#speaking of I just got down to 1 cinnamon roll on that level again and this time it was SO close it made it seem really possible

[skruttet]

yo man how are you playing the moomin puzzle game it looks so cool but I didn't think it was really out yet

apkcombo dot com

[mtreebeardiles]

Stardew Effect; Summer, Year 1: The Shape of Things to Come

Ayyy finally updated this

Full chapter over on AO3!

There was something different about waking up in your own bed after so long spent away. Something distinct, something almost new about the old and the familiar, something only time and distance could conjure. The way his pillow dented beneath his head, the way the blankets canted to one side because the body pressed to his had a bad habit of stealing them in the night. An arm across his waist, weight comforting and warm, the tickle of breath against his neck. Smooth skin under his fingertips as they drew lazy patterns against the expanse of back beneath his own hand. Inhaling deep and catching the scent of cinnamon on the air, smiling at the idea of starting the morning off with some of Evvy's famous rolls. Opening his eyes to a room filled with golden sunlight and the easy sort of quiet he hadn't realized he'd missed until he had it again. 

No sharp reports of rifles in the distance, no pitched shouts barking orders across a training field. No scrape of metal on linoleum from the mess down the hall, whatever mystery dish being served up unidentifiable even to a nose as good as his. No scratchy blankets, no too thin, too hard mattress pressing against his tired body. 

No deep sense of dread permeating every bone, every muscle. 

Leigh had been back in the Valley for just over a week, and he didn't think he'd tire of it any time soon.

He turned his head, smiling at the sight of Shawn dozing beside him, the other man's head resting on Leigh's shoulder. Reddish brown hair spilled onto the pillow around him, and in sleep Shawn achieved a level of peace rarely seen in his waking hours. Customary frown eased, brow relaxed, lips slightly parted and eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones and Leigh wasn't sure how long he laid there simply…watching him. Admiring, really, struck again and again as he'd been every morning since his return that he was here, with Shawn, had made his way back and kept those promises too dangerous to speak aloud. 

That he'd come home to him -- and this time, he would stay.

"I can hear you thinking," Shawn mumbled, shifting beside him and nuzzling closer. Leigh huffed out a laugh, leaning over to kiss his forehead. 

"Can, can you? What am I thinking about?"

"You're thinking about how cozy this is," the other man replied, still not opening his eyes. His arm around Leigh's waist moved until his hand came to rest over his chest, right above his heart, pressing his palm flat and feeling, Leigh knew, for the beats below. 

"Mhm?"

"And you're thinking how wonderful it is, to be back here with me."

"So far so good…"

"And you are not thinking," Shawn went on, cracking open an eye at last, "of leaving this bed any time soon."

"Not even for cinnamon rolls?"

"Nope."

"What if I bring them back to bed?"

Shawn moved again, sitting up and leaning over him to better examine his face. Narrowed his eyes and frowned in the way that told Leigh he was, in fact, making an active effort not to smile. 

"…I'll allow it," he said after a moment. "But you better bring me orange juice, too."

Leigh laughed, leaning up to kiss Shawn's nose, then his lips, humming as he felt them curve into that smile at last. 

"You got it, love."

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #174

Y’know what? It’s the america anniversary, and it’s FGO’s anniversary too. Let’s celebrate a bit. Here’s a build early, we’ll be back on schedule on the sixth.

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making the precious cinnamon bun who just wants to ruin the environment, Berserker of Learning with Manga! For this build, we’ve got three goals; grow big, grow bigger, and grow biggest. Expect spoilers with her build breakdown below the cut, and slightly fewer spoilers in her character sheet over here!

Next up: Give me a sign~ Build me Nero one more time!

Paul Bunyan is a Rune Knight fighter to grow bigger while helping her friends, a Giant Soul Sorcerer to grow bigger while stepping on stuff, and a Totem Warrior Barbarian to smash things good with Babe’s help.

Race and Background

Pauly B was made out of Udon dough, and as a result she’s a Custom Lineage, giving her +2 Strength and a size of Small. She also get proficiency with Animal Handling, and the Magic Initiate feat to pick up some spells from the wizard spell list. Shape Water is just the beginning of your settling abilities, and Thunderclap is a single step for you. You also get Find Familiar to pick up Babes.

Aside from that, you are America’s pioneering spirit made manifest, so you’re an Outlander. This gives you proficiency with Athletics and Survival.

Ability Scores

You’re a glass cannon, so make sure your Strength is as high as you can get it. After that is Charisma- you’re only here because you were so popular in the book, after all. Your Dexterity comes next so you don’t die wearing denim armor. After that is Constitution. You might be a glass cannon, but a building-sized body is still pretty hard to take down. Your Intelligence isn’t amazing, but we’re dumping Wisdom. You’re a berserker anyway, but you also came from a comedy manga. That’s going to hurt your sense of reality.

Class Levels

1. Barbarian 1: Starting out here gets you as much health as we can, as well as proficiency with Strength and Constitution saves and two barbarian skills. Being nine hundred feet tall helps with Intimidation, and you gotta know a bit about Nature if you’re going to tear it down as effectively as you do.

You also get Unarmored Defense, making your AC 10 + your dexterity mod + your constitution mod when you’re just wearing denim. Your Rage transforms you for a minute as a bonus action. It gives you advantage on strength based saves & checks, extra damage on strength based attacks, and resistance to standard weapon damage. When you’re big enough to drink from a great lake, swords don’t do much.

2. Barbarian 2: Second level barbs can make Reckless Attacks, getting advantage now at the cost of giving other creatures advantage against you. Berserkers are not well known for their defensive power, but this will make up for you using such a heavy weapon while small.

That being said, Danger Sense gives you advantage on dexterity saves against effects you see coming. When you can step across the entire battle map in one go, fireballs are easy to avoid.

3. Fighter 1: First level fighters start things off right with a Fighting Style, and grabbing the superior technique style to make one Trip Attack per short rest is a great way to have enemies shouting timber.

You also get a Second Wind, letting you hang out and eat some beans as a bonus action, healing you 1d10+your fighter level HP.

4. Fighter 2: Second level fighters get an Action Surge to help you perform supernatural feats in a single turn. Now you can add on an extra action to your turn once per short rest.

5. Fighter 3: Our last level of fighter unlocks your martial archetype, the Rune Knight! The big reason we’re here is for Giant Might, spending a bonus action to grow Large, also giving you advantage on strength checks and saves, and you also deal extra damage once per turn while attacking. You can transform this way Proficiency times per long rest.

You can also carve Runes into weapons, armor, and jewelry. You get two runes, and can carve them into one item each at the end of a long rest. The Frost rune gives its wearer advantage on Animal Handling and Intimidation checks. The Fire rune doubles the wearer’s proficiency bonus with tools. Once per short rest per rune, they can also be invoked for extra power. The frost rune gives its wearer +2 on all strength and constitution saves and checks, while the fire rune forces a strength save against being restrained by fiery shackles, dealing damage each turn and restraining the target, when you hit it with a weapon attack. The DC for that save is 8 + proficiency + constitution.

6. Sorcerer 1: We might be done with fighter, but we’re not done multiclassing! First level sorcerers get Spells they can cast using their charisma. Thanks to an old unearthed arcana, you can be a Giant Soul sorcerer , granting you Jotun Resilience for slightly more HP; 1 extra per sorcerer level. The Mark of the Ordning also grants you extra low-level spells, like Heroism and Shillelagh. Neither of those are really useful to you, but they’re free, and not why we’re here.

For spells that are in character, grab Mold Earth, Create Bonfire, and Light to spruce up the wilderness and make it your own. You can also use True Strike to chop down trees, but that’s dumb, just make two attacks. For first level spells, Earth Tremor and Thunderwave are you stepping around. The former knocks people prone and makes the ground a big crater, the latter pushes them and objects away from you.

7. Sorcerer 2: This level isn’t that complicated, but you do become a Font of Magic for some Sorcery points that come in handy later. You can also cast Catapult to throw stuff around. Sadly, the maximum weight is only 5 pounds, but you can always just throw stuff yourself.

8. Sorcerer 3: Third level sorcerers get two Metamagic options to personalize your spells using sorcery points. Extended Spell will help out with a certain buff we’re getting this level, extending the length of the spell. You’re also big enough that your spell ranges should grow to match, so grab Distant Spell as well.

This level you can Hold Person, which you tend to take more literally than most casters. After the target fails a wisdom save, they’re paralyzed until they make one. While paralyzed, all attacks are made with advantage, and melee attacks are auto-crits.

Alternatively, you can use the Mark of the Ordning spell, Enlarge/Reduce to make yourself even bigger than usual. (Giant Might explicitly grows to large, so you have to start with that if you want to stack them.)

9. Barbarian 3: After spending half our build elsewhere, we can finally return to our starting class! Third level barbarians set down the Path of the Totem Warrior, letting you use your connection to Babe to pick up all sorts of goodies as we level up.

Immediately, you become a Spirit Seeker, letting you cast Beast Sense and Speak with Animals as rituals to really get into the Babe mindset.

Babe also becomes your Totem Spirit, so we’ll be taking the Elk options whenever possible. Right now, that gives you an extra 15′ of movement while raging. It’s not quite the whole nation in a step, but it’s a start.

10. Barbarian 4: At tenth level, we finally get our first Ability Score Improvement, so round up your Strength and Dexterity for better attacks and a better AC.

11. Barbarian 5: Fifth level barbarians finally get their Extra Attack each attack action, and your Fast Movement adds another 10′ to your movement speed, regardless of whether or not you’re raging.

12. Barbarian 6: Sixth level totem warriors get an Aspect of the Beast, doubling the travel pace for yourself and up to 10 companions. They can just ride on your shoulders, it’s fine.

13. Barbarian 7: Your Feral Instinct gives advantage on initiative rolls, and you can ignore being surprised if you rage at the start of the fight. Raging right away might not be the best option, but that’s for the casters to figure out. You’ve got land development to get to.

You can also use an Instinctive Pounce to move half your movement speed towards an enemy as part of your bonus action when you rage.

14. Barbarian 8: Use this ASI to bump up your Constitution for better runes and more health. You’re pretty squishy for a barbarian, but I guess that’s to be expected, considering what you’re made of.

15. Barbarian 9: Your first Brutal Critical adds an extra die to your critical damage rolls. Big kid, big axe, big damage. Simple math.

16. Barbarian 10: As a Spirit Walker, you can Commune with Nature as a ritual, summoning a cool spirit Babe to tell you stuff about the world around you.

17. Barbarian 11: Your Relentless Rage gives you a case of Guts, letting you make a DC 10 constitution save to avoid dropping to 0 HP, dropping to 1 instead if you succeed. Afterwards, the DC grows by 5, but it resets on short rests. You shouldn’t be getting guts at all, so be grateful.

18. Barbarian 12: Use your last ASI to bump up your Dexterity again for less getting hit. Healing’s nice, but avoiding the damage in the first place is way better.

19. Barbarian 13: You get another round of Brutal Criticals, for another extra die of damage on crits.

Not exactly rocket surgery, huh?

20. Barbarian 14: Your final level gives you your final barbarian goody! Your Totemic Attunement lets you move through a large or smaller creature’s space as a bonus action. It forces a strength save, or the creature is stepped on, knocking it prone and dealing damage.

Pros:

Thanks to your speed, size, and action surge, you can cover a lot of ground very quickly. With 55 feet of movement, two dashes, and an instinctive pounce, you can cover ~195 feet in a single round. Aside from that, your size gives you mobility options that aren’t available to others. Standing around 15′ tall will do that for ya.

You’ve got some solid swings with your axe, letting you deal plenty of damage in a single swing. Bring down the hammer on a natural 20 to blast through those doors. At your biggest you can deal 1d12+1d6+1d4+4 damage. That’s not a smite, but you can do this every turn while enlarge is up.

You get just enough spells to apply a lot of utility to your build, altering the landscape and messing with enemy movement to help out your team.

Cons:

Due to how we leveled up, your first ASI doesn’t come until level 10. If you roll poorly, that might be a problem.

I wouldn’t call you squishy by any means, but you do make for a big target, with your huge size and an AC of only 15 making you easy pickings even before you start getting reckless.

Most of your abilities are tied to your rage, but your biggest size is tied to your spells. They don’t play nice. Even worse, it’s a flavor fail- you can’t trample over people if you’re at your biggest size. (On a semi-related note: being big and being a barbarian have a lot of overlap. Both giant might and raging give you advantage on strength stuff, so having both up is sort of a waste.)

[scoopsgf]

can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it! 

1. 

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

2. 

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

3. 

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

4. 

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it... 

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps. 

[brichan87]

Trying out a new story

Been working on a new story: a new take on the superhero genre. Figure I will post it here and see what people think. Still a work in progress but feel free to leave feedback.

Chapter 1

The morning cold seeped into her bones as she shuffled into the kitchen not quite ready to face the world. Her eyes opened to narrow slits, filtering out all of the world except her intended target. The sky outside was still dark and caused her mind to plead for her to go back to bed. Yet, as she does every morning, Tally resisted the urge to turn around and return the the bedroom.

The winter holidays were fast approaching; however, the days seemed to be lengthening while her energy diminishes more and more each day. Every morning she should wake up feeling refreshed and revitalized; instead Tally feels more exhausted than when she went to sleep, defeating its entire purpose. Meditation, tea...nothing seemed to help which caused her frustration to increase with each failure. Why waste that time sleeping if it did nothing for her?

Part of her understood that the stress of the season was adding to her exhaustion. Between the decorations, preparations for guests, and trying to that holiday scene perfect for social media, it was natural for someone to feel burned out. And her second job only added to the exhaustion. However, Tally could not shake the feeling that something was not right.

Something about this exhausting felt strange: like it was unnatural. Maybe it was just her trying to explain away her stress and fears as reactions to things that are out of her control but something inside of her was screaming “danger!” The damage dealt to her arm the night before did not help her with the feeling of impending doom. For such minor injuries, the pain level kept creeping up over night.

“Maybe I need to call the doctor to get checked out,” Tally mumbled softly as she wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic mug waiting for her on the counter. The smell of orange and cinnamon wafted through the air causing her brain and body slowly began to become more alive.

“Hey, that could have been mine,” a voice teased from behind her. 

Turning her head to glance over her shoulder, she saw her boyfriend set down his tablet and stand up from the table. Making his way into the kitchen, he popped open the refrigerator door and dug out some ingredients. After mixing some of them together, the man walked up to Tally and placed a small kiss on her cheek before handing her a bowl of fruit and yogurt.

“Me, tea. You, coffee,” she grunted. Last night was a rough one; getting in at one in the morning definitely made her less than cheery at 5 A.M. But the soft smile she got in return made her heart flutter as she reached out and grasped the bowl that he held out to her. 

“Wow. Didn’t know I was dating a caveman.” Bradie chuckled as she flashed him a less than loving hand gesture. “Alright, alright, I get it. Mornings are still not your thing. I appreciate you sacrificing your chance to sleep in to spend some time with sad, little me who has to be at work by seven in the morning everyday.”

“Sad, little you is exceptionally cheery today. Why?”

“Because it is the last day of school before Thanksgiving Break. So not only will I have 5 days of no work related activities because I was ‘a good child’ who got all his lessons planned before the break, but tomorrow I finally get to meet your family.”

THUNK!

Every dish on the table rattled as Talaleigh let gravity drag her head down until her forehead struck the surface; whether or not the groan she let out was out of pain or frustration was a mystery to both of the people in the room. 

“Are you sure we have to go visit my family? It’s really not too late to say something came up,” she pleaded. The table muffled the sound of the words but the dread managed to ring out loud and clear. “We can even hop a last minute flight and go see your parents. Or a nice, quiet couple’s Thanksgiving. Anything but going to see my family.”

The room was silent for a few minutes then Bradie let out a soft sigh as he slid into the chair opposite of hers. “What’s going on, Tal? Because you never want me to meet your family. And I try to not be offended by it but more and more it is starting to feel like you are ashamed of me.”

“No, not you,” she reassured. Lifting her head up, Tally reached across the table and rested her hand on his forearm. “Never you. You are amazing. Smart, intelligent, kind, good-looking, amazing, and I know I am repeating myself here but it is true. It is not you that I am trying to hide.”

Standing up from the table, Tally grabbed both of their cups and took them into the kitchen. “It’s just that…,” she began as she poured Bradie more coffee and began to brew herself a new cup of tea. This conversation seemed easier to have if she was slightly distracted by a separate task. “My parents are a little nontraditional. Loving, supportive people but definitely different. Nothing like your parents. And then my brother,” she continued as she brought finished the preparations and brought their drinks back to the table. “He and I really don’t get along at all. As in we get into fights pretty frequently. And they are not small fights.” As much as she tried to fight them back, a few tears began to fill her the corners of her eyes. “And it sucks because he were actually really close as kids, but then something happened and it has never been the same since." Grabbing a tissue off the corner of the desk, Tally wiped away the tears before they escaped. "So it is not that I don’t want to show you off to my family, it is more that I don’t want you to bear witness to the kind of crazy you’ll be tied to if you stick with me.”

“Oh honey, I’ve already witnessed that crazy. However…” he paused to duck the wadded up napkin being thrown at him. “I love you too much to care what your family is like. They are a part of you, so I  am sure that I will love them just like I do you. And if not, I promise we never have to see them again. Deal?”

A twitch of her lips revealed her thoughts before she gave him a small nod. "Deal, but that means you.." A yawn fought its way to the surface, breaking off her comment. As she brought up her arm to hide her mouth, her sleeve slipped down, exposing several bruises and cuts littering the expanse of her forearm. Most were shallow but a few of them were deep enough to require bandages until they scabbed over.

“Jesus Tal!” Bradie exclaimed. He clamored out of the chair and knelt by her side. “Those look bad. Why didn’t you say anything?” He gently grasped her wrist to examine the wounds. Rolling up her sleeve further, he noticed some areas that looked like they were burned by some sort of chemical: the skin was red and pebbled with tiny bumps.

Tally half-heartedly tried to pull her arm out of his grip but her boyfriend was not done investigating the wounds. "It’s nothing, really. Just ran into some trouble with a nasty plant last night, and it left me with some scratches and little poison ivy I think. Not a big, oh sh------” she hissed as Bradie accidentally grazed one of the wounds with his fingernail. Waves of pain pulsed through her arm, and Tally squeezed her eyes shut while trying to ride out the pain. When she was able to open her eyes again once the pain faded away, Talaleigh felt a twinge of guilt when she laid eyes on her boyfriend. Disapproval was sketched all over his face.

