s plans with Emma. He knew they needed to talk--they truly did--but just the thought of seeing her filled his stomach with butterflies, in the best way. In a manly way, as he’d told Robin.

Aye, manly butterflies.

It had only been a few days since he had seen her, but he missed her. They had texted over the last few days, which had been pleasant--excellent, in fact--but it wasn’t the same as being in the same room as her, holding her in his arms or seeing the light in her eyes while she talked about the things she was passionate about.

He was just so…excited to see her again, to have dinner with her, to talk, to… snuggle. Or, perhaps more than snuggle. Either way, it would be good.

Obviously, they had a fairly heavy conversation ahead of them, but he was optimistic. In the days since their date, he hadn't heard from August. Nothing. Not a word. And, frankly, Killian was relieved. He was in no rush to hear from his current boss and former conspirator. He had actually emailed him the other day with an update from the next chapter Emma was working on. It was the exact sort of thing he should be talking to August about. The exact thing a publisher needed to hear in the earlier stages of developing a novel, and not what he had asked Killian to do.

And what a chapter it was! The story was starting to unfold, and Killian was hooked. They had finally met the protagonists, a social worker and the child she was trying to help get out of the foster care system.

He couldn't help but see the parallels to Emma's own life, and to Henry. And he was thrilled. Not only was Emma clearly drawing from her own experiences, but she was painting them vividly. It left Killian feeling he knew her a little better for it and knew it would draw others into the story.

A knock at the door interrupted Killian's musings, and he gave a sigh of relief. Not that he wasn't enjoying contemplating Emma and her story, but maybe the butterflies could actually settle down now that she was here.

"Just a minute," he called out, pulling the dish out of the oven. He straightened his vest over his shirt, ran a hand through his hair, and went to the door.

He opened it to find Emma's beautiful face, her small, crooked smile betraying how glad she was to see him too. She was carrying a bottle of wine and shifting her weight as she stood up on the tips of her toes, her nervous energy soothing him and putting him at ease even as his heart skipped a beat. At least he wasn't alone in this.

"Good evening, Swan. You look delightful," he said, brushing a quick kiss across her cheek and taking the wine from her.

Emma blushed, but eyed him hungrily. "You look good too." Then, her eyes drifted away from him as she sniffed at the air. "Okay, that smells fantastic."

He held the door open and motioned for her to come through. "Well, then come in and let's get us fed."

He watched her as she moved past him, her cream-colored sweater and figure-hugging pants making her look delectable. The style made her seem soft, approachable, while also unaccountably badass when coupled with her knee-high boots, and he couldn't wait to continue what they had started on Friday.

Killian shook his head and idly thumbed at his mouth, hoping he hadn't been drooling. He let his prosthetic hand drop to the small of her back, guiding her into his flat. "Would you like the tour, or would you like to eat first?"

She turned and offered him a smile. "Tell me what that delicious smell is, and then I want a tour. I know your tour of my place was interrupted, but I'm curious."

He smirked at her as she peered over his shoulder back into the kitchen. "Then all in good time, love. Our dinner will be a Lancashire hotpot. My mother's recipe."

Emma softened. "That's great--what's in it?" Stepping back and turning to stand beside him, she kept her eyes on him.

"Traditionally, it's made with lamb and local vegetables, but I used beef, as lamb… well, it takes a fair hand to cook, and I’ve only got the one. I also didn't imagine slaving in the kitchen for hours would fall under the terms of 'casual' we agreed upon for tonight."

"Well, regardless, I can't wait to try it. Now show me your lair," she said, grinning at him.

He raised an eyebrow and set the wine down on the counter. "Lair? Do you see me as the sort that would have lair?"

She waved his question aside airily. "Lair, berth, dwelling...whatever."

"For starters, my 'lair' has this kitchen, and a cozy living room," Killian said, gesturing to the room in question.

Emma smiled, eyeing his well-worn and well-loved chair, the one he had brought across the ocean in spite of--no, because of--its odd appearance.

"At some point I'll tell you about my chair, that is if you tell me about yours," she said, turning away from the chair to face him.

"Deal."

"Shall we continue?" she asked, starting down the short hallway.

"Aye, we shall. As you can see, this is the hallway, and the bathroom. And through here is my bedroom."

She followed him into the room in question, running her eyes over the grey and navy striped coverlet, the sea chest in the corner, and the anchor and ship painting on the wall, the room’s feel neat and organized. Emma looked around almost wistfully. "It's very… nautical. And grown-up."

"What were you expecting? A single bed with posters from popular films?"  His gentle tone belied the biting words a little.

"No, I just… well, my place stays fairly orderly too, but that's because I don't keep much there. And I totally drop my clothes on the floor."