“It’s not a big deal, my ass,” he grumbled, letting her arm go as he stood up. “You should have woken me up.”  Reaching into the cabinet above the sink, he shoved boxes and bottles to the side, digging for an item buried in the back. “You know I wouldn’t mind helping you clean up your wounds. If anything,” he continued as he pulled out a first aid kit and made his way back to her side. “It would help me because then I wouldn’t have mini-heart attacks every time I find one on accident.” He knelt down beside her and held out a hand, waiting for her to place her care literally and figuratively in his hands. Tally did not hesitate to comply.

“I know,” she replied softly. She winced a little as the man at her knees started to apply antiseptic to the cuts on her arm. Flames licked at the wounds as the medicine killed the bacteria surrounding the edges of the cuts. For the second time in the past five minutes, Tally felt tears welling up in her eyes. But these tears were different; they were for the man who loved and worried about her enough to risk being late for work in order to take care of her. “I know it scares you, and I’m sorry. I...I just figured that I had it handled so there is no point in waking you just so you could worry more.”

A hand reached up and brushed off a few of the tears that had escaped to her cheek, surprising Tally because she did not even notice them leaving. Then a pair of strong arms wrapped around her shoulders and brought her to his chest.  The continuous beat of his heart soothed her frayed, emotional nerves and surrounded her with warmth and safety.

“I will always worry,” he whispers in her ear, causing more tears to join the ones that he erased a moment earlier. “It is just the price of loving someone who cares so much about others and will do whatever she can to help them. And I know your job is important but so are you. Don’t make sacrificing yourself the first option you pick. Can you promise me that?”

A flurry of emotions raced through Talaleigh. Her instincts to make light of serious issues warred with her desire to comfort the man before her. All of the thoughts and feelings swelled up in her throat, making it impossible for her to speak. So instead she slowly nodded her head against Bradie’s shoulder, smearing tears over the shoulder of his shirt.

“Okay,” she croaked. “For you.” The two sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the comfort of being near each other. However much they desired to spend the rest of the day cuddling like this, both new that the real world would soon be calling. Sitting up, Tally wiped her face off with her sleeve and glanced at the clock. “And now I have made you late. So sorry.”

“Nah, I’ll still be there on time. I’ve got no copies to make and probably very few children there today, so no need to get there early. What are you up to today?”

"Nothing special, I hope. Probably spend a little time straightening up and then most of the day working on my book. Hopefully I can get a chapter done before we leave tomorrow. Since I worked last night, I should be a 'last resort' call but we know how that goes sometimes."

"Well, I hope you have a quiet day of writing because no matter what happens, tomorrow will be a day to remember." Leaning down, he placed a kiss on her cheek then headed to the door. "Remember to use your powers for good, not evil," Bradie called out as he walked through the doorway.

“Very funny,” she yelled as the door closed behind him. “It’s not me you have to worry about."

Collecting the breakfast dishes from off the table, Talaleigh carried them to the sink and began to clean them, losing herself in the routine of dipping her hands in and out of the  hot, soapy water. Her mind drifted to her family and what might be awaiting her tomorrow. The prospect of introducing the one she loved to her family should be thrilling since it is proof of how committed Bradie and her are to one another. However, the fact that she cannot even begin to imagine how her family will behave in front of her boyfriend was making her incredibly anxious.

How long has it been since I went home, she thought as she placed one of the dishes in the drainer. It has been at least a year, if not longer. I mean mom and dad did come visit me here in the spring. So I have seen them just haven’t visited them. And they haven't met Bradie yet even though I promised them we would stop by a month or two ago. But things have been crazy between work and Bradie hardly gets any long breaks until the November/December time frame. And I did see Axel last month but God knows that was anything but enjoyable...

Anger rushed through her veins at the thought of her younger brother. The brother that she always put first. The brother who she sacrificed her free time to take to friends' houses and after school activities. The brother she practically raised. The brother who turned his back on her.

She slammed the pot in her hand down into the sink, sending a spray of bubbles and water over the wall and her shirt. “Damn him,” she ground out as she flexed her hands over and over, trying to release the fury boiling under her skin. “I swear if he does anything to ruin this holiday he will regret it.”

A shrill chime echoed through the room, dragging Tally out of her pensive state and back into the real world.. “Oh you have got to be kidding me,” she groaned as she dried her hands on a dish cloth before heading back to the table to grab her phone. 

“Hello? Yes, it is her. No,.. see I worked last night and have the marks to prove it. Got tangled up with… no, the pun was not intended! Yes, I’m fine but..look! I don’t mean to be short or sound disagreeable but I have a life too and there are other people who can handle this. I mean what's the point of having a union if you are going to keep calling up the same people all the time. So unless you can explain to me why it is so important for me specifically to be there, I am hanging up and turning the phone on silent.” 

The speaker on the phone had to say only three words before she interrupted him with a brusque “I’ll be there in fifteen” and ended the call. “Eff my life,” she grumbled as she threw the phone onto the sofa while heading into the bedroom to change into her costume.

When Bradie joked with her about “using her powers for good”, it wasn’t actually a joke. For the past year Talaleigh has been working as the superhero Safeguard, and she has just been called onto another assignment.

[eirabach]

Just Like Heaven [The Glow Rewrite] 1/8

Well, here it is kids. Kindly betaed by the beautiful @katie-dub. All remaining errors are absolutely 1000% my fault, and any and all incoherence remains despite her best efforts to kick sense into me. All the love in the world to the CaptainSwanRewriteathon team who helped me get this thing finished, even if I dropped out at the very very last second. I love you all. Very dearly.

Emma Swan always gets her man, why would she let a little thing like death get in the way?

A Captain Swan ‘Just Like Heaven’ Movie AU that takes the AU part and eats it for breakfast. Now with weekly updates! Godspeed, dear reader. Godspeed.

Rated M. Ao3. 2500 / 22000. 

She dreams of the ocean.

The skies are bright blue, and cartoon-fluffy clouds scud overhead as the ship skips over the waves with her at the bow. The wind catches at her hair and she laughs - a wild, bell-like sound she barely recognises - and spreads her arms wide.

Somewhere behind her, someone is calling her name.

Emma!

Emma?

“Emma? Emma!”

She sits bolt upright, the cheap plastic chair creaking alarmingly beneath her weight as she sways backwards. Her half eaten breakfast doughnut rolls sadly across the table and drops to the floor, and she scrubs at the smear of cinnamon frosting it’s left on her cheek.

“Sorry, what,” she mumbles, blinking grit from her eyes. “I was just - ”

“Snoring,” says her boss, lips twitching into a sneer. “So glad you could rejoin us.”

“Sorry,” Emma mutters again, “it won’t - it won’t happen again.”

Zelena lifts one perfectly manicured eyebrow over the file she’s holding out, Emma cringing inwardly as she realises that every person around the rickety old boardroom table is watching her with expressions that range from amused, to pitying, to - in Jefferson’s case - alarmingly hungry.

“Rough night?” he asks, with a lecherous sort of grin. “We could make it… rougher, if you like?”

Emma squeezes her hands into fists and forces her expression into a tight smile.

“Not in any way you’d enjoy, Jefferson. I might, though.”

Ruby scoffs into her hand, covering it up with a cough, and the two of them exchange a swift look. Ruby’s still in last night’s make-up too, but hers is still practically pristine, her lips still devil red as she quirks them briefly at Emma.

Emma’s carefully applied mascara, on the other hand, is smeared under her eyes and down her cheeks from hours spent waiting in the rain, her lipstick long since bled away.

It really had been a rough night.

Her mark had been a particularly nasty piece of work, skipping bail and leaving not only one well-meaning and heavily pregnant girlfriend to foot the bill, but two, and Emma had been warned in advance that he had form for getting nasty when things weren’t going his way.

He also, it seemed, had form for standing up dates. In the rain.

And possibly Varsity Level Track and Field skills.

She could imagine better starts to the day than dealing with Zelena and Jefferson after six hours of extensive wet-weather cross-country running and twenty minutes sleep. She squirms in her seat, her shoulder aching still from where he’d attempted to wrench it from its socket before she’d finally managed to get the drop on him, and meets Zelena’s gaze with a glare of her own.

“I got the mark,didn’t I?” she says. “I just didn’t get much sleep.”

“I hope you enjoyed your little cat nap, then,” says Zelena, sliding the file over to Emma. “Because here’s the next one.”

Emma’s brow furrows as she looks at the golden embossed motif on the front of the file, the heavy cardstock, the six figure reward for bringing this guy in.

Somebody must have been a really, really naughty boy.

“The cops increased their budget lately?”

“Not for the police,” Zelena says smugly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. “This is on behalf of a private client.”

“Hey.” Emma drops the file on the table and shakes her head sharply. “We do bailsbonds, not PI work.”

Zelena hums, her eyes going wide. “Is that what it says on my door? Well I never.”

“You don’t have a door,” Emma mutters, but Zelena is leaning over the table now, her eyes sharp, and Emma is forcibly reminded that although she’s good at her job - great, even - Zelena is still very much the boss.

“And you don’t have a choice,” she hisses. “Unless you think I should give the mark to someone else?”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees both Ruby and Jefferson sit up a little straighter, and her eyes drift back down to the file.

She doesn’t know who Mr Gold is, and she has no idea what he wants with the dark-haired man in the grainy CCTV photo - this Killian Jones - but she knows how much money is left for the month. She knows Henry went to school this morning in jeans a half inch too short.

And it’s six figures. Six.

“No,” she says, closing the file and resting her hands on top of it. “I’ve got this.”

--

The office - such as it is - isn’t the sort of place Emma likes to spend much of her time, even at the best of times which, frankly, this sort of isn’t. Ruby’s nice, outgoing enough to spring the honey traps Emma wouldn’t dare and a personable sort of person to have around if you didn’t mind the constant sound of gum smacking, but even she isn’t a generous enough soul to congratulate Emma on being handed a case that might make her rich. And Jefferson had looked ready to murder her before she’d slipped past the splintered remains of what had once been Zelena’s door and settled herself into the only comfy chair in the place - an elderly padded desk chair reserved for clients that always smells faintly of despair.

Zelena could afford to replace it, of course. Emma thinks she just rather likes the scent.

“All right,” she says, crossing her legs and trying not to wince as her knees protest. “Spill.”

Zelena taps her nails on her desk and tosses her hair over her shoulder.

“Afraid I don’t know what you mean,” she says with suspiciously wide eyes. “Is there a problem?”

“You tell me,” Emma snaps back, the file tight in her fingers. “Since when do we take on private clients - since when do private clients want to hire us?” She gestures to the door, it’s smashed glass panel and missing edges a testament to the sort of review Oz Bail Bonds has received in the past. “Something’s up.”

For a moment Zelena’s sneer drops, her fingers still, the confidence she wears like her knock-off suit flickering briefly out of existence.

“That’s none of your business,” she says, eyes narrowing. “Just do your job, Swan.”

“I will,” Emma snaps, “but not if - I have Henry to worry about you know.”

Zelena rolls her eyes in the particularly dismissive manner she reserves for those rare occasions her staff dare to remind her that they have lives outside of the office walls.

“Best make sure you don’t fail, then.” She gestures to the door, her contribution clearly finished. “Although,” she says, “since you’re here…” She reaches into her desk drawer and removes one of the thin, buff coloured files preferred by Portland PD. Clipped to the front is a picture of a red-faced, piggy-eyed man, with slicked back black hair and a smile even a mother would cringe at. “Jefferson didn’t quite bring home the bacon on this one, so to speak. Would you mind?”

Zelena smiles her reptilian smile and Emma thinks of her bed, the three day old take out festering in the fridge. She thinks of Henry’s face as he waits for her to collect him from school only to see Mary Margaret turn up again.

“Would it matter if I did?”

Zelena’s smile almost reaches her eyes.

“Not in the least.”

—

If you were to ask Killian Jones where he’d gone wrong in his life he’d struggle to put his finger on any one event. Too many coincidences. Too little respect for authority. Too much death. Too little faith. Not enough rum.

Well, maybe not that last one, though it is what brings him out tonight.

He stumbles through the night, his collar drawn up against the cold and his hat pulled low against prying eyes. The streets are unfamiliar still, the accents around him notably unlike his own, and it’s a stupid idea, this. Foolish. Idiotic. Risky. Irresponsible. All the things that he’d been, before. All the things that he’d sworn to leave behind, after.

(It seems he’s yet to make a vow he can’t break.)

He’s too sober to be this maudlin. Too sober by far.

Luckily, that’s one of the few things he can do anything about.  

His legal team know nothing of the little dockside hole in the wall joint he’s taken to frequenting when they clock off for the night. He’s spent weeks under their watchful gaze, sitting sweet between the four magnolia walls of the safehouse, and maybe they’re as bored as he is or maybe they secretly agree that he deserves what’s coming to him, but gradually they’ve given him a few tiny tastes of freedom. The disposition is pending, after all. His evidence presented in black and white. So perhaps it doesn’t matter that they’ve left a newspaper here. An open bathroom window there.

And he might be nothing else, but he’s resourceful.

He’s resourceful, and soon, he plans to be drunk.

Liam hated him being drunk.

He hated the dive bars he’d frequent, the women he’d bring home, the friends he’d spend his nights with.

Sometimes - most of the time - he wonders if Liam had just hated him.

He’d have been well within his rights.

He’d been left with a feckless little sod of a younger brother to care for when his career was barely beginning, all those early paychecks dropped on a boy who barely understood the sacrifice and wouldn’t have appreciated it if he had. God only knows, even now, how he’d managed to convince his superiors to allow his delinquent younger brother access to the shipyards.

It’s why he sticks to the docks. The scent of brine and engine oil takes him back to those hazy distant days when Liam had tried to save him from himself, and the ships that almost had.

But then, Liam was gone. And along with him any hope for Killian Jones in the world at large.

The Underworld had taken him, and he’d let it.

The black market, after all, did have better rum.

Better than this place certainly, but he drinks the proffered dross anyway. Needs must. And besides, it stops burning after the fourth shot.

Perhaps if he’d stopped there he’d have stood a chance of noticing the man in the corner of the bar. Most unfortunates who patronise a place like this tend to keep their heads down and their drinks coming, but this one - this one has his eye on Killian.

And he’s been cradling the same pint for an hour.

Killian doesn’t notice him, or the anxious way he shifts his weight. He doesn’t notice the glint of silver in his pocket, nor the sweat that blooms across his brow. He would have, once. Would have cared, once. But now all he cares about are the dribbles of rum that slip down shaking fingers and the goddamn waste of it all.

So he doesn’t notice. Doesn’t care. Not until he’s eight shots deep and the world is spinning, stinking of garbage and vomit, footsteps behind him and it’s too damn late to run.

Too damn late by far.

---

It hadn’t always been like this of course.

It’s sort of surreal this half-life of hers, lived in the shadows of other people’s mistakes. She works mainly when the streets are dark and empty, sleeping the daylight away as best she can in an old recliner swiped from a skip, her son’s third-hand xbox blaring brightly away just beyond the edge of her consciousness. She’s tired, always, and never quite as well off as she ought to be for the hours she puts in - the stain of Zelena’s fingerprints over every pay cheque - but on balance, it’s alright.

It used to be far, far worse.

At least she was sleeping in her car voluntarily nowadays. Not like those early days before, cold and desperate, she’d thrown herself on the mercy of the only friend she could remember having, her worst best mistake wailing in her arms and her prison issue clothes hanging off too thin shoulders.

And Mary Margaret had let her in.

And let her in. And let her in.

Until their brief High School friendship had developed into something almost like family, almost just right.

She’s getting morbid, it’s getting late. The two things might be connected.

It’s been a depressingly long time since she’d backed the bug into the alleyway outside of the mark’s preferred drinking den, and she’d done nothing ever since but squint into the dark - nothing except fire off a quick text to Mary Margaret begging off school pick up and hoping she’d take mercy.

Again.

It’s a theme, of sorts.

(And if she hadn’t answered Mary Margaret’s follow up call, well. She can’t afford to get distracted on a job.

She can’t afford for Mary Margaret to finally say no.)

From somewhere under the pile of cheeseburger wrappers in her passenger footwell she hears the buzz of her phone and winces.

She sort of should have, maybe, called Mary Margaret back.

No time for that now though. At the end of the alleyway she sees the shadow of a man leaving the bar, the tell-tale lurching gait of the heavy drinker giving her time to slip out of the bug, gun in hand, before he’s able to disappear into the shadows.

This is always the riskiest part - the choice. Does she shout, ensuring the guy currently emptying his guts against a dumpster is the one she’s after but possibly setting herself up for another late night cross country session? Or does she lurk in the dark like some sort of comic book vigilante, creeping along with her back to the damp alleyway walls and hope that she’s able to get the drop on him?

(Her knees hurt. Decision made.)

She inches towards the dark figure, wrinkling her nose up as he retches into the gutter, the street lights casting a yellow halo around his unruly hair. He’s mumbling to himself as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, some sort of half conversation with the demons in his own head, and Emma slides her gun back into her belt. She’s not going to need it.

Somehow, she gets the impression that if she breathes too hard at this one he’ll drop like a leaf.

“Hey,” she says softly, stepping into the glow of the light, her hands open at her sides. “I think you ought to come with me”

He pauses his mumbling, his shoulders heaving slightly from the effort of being sick, and she sees the way his right hand tightens on the edge of the dumpster.

There’s a crack - thunder that isn’t  - a sharp, wet, blooming pain in her stomach. Screeching rubber and her own pulse harsh in her ears as she stumbles forward, grabbing for the edge of the drunk’s jacket as she falls.

She gasps. Henry’s name garbled in blood. Her phone’s in her car. She needs to tell this guy… he needs to tell Henry… she needs…

Help.

He turns, a flash of blue against white, and everything goes dark.

[mommymooze]

Bob

Bob-Original Character. 

Warning: Crack (yes, I found crack!) vulgar, violent, bad humor, toasty cinnamonrolls Hubert abuse

Part 1

He confidently strides around the grounds of the Monastery like he owns the place. Noone dares to tell him he doesn’t.  He’s always been curious, his quest for knowledge knows no bounds. That Riegan kid? An amateur next to him. The poisons and potions that boy comes up with? He made those before he was 9. Riegan is always bragging about Lysithia. Youngest girl to graduate from the School of Sorcery, she is such a prodigy, bla, bla, bla. He had graduated before his 10th birthday. His graduating thesis rewrote the book on transmogrification.

He doesn’t care for Claude practically sticking his tongue in Professor Byleth’s ear at every turn. Okay, so the doof hasn’t quite done that, but he can see that the guy really ‘breathily’ speaks in her ear, so he may as well be. Bob is not jealous. Byleth doesn’t interest him. Not in that way. He knows she’s the best choice for Professor for the Blue Lions. Golden Deer are too chaotic and disorganized. The Black Eagles are practically run by the Agarthans, unfortunately those idiots can’t see it. Besides, its easier to ‘fit in’ with the people of his ‘land’.  He’s a noble, in the loosest sense of the word.

His fellow Blue Lions will follow Dimitri to hell and back. Little do they know that Dimitri already has one foot in hell. The guy is nuts. The things he talks about in his sleep, well, Bob’s seen people like that before.  They have endured some really heavy shit and trauma. Usually it’s a one-way trip. Dimitri’s hanging on by a thin frayed thread and only Dedue is keeping him grounded. Looks like Professor Byleth is picking up on it. Saving Dedue’s life was the best thing that ever happened to Dimitri.

Now Sylvain, he got a rotten deal handed to him. Don’t blame him for his coping mechanism of getting back at the girls that are after him for his goods and not him. A bit self-destructive, but he does kind of enjoy it, until it goes south. Step in Ingrid, to save him. She’s such a knight in shining armor, rescuing princess Sylvain every time. Felix, he needs a complete emotional enema. He’s been blocked up since his brother died. His father’s been blocked up since his wife died. Felix locked down all of his feelings and emotions only letting out anger and hatred. Any time he has a feeling related to kindness or love, he beats it out of himself by training to death. Ashe, there is a sweet young man. A cinnamon roll through and through. He’s been through tough times and better times. You just can’t let harm come to a freaking ray of sunshine like him. Annette is definitely in the cinnamon rolls covered in sunshine category as well, even though her conception sperm donor is a dick. Daddy Gustav, ugh, Duscur screwed him in the head too. ‘I failed as a knight. I couldn’t protect them.’ So you dump your family, stick your thumb in your ass and watch Dimitri fall apart? Really? Yeah he super sucks as a father type thing. Mercedes is a fun girl. She’s seen some shit, yet she is so motherly to all the Lions. She is not one to give up, even on her loser psycho brother.  

Bob is a model student. He watches the idiotic pranks that Sylvain pulls.  Fart jokes? That is third grade stuff. They have the big mock battle between the classes in a few weeks. Bob catches the redhead getting turned down by Felix when he invites his bff to town to check out some girls. Bob just happens to be near the door when Sylvain exits.

“Hey man, heard you may be heading to town. Need a wingman?” Bob offers.

“Only if you buy the first round.” Sylvain grins.

They head out the front gates to the town on the other side of the woods. Talking about their favorite types of girls, Sylvain is ready to hit up anything in a skirt by the time they hit the closest drinking establishment. Half an ale gone and the redhead has found a couple of prospective tarts ready to take a bite out of.  Bob takes a seat next to a young brunette cleric who shyly smiles as he sits. They chatter amicably, before the evening is over, he knows of her family, history, deity (not Sothis, gasp) how long she has done this, life’s dreams, battle experience, her strongest spells, affinities, favorite foods, shoe size and her birthday. Sylvain returns to the tavern a bit disheveled and a grin from ear to ear.  Bob bids his little friend good night. Once he is finished suffering through the heavily detailed victorious encounter that the handsome cavalier has just experienced, Bob changes direction of the conversation to the redhead himself.

“Dude, why do you act like such a fuckup? Felix hits it right on the nose every time and you just crumble. You are much smarter than you lead everyone to believe. You hold back on your magic. You can handle a lance like nobody’s business. If you practiced some, get your speed up, you’d be deadly. What’s the deal?” Bob doesn’t exactly hold back.

“Look,” Sylvain whines, “I know I’m a fuckup. My father has my life lined up for me. He’ll pick out who I marry, I’m stuck watching over the Gautier territory, making crestbabies to grow up and wield the Lance of Ruin. My brother was fucked over by my father for not having a crest. I had to go out and kill him. My own brother. My whole life is so messed up, why should I even try?”

Bob leans over and whispers into the redhead’s ear. “Man, the winds of change are coming. This whole godessdamned world is going to be flipped upside down. Just when you think it can’t get any worse it does. It’s gonna be a mess. Then one day, there’s going to be a light in that darkness, and the world is tilted again. All the slates are going to be wiped clean and I intend on being there to rewrite it all. I just want you to come along for the ride, dude.”

Sylvain looks at Bob like he’s got two heads. “How much did you have to drink while I was gone? That is some crazy heavy shit. Whatever it was, you gotta buy me some next time.” He laughs as they get back to the monastery gates.

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Bob quickly becomes bored with the highly censored library in the monastery and decides to find where the one is in Abyss. Besides, he hates the skinwalker librarian. The creep likes to hand out anti church of Seiros paraphernalia to anyone that would take one. Bob knew of Abyss long before he had ever arrived. He found out more information about Garreg Mach on the outside than on the inside. Once you go past the front gate, the church folks zip their lips shut. He sneaks around a few tunnels, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone nearby. Noting some footsteps slowly moving closer, he blends in with the walls. Two girls walk past, he’s just about to let them keep going, but he recognizes one of them.

“Hapi?” Bob softly gasps.

“Dipshit! Long time no see, jerk!” Hapi runs over and hugs him.

The taller blonde girl stands, waiting for a proper introduction.

“Oh, Coco, this is my friend, Dipshit. He helped get me out of the terrible place where, you know, those guys were.” Hapi says.

The noble woman offers her hand, “Constance Von Nuvelle.  I am temporarily living here, however I strive to restore House Nuvelle to its finest glory.

Bob takes her hand, kissing the back of it, “I am very honored to make your acquaintance. How fortunate to meet such a beautiful woman as yourself in such an interesting location.”

Constance Nuvelle giggles at his introduction. Bob is all OMG she is so CUTE.

Hapi gives him the stink-eye “Aaanyyway, we should prolly take you to meet Yuribird. He’s the boss around here. “

So they meander over to the class room and meet Yuri. Tall, beautiful, with an air of mystery for kicks, Yuri greets the newcomer. “Any friend of Hapi’s is welcome.”

Bob explains his presence. “I’m not here to get in your business. Just wanted to check out your library. If I find anything useful to you, I know where to go with it. Mostly I am interested in all the crap that is going on topside.”

Yuri walks with him to the place where Seteth’s banished books have been stored. Bob tears into it like a man starved. Feeding on everything he can get his hands on.

Yuri decides to be sociable for a moment. “Whatcha looking for friend?”

Bob “the usual. Nabatheans, Agarthans, saints, Nemesis, relics, bloodlines, histories that may be a little closer to the truth than what they have upstairs. “

Yuri nods. “Sure. Have at it.”

“I’ll let you know if I find anything about the Crest of Aubin or the rest of you guys.” Bob offhandedly remarks looking through a few books.

Yuri starts cleaning under his nails with a particularly sharp dagger. “Funny, no one mentioned Crests, much less if anyone has one.”

“I can smell ‘em.” Bob says indifferently. “One of their experiments gone haywire. Hapi and I did time together. Ask her, she’s where I got my crest.”

“Have fun.” Yuri quips before heading out, stashing his dagger.

Bob is devouring this library. Opens every single book on every single shelf. Divides them into piles. Church, Magic, research, Agarthans, useful, and crap.

Encyclopedia of Fodlan’s Insects. Insects is what the Agarthans call Nabatheans. Winged bugs that need squashing. It also describes items forbidden by the church. These of course are things the Agarthans have used for centuries. Telescopes, viewing lenses, metal printing presses, decent condoms. Bob laughs out loud at the section on autopsies. Wouldn’t want you poking around inside someone’s head or chest. May accidentally find a crest stone or worse rattling around in there. Bob finishes sorting the upper levels of the Shadow Library. He hands a few books to Yuri to peruse, telling him to hang on to them, Bob would like a close look when he is done. Bob shuffles off with armful after armful of books, taking them to a quiet little nook that Yuri has permitted for him. Not much bigger than a closet, but its enough room to keep the books secure. Just as he’s on his last trips, who should happen to arrive at the library but Hubert von Vestra.

“Hey Bro, what the fuck you doin’ down here?” Bob impolitely and arrogantly asks.

“You. Why don’t you crawl back under your rock.” Hubert curses.

“Surprised to see you standing up. Usually you’re on all fours licking her high and mightynesses boots.” Bob shakes his head, getting his black and white bangs out of his eyes.

“Lady Edelgard deserves all of my praise and loyalty for everything she has been through. House Vestra shall always be at her service.” Hubert stiffly replies.

“Yeah, how’s that working out for you. She hasn’t been through half the shit I’ve been through. She’s barely holding it together. What’s fucking hilarious is she’s relying on you to help her keep it together. You still haven’t gotten over killing father. You should’ve let me know. I’d’ve done it in a heartbeat. Can’t wait till I can slit my beautiful mother’s throat and listen to her gurgling as the life flows from her.”

“He denounced you. You are not a Vestra.” The Black Eagle spits out.

Bob puts his hands on his hips. “Gimme a break. You and I are cut from the same mold. Same greasy black hair, at least I take care of mine. Same strong chin, handsome cheek bones, body structure. Hell we have the same color eyes from father. Just because I’m your half bro doesn’t mean I’m not part of your family. We’re both drawn to black and dark magic. We wield spells far above our fellow students. Just think of the things we could do together. “

“No. You are crude, undignified, unprodigious, and disgusting inside as well as out.” Hubert spits.

“We’re twins! I’m just the better looking one. Just ask anyone. You stand around like a starving vulture ready to pounce on everyone. Always looming and leering. That creepy guy intimidation thing only gets you so far. You need to work on your charm.” Bob schmoozes, moving closer to his half brother.

“I’ve had enough of this.” Hubert gives a disgusted frown and warps away.

“I love dicking with him. Fucking dickwad.” Bob laughs a deep and frightening laugh that scares some female out in the hallway who screams and runs away.

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When Flayne goes missing, Bob becomes unhappy. She’s a sweet and innocent girl. Yeah, she’s got dragon blood and all that, but really she’s nice. Cinnamon roll nice. Too nice to be caught up in any Agarthan mess. And this kidnapping has Agarthan written all over it.

Bob shows up behind Hubert, smashing his face into a wall and nicking his half bro’s throat as he puts a dagger under his chin. “Tell her to call the Agarthan dogs back. Tell her how wrong it is to work with them. They are not your friends. The enemy of your enemy crap doesn’t work. They are only using you, not the other way around”

Hubert, bloody nosed from having it smashed into a wall mutters, “I will bring it up in our next conversation.”

“Yeah. Talk about it. All talk, no action.” Bob disappears through the wall. He materializes in the library behind Ashe.

“Ashe, take off your baseball cap.” The cool dark mage orders.

The grey haired cinnamon roll takes off his hat and sits very straight in the comfy chair in the library. He can feel the hand patting his head, then stroking his hair from the top of his head down to his neck.

“Good boy, you are a good boy Ashe.” Bob begins his mantra, praising and patting.

“Yes. I am a good boy.” Ashe repeats, closing his eyes.

Thirty minutes later Ashe is happily asleep curled up in the chair and Bob no longer has steam coming out of his ears. Bob looks around the library. Where is that Thomas creep anyway? Bob goes to the upper levels where Thomas’ desk is located. Pinned to the bulletin board is a cartoon of Rhea tied to a stake while they light a huge fire under her. A poster in Medieval script saying “Dragons must Die!!!” A stack of love poems devoted to Catherine, his forbidden love.  And a large, oversized rubber stamp that says “DENIED”. But no sign of Thomas. Bob decides to pay the gatekeeper a visit. He floats down the three flights of stairs to the main level. Not only because it is cool if you can float, but he also won’t trip over one of Claude’s 17 pairs of roller-skates he leaves everywhere, especially on stairs.

“Greetings Bob, nothing to report.” The gatekeeper happily greets the black and white haired mage, cheerfully looking up into his piercing citrine eyes.

“Hey Keeps, you ever see the librarian head out of these gates?” Bob asks him in a deep, sultry voice.

“Oh yeah, I guess he left almost a week ago. I bet he’s going out to chase down some overdue books. Had a large empty sack on his shoulder.” Gatekeeper smiles ever so widely, a blush to his cheeks as he stares deeper into Bob’s eyes.

Caspar overhears the conversation, gasps, and runs straight to Linhardt’s room to save his best friend from being sentenced to death for his lack of library returns.

Bob returns to his room for the night to ponder the mysteries of the universe, Flayn’s location, why does Felix do that thing with his hair, and why does Dimitri find Alois’ jokes funny? They suck so bad. Is it the madness?

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Breakfast with the Blue Lions is enlightening. There are rumors of some sort of dude that dresses up like the grim reaper, complete with scythe that is creeping out the people in the village. Just one more thing to add to the list of the weird crap that is going on around this place. As he walks across the courtyard, some guy from the kitchen bumps into him.

“Hey, watch it, bud.” Bob giving the guy the eye.

Kitchen guy stops him. ”Have you seen Manuela?” he asks as blood is dripping down his arm.

Bob holds his hands out like he is holding two invisible watermelons to his chest, “Really big…?”

The guy nods.

Bob smirks, “Never heard of her. What were you doing?” Bob curiously asks.

“Peeling potatoes. Knife slipped.” Kitchen guy says, not looking so good. Bob knows to avoid potatoes for dinner.

“Head for the training grounds, healers are always hanging out there for practice opportunities.” Bob says before heading to the stable area.  Just as he walks past the Knights quarters, he hears a shriek in a perfect “C”. Probably Manuela. Just before he goes inside he stops a guy standing out front telling him to get the Blue Lions. You know, the group with the really tall hot blonde guy? Yeah, those Blue Lions.

The mage runs down the hall and finds a door partially open. He pushes it the rest of the way to find Manuela lying on the floor. She’s reaching out for something by the wall, as Bob gets closer he can smell them, Agarthans. He feels around and there’s a secret passage that opens wide to show a path down to the stink. The dark mage heads straight down the hole, lighting every torch on the way to guide the rest of his house. The Professor arrives at the bottom of the stairs to find all of the enemies in the immediate area are on fire. Bob is currently hurling fire spells through the gate at the enemies in the next room. “Die motherfuckers!! MUahahahahahahaha! Eat this!” Bob screams as he throws another fireball at one of the guys in the next room who tries to hide as far in a corner as possible, but still winds up having his robes catch fire and he screams in agony.

Byleth places her hand on Bob’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. “Calm down dude, you’re frightening the kids. Don’t scar our cinnamonrolls.”

Bob pulls a fist in front of his mouth. “Oopsie. Sorry. Was over excited. ::cough cough::”

The Blue Lions take over from here. Ashe unlocks the door as Felix and Sylvain rush in followed by Dedue and Ingrid. The professor heads to the left to unlock another gate.

Bob reaches over to pat Ashe on the head. “Good boy, you are such a good boy.”

Ashe smiles as his eyes glaze the slightest bit.

They move forward quickly wiping out the soldiers that are nearby. Felix and Sylvain take some warp tiles that send them to various places in the area where they can deactivate trap tiles. They all are joined together at the door in front of the death knight. Ashe opens the door. Bob’s already materialized in the room and hitting the big masked dude on the horsie with Dark Spikes T when the Flame Emperor shows up to send horsie boy off.

Flame Emperor “Go home Creepy McCreepface, you done good. I am the Flame Emperor. I will reforge the world.” And with that they both warp off.

Professor “We need to get these kids out of here.”

Bob, “I’ll grab Flayne, leave that other one, it smells bad.”  He tosses Flayne over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Bob carries her all the way to the infirmary. When putting her on a cot, he notices that her shirt sleeves were sliced open to her armpits and there are multiple holes in her arms where the evil bloodsuckers have taken her blood multiple times. He whispers to Manuela that the girl is a few quarts low, then he leaves.

Bob heads straight to Hubert’s room. His half brother isn’t there, so he waits for him to show up. So he’s not too bored, he goes into his brothers notes on spells and adds a few extra lines here and there to Sigils and changes ingredients on some poisons.

As soon as Hubert enters the door he is tripped then given a knee in the back while his dear half sibling repeatedly smashes his face into the floor.

“I told ::slam:: you not ::slam:: to work ::slam:: with them. ::slam slam:: Fucking idiot! ::slam slam slam::

Hubert’s nose is quite crooked and he can’t breathe correctly through it now. “I toad her, but she woodit lissen.”

Bob continues his rant. “Now we have a kid that suddenly appears from being gone last year. “ He definitely does airquotes on the word “suddenly”. “She’s one of them, I know it. Dump her. Dump the Agarthans. And wash your hair sometimes, ew.” Bob disappears through the floor, listening to Hubert call him a few names that weren’t in the book. Bob needs to write those down.

----------------------

It was time for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion and no Deerz allowed. Byleth has been working them pretty hard, advancing Bob as quickly as she can in magic certifications. He’s got reason down better than anyone in the group, so he’s been teaching them more advanced spellcasting. Byleth doesn’t say much but she catches on fast. If you can get Annette to shut up and concentrate, she does an amazing job. Mercedes doesn’t have her heart in it but manages to get a few reason spells down, Fire for sure, and Thunder is getting better. Felix is great with Thunder. Sylvain would be great with fire, but he screws around too much.

The horn signals for the battle to begin. Bob immediately heads for the back lines of the Black Eagles, materializing behind Linhardt, stabbing him with a blade covered with a powerful sleeping concoction. Lin would probably thank him. Bob heads over to behind Marianne in the Golden Deer. He whispers “good night, sweetie” in her ear before he holds a cloth covered with the same powerful sleeping potion. Lying her carefully on the ground he hides out in the nearby bushes to find out where Lysithia has gone off to.