Killian laughed. "Normally that might be the case here, but there's this lovely writer who promised to come over for dinner, so I may have put things in order."

She smirked at him. "Hmm, feeling hopeful, were you?"

"Always," he said seriously, meeting her eyes.

She didn't look away.

&&&

After they finished their meal, Killian poured them each another glass of the wine Emma had brought.

She smiled up at him and took a slow sip. "That was delicious. Your mom's recipe totally holds up."

"Doesn't it? I'm glad it worked out over here, even with the adjustments to American ovens and measuring systems," he said happily.

"Maybe sometime you'll show me how to make it?"

He paused, seeing the hopeful look on her face. His heart beat faster, the idea of working side-by-side with Emma in his small kitchen--in either of their kitchens, really--the very opposite of vexing. "Certainly, if that's something you wish to do."

"I...I really do," she said, reaching across the table and taking his prosthetic in her hand. He patted her hand with his and let her continue. "I...so, yeah, I really enjoy spending time with you. I also realized that I want to get to know my son, and it seems like a lot all at once."

"I would hope you wouldn't consider me a burden, love," he said, trying to keep his features schooled, not wanting to place any sort of expectations on her even as he felt a twinge of disappointment.

She looked surprised for a moment, then rushed to reassure him. "No--Killian, not at all. But I think there are things you should know before we make any decisions." Her brow was furrowed in concern.

“I’d be happy to listen to whatever you want to tell me.”

“I know you were upset that I hadn’t told you. I could tell the other night, and I--just, well--I don’t owe you my story just because you told me yours,” Emma said, her voice low and intense.

Ouch. He knew her words were harsh, but also fair. He considered his own before nodding, acknowledging his silent display of frustration from the other night. He lifted his hands at her in supplication. “You’re right. You don’t owe me anything, but know that I would like to get to know you, and your story. So when you are ready to share, know that I’m all ears.”

She smiled at him, accepting his unspoken apology. “I was sixteen. I’d been in the foster care system my entire life, and I’d just run away from my last home. The Dixons...well, Mr. Dixon was interested in me in ways he shouldn’t have been, and Mrs. Dixon didn’t believe me. So I ran.”

“Christ, Emma, that’s awful,” he said, reaching for her hand again.

She didn’t pull away, instead she threaded her fingers through his and took a deep breath before continuing. “I went to Portland. The one in Oregon, that is. It seemed as far away as I could get. And, well, I was a sixteen-year-old with no skills, so I stole. Usually just small stuff, but I won’t lie, I was stealing more and bigger things as time went on.”

Killian rubbed his thumb over her wrist and nodded at her, encouraging her to go on.

“So I saw a car. A yellow VW Bug...”

“The one you have now? You still have a car that you stole?!” His voice was incredulous but tinged with amusement, and his eyebrows skyrocketed up toward his hairline.

“I’ll get to that, Jones, but yes,” she said, the exasperation in her tone lightened by the smile she gave him. “Anyway, the car was old enough that I knew it wouldn’t have anything too fancy to deal with in terms of alarms or locking mechanisms. So I got in and got the car going.”

“Next time I need to hotwire a car, I know who to turn to,” he teased.

Emma smacked his hand in mock reproof. “Nope, you’d pick something new and shiny. It’d be awful, and we’d so get caught.”

“I’ll have you know that I was a very good thief as a twelve-year-old,” he said, smirking at her.

She shook her head in response before taking a deep breath and continuing. “Well, I got in the car, and then I got the shock of my life when some guy popped up from the backseat.”

“Ah,” he said, the pieces coming together for him, “Henry’s father?”

“Yeah. His name was Neal, and as it turned out he had just stolen the car.” A melancholy look crossed her face, but she pushed it away. “He was older and had that irresponsible, easygoing vibe that screamed bad boy. So, naturally, my sixteen-year-old self fell for him immediately.”

He nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“We decided to team up. There were a lot of cons that were easier with the two of us, and we made our way from Portland to Arizona. We were together by then, and I was crazy about him. He said he was crazy about me. We had even started talking about going straight together, doing the right thing somewhere with a nice view of the beach. We were thinking Florida,” she said, her lips turning downward with a wry twist at her youthful naivete. “We settled on Tallahassee, not realizing it doesn’t have access to the beach.”

“What went wrong, love?”

“Neal had some watches he’d lifted a while ago stored in a locker in Phoenix. We were going to grab them, sell them and use the money to start our new life. But when we got there we found a bunch of wanted posters with Neal’s face on them. So I volunteered to go get them.” She paused and he squeezed her hand. “We were going to meet up afterward and head out of town.”

Killian winced, imagining all the ways that could have backfired. He wondered which way it had.