He watches Ferdinand and Sylvain get into it. Handsome redheads on horses stab at each other repeatedly with pointed sticks. Finally, Sylvain gets the upper hand, but not by much. Ferdinand is out and heads to the boundary lines. Sylvain heads back to Mercedes for a bit of patching up. Annette is working on whittling down Ignatz, blowing his arrows off course as she attacks with wind spells. The professor is taking out Raphael and Claude.  Bob decides to throw a mire at Hilda. She screams about her hair and how gross the magic muck feels all over her and gives up. Felix is giving Leonie a workout.  Sylvain is back and taking on Lorenz. Lorenz throws a decent Fire spell at Sylvain, causing the redhead’s horse to rear up, he still is able to stay on the steed and then counter Lorenz with a decent lance jab that knocks the grapeheaded guy off his horse.

The battle continues on. It is between the lions and eagles, the deer are out. Its very helpful at this point that the eagles have no healer except for Dorothea. Her magic is going to be defensive not attacking for the most part. Edelgard marches down the field heading for Dimitri and Dedue, followed by Hubert and Caspar. Bob lost track of Petra and Felix, not sure who won that match. Bob grabs a large wooden sword lying on the ground and materializes behind Hubert. Swinging the flat edge of the blade at full force at the back of Hubert’s head, Bob provides Hubert with the headache of the month.

“Blockhead.” Bob smirks as he watches the dark mage fall and Bob disappears into the ground just under the swing of Edelgard’s axe. Bob shows up in a copse of trees not far away watching the rest of the blue lions completely wipe out the black eagles.

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Bob is in Abyss, in the laboratory of the most creative and beautiful sorceress he has ever met.

“Darling, would you be so kind to join me for lunch today? I would be ever so honored and grateful if you would grace my humble presence with your enlightening company.” Bob croons.

“Ever the charming one, pumpkin. However I must decline as I have serious potions to concoct today and they simply cannot mix themselves.” Constance smiles ever so sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

“Ahh. I so adore your everworking and brilliant mind, however you do need nourishment for your delectable body. If I may, I will retrieve lunch from above and bring it back to provide you with the energy needed to complete your serious tasks. “ Bob dashingly offers, his hands on his hips, his hair waving in the breeze, a sparkle shows on his teeth with a ding.

“I suppose I must acquiesce to obtaining sustenance. Having your handsome face as accompaniment is also a great pleasure. Please do go, with haste and fetch our midday feast.” Coco wiggles her fingers, encouraging him to hurry.

“But of course my flower, my jewel. I shall return poste haste.” Bob says, holding his palm open for her to gently place her hand within it so that he may delicately kiss the back of her hand, and then lick it for good measure.

He then disappears through the floor, only a minute later to walk through the wall behind her.

“Every moment away tears at my heart, my sweet lady. I am overjoyed to have returned and bask in your beauty once again. Please join me.” The handsome dark mage waves a hand at the beautifully set table complete with two darling candelabras with Ashen Wolves colored candles, napkins and tablecloth.  

They sit on the same side of the table. Bob smiles and he feeds her bite after bite until she is satisfied. Next time he may even offer to chew if for her if she so desires. He takes a napkin and lightly dabs at the corner of her mouth.

“There my precious one.” Bob coos in her ear. “Have you been sated? Is there anything else that I may obtain for you? I would pull the stars from the sky if you would only ask for them.”

Constance smiles, a bit of green something stuck on her teeth, “Nah, I’m good. “

Bob helps her from her chair and walks her back to the laboratory table. “Ahh. Then, although it pains me to do so< I shall leave you to your work.” He says before snapping his fingers, clearing the table.  

Bob dips her, giving her a face sucking kiss until her skin on her cheeks is almost purple, as he stands her back up she is completely gasping for breath, trying to cool herself with her fan. She has a severe case of the vapors. He then rises into the air, disappearing through the ceiling.

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Remire Village. Nice place if you like living in Hell!!!! Whole place is aflame. Dimitri is acting like Frankenstein’s monster getting creeped out by the flames everywhere giving him flashbacks of Duscur. Felix is getting flashbacks of feral Dimitri. Sylvain is getting flashbacks of the girls he had dated here, they’re all monsters now and after him. Ingrid is having flashbacks of when she was camping and her marshmallows AND her hotdog fell into the campfire. Bob is busy covering the eyes of Annette and Ashe to keep them from as much of the horror as possible, the smell around him of burnt cinnamon is concerning. Somehow they save the villagers, Thomas’ skin is removed from Solon, a pasty white older than dirt uglier than sin guy. Professor B beats up the old guy pretty quick and pastyboy heads for the hills.

The Death Knight is there. Bob pulls the cinnamon rolls over and whispers in their ears.

“Hey kids, would you like to see your dear Uncle Bob get rid of the McKreepface guy on the horse? I’ll let you laugh at him while he burns, okay?”

Ashe and Annette nod their heads very quickly has Bob hands them each a bowl of popcorn and a box of milkduds for the show.

“Huzza-huzza-HOOM! You’re about to meet your DOOOOOOM!” Bob cackles as the magic of Dark Spikes T whips from his fingers and chomps on the body of the Death Knight like Godzilla eating buildings in Tokyo. The only thing left of the dude is a Dark Seal that Bob wraps in a pink bow and hands to Professor Byleth.

“Don’t you want this, Bob?” the Professor asks.

“Nope, mother got me one for my birth day. Figured you could use a spare.” The dark mage quips.

The Flame Emperor shows up. “Deathknight, you’re having too much fuuuuuuuuuck! What did you do to my pet?”

“Chomp chomp bitch.” Bob says making hand gestures like his fingers are teeth chomping towards her face.

Jeralt is angry. “So you’re the one that did this to my favorite village?”

“No, no, you got it all wrong.” The Flame Emperor backpedals. “Yeah, Solon works with me, but man I didn’t know he was going to pull this shit.”

“Come to the dark side!” Flameface pleads. “I will give you cookies…”

“We got Mercedes, your cookies suck compared to ours. Oh, and you suck too.” Says Byleth.

“Look, Solon and his buddies, they are powerful. Together, me, you, The Sword of the Creator. We can take them down.” Flame face

Bob pulls his right hand into his sleeve to make it look like it’s been cut off. “I’ll never rule the universe with you!”

Dedue runs up saying his Princeliness is missing. Bob grabs his two cinnamon rolls protectively.

“Don’t let Mr. CrazySpaghettihead scare you. Lets go get some icecream.” Bob says leading them to the monastery.

[orangeoctopi7]

Stupid Teen Emotions

@forduary Week three is travel/trapped. In this story, Stan and Ford TRAVEL back to the past, where they become TRAPPED! It fits!

Chapter 1:  Back in My Day

They didn’t sleep well, that first night. Ford stayed up late, because of course he would have stayed up into the wee hours of the night working on his perpetual motion machine in the original timeline. But he barely touched the project. With the knowledge he had now, he could probably build the whole thing tonight, but that would, of course, be changing the timeline. A younger Ford had learned a lot, working so hard and so long on this machine, and future Ford didn’t want to deprive his past self of that important lesson. So instead, he began writing, racking his brain for anything he could remember of January, 1969.

Stan tried to sleep at first, but he just couldn't. He was too anxious and excited, all rolled into one. So he instead dug out a few of his old comic books that never got thrown away.

They both must have fallen asleep at some point, because come morning, there was a rapping at the door that woke them both with a start.

“Get up, you two! You’re gonna be late for school!” A woman with a thick Jersey accent yelled through the door.

“M-mom?” Ford’s head lifted blearily off his desk.

“Wow, you are really taking the whole ‘stick to the timeline’ thing seriously.” Stan mused from his bottom bunk.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep at my desk…” Ford groaned.

“You never do, Sixer, you never do.”

They marched downstairs and into the kitchen, where their mother had a breakfast of hot cinnamon and apple oatmeal waiting for them. Stan was so happy to see her, he ran over and hugged her, pecking a swift kiss on her cheek.

"Aww, sweetie!" She planted a kiss on his forehead. "I'm still not paying your parking ticket." She added flatly.

"What parking ticket?" Stan asked, confused. "Oh, um, I mean, drat."

Ford was too tired to even work up the energy to be happy to see his mother. As he sat down, he automatically reached for the coffee pot. But a rolled up newspaper smacked his hand away.

“What d’you think you’re doin’?” Caryn asked, eyebrow raised.

“... getting my morning coffee?” Ford answered, addled.

“How many times do I have to tell you, honey? No coffee ‘til you’re 18. It’ll stunt your growth!”

Ford looked like he was about to have a fit.

“Wait, are we not 18?” Stan asked quickly. Luckily, his parents ignored his out-of-place comment.

“Ya don’t need coffee, ya need more sleep!” Filbrick grunted from behind his newspaper.

“You both drink ten cups a day!” Ford argued, his voice cracking again.

“That’s cuz we’re adults.” Filbrick growled, “Once you’re old an’ decrepit, you can drink all the coffee ya want.”

“Trust me, he will.” Stan said flatly.

Ford kicked him under the table. Hard. Stan cried out.

“Can it, you two!” Caryn scolded them, “You’ll wake up Shermie. I don’t wanna have to deal with three crying babies.”

The brothers finished their breakfast sullenly but quietly, and grabbed their backpacks before heading out the door.

“Think we should leave Shermie a note warning him to watch out for time travelers?” Stan asked as he fished out his keys to the STNLYMBL. “Y’know, for when he’s older?”

“Then Dipper and Mabel will be born later than 2000.” Ford reminded him irritably.

“Right.” Stan smacked himself. “Man, this sucks! Why time travel if we can’t make things better?”

Ford’s only reply was a surly sigh as he turned to the cafe next door.

“Hey, where’re you goin’?” Stan asked.

“To get some coffee!”

“Seriously, Sixer? Hot Belgian Waffles is next door, Mrs. DuBios will rat you out to Ma for sure!”

Ford heaved an even more enraged sigh that bordered on a growl, and turned on his heal to get into Stan’s car, slamming the door shut.

“Whoa, easy, we’ll just stop by the donut place on the boardwalk.” Stan reassured him as he started the car. “What’s gotten into you?”

The scientist groaned and pulled his fingers through his curly brown hair. “I don’t know! Normally it’s simple to just focus on my intellect and control my emotions, but it just isn’t working now for some reason!”

“‘Control’ your emotions, or bottle them up?” Stan muttered. Ford shot him a withering glare. “Shoot, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. Why do I keep doin’ that?”

“And the only reason I’m so mad in the first place is because I’m so tired!” Ford continued to rant, “I got at least four hours of sleep last night, it doesn’t make any sense!”

“Heh, guess teen Ford isn’t used to old man Ford’s space-sleep schedule. Or lack of sleep schedule, anyway.”

Ford’s face brightened into his ‘a-ha!’ expression. “Stanley, that’s it!”

“What?” 

“The reason I’m having such a hard time regulating my emotions, and the reason you can’t keep your mouth shut even more than usual! We may still have our minds from 2013, but our bodies are teenagers in the middle of puberty. Our hormone levels are magnitudes higher than what we’ve become accustomed to.”

“Great. Goin’ through puberty again. Just what everyone wants outta time travel.”

They pulled up to the donut shop on the boardwalk. Stan poked around in his seat and found a quarter, which he handed to Ford. Suddenly, his brother looked unsure.

“Stan, maybe you should hang onto this. You’re going to need all the money you can get, come summer.”

“It’s a freaking quarter, Poindexter.”

“Yeah, but a quarter is worth a lot more in 1969 than it will be in 2013! This is almost a whole gallon of gas!”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ten minutes ago you were about to have a meltdown because you couldn't get your morning coffee, just buy it, Ford!”

“Fine, but I’ll pay for it myself.”

“With what money, genius? You didn’t have a job in high school because you were too busy with your academic science nerd stuff! Now go buy yourself a cup of coffee, or I’ll make you walk the rest of the way to school.”

Ford frowned, but took the quarter. He couldn’t help but feel guilty as he got his cup of coffee. How could he or anyone else have ever said that Stan was the lazy one, when Stan was the only one who’d ever had a ‘real’ job? Even to this day, Ford had never had what anyone would call a normal job, barring that one summer he’d been a lifeguard at a waterpark in a dolphin-dominant dimension. He’d always relied on scholarships and grants and accademia, which was hard work, in its own way, but still.  It certainly wasn’t what his father would have called a real job. While traveling across dimensions, he’d relied on trading information and knowledge, building and selling inventions, and even, occasionally, stealing.

Stan was the one who’d gotten a minimum wage, part-time job selling popsicles on the beach. Stan was the one who’d entered local semi-pro boxing matches and brought home winnings. Stan was the one who’d saved up for his own car. 

“Ar-are you crying!?” Stan exclaimed when Ford climbed back into the car, cup of coffee in hand.  Ford reached up to wipe his eyes, surprised as his brother to find tears there.

“Oh geez, Stanford, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so harsh, I just--” Stan began to babble.

“N-no, it’s not you.” Ford found his voice wavering as soon as he tried to speak. “It’s just-- gah, I’m so stupid! Stupid hormonal chemical imbalance!”

Ford tried to keep himself from crying anymore by taking a big gulp of coffee. It wasn’t very good, and it was just this side of warm, but it instantly improved his mood.

“Ah, there’s that good dopamine.”

“Better?”

“Much. Let’s go. I think we’re already late.”

Despite the fact that they were ten minutes late, there were still several students milling about when they arrived at the school. The twins felt like they should stick out like a sore thumb, but nobody paid them any mind. 

“Ugh, never thought I’d come back here.” Stan grumbled.

“Well, look on the bright side!” Ford reassured him, “Now that you’ve studied quantum physics and run your own business for thirty years, Math and Science classes should be a breeze!”

“Hey, yeah! I can’t wait to see the look on Mr. Grauberger’s face when I can tell him exactly how much interest $300 will accumulate over 20 years!” But he paused. “Wait, what about changin’ the timeline? Pretty sure I never answered questions in class.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t make that much of a difference.” Ford scoffed. “Even if you get 100% on every quiz while we’re here, I don’t think it’d be enough to bring your grade up past a C, and you’ll be dropping out before graduation anyway.”

“Oh yeah….” Stan’s good mood quickly washed away.

Ford rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We know it all works out in the end.”

“Yeah…” Stan agreed, “but there was still a lot of heartache gettin’ there.”

[bittysvalentines]

A year with you

From: @hockeysometimes

To: @motoroilfanta 

Summary: 5 times holster and ransom kissed and the first time it meant something.

Rating: M [language, moderate drinking mention, vague reference to sex]

Hi!! i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. i love these boys so much! happy valentines!!

December 31st 2015

The bass of some remix of The Weeknd  was way too loud in Holsters ears as he walks past the swish stereo system that the hotel had set up for the New Years party they were putting on. It was packed, not a single person was sitting down, everyone was up on the make-shift  dance floor in the ballroom . He was significantly more sober than he would like to be since he was still underage until later in the New Year and you can only pre game so much from the lousy bits of booze they had left over from the pre christmas break kegster.

 A hotel was not where Holster was expecting to be for New Years Eve but when the team made it into a new year’s day tournament he had to head back to Samwell early from christmas break on the 27th to get some practice in. For him it’s not as bad because at least he’s in the states but Ransom had to fly back from Toronto on Boxing Day and showed up to the Haus alone and turn the heat  back on for everyone else coming the next day.

 Rans who he was looking for in the sea of party goers, he had been wheeling some girl the last time he saw him but had left to try and swipe some more booze and now he has a full  plastic champagne glass that he’s trying to remember to not crush in his kind of clumsy hands. He’s trying to scrunch his glasses up his nose when he feels a hand on his back and a voice yelling in his ear. 

“Bro! There you are!” It was Ransom, Holster turned around and there were Rans, without the girl he was wheeling. 

“I was trying to find you and uh what was’er name? Alicia? Thought i was going to be booted from the room” He says and Rans starts shaking his head.

“Nah bro turns out she’s totally cuffed anyways, any luck finding that midnight kiss?” Ransom chides, eyebrows raised in a chirp. They had both been trying to find someone to kiss at midnight, because like how lame would it be to not have someone, but from their excellent wing men routine, everyone there was either hooking up with someone else there, part of SMH or married couples and then there was them.

Holster snorts a laugh and takes a sip of the champagne in his hands, feeling the bubbles burn down his throat. Ransom takes that as a no and they check their watches almost in sync. 11:55pm, no way either of them were going to find someone in under 5 minutes. Holster cant lie, he’s almost glad neither of them found someone, it pleases the part of his brain that he doesnt think about; the part that wants Ransom a little more than a guy should want his D-partner/ Co-Captain. 

He’s resolved himself to not kissing anyone at this point and he’s kind of lost in the sauce of it all when something Ransom says yanks him out of his head like he’s just been checked into the boards . 

“....kissed each other” is all holster hears over the ringing in his ears, completely sure he hadn’t heard him right. 

“Bro, what? I couldnt hear you over the music” He says and he’s trying to sound chill but if he heard right, he heard,

“What if we just kissed each other?” Ransom says like it’s really no big deal, sure both of them have openly hooked up with dudes before and that’s not the problem, holster is secure in his bisexuality but outside of some cuddling and bed sharing at roadies,,, they’ve never actually kissed before.

Holster takes a second but the chants of the countdown to midnight had started and he’s sweating and kind of nervous and he’s not sure what to say except when the chants hit two he grabs Ransoms face and plants a kiss on him as everyone around them cheers for the New Year. It’s soft and fast and just long enough for Holster to taste the cherry schnapps that Ransom pregamed with still on his lips. It's too much and not enough as they part and Holster pours the champagne left in his glass down his throat.

                                     February 13th 2016

The NYE kiss gets swept under the rug and never talked about again. They went back to their room and Holster fully expected to have some heart moving conversation but Ransom got ready and went to bed like they usually would. Holster hasn’t thought about the kiss. Not at all, ever. He hasn’t thought about how badly he wants it to happen again and how much he liked the feeling of it. Never had he thought of that. If it was any other guy, he totally would of but,, this is Ransom. He can’t pine for him, it just, it doesn’t work. They’re bros, that’s it.

 And now, it’s the day before Valentines day and he had somehow been talked into the idea of dressing up like cupid by said bro. 

Holster adjusts the strap of his repurposed toga from their last greek party and turns in the mirror to check out the red angel wings. He was in the bathroom for a quiet moment, the music was way too sensual for someone who was as alone as him and he was having zero luck with the ladies that night, or really anyone for that matter. He totally fizzed out of a conversation with one of the soccer players who he’s hooked up with before and lost his chance there. 

He hasn’t actually hooked up in a Long Time; at least way before he kissed Rans. He tries to tell himself that he’s just off his game, and everyones settled up for Valentines anyways, [not that he’s in love with Ransom ,that’s ridiculous] 

He leaves the bathroom and heads back into the party, searching the crowd once again for his wingman. He swings by the kitchen for some cinnamon heart infused tub juice that was going down way easier than it should. 

He takes his solo cup and heads up the stairs to see if maybe Rans was hiding up there, he does that sometimes. He peeks his head into Chow’s room since the door was open and finds a group of people sitting on the floor- one toga’d Ransom included. Holster shrugs and steps in to, slipping around to the opposite of the circle than Ransom, who grins when he sees him. Holster takes in the empty beer bottle in the middle of the floor and everyone gathered around it and has high school flashbacks. 

“Are you guys seriously playing spin the bottle?” he manages to spit out before doubling over in laughter, nearly sloshing his drink out of the cup. 

“Holtzy! This is a serious game of nostaliga, shut up sit down and spin the motha fuckin bottle bro,” Ransom says and of course Holster sits down, carful of his toga skirt and with a grieving sigh, spins the bottle, praying it doesnt land on Chowder. In his blind panic of potentially kissing chow, it doesn't hit him that he could also kiss Ransom again but that’s a 1 in 9 chance, 11.1111% probability his econ brain manages to tell him. Probability is not in his favour as the bottle finishes it spin and lands, very definitely in front of Ransom. There’s an awkward pause in the room and Chowder speaks up.

“You guys don’t have to-” it's almost too little too late as Holster folds onto his hands and knees over the bottle and sloppily kisses Ransom, pushing his mouth against the  soft pouty lips he’s thought about everyday since the last time they kissed. It’s entirely too short for Holster, as they pull away and he sits back down, flattening his cupid costume out. 

“That’s how you do it folks,” 

March 26th 2016

“Alexei Fucking Mashkov is downstairs in Our Haus Holtzy.”  Ransom says, full fetal position on the floor, Holster is trying his damn best to be the comforting best friend he always is when Rans is going through it but,, his own feelings about the situation may be clouding over his want to help.

 It’s Easter or Keagster weekend on top of Ransoms 21st birthday the next day, but Haus rules say no parties on a holy sunday or some shit so they’re celebrating early, or they should be but instead, Holster is sat with his BLL on the floor trying to rub Ransoms back as he has a level 10 freak out about the fact that Jack brought along his ultimate man crush to the party. 

Holsters only a little jealous, he totally doesn't think about how he Knows that Rans has gotten off thinking about Tater before and has talked in detail about how he would totally go for it if it were available to him. Nope, Holster doesnt think about it.

“I know bro, i was in the kitchen when he got here. It’s like fine, he’s a really lowkey dude.” Holster tries to reason, trying his best to just be there and not be a total ass. He takes a sip of his drink, “Just come down stairs and we can play some pong and get you laid for your birthday,” He continues, his stomach twisting a little as he says the last part. 

Ransom sort of uncoils and stretches out, propping himself up on one hand, thinking, Holster can see he’s starting to come down a little bit. “Getting laid would be pretty nice,” Rans says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Holster has to stop himself from rolling his eyes and instead snorts out some kind of laugh.

“Ch’eah exactly, but you aren’t going to catch anyone up in your room avoiding everyone.” Holster says, he stands up, taking his drink with him and offering Rans a hand up, which he takes. 

They’re face to face when he stands up and Holster grins, looking at the face he knows so well. Smooth skin and lines where dimples sit. 

“Not to get soft on you but, thanks Holtzy, don't know what i’d do without you.” Rans says and leans forwards presses the most confusing and gentle kiss on Holsters cheek before continuing out the room with a holler of “BIRTHDAY BOY INCOMING” down the attic stairs, leaving Holster frozen in his spot, clutching his beer and trying to understand what the fuck just happened 

 October 31st 2016

Once again in costume, this time too tight spandex of a Superman costume that was definitely in a size too small,Holster sighs as he watches Ransom try to pick up a guy dressed  likePoe from Star Wars. This halloween party at the bar in Boston they frequented since grad was both the best and worst thing to happen to Holster. 

The pros were he got to see Ransom dressed up as Batman and that shit is a sight. The black spandex hugs everywhere just so and it’s all Holster has to not… stare or look too long. Over the summer of graduating and moving in with Ransom, Holster may have come to  a realization with his feelings. 

The cons were, He was, without a doubt, in love with Rans and it kind of killed him. He knew they’d never really be more than bros, even when Rans would come into his room across the hall at night cause he couldn’t sleep without him or when Rans would take pieces of his clothes just to have. It was all too close to coupley for him, and then the matching costumes that Ransom had picked up for them for this party. And now he has to stand and watch him pull out all the stops for this gorgeous oscar isaac wannabe asshole stealing all of Ransoms attention. He stands  against the bar and kind of hangs out, just vibing to the music and finishes his drink and decides to see how Ransom was doing, they had moved a little further closer to the dance floor since he last looked.

“Oh! Bro, there you are” Ransom says upon catching sight of him, Holster nods and keeps a tight smile as he looks over Poe maybe a little more judgey than he wants to be. “This is Evan! He works for the Bruins, we’ve been talking about last years ‘yoffs,” He yells and Holster shakes his hand. They’ve been talking about.. Hockey? The guys been giving Ransom ‘Fuck Me’ eyes for the past twenty minutes, and theyve been talking about hockey

“Adam,nice to meet you!” Holster says, fully  fucking confused. The three of them talk for a bit just about the teams until Evan offers to get drink refills and heads back to the bar and the two of them are left alone. 

“So are you getting some of that galactic ass?” He chirps and Ransom rolls his eyes.

“That was a bad joke and you know it bro and oh no i'm pretty sure he’s straight, besides i'm not gonna pick up cause im with you? Be kind of a douche move.” Ransom explains and Holster snorts.

“Bro, he’s totally into you, trust me. You’re looking like a whole snack tonight.” He says and he’s teetering un bro like compliments but he’s a little drunk and doesn't care at this point. Shoot your shot 2k16.

“A whole snack!” Ransom laughs and then pauses. “You think so?” He kind of flexes and the spandex contracts in a kind of beautiful way and holsters brain has to fire on all cylinders to not say something stupid and horny. 

“Dude i know so,” He pauses and then grabs Ransoms face, half covered by a batman mask and gives him a peck of a kiss before stepping back. “I think i'm gonna uber home but, be safe and just let me know when you get in.” Holster says and Ransom is kind of unreadable but he nods and Holster disappears into the crowd without another word. 

Ransom doesn’t bring anyone home and crawls into Holsters bed at 3 am, way drunker than he was when Holster left him and mumbling something Holster couldn’t entirely make out .

December 22nd 2016

They were late to the Christmas get together for SMH  and for once it wasn’t Holsters fault. 

Following his exit on halloween and Ransom passing out, koaled around him when he got home, things were a little weird. They were still their normal dynamic but something had shifted, there was something un-said between them that Holster couldn’t place. Of course other than his own unrequited feelings which were boiling to a  fever pitch as they worked together and things got more and more awkward. Ransom hadn’t brought anyone home since that night either, and was climbing into Holsters bed more and more often

. Holster was kind of moody and didn’t want to parade around at the SMH party like everything was okay and Ransom could tell. They were a silent block out from the venue and Ransom stops. 

“Adam, I think we need to talk.” Ransom says and Holsters stomach feels like it drops out of his body. Adam? Adam? He hasn’t been real named by Ransom in, Years.

“Oh, okay, is uh everything okay?” Holster asks and he can feel his hands start to sweat in his pockets. 

Ransom won't look at him and it makes him feel, Horrible. “I don’t know, maybe i'm reading too far into things but are you angry at me?” He asks and Holster frowns but shakes his head  ‘no’. 

“Rans, why would you think i was mad at you?” He asks and Ransom continues to not look at him. 

“Things have been, so weird lately and it’s so hard to read you and-” Holster acts before the thinks and cuts him off, with the most bruising kiss. He kisses him and Ransom takes a minute but he kisses him back and they’re kissing under the garland decorating the streets and Ransoms hands are holding his face and they’re so close. 

“I love you Justin. I’ve been in love with you since last new years and it’s been so much for me to contain. I’m sorry for seeming like I was angry.” He says and the emotion is making tears run to his eyes. He’s always been more sensitive.

Ransom is quiet for a second and the smallest smile comes to his face, “Bro, only last new years? I’ve been in love with you since I  met you, it’s always been you.”

Holster wraps his arms all tight around Ransom and cant help the squeeze he gives him.

They carry on eventually and both decide that a very long conversation was due but the group chat blowing up about them delaying festivities was getting unbearable.

1

December 31st 2016

The bass of Closer by Halsey and The Chainsmokers pulses loud through the speaker of the New Years Party one of Holsters coworkers was throwing. Once again searching the crowd for Ransom, but this time with champagne flutes for both of them. The clock was nearly at midnight.

“Holtzy! Babe over here,” he hears and swings his head to the left, Ransom was standing by himself closer to the outskirts of the party. He had been talking to Holsters friend Jermey and his wife Lilly. 

He passes one of the flutes to Ransom and smiles, sneaking a peak at his watch. 11:59pm.  He gets closer to him, tucking themselves into the wall space as the crowd gets louder in chanting the countdown.

There was no need to search for that midnight kiss, it was standing in front of him, like it always had been. 

10...9...8..7… he leans in closer to Ransom, ghosting his lips over the jaw and cheeks and nose he’s gotten to love up front in the past two weeks...6...5...4...3...2...1 and they kiss and it’s like the first time again, cherry schnapps and all.

[yesloverboy]

She’s Thunderstorms (Billy Hargrove x Reader) Part 1

SUMMARY: You’re the new girl in town and everyone wants to get to know you, including Hawkin’s resident bad boy– Billy Hargrove. Unimpressed by his endless flirting and obnoxious bravado, you turn him down again, again, and again. The only problem is, Billy doesn’t take no for an answer, and he certainly doesn’t turn down a challenge. But, after almost a month of playing the game, when does it stop being a challenge and start becoming something more?

word count: 3,978

[Warnings: swearing, underage drinking, smut in the future but none for now.]

NOTE: Hey y’all, I know that this isn’t a request (and it’s not my typical work), but I have been absolutely dying to get this series out of my system since I finished season 3 of Stranger Things. If you haven’t finished the series, there aren’t any spoilers pertaining to the plot, but there will be characters and details mentioned from the new season so be warned! Since Billy is our favorite 80s bad boy, I figured he’d fit right into my blog just fine. As always let me know what you think, and I’ll get back to my regularly scheduled programming soon.

permanent tags: @colsonbakersnoseringmain, @lululovesgwtw, @kingbouji3

 You were in detention the first time Billy laid eyes on you. The whole week there had been a buzz through the student body about a new kid that wasn’t him, and he was satisfied to have finally found you. It was a warm fall afternoon, the sun still persistent in the sky as it shone through the classroom window and rested on your hair.

 Billy had stormed into the room fifteen minutes late, shoving the door open so hard that it clattered noisily against the cinderblock wall. As expected, everyone in the room jumped at the intrusion and turned their heads to face the culprit. To Billy’s immediate dissatisfaction, you hadn’t budged. Not even an inch.

 Your eyes were trained on the tattered paperback in your hand, while the headphones of your walkman remained firmly nestled in your permed hair. Billy may have been halfway across the classroom, but he didn’t need to be close to recognize the distorted guitar sounds of The Clash emitting from your seat by the window. With a smirk, his gaze fell from your glossy tresses to the ragged Iron Maiden shirt clinging to your waist. Judging by the safety pins holding together the collar of your shirt and the motorcycle boots on your feet, Billy could tell you wouldn’t fade into the background like all the other Hawkins girls. You looked like trouble, and Billy loves trouble.

 Confident as ever, Billy strutted over, the heels of his boots pouding rhythmically against the linoleum as he snaked his way through the rows of desks. He took the seat in front of yours, straddling the desk’s chair in order to face you. Still, you didn’t move. You were too busy getting lost in the words of Stephen King as garbled guitar sounds rattled through your ears.

 Irritated, Billy cleared his throat and waved a hand in front of your face. Unable to elicit a response, he decided to use drastic measures. With a forceful hand, he pulls at the side of your headphones, tugging one off of your ear and snapping it back into place.

 “What the fuck?” you ask, looking up to find a pair of smug blue eyes staring devilishly into your own. You yanked off your headphones, keeping your fiery gaze locked on his.

 “Glad to see you’ve returned to planet Earth,” Billy grins.

 Dumbfounded by the boy’s audacity, you lay your paperback facedown on the desk forcefully. “Is there something you want?”

 “Your name,” he wets his lips, a single hand absentmindedly fiddling with the gold pendant hanging from his neck. “Well– and maybe your number.”

 “In your fucking dreams,” you scoffed. You rolled your eyes so far back into your head, you could swear you saw your IQ level dropping with each syllable the boy uttered.  

 “Now baby,” he jeered, voice dripping with condescension, “is that any way to talk to someone you just met?”

 “According to my calculations, this is not meeting someone,” you gestured between the two of you with a rigid finger, “This is harassment.”

 Billy ignored you, the smirk never leaving his face. His hand dropped the dainty gold pendant in favor of holding itself out to you, offering you a friendly shake. “Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

 “Charmed,” you replied, rolling your eyes and grabbing your book back from its resting place on the desk’s surface. Billy’s hand hung in the space between you for a moment, making it seem as though he might be giving up after all. With a triumphant smile, you settled back into your chair and allowed yourself to be reabsorbed in the story again. Before were able to turn the page, Billy pulled the book out of your grasp and held it above its head.

 “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” you shouted, unable to mask your outrage.

 “Y/N Y/L/N! Keep your voice down!” Apparently your sudden outburst was enough to wake Mr. Kowalski from his afternoon nap at the front of the classroom.

 Billy let the book fall in front of you with a soft thud, tongue running over his celebrity white teeth like the cat that caught the canary. “Well, well, well– Y/N sure is a nice name. ‘Suits you.” 

 Cheeks flooding red hot with frustration, you mentally kicked yourself for falling right into his trap. Usually you didn’t let assholes like Billy Hargrove get the best of you like this, but there was something about his glittering blue eyes and cocky grin that unnerved you.

 “What do you want, Hargrove?”

 Billy taps his chin thoughtfully, eyes flickering between you and the school’s parking lot just outside the window. “Well, since I’ve already got your name, I guess all that’s left is your number. What do you say, princess?”

 You visibly cringed at the pet name, but Billy’s confidence was unshakable. You had never been the type of girl that people called princess. Not even your own parents would call you something so juvenile and delicate. Yet here Billy was, sitting across from you in his white shirt and blue jeans like some kind of sweet-talking, rock and roll, James Dean wannabe. Worst of all, he was calling you princess.  

 Multiple pairs of eyes burned into you as the rest of the students in the detention classroom gaped in awe. A girl resisting Billy Hargrove was completely unheard of, and there was no doubt in your mind that news of your exchange would be passed across the entirety of the student body by tomorrow morning. This wasn’t how you wanted to be known at your new school, but something about the way news travels fast gave you an idea.

 Billy may have thought he bested you, but he unwittingly gave you the upperhand.

 Mouth twisting into a sickly sweet grin, you grabbed Billy’s pendant and promptly tugged him forward. Instinctively, he puts a hand on your wrist and looks at you with eyebrows quirked in shock. For the first time since he walked in, Billy isn’t smiling anymore.

 “Listen to me and listen carefully,” you purr, leaving no more than an inch of space between yours and Billy’s nose, “I wouldn’t give you my phone number even if you paid me, okay? So drop the act or I’ll drop you.”

 Deep down, you knew your threats were empty. Sure, you could definitely hold your own in a scuffle, but there was no doubt in your mind that Billy is strong enough to take whatever he wanted– no questions asked. Still, the look of unbridled shock on Billy’s face at the words falling for your lips were priceless. Every eye in the classroom was trained on the two of you. Even Mr. Kowalski had glanced up from his own desk long enough to watch you turn Billy down.

 Just as Billy opened his mouth to speak, the detention bell chimed overhead, ultimately dismissing everyone in the room. You shoved Billy away from you, releasing both him and the necklace from your grasp. The students around you scattered like mice, undoubtedly spouting off to their friends about what they had just witnessed. Billy Hargrove; rejected.

 With your book under your arm and headphones slung around your neck, you sashayed out of the room, leaving Billy to sit alone in your wake.

 “Hey!” Billy called after you, finally picking his jaw up off the floor and scrambling to his feet. “This isn’t over yet!”

 You turned on your heel to face him and began walking backwards down the hall, both of your hands shooting middle fingers in his general direction.

 “What do you say to that, princess?” you mocked.

 Billy’s hands knotted themselves into fists as he watched you walk away victorious. In that moment, everything from your jewel-colored eyes to your sarcastic smile was infuriating to him. Never in his life had he ever been bested by a girl, and you all but humiliated him in front of at least a dozen people. All it took was you– just some chick in a scruffy Iron Maiden tee and holes in her skintight jeans to drive him over the edge.

 In a wave of unadulterated rage and frustration, Billy’s fist collided with a nearby locker, denting the metal and bloodying his knuckles. All he could see behind his eyes was your face, only an inch from his. You had been so close he swore he could detect a hint of cinnamon gum on your breath as sugar coated threats ghosted his lips. The memory alone was enough to make his jeans just a little bit tighter. You had been a total bitch, and yet he had relished every second of it.

 Billy Hargrove was falling– hard.

...

 It had been almost three weeks since the first time you rejected Hargrove in detention, and he had been hot on your heels ever since. With each passing day came another put-down for Billy, and you found yourself wondering why in the hell he hadn’t given up yet. Hargrove could have any girl he wanted– in fact, he had every girl he wanted until you came along.

 In your opinion, you were anything but special. You weren’t a cheerleader, you didn’t play sports, and you certainly were not well-liked. From what you were able to learn from your new friends Nancy and Jonathan, Billy seems to like everything to be easy. So why does he let you make everything so difficult? Your only talents seem to be mouthing off, getting an A+ on all of your assignments, and being sent to detention for listening to music instead of taking notes. Comparing yourself to the girls in Billy’s never-ending body count makes one thing very clear– you were not his type.  