Emma didn’t let him stew in his curiosity for long. “I picked them up without a problem and went to meet Neal. Only he didn’t show, a cop did. Said they’d gotten an ‘anonymous tip’ someone would be making a grab and running with them.”

“Bloody hell, an ‘anonymous tip’? He--” Killian cut himself off, heat blooming in his cheeks as fury bubbled in his chest at the man who had so betrayed Emma. He was so appalled that he pulled back, disentangling their hands.

“Yeah. I think even the judge felt bad for me. My sentence wasn’t as heavy as it could have been, and they made sure I got resources so that I wouldn’t turn back to theft when I got out,” she said, fiddling with her napkin and not meeting his eyes.

He reached for her again and squeezed her hand, overwhelmed at what she had gone through.

She looked up at him, smiling sadly, a bitter twist to her mouth. “Two months into my year-long sentence I found out I was pregnant. I had just barely turned seventeen, I was in jail, and I--well, I couldn’t even fathom being a mother. Even if it meant I had to do the one thing I’d sworn I’d never do to my own child, I knew he deserved better.”

“And so did you,” he whispered, his heart breaking for her.

“Does that make me selfish? It’s just that what was best for him was also best for me, or so I thought at the time.”

“Of course not. Or rather, if it is...it’s the most understandable thing I can think of in your situation.” He lifted her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles, then furrowed his brow. “Did Henry say something?”

“He wondered about why I had given him up. I told him the truth, and that I don’t exactly regret it. But I also told him that I do want to know him.”

Killian smiled at her. “And hopefully he wants to know you. If not, he’s missing out.”

She blushed but returned his smile. “Thanks. We talked last night on the phone, and we had a good chat on the way to Portland. I think… I think it’s going to work out.”

He desperately wanted to pull her into his embrace. “Thank you, Emma, for telling me about your past.”

She looked at him, something shy and earnest in her gaze. “Thanks for listening. I don’t generally talk about this stuff with, well, anyone.”

“I’m honored to have your trust,” he said honestly, even as the guilt of his work with August knifing through him even as he smiled. It was an honor, even if it was one he didn’t deserve, but he would endeavor to be worthy of it.

She didn’t seem to notice anything was off, and Killian let out a silent breath of relief. She didn’t ever have to know about his past behavior, especially since it was no longer an issue. Killian leaned back in his chair, shifting his hand to lift hers, thumbing at the top of her knuckles as he did. “Well, love, would you like me to pour us another glass of wine? We could do that and watch something, if you’d like,” he said.

Emma slumped her shoulders in relief, clearly relieved to have the more serious portion of their conversation over with too. “That sounds great.”

They settled onto the couch, Emma sitting comfortably beside him, his arm draped over her shoulder, as they watched Parks and Recreation. He wasn’t entirely sold on the American comedy, but Emma assured him it would change his life. He was willing to give it a shot, especially with such a glowing recommendation, and if it meant it was something they’d have an excuse to continue to do together outside of the office.

Honestly, though, he stopped paying attention to the show about the same time Emma’s hand started caressing his thigh. He tightened his hold on her, the chamomile and sunshine scent of her hair bewitching his senses.

She turned to look up at him, and he wasted no time capturing her lips with his. His tongue traced along them, begging entry that she granted. Their embrace grew more passionate as she turned to face him, her legs straddling his. She pressed against him, her fingers cupping his jaw as his hands slipped under her sweater. He lightly traced nonsensical patterns up her back with his hand and his prosthetic, letting them slide against the softness of her skin and moaning against her mouth as he did.

Killian’s moan seemed to startle Emma, and she pulled back. He was gratified, though, to see she seemed to have trouble catching her breath. As she paused but didn’t pull back further, he pressed open-mouthed kisses down her throat to her collarbone.

She arched into him again and sighed before finally pulling away. “Hey, Killian--can we--can we stop for a moment?”

He closed his eyes but nodded, acquiescing. Lowering his hands and removing them from under her top, he looked up at her above him, her long hair flowing over her shoulders. She looked like a goddess of sunshine, he thought, his brain still somewhat fogged, not receiving all the blood flow it normally would.

“Sorry, I just… well, a lot is going on right now, and I want to see where this goes. But I also want to slow down a little,” she said apologetically, her cheeks red--with either embarrassment or arousal. Possibly both.

He smiled, and pressed a chaste kiss to her nose. “You have nothing to apologize for, Emma. We can take this as slowly--or as fast--as you’d like. Whenever you like.”

“I just… well, you’re my editor.” She gave a small shrug and looked away a moment before returning to look directly down at him. “I want this to work, I really do. But if it doesn’t, we still have to work together.”

“I understand. Truly, lass,” he said, beseeching any god who might listen to please help it work out. He reached out and touched her chin, kissing her again, trying to keep it from becoming too desperate a thing.