 Even now, as you spend your free period sitting on the grass with Jonathan Byers, you can’t help but observe a clique of popular girls strutting around from afar. Sometimes, you find yourself wondering how it would feel to just give in and conform. Sure, everyone in all of Hawkins High knows you because of Billy, but the thought of being known for just being you is a completely foreign concept.

 Your thoughts are soon brought to a halt when you notice the popular squad isn’t just wandering around aimlessly– they’re wandering directly towards you. With a skeptical eyebrow raised, you nudge Jonathan with your foot and motion for him to look upwards. His facial expression mirrors yours as he watches Carol bounce over, face full of purpose and a stack of orange flyers in her grip.  

 “Hey there, Y/N!” Carol greets you, her sing-song voice pitched high enough to curdle a glass of milk. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

 Eyes flitting over to Jonathan, you see him shrug indifferently; as if to say, what’s the harm? With a heavy sigh, you pull yourself up off of the ground and decide to find out what a girl like Carol could possibly want from you.

 “What is it, Carol?” you ask, allowing the bluntness of your question to pierce through any awkward energy that might sit between the two of you. A chilly October breeze brushes past, ruffling Carol’s hair and sending chemical wafts of hairspray in your direction. Coughing into the sleeve of your black turtleneck, you try your best to offer her a polite smile.

 Carol holds a flyer out to you with a perfectly manicured hand, eyeing you nervously. “Um, Tina and I are hosting a Halloween party next Friday. Everyone’s gonna be there– you should totally come!”

 You take the flyer between your fingers and glance down at the bubbly penmanship and poorly drawn bats decorating the border, nose crinkling with distaste. “Yeah thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather watch a bloody movie and get drunk with people I actually like.”

 Jonathan chuckles softly from his place on the ground, knowing full well that the movie night you were speaking so highly of would most likely be at his house with no one but you, Nancy, and his kid brother, Will. 

 Carol’s mouth falls open, her fuschia stained lips forming the rounded shape of bewilderment. “Oh come on, Y/N! Everyone is going to be there, and if you’re not– well, then that’s not everyone, now is it?”

 “Wow, what an astute observation, Carol,” you grin, gazing into the autumn sky, “It really is a wonder how you’re failing Algebra, now is it?”

 Just as you had hoped, Carol’s flock of vapid followers started chittering in a chorus of laughs and whispers. Clearly fed up with you attitude, Carol grabs you by the arm and jerks you a few feet out of earshot. Rather than resisting, you allow her to pull you along. Over your shoulder, you glance back at Jonathan and see his face riddled with worry. With a small smile, you shoot him a wink and watch as his shoulders relax into their more normal, rigid state.

 “Okay, Carol,” you say as she finally releases you, “What’s this really about?”

 Carol let’s out a huff, her breath just now starting to become visible in the cool air. “Listen, if you don’t go to this party, then Billy won’t be at this party, and I need Billy if anyone is going to show up at all.”

 “Oh, well since you put it that way– I’m definitely not going.”

 Carol rolls her eyes, hand firmly planted on her hips, “Do you seriously have to be such a bitch all of the time, Y/N?”

 “Yeah, Carol, I actually do,” you smirk, outwardly enjoying the way that Carol’s face is going flush with raw anger, “What’s the matter with the Keg King, anyways? I thought he never turned down a party.”

 “He said he wouldn’t go if you weren’t there, now will you please stop being so difficult and just say you’ll go?”

 “No,” you say flatly. If there’s one thing you dislike more than Carol’s fake smile, it’s Carol’s fake smile trying to tell you what to do.

 Naturally, you expect Carol is going to get pissy and cause some kind of scene in front of all of your peers. You’d know her tactics well– instead of actually putting up a fight she would usually scream at the object of her irritation until embarrassment took over. What you didn’t expect was the possibility of Carol grabbing your hand and begging.

 With both of her boney-fingered hands wrapped around your wrist, she gazes up at you and bats her mascara encrusted lashes pleadingly. “Please, Y/N! I promise I’ll do anything you want, whenever you want it, okay? I just need this party to be rad, and you’re the only way that’s gonna happen.”

 Shaking your hand out of her grasp, you pull away from her pathetic display and immediately start to feel bad. So maybe Carol isn’t your favorite person, but if you had known she would be practically groveling at your feet just to go to some stupid party, you probably would’ve been a little bit nicer. Just a little.

 Pinching the gap between your eyes, you face Carol’s expectant eyes once again. “What if I told you I’d think about it? Is that good enough for now?”

 Squealing with delight, Carol practically jumps on top of you, securing her slender arms firmly around your tense frame. The heels of your boots grind into the gravel at Carol’s added weight, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold the two of you afloat. Before your knees have the chance to give out, Carol plants her pink lips on the side of your face in gratitude and sets you free of her grip.

 “Ew, Carol, what the fuck?” you cringe, wiping at the inevitable pink lipstick stain that you know is already seeping into your skin.

 “You’re the best, Y/N!” Carol all but skips back towards her posse, tossing a flyer over to a preoccupied Jonathan as she passes by. “Oh and don’t forget to find a costume!” she shouts, a wicked gleam in her eye.

 You are just about to tell Carol to keep her stupid voice down when you spot him staring at you from across the way. The moment your eyes lock, Billy starts making a beeline towards you and Jonathan. Now Carol’s sudden outburst of childlike excitement and shouting made a sickening amount of sense. Sure, she still needed you to go to that party, but when she saw an opportunity for revenge against your snide comments– she took it.

 “Well hey there, princess,” Billy’s voice is smooth as honey as he approaches. He leans his denim clad body against a tree near where you’re standing; close, but not close enough to touch you.

 “And to what do I owe the displeasure of seeing you today, Hargrove?” you spit, your fake smile nearly broad enough to match Billy’s disgustingly genuine one.

 “What?” Billy shrugs, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket nonchalantly, “Can’t I pay the queen of Hawkins High a visit?”

 “Queen?” you snort, staring at Billy incredulously. Of all the stupid pet names, this one was certainly a first. “Am I a queen or a princess, Billy? Make up your fucking mind.”

 Billy ignores your question and instead holds out his open pack of cigarettes towards you, one already firmly planted between his flawless teeth. Begrudgingly you accept, cursing yourself for letting Billy catch you smoking behind the school last week. His new tactic for winning your affections was calculating when exactly you might be craving a cigarette, and if he had seen as much of your interaction with Carol as you thought, then he knows you definitely need one.

 “Well,” Billy replies, letting out a few puffs of smoke, “Miss Nancy Wheeler was the queen of Hawkins, but now there’s a new king. Meaning, no more Queen Nancy– isn’t that right, Byers?”

 Jonathan, who is still sitting just within earshot, only nods in response. Even though Billy had a reputation of hurting anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way, Jonathan should know that you wouldn’t let anything happen to him while you’re standing there. You do your best to ignore the way Jonathan’s eyes remain firmly locked on the ground in front of him. Jonathan only takes calculated risks, and making eye contact with Billy Hargrove today isn’t going to be one of them.  

 “What are you implying?” you scowl. Billy holds out his Zippo lighter to you, its flame flickering in the autumn wind as he offers to light your cigarette for you. You ignore his fake act of gentlemanliness and fish your own light out of your front pocket. It may not be as nice as Billy’s, but at least it’s yours.  

 Billy clicks his tongue in amusement, snapping his Zippo closed in one swift motion. “I’m not implying anything, what I’m saying is that you’re as good as mine, sweetheart. Making you the new queen of Hawkins.”

 “Last I heard, no girl has been yours for more than fifteen minutes,” you smirk, flicking the ash on the end of your cigarette towards the toe of Billy’s boot.

 Billy’s fist clenches tightly as his side, but he manages to maintain his composure. Although you can feel your words squirming underneath Billy’s skin, he refuses to let you see him break. No other person gets his blood pumping quite like you, and he would do anything to wipe the condescension off of your face with the heat of his own mouth.

 “So I’m guessing that means no couple’s costume for Carol’s Halloween party?” he frowns,  “A little birdy told me you’d be there.”

 “If by little birdy you mean Carol’s loud mouth squawking from across the lawn– then sure, you heard her fawning over a maybe, not a yes.”

 Billy takes a daring step closer to you, unafraid to walk directly into the line of fire. His golden tan glows under the rays autumn sunshine as his dark eyelashes fluttering gently over orbs of ocean blue, making your heart leap uncomfortably in your chest. It pains you to admit it, but your head and your heart have started going to battle every time Billy comes within ten feet of you. Deep down, you know Billy’s chase has to be a product of boredom. Everyone wants what they can’t have, and you made it clear from the jump that Billy had a snowball’s chance in hell of ever getting a date with you.

 Still, the feeling of your heart hammering your chest tells an entirely different story, and you would be damned if Billy ever found out.

 “How about you and me go costume shopping after class, hmm? Whatever you want and it’s yours. No funny stuff.”

 You smirk, giving Billy a quick once over and sucking in a long drag from your cigarette. Billy shifts anxiously in his boots, knotting a free hand through his sandy blond mullet. Being used to your smart mouth and sharp wit, the beat of silence between the two of you made him very on edge.

 “Okay, no Halloween shopping then– how about just a regular date?” Billy flounders, desperate to keep your attention longer than the lifespan of the cigarette between your fingers. “Same deal as always. If you still don’t like me after, then I’ll never bother you again. Scout’s honor.”

 In true Billy fashion, he closes his offer with a cheap wink, giving you all the false confidence of a gameshow host. Even if there’s a chance that you are becoming a little fond of Billy, you enjoy watching him falter and break into little pieces as the days go by.

 Before you even get the chance to deny him, the bell rings and dismisses the three of you from your free period. Billy lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, grateful that your opportunity to reject him had been cut short. You flick your cigarette on the ground near Billy’s foot, momentarily stepping into his personal sphere to grind the cherry into dust with your boot.

 “Saved by the bell yet again, Hargrove,” you taunt, blowing your last lungful of cigarette smoke into Billy’s pretty face. Before you’re able to take another step towards Jonathan, Billy catches your sleeve with a calloused hand. Twisting your arm, you try to free yourself to no avail. Billy was strong, far stronger than you ever thought. With one tug of his arm, he pulls you towards his chest and leans in closely.

 “Meet me by my car after class?” he whispers, peachy lips tickling the shell of your ear so delicately that a chill races up your spine. Billy’s as close to you as the first day you met, and you can’t help but find a comfortable familiarity in the scent of woodsy cologne and motor oil radiating from his body. As he turns his head to meet your gaze, you find a softness in Billy’s eyes that you didn’t recognize. He looks so raw and vulnerable in that moment that you begin to wonder if he can see right through you.

 In a sudden burst of panic-stricken energy, you shove Billy away from you with every bit of strength you can muster. The sudden movement takes Billy by surprise, loosening his hold on your arm just enough for you to pull it free.

 “Hold your breath until I do,” you hiss, immediately stomping away with an awestruck Jonathan Byers in tow.

 Flinching every so slightly at the anger in your voice, Billy watches you walk away just like he had a dozen times before. Only this time, the grin plastered across his face didn’t waver. He knows he shouldn’t have touched you, but catching you off guard was the only way he could find out the truth– you wanted him too.

Masterlist

Part 2 

[wistfulcynic]

On What They Fall: Epilogue

Lovely, lovely members of the CS fandom: To say that the response to this fic has been overwhelming is an understatement. Your reblog notes and AO3 comments and messages have actually brought tears to my eyes. Thank you all, so much. Somehow the little three-sentence note I wrote on my phone late one night has grown into the angsty, secret-love story I’ve been trying to write for some time and never quite managed until now. A HUGE PORTION of the credit for that must go to @thisonesatellite who pushes me and encourages me and sometimes drags me kicking and screaming in the direction she thinks things should go, and she is NEVER WRONG which is so annoying but also immensely valuable. She remains the VERY BEST. 

In this chapter we have the happy ending. That is all. 

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is an angry young man. He has no family and few friends, and he’s stuck in a small town where everyone views him with fear and suspicion.

Everyone but Emma Swan.

She’s everything he wants in life and everything he can’t have. What he doesn’t know is that she wants him too.

Part 9 of Secret Things.

Rated: T

On AO3 and chapters 1, 2, and 3 on Tumblr  

Tagging some folks who might enjoy it: @kmomof4, @stahlop, @mariakov81, @teamhook, @resident-of-storybrooke, @darkcolinodonorgasm, @shireness-says, @thejollyroger-writer, @ohmightydevviepuu @jennjenn615 @superchocovian

Epilogue: 

He’s dreaming of Emma again. She’s on his boat this time, standing at the railing gazing out at the stormy sea as wind whips her hair around her. She wears nothing but a shirt he recognises as his, her long legs bare and pale in the moonlight. He approaches slowly, knowing that this won’t last. His dreams of her never do. The moment he reaches out to touch her she’ll be gone. 

He moves towards her anyway, he can’t help it, he’s always been drawn to her. Awake or asleep makes no difference. He holds his breath as he reaches out, dreading the moment she dissolves into mist, leaving him empty and alone as ever. 

But she doesn’t. His hands glide over warm skin and she turns to smile at him as the wind blows her hair across his face. It tickles his nose. 

He rubs the tickle away, groaning a protest as he feels consciousness encroach. He’s not ready to leave this dream, not yet. Not ready to let Emma go. 

Emma. His nose is tickled again and he rubs it harder. He can smell honeysuckle and cinnamon and sex and his arms are full of something so, so soft. 

He opens his eyes and blinks them rapidly, for a moment wondering if he’s still in his dream. But no, the blonde hair tickling his nose is real and the woman in his arms is Emma, sound asleep and snoring softly, her back nestled against his front and completely naked. 

So is he. Killian nuzzles his nose in the crook of Emma’s neck and breathes deeply as memories of the previous night come flooding back. A night like none other he’s ever experienced. He’s had a lot of sex but never before made love, and while he feels a bit silly making that distinction he can’t deny the truth of it, or that it was a far different act last night with Emma than with any of the other women he’s known. And he has always, always woken up alone. 

He strokes his hand over Emma’s hip and down her thigh but she doesn’t stir. She’s a deep sleeper, he thinks, and feels a thrill at the knowledge. There is so much he’s looking forward to discovering about her. 

He presses a kiss just below her ear and eases out of the bed, careful not to jostle her. She mumbles something that sounds like too damn early and rolls onto her stomach, throwing her arm over the pillow and burying her face in it. He grins as he pulls on his jeans and grabs his phone, and heads into the kitchen to make some coffee.  

As it brews he calls Belle. She answers on the first ring and his grin widens. She was expecting him to call yesterday. 

“Killian,” she says eagerly. “What news?”

“I talked to Emma.” 

“And? What did she say?” 

“Many things that were hard for me to hear. But I needed to hear them. And—”

“And?” 

“She said she loves me.” Just speaking those words aloud sends joy surging through him. He still can’t quite believe all this is real, though he is beginning to, and his joy is chased by a flutter of fear. This level of happiness is going to take some getting used to, he suspects. He imagines it will be some time before he stops waiting for it to be snatched away from him. 

“And??” encourages Belle. “What did you say?” 

“Eh, I told her thanks but she’s not really my type.”

“Killian!” 

“I told her I love her too, of course,” he laughs. “I told her everything.” 

“Everything everything?” 

“All of it.” He doesn’t elaborate but he knows Belle understands. “That was yesterday afternoon and she’s, ah, still here.” He rubs at that spot on his neck, the one just behind his ear that always tingles when he’s embarrassed. Odd, he thinks, he’s never been bashful about Belle knowing who he slept with before. 

“Good.” There’s a hint of tears in Belle’s voice. “I’m so proud of you, Killian. Don’t let her go again.”

“I won’t,” he says, and it’s a vow. 

He hears a faint footfall behind him and seconds later slender arms wind around his waist and a soft body presses against his back. Lips brush light kisses across his shoulder blades and he sighs. “Belle, I have to go,” he says. 

“Of course,” she replies. “Tell Emma I said hi.” 

“I will.” He hangs up the phone and turns around, cups Emma’s face in his hands and kisses her. “Good morning,” he says. 

“Morning.” Her hair is mussed and her eyes still hazy with sleep. She’s so beautiful she steals his breath, and he kisses her again. He’d happily spend the rest of his life kissing her. 

“Mmm,” she says as her arms twine around his neck. “Do I smell coffee?” 

“You do. Would you like some?” 

“I definitely would,” she murmurs, but makes no move to release him. Her lips find his again, open and inviting. He pulls her closer, his hand sneaking under the hem of her shirt —his shirt, just like in his dream— to find her bare beneath it. He groans and backs her up against the kitchen island, plundering her mouth as his hand slides higher. When it encounters metal, warmed by her skin, it stops. 

He pulls back and so does she, looking up at him with wary, hopeful eyes. He brushes aside the placket of the shirt to reveal a pendant on a long chain, nestled between her breasts. A very familiar pendant. 

“I didn’t see this last night,” he says, in a voice rough with emotion.

“I wasn’t wearing it then. I had it in my pocket. Yesterday was the first time I haven’t worn it around my neck in—” 

“Five years?” he finishes for her. 

“Yeah.” Her smile is faintly embarrassed. 

He kisses her softly, rests his forehead against hers and runs his fingers through her hair. “How would you like to go sailing later?” he asks. 

She looks surprised at the non sequitur. “Really?”

“Aye. It’s supposed to be calm seas today.” 

“And you still have your boat? Even though you— well, live on land now?” 

“Of course I still have my boat. I couldn’t get rid of her, she’s the love of my life.”

Emma’s eyebrows rise. “Is she?” 

“Aye.” He grins. “Along with you, obviously.” 

“Oh, obviously.” 

He pulls her back into his embrace and she snuggles against him with a happy sigh that makes his heart soar. “So what do you say, Swan?” he says, low in her ear. “A picnic on the boat for lunch?”

“Sounds wonderful.” 

—

When they arrive at his mooring Killian takes her hand and guides her around to the front of the boat, positions her at the end of the jetty and stands there, grinning, his eyebrows dancing a jig on his forehead. 

“What?” she asks. 

“Exercise your powers of observation, Swan,” he says, with extra emphasis on her name. 

“What am I missing?” She looks around then back at Killian standing in front of his boat, right next to where the name is painted in large bold lettering and— oh. Emma’s mouth drops open and she feels tears begin to gather in her eyes. 

“You named your boat for me?” she whispers. 

“Aye,” he says gently. “You’re not the only one who’s clung to mementos these five years.” 

“Oh, Killian.” She launches herself into his arms, buries her face in his neck. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” he replies, cradling her close. It’s a long time before they pull apart. 

—

They sail out towards the Atlantic until the land is just a slim sliver on the horizon, a faint line of grey between the blues of sea and sky. Killian adjusts the sails to let the boat drift while Emma spreads a blanket on the deck and lays their picnic on it.

It’s not much as picnics go, just peanut butter sandwiches and apple slices and a thermos of hot chocolate, but they devour it hungrily.

“Why does this taste so good?” Emma asks around a mouthful of apple. 

“There’s something about the sea that sharpens the appetite,” Killian replies. “Which is handy when all you’ve got to eat is fish.” 

“I bet.” She gives him a sympathetic smile as she grabs another sandwich. Someday, he thinks, he’ll tell her about the difficult times he experienced in his years of travelling. But not today. 

“So you never told me how long you’re staying,” he says, as casually as he can manage. 

“I have two weeks off work,” she replies, licking peanut butter off her thumb. “But…” She glances at him, looking hesitant. 

“But what?” he encourages. 

“But I was thinking. About what you said yesterday.” 

“I said quite a few things yesterday.” 

“What you said about my job. And how I used to want to be a social worker.”

“Ah.” 

“Yeah. And you were right, I did want that. I’d forgotten how passionate I used to be about women’s advocacy, and my job— I like it well enough but it’s never been what I really wanted to do with my life. So I was thinking.” She pauses again as she sips some chocolate, her fingers toying nervously with the cup of the thermos. 

“What were you thinking, love?” 

She takes a deep breath.“I was thinking I might apply to grad school,” she says, all in a rush. “Here. In New York.” 

Killian’s heart lodges in his throat. “Do you mean that?” 

“Yeah.”

“What about your family? Storybrooke?” 

“I’m twenty-six, I can’t live at home forever. My parents will survive. As for Storybrooke—” She shrugs. “It’s not your place. And I want to be with you.” 

His love for her engulfs him like a storm surge, nearly overwhelms him with its force. He leans across the picnic blanket and kisses her, harder than he intended but she doesn’t seem to mind, kissing him back with a fervour equal to his own. She tastes of peanut butter and chocolate and home. 

 She grabs the collar of his jacket to pull him closer and they overbalance, tumbling onto the deck in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Killian rolls onto his back and Emma sprawls across his chest, still laughing as she cups his face in her hand, tracing the thin scar on his cheek with her thumb. “You know,” she says, “If I do go to school here I’ll need a place to stay.” 

“My love,” he breathes. “You can stay with me as long as you need. Stay forever.” 

“Forever.” Emma smiles. “That might be nearly long enough.” 

[mayquita]

The Art of (Fake)Dating - (3/5)

I still can't believe I managed to finish this chapter in such a short space of time, at least for my standards. Anyway, I can't seem to stop writing this story even though I got like a million other things to do. But when you get a stroke of inspiration you should take advantage of it, right? @shardminds​ this is for you, darling. :) Thank you, everyone, for all your comments, notes, likes, kudos and reviews.

(This is unbeta'd, so I apologize in advance for the many mistakes and nonsense)

Summary: When Emma agrees to be Killian’s fake girlfriend she expects it to be a one-time thing. However, and despite getting an enemy in the form of an overprotective brother, she ends up becoming an expert in the art of fake dating even though she can’t stand her fake boyfriend, at least at the beginning.

Ao3 / FFNet / Part 1 Part 2

// 

The Art of (Fake) Dating - Part 3

Liam took his time to prepare the hot drinks, keeping himself in a stubborn silence broken only by the sounds caused by his task, so Emma had no choice but to wait sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. This awkward silence, far from making her feel uncomfortable, allowed her to at least regain her composure and meditate on what had happened since she had accepted this stupid plan.

She had never found herself in such a surreal situation, about to be lectured by her fake boyfriend's brother on Thanksgiving night and after having witnessed a performance in which said fake boyfriend pretended to have sex with her with the sole purpose of bothering his brother. It was almost like being part of a hilarious scene from a typical romcom.

Okay, the scene might not be funny, at least Liam's serious expression while preparing the hot chocolate showed it, but that didn't stop the beginning of a chuckle from bubbling in the back of her throat, so she had to press hard her lips together to hold back the incipient laughter.

"How do you prefer your chocolate, lass?" When Liam turned his head to address her, she made an effort to keep her back straight and a neutral expression on her face.

"With whipped cream and cinnamon if that's ok, thank you."

After uttering what seemed like a sound of approval, Liam returned his attention to the stove, ignoring her presence again. It was obvious that he didn't know her at all if he thought that with that attitude he was going to make her nervous. It was rather the opposite, with each passing minute she gained more self-confidence. You wanna play? Let's play, buddy.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Liam took a seat next to her while he handed her a steaming mug. Still, he kept his silence, focusing his attention instead on the mug between his hands. His expression was quite cryptic, though, so Emma couldn't tell if Liam was reluctant about how to approach the issue he wanted to deal with her or if, on the contrary, he intended to intimidate her in some way. She suspected that the latter option would be the most likely, so Emma convinced herself that it didn't matter what Liam could hold against her. He was no one to her, she was just playing her role in a farce. None of this was real.

While she waited, Emma took a sip of her drink. Damn it, it's delicious. She kept her lips sealed, though. It wasn't like she had any intention to compliment him, especially when she hadn't yet managed to figure him out. After the second sip, the hot liquid sliding down her throat seemed to have its effect, pushing her to act. She already was so done with the waiting.

"Is this like a protective big brother talk where you want to make sure I'm good enough for Killian?"

Liam clicked his tongue, placed his mug on the counter and finally — finally — looked her straight in the eye before answering. "No, because I already know you're not good enough."

Whoa! Straight to the point. Good, at least he had already shown his cards. Now it was Emma's turn to continue playing. She also put the mug on the counter and then she crossed her arms over her chest and slightly raised her chin in a defiant attitude. "Oh, so now I'm not good enough for your little brother. Enlighten me, please." Emma hoped she had endowed her words with enough sarcasm for him to notice.

The change in Liam's expression was immediate. His features hardened as he also crossed his arms over his chest and kept his gaze fixed on her. "I've taken care of my brother since we were both just children and I can assure you that I will continue to do so until my last breath. So that means than I care about anything that might affect Killian in one way or another."

Liam paused for a moment, but since Emma remained silent, he continued speaking, somewhat maintaining a defensive attitude. "I have no idea how much you know about Killian's past, but at least I suppose you do know about his accident. He gave you some explanation about the loss of his hand, I take it?"

"I do know about his accident," Emma replied in a calm tone.

It was true, she didn't know all the details, but she did know about the most important thing, that in that accident that happened sadly on Killian's birthday more than five years ago he had not only lost his hand, but also his fiancée. And she knew all this not because Killian had confessed to her —their relationship wasn't that close after all— but because of other circumstances that, she really preferred not to remember at this moment, although she suspected that they would somehow come out at some point during this conversation.

"And do you also know that, before the accident, Killian had aspirations, projects, and a promising future? And that all that was truncated not only by the accident but by his subsequent decisions?"

Emma's face must have revealed the confusion she was feeling because Liam's lips moved drawing a smirk of little authenticity behind it. "Of course you don't know. Well, let me enlighten you. Despite my insistence that he move here to Boston, to allow us to help him, he decided to move to a bloody town in the middle of nowhere and start working as a simple bartender in that dreadful bar. Even its name, The Rabbit Hole, suits the town."

The way he said the last words, almost like spitting them out with disdain, caused her blood to start boiling in her veins, but she remained silent, biting hard the inside of her cheek to try to hold back any possible reply. Emma also reminded herself that none of this was real and that nothing Liam could tell was going to affect her. She knew from experience that sometimes it was better to wait for the right moment and not act impulsively, so she simply raised an eyebrow in a defiant attitude, before asking, "and this is where I come in, I take it?"

Before continuing, Liam narrowed his eyes, as if studying her. After the brief scrutiny under which she remained impassive, he finally offered Emma some juicy detail directly related to her.

"It's funny because when Killian confessed to me a few weeks ago that he had started dating someone I had the hope, at least for a moment, that whoever the chosen girl was, she would talk some sense into him and would get him out of that hole, quite literally if you know what I mean." Liam let out a humorless chuckle at his own pun. Emma instead, had to make an effort to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. "But then he confirmed that it was you and all my hopes went to hell."

This time Emma couldn't help but huff as she shook her head. "You don't even know me."

"Oh, but I do know enough. No offense, lass, but, honestly, what would you think of a person who hated my brother from the beginning for no apparent reason? Someone whose feelings changed magically to the point of suddenly deciding to start dating him? How is someone like you, with no family, no aspirations, without a future, supposed to help my brother?"

Okay, she had had enough. Emma didn't need this kind of gratuitous crap in her life. Just when she was intending to get up, Liam reached up his arm, palm forward. "One last thing, if you allow me. It seems obvious that my brother fancies you for some strange reason, so I suggest you, if you care in the least for Killian, you should do what is necessary to keep him from being stuck in that life without a future. You should push him towards us, his family, who can really help him."

Emma considered for a moment to ignore him completely, go up to her (their) bedroom, grab her belongings and get out of there like a bat out of hell. But Liam had managed to piss her off enough for him to earn a few retorts at his level.

"Are you done?" Only when he nodded sulkily, did she continue. "Good, because it's my turn now. And you better get settled, because this is going to take a while." Emma silently gloated over the fact that Liam's grumpy expression continued to accentuate. And this is just the beginning, buddy.

"Well, we better start now to finish as soon as possible." He threw at her in a challenging tone.

Oh man, how she was going to enjoy this unexpected situation.

Maybe if all this were real, if Liam was her actual boyfriend's brother, she would think twice before acting, but given the unwarranted situation she found herself in, she really had nothing to lose.

"Okay. Here we go. First. It's commendable that you've taken care of your brother since you were kids. I guess it's something families do, but how would I know?" Emma shrugged, her lips drawing an exaggerated pout. "As you well indicated before, I have no family. I've never had one, in fact." Emma added to give even more drama to her speech, ignoring the pang in her heart after uttering those last words and focusing on the matter at hand, holding her finger up to stop any attempt at reply by Liam. "However, Killian is a grown-ass man, capable of making his own decisions. He doesn't really need you or anyone else."

"If you aren't able to see that he does need help..."

"I'm sorry, but I didn't ask for your opinion." She hastened to cut him off. Although Liam kept a challenging attitude, he must have thought better and pressed his lips together into a grim line. "If it is not too much trouble I'd like to continue, because this absurd situation is giving me a headache and I'd like to go to sleep. Yes, with your brother next to me. It's what happens when you got a boyfriend, you get to sleep in the same bed and sometimes you have an extremely good time in it."

A furious red tinged his cheeks, causing her to almost step out of her role and burst out laughing. At least he kept silent, so, after taking a deep breath, she continued. "We agree on that, but you know what? I don't remember seeing you in Storybrooke on the days when he needed you the most."

"That's because he continues to push us away." Liam hissed, clearly upset, but she ignored him.

"Oh, it's so easy from your privileged position to decide how another person should live his life." She waved her hand to encompass the entire house in a way to emphasize her words. "But in the difficult moments, on those dates, and you and I know what specific days I am referring to, those who have come to Killian's aid have been his coworkers, his friends, the people who care about him back in Storybrooke. Where were you, Liam, on Killian's last birthday? Certainly not in Storybrooke."

"He doesn't want us there." He snapped, but she might have hit a nerve because his defiant attitude had deflated considerably. Emma almost felt sorry for him, because all his bravado seemed to have left him, but then she remembered all the hurtful words he had thrown at her face and any hint of pity disappeared. 

"And it doesn't surprise you? I wouldn't want someone like that by my side either, someone who thinks he has the right not only to decide for me but to question my own decisions, no matter how close that person was."

"I just want what's best for my brother." Liam insisted, regaining part of his confidence.

"I know it, and you've already made it clear that I'm not good enough for him. Which brings me to the next point. You don't know me, but wherever this relationship takes us, it's up to him as much as me. You don't get a say in this." 

"I did not intend to interfere in your relationship, lass, but to get an ally in you." It was a poor justification, neither his voice nor his expression were convincing and they both knew it.

Shaking her head, Emma finally got up ready to leave the kitchen but before, she turned back to him wearing what she expected was a triumphant expression. "It's a bit unfair, don't you think? Your brother and I have only been together for a few months but you've decided to blame me for something you haven't achieved in the past five years." Emma was surprised that her voice didn't even tremble when she released such a lie.

To his credit, Liam seemed uncomfortable, his elusive gaze and his clenched jaw at least indicated so. She had one more thing to say, though.  "One last piece of advice, if you allow me. Maybe you should rethink your strategy towards Killian. But who am I to offer advice? I am nobody, right? " This time Emma could not help a hint of bitterness in her voice, but she recovered quickly to give the final blow. "The chocolate was delicious, by the way. And now if you'll excuse me, I suddenly felt like waking up your brother and showing him how much I want him, so you better be prepared for any unusual noise. Good night."

This time Emma did go out of the kitchen leaving Liam, who seemed partially defeated, all alone. At least she had managed to leave him without arguments. She should consider it as a triumph, right? In fact, that was how she felt, like a winner. Their argument had meant such an adrenaline rush that she felt her whole body vibrating, a surge of energy gripping her as she climbed the stairs up to her bedroom.

That determination weakened as she approached her destiny, being replaced by a mixture of feelings. Emma was so mad at Killian for putting her in this situation that she was tempted to wake him up and send him to sleep in his car, the one he so much had insisted on driving. But there was another feeling struggling to emerge, guilt.

Somehow Liam's words had gotten deep into her. She shouldn't feel guilty, they were just acquaintances after all, although that didn't stop her from having witnessed some of his low moments. Except for the momentary assistance in his few episodes of grief, she had done nothing to help him overcome his loss.

After letting out a deep sigh, Emma shook all those turbulent thoughts away and focused on her most immediate concern, how to face her encounter with Killian after the intense talk with his brother.

When she entered the bedroom she realized that she could delay that concern at least until the next morning, as she found Killian sound asleep. 

She was so upset with him... But when she saw him there looking even younger with a placid expression on his face while he slept, she didn't have the courage to wake him up to yell at him, so she couldn't do anything but sneak into bed, trusting that he didn't notice her presence.

The moment she laid down, she felt a strong arm around her waist pulling her back towards a solid body. "Go to sleep," Killian mumbled against her ear as he tightened the hold of his arm on her waist. 

Emma remained still for a few seconds, not even daring to breathe, her heart beating frantically in her chest. The whirlwind of emotions was so intense that she felt a bit overwhelmed, but when she noticed his breath caressing her skin and the warmth emanating from his body against hers, she gave up. After taking a deep breath, she allowed herself to melt under his touch as she grabbed the left arm wrapped around her and held his stump between her breasts. That was how she finally fell asleep.

//

When Emma woke up the next morning she was alone in bed. Her brain needed a few seconds to start working, so she allowed herself a few seconds huddled under the covers, surrounded by the sensations her senses captured.

The light that filtered through a slit between the curtains caused Emma to blink a couple of times until her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the bedroom. She reached out her arm to find a cold and empty space on the other side of the bed, so she deduced that Killian had woken up a while ago. She still wasn't sure if she felt relieved or irritated by that fact.

What her ears caught next, muffled voices coming from somewhere on the ground floor, caused her to want to curl up again and bury herself under the covers. Although Emma tried to prick up her ears, she was only able to identify the owners of those voices, the Jones Brothers, and some rambling words that seemed to indicate that they were not having a calm conversation.

A heavy sigh escaped between her lips, as she squeezed her eyes with one hand, the reminder of her previous conversation with Liam finally coming to her mind and causing an even less desire to leave the shelter offered by the bed.

In the end, curiosity overcame her, so, although reticent, she sat up and walked stealthily to the door. She poked her head through the slit, glancing up and down, finding that the coast was clear. The voices could be heard more clearly from that position but the sounds still came muffled, so Emma had to make an effort to capture anything that revealed the subject they were talking about.

My girlfriend, how dare you? she is so full of herself... Emma was able to understand a handful of words perfectly, getting to clear up any doubt about the reason for their discussion. So the secret conversation was no longer a secret. She let out a huff of annoyance as she turned back to the bedroom and grabbed her box of toiletries and fresh clothes, then headed to the bathroom for a quick shower.

When Emma left the bathroom a few minutes later, she found that the discussion wasn't over yet. She would even say that the argument had become more heated. Doubting whether it was convenient for her to make an appearance or not, she finally decided that it was more reasonable if she returned to the bedroom and waited there. She had definitely had enough fighting with people she barely knew.

Emma had been in her bedroom for less than two minutes when a soft knock on the door caused her heart to jump until it almost popped out off her chest.

"Emma? Are you awake?"

A sigh of relief escaped from her mouth when she detected that it was Elsa the one on the other side of the door. "Yes, come in."

Whatever she thought she would find was certainly not Elsa with a contrite expression. She walked reluctantly to stand right in front of Emma, a light pink hue adorning her cheeks, her eyes cast down to the floor. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Elsa seemed to regain her composure, as she finally looked into Emma's eyes, her lips drawing an apologetic smile.

"I'm so sorry, Emma, for everything. And I don't mean only the discussion you had yesterday with my husband but also that Killian has heard about it because of me. He caught us a while ago arguing in the kitchen."

"It's okay. I'm fine." Emma assured her with more certainty than she really felt.

"No, it's not okay. Look, can we talk? It won't be a lecture, I promise." Emma simply nodded and then they sat on the bed, side by side.

"I'm so sorry about what happened yesterday with Liam. His behavior is inexcusable, no doubt, but, you know, he cares too much, about everything." Emma was tempted to reply but Elsa continued talking. "Don't get me wrong, I'm so mad at him that he's going to sleep on the couch for the next few days. But, we really care about Killian. Maybe we put it the wrong way, but we do intend to offer him any help that he decides to take."

"Okay, I get it. But, honestly, that's a family issue. I still don't understand why your husband took it against me. I don't know, maybe, although it's still too early to value it, our relationship eventually turns out to be just a passing thing and you would be worrying about nothing." Emma realized at that moment that her speech was the closest she had been to being honest with them. The expression of disbelief that crossed Elsa's face indicated that such a possibility was something she hadn't considered.

"Do you know that you're the first girl he brings home after the accident? I don't want to put any pressure on you, you obviously don't deserve it, but I have a feeling that your relationship may become quite serious and, although my husband may have a strange way to show it, we cannot be happier in that regard."

Emma couldn't help letting out a laugh of surprise. "A strange way to show it, we agree on that." She shook her head in disbelief but continued smiling until Elsa did the same. Emma decided then that she liked Elsa, even she would probably place her as her favorite person in the house except for the children, of course — She still hadn't decided if she was still mad at Killian. Meanwhile, he would continue below Elsa on that mental list of hers.

Just as the conversation began to become interesting, the bedroom door opened abruptly giving way to an angry Killian. "We're leaving, Swan." He simply snapped without even looking her in the eye as he headed toward his travel bag and began to throw things inside in a careless way.

When Emma glanced sideways at Elsa, she met her new friend wearing a panic expression, which led her to act. Rising from the bed, she walked with determined steps toward Killian and grabbed his arm gently, forcing him to stop with his task.

"No."

"What?" He addressed her with the confusion marked on his face, his eyes flickering quickly between hers.

"We're not leaving. Not yet anyway. I need my daily dose of caffeine to function properly, so Elsa and I are going to look for breakfast somewhere out of here." Emma looked for Elsa's approval who nodded vigorously. "And in the meantime, you're going down again and you're gonna fix things with your brother. We're not leaving for Storybrooke until you two have solved whatever it is that makes you behave like two obstinate teenagers."

"Are you kidding right now?" His voice trailed off when Emma gave him a silent warning through her gaze. Killian simply pursed his lips and kept silent. After glancing at his sister-in-law he let out a heavy sigh and dropped his arms in defeat. "Fine, but I want an extra-large coffee. Something tells me I'm going to need the additional caffeine." 

A strange sensation had taken hold of her since she had woken up, making her act in a more determined way than usual in her, more confident, and above all a little bold. Only in that way would she explain what she did next before he left the room again.

"Killian, wait." Without thinking twice, she pulled him toward her and pressed her lips against his. The simple contact caused her knees to weaken and the butterflies in her stomach to flutter furiously, as a wave of memories washed over her.

After that brief initial moment, though, she realized that he wasn't responding at all to the unexpected kiss, so the flutter in her stomach was replaced by a sense of disappointment. Luckily, that feeling lasted just a split second. After that brief pause of shock, he kissed her back, hard, as he wrapped her with his arms. Such was the spiral of emotions dancing inside her that she almost got carried away but a glimmer of lucidity appeared in her mind, making her realize where they were. Showing off unusual willpower, she pulled away from him just a few inches, their foreheads pressed together as she whispered against his lips, "easy tiger, we got company."

Killian didn't seem to care, though, because he captured her lips once more before finally pulling away. This time it was he who murmured, his warm breath caressing her lips and causing her head to spin.

"See you later, love." He then turned around and disappeared through the door, leaving behind a stunned Emma, unable to decide if the kiss had simply been part of their performance or if it had been something real. She obviously knew the answer as to herself, there was no point in denying it when her lips still tingled craving for more. But she wasn't sure she wanted to know what Killian had really felt. Certainly, his expression also seemed somewhat astonished, although she couldn't say whether if it was in a good or bad way.

At least the delighted expression that appeared on Elsa's face seemed to indicate that she had totally bought their stellar performance. That was a good sign, wasn't it?

//

Half an hour later Emma and Elsa were back home carrying several cups of coffee to go and a box of delicious pastries. That short space of time had served to reinforce Emma's previous impression towards Elsa, so much that she wouldn't have minded spending more time with her, but honestly, both were afraid of how the stubborn Jones brothers would have faced their time alone. Luckily the kids had stayed in their care so Elsa hoped they would have been able to behave civilly.

When they entered the living room they were pleasantly surprised to find a fairly quiet picture. Killian was on the ground playing with his nephews while Liam took pictures of the scene, both sporting calm but guarded expressions.

The moment Killian's eyes fell on her, he hurried to get up and walk towards her, wrapping her in a tight embrace before kissing her again. This time it was a gentle kiss, but with the ability to take her breath away. Only when they heard Liam clearing his throat did they separate. 

Once recovered from the incredible sensation of his lips on hers, Emma dared to look sideways at Liam, who wore a more relaxed expression, no sign of animosity towards her, to her relief. Emma could even detect the hint of a smile. Good.

They moved to the kitchen where they enjoyed a peaceful breakfast, everyone having a lively conversation sprinkled by the sporadic remarks of the two little boys who kept hovering around giving signs of overflowing energy. Once they finished, Elsa hurried to take the children out of the kitchen, leaving Emma alone with the two brothers. 

That was when Liam finally dared to address her.

"I'd like to apologize for my poor behavior yesterday, lass. It was totally out of place, and for that I'm sorry." Both his voice and his expression seemed genuine, so Emma couldn't do anything but shrug her shoulders before responding tentatively.

"It's okay."

In other circumstances, if all this had been real, that little attempt at apology wouldn't have been enough for Emma. In fact, she would probably have crossed him out of her life maybe forever. But she reminded herself once again that she was simply a part of a farce, so it made no sense to hold a grudge towards a person she probably wouldn't have to deal with anymore.

She was wrong.

"As a way to make amends we've decided to invite you guys to come over for Christmas, if that's fine with you, of course." Emma's eyes widened in surprise, and then she turned her gaze subtly to Killian, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

So the farce was going to last a little longer after all. It's okay, I like a challenge, she convinced herself mentally before responding.

"If Killian is fine with it, I'll be fine as well." She offered, which seemed to be enough since Liam finally — finally — smiled at her.

"Good."

//

They stayed at the Jones' house for another hour, which they spent in peace, although it was evident that the tension hadn't completely abandoned them, so Emma felt relieved when they finally left the house and got into Killian's car.

They traveled in silence during the first minutes, until Emma could no longer resist it.

"I should be so mad at you, Jones. You knew perfectly well that something like that could happen and you still decided to bring me." She reproached him in a tone perhaps harsher than she intended.

"I'm sorry lass, I really thought he wouldn't dare. But in my defense, I did warn you." He was right. The apologetic smile that appeared on his lips and the way his eyes glowed were too distracting. Her anger melted away under his charms without her being able to do anything to stop it. Bastard.

"So Christmas, huh? Have you thought of any new plans to continue bothering your brother? Something like adding some other sound, human perhaps, to make our performance more credible?" She wasn't flirting, right? She was totally doing it. Dammit!

For all answer, Killian burst out laughing. It was a deep and somewhat contagious laugh because a few seconds later she was accompanying him, letting the laughter act in a liberating way, dragging away any trace of the previous tension. 

Once the laughs subsided, he glanced at her with a mischievous expression on his face. "Sorry to tell you, Swan, but apparently our performance was a bit scandalous. They haven't invited us to spend the night."

"Seriously?" She asked pretending to feel upset while her lips drew an exaggerated pout, earning a new laugh from Killian.

"But they have invited us to spend New Year's Day." He hurried to reply between chuckles.

"We have the New Year's Eve party at the Rabbit Hole though." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion while looking at him.

"Aye, that's why they invited us the following day."

"So we're going to continue with the fake dating."

Killian's eyes bored into hers for an instant before his gaze turned back to the road. "You don't have to do anything, love, but we make quite the team, so I'm in if you're still in."

Emma ignored the butterflies fluttering in her belly and focused on something safe, their farce. "You know this is going to cost you much more than a switch of shifts, buddy. But, in a way, I will have my reward when we show up at your brother's house with a hangover and feeling miserable on New Year's Day."

"And even if we aren't allowed to spend the night there, we always have the possibility of making out on the couch, or in the kitchen..."

"Keep dreaming, buddy."

"Always." 

The way Killian winked at her had no effect on her. None at all. The burning sensation that spread through her body was nothing more than the result of the heat inside the vehicle. That was the only reason.

This time, Killian wouldn't be the only one who would dream about it. Both her first experience of unforgettable sex with him ant the two previous kisses had left her wanting more. Sadly, she had no choice but to settle for improving the art of fake dating. At least for the moment. 

One thing was certain, though. She was no longer sure why she couldn't stand Killian in the first place. In fact, she might have started to like him a little. Just a little tiny bit.

//

Thanks for reading :)

[jungkooks-tea]

Straight to the Pointe I pt. 2 (M)

Originally posted by kookiegguk

After working years to place yourself in the best academy for the arts you struggle to find the same love for ballet you once had under the intense pressure and blinding lights of the industry. The balance is almost impossible and with cocky hip-hop dancer, Jeon Jungkook, always around showing you another world entirely, you aren’t sure what you want anymore.

- Pairing: hiphop!jungkook x ballet!reader (small side Jiminxreader) 

- Word Count: 7k

- Genre: College!Au (kinda, arts school), eventual smut, enemies to lovers

- Warnings: multiple smut scenes, really simple dance talk, industry abuse, eating disorder, no beta reader

- A/N: I just want to again say thank you for the all the love from part one. This story is so much fun to write and I’m glad that I gave it shot and even uploaded it. Thanks for the comments, likes, and reblogs - I hope you’ll continue to enjoy it. Also, I just want to bring attention to the fact that I am by no means a professional dancer nor ever was. This story is not a factual representation of the ballet industry. It is much more angsty. 

Pt. 1 I 2 I

part two

5:43 A.M.

You sighed as you look down at your athletic watch, a small puff of condensation leaving your mouth. The early morning air was chilly around your form making you grateful that you wore your runners’ long-sleeve instead of the tank top that you usually opted in for your morning runs. The last glimpses of summer were trying to find their way in, but you and the rest of Korea knew that fall was coming quickly.

Releasing yourself from your small break at the street sign change you took off again in your brisk jog. Your step was a bit more picked up than from the start of your run – your warm bed somehow screaming out your name loud enough for you to hear across campus.

It was almost dreadful getting out of bed this morning. You had slept horribly during the night, twisting and turning with anxiety due to class and fucking tights. Jungkook, the asshole, was also part of the dilemma, but you believed that if you just tried to ignore that one the problem would go away soon enough. He was simply not worth the lack of sleep – stupid comments and more.

Making room for the other early joggers on the walkway, you made sure to keep your head down. Though there weren’t many runners you would rather keep any interaction to a minimum. Not only do you think you wouldn’t be capable to keep a conversation up – even if you did know them and they wanted to stop and chat – you weren’t exactly the nicest before you had your coffee reward at the end of your daily run.

So, when you saw another runner coming up ahead, hood up hiding his identify you didn’t think twice about just looking ahead and continuing on.  

“A-ah! Y/N! Hey!”

You quickly stopped, your sneakers giving a light sound against the pavement. Looking behind you to see who could know you – hoping that it would be just a quick ‘hello and goodbye’ type of thing. But it wouldn’t be.

Smiling at you with one of the brightest smiles in the industry was Park Jimin. You watched as he quickly took out his earbuds and walked up to you. Immediately you felt embarrassed. Here was Jimin, one of the most beautiful people to probably walk this campus, even in his blue hoodie and grey joggers, coming up to you, someone who looked like they got punched in both eyes due to the bags under them and sweaty from running. “Great,” you thought. But you tried to muster up the best smile you could because this had to be fate, right?

“Hey Y/N!” he greeted again. “What happened yesterday, I was paying one minute and the next you were gone?”

You felt bad. You honestly did. Not only were you lucky enough to meet Jimin, have dinner with him (plus friends), but after receiving nothing but kinds words you ditched. But his annoying friend got the best of you. Though you knew you could not say that. Instead, you came up with a little lie.

You hand gripped onto your other limb’s long sleeve in some form of support. “Ya, sorry about that. I suddenly remembered I forgot something at the ballet studio and needed to rush over before the building got locked up.” You hoped he bought it, especially since the ballet studio was left unlocked for long hours over weekdays. You summed it up with the following “I was really gladded that I got to meet you and the others though. I had no idea that Mina knew you.”

Jimin gave a wonderful laugh in return. “Well I’m glad that you were able to get there on time,” you smiled in return. “Still,” he continued. “I would have liked to talk with you more. I mean, like, I know you from competitions and programs, but I don’t know you. Mina mentioned that you were nice though.”

Chewing on your bottom lip you felt a small blush form on your cheeks. You hoped that Jimin thought it was from the cold.

“I don’t know if you’re done with your run or not, but there is this small coffee place just a little off from here that I usually go to after I finish mine. Would you like to go?”

You tried to keep your head-nodding controlled and cool as you agreed with him, “Y-yes, I would love too.”

Jimin smiled in return, turning towards the way you had come, and he was going originally – waiting for you to fall in step with him.

The sound of your bed yelling out to you no longer filled your ears.

Just the sound of Jimin’s laugh.

________________

 The coffee shop was truly a short distance from where the two of you had made contact. It was very small but was warm and smelled delightfully of the cinnamon rolls. You couldn’t remember the last time you had one but apparently the aroma was enough to have your mouth salivating.

Jimin, the wonderful gentlemen he was, held thoughtful conversation with you the entire way and even held the door for you. You understood that those actions were just honestly common decency, but it was towards you from the other young dancer, so, it meant so much more.

“What do you want? My treat,” Jimin started taking out his card from his phones wallet’s case hugging the back of the black silicone.

You almost gagged at him. How can someone, whom you honestly barely know outside professionalism, be this good to you? But you made movement to stop him.

“A-ah, no it’s fine I can pay. You literally just paid for our meal yesterday, it wouldn’t be right.”

He laughed, not stopping from walking up to the counter where someone else was ordering first. “It’s okay, Y/N. I stopped you. And I invited you.” You started to try and argue again but was hushed. “Besides I know how much those pointe shoes cost and I know how fast someone like you can go through them, so let me just do this for you, ya?”

The urge to argue again was wanting to break through your lips, but in the end, Jimin was already speaking with the barista to order. He looked at you raising an eyebrow to tell you to get a move on.  

“A small black coffee please – the blonde roast.”

“No cream?” Jimin asked as you two made your way to the small booth by the windows.

Shaking your head you replied, “No, I much more prefer my coffee black.” That was another lie. Though you could drink coffee straight, your body continually craved the smooth crème that helped sooth the bitter taste of your caffeine pumped liquid. You just couldn’t have it.

“So, do you like Minji so far? It’s probably a big contrast compared to any other program you’ve been a part of, ya?” Jimin started taking the seat across of you. He used the hand not on his own cup of coffee to push back some his blonde hair – messing it slightly. “I know that I was pretty overwhelmed when I got here a year ago.”

You almost forgot. Jimin was a year ahead, and in terms of skill level, was probably looking at completing the program early. You could only wish to be on the same path as him, but what was his path? The young dancer across from you was kind of a wild card in your mind and in many others. One day he was appearing in ballet magazines and the next thing he wasn’t – but you still found him in similar programs as you occasionally, dancing to Tchaikovsky and Verdi. What were his plans for the future?

Your finger scraped against the mug’s ceramic, pondering. “Well, it is definitely different – that’s for sure.” Jimin nodded, waiting for you to continue. “I mean Minji has always been the plan, but I guess no amount of preparation can prepare you for Ms. Younghee.”

Jimin’s locks flooded upwards as his full out laughed, craning his head back against the cushion. It was musical sounding and even a bit boyish – but you liked it, a lot. Between his word’s giggles continued to escape, “Younghee,” he started. “Ya I guess the witch can be pretty intimidating.”

This time you actually gaped at him. Making him laugh even more.

“I mean don’t, get me wrong, she was an amazing dancer, but no one is that good to be treating people like their bugs on their shoe.”

You were honestly shocked. While you understood that Younghee was by no means everyone’s cup of tea, the argument was that she could do what she wanted because of just how great she was. But here was Jimin, a born dancer, saying that Younghee really wasn’t worth the hype she was given.

“Is,” you contemplated your next question carefully, not wanting to offend the man across from you. “Is that why you’re not officially part of the ballet program? Because you don’t like Younghee?”

Jimin took a quick sip of his beverage before placing it down and smiling at you. The warmness remained not only on his face, but also in your chest. “That and for other reasons. I love ballet – I really do. But I’ve found myself to be leaning away from it professionally. To be honest,” he looked out the window, “I don’t really know what I want to do yet.”

Though you tried to not let it fester, your chest began to tighten uncomfortably. You understood that Jimin was, well, he was exceptional, and had the ability to pick and choose. He could do ballet, he could do lyrical, and, from what you saw yesterday, he could live in the world of hip-hop too. But here he was telling you that ballet wasn’t his true calling – even if he took upper-class and solo lessons. Perhaps it was because you weren’t in the same position as him, having the capability to do it all, that it made you jealous.

Ballet was all that you knew and was the thing that made you get up in the morning and strive to be better – to become the best. If something happened to you – where you couldn’t put on your pointe shoes anymore – you don’t know what your life would be even worth. You knew that many other dancers felt this way too.

You were shoved out of your own thoughts as you watched Jimin get up, grabbing your empty cup. He dropped the ceramics in the dish bin before making his way back over, “You ready to go? Sorry I didn’t even ask what time you needed to get going.”

You stared up at him, taking in his beautiful skin and smiling face. Nodding you stood up and left out the door with him.

 Maybe you were overthinking and shouldn’t be feeling the way you do. Ballet wasn’t for everyone and maybe Jimin just found passion in something else.

________________

 Your conversation with Jimin stayed in your mind many hours after you said goodbye.

Now in the same dressing room as yesterday, this time dressed correctly and with no fucking teared tights you waited tell Mina returned back from the restroom. She had asked why you left so suddenly after dinner via text last night, but you were honestly too tired to even explain. Opting to just tell her that Jungkook had gotten too much for you to handle during warmups.

“Y/N.”

You looked up and smiled at Mina who had just returned. Her hair was up in a stylish double bun that helped keep her long hair out of the way made her look even a bit cuter than normal. You have always preferred to keep your hair in the professional and standard single bun, hair neatly pinned back so nothing could potentially fall out of place. Perhaps it was because you were trained to never standout unless need be and that in ballet, looking the same was better than being unique. You envied Mina a little at this moment who perhaps was not structured this way in her ballet upbringing.  

“Hey, Mina, look!” you gave an exaggerated leg thrust to show off your toned leg covered in a light pink fabric. “No tear!”

Mina giggled, happy to know that your day was off to a much better start compared to yesterday. She continued to smile towards you, watching as you pushed yourself off the bench you were sitting on. Slowly, following many other dancers out the door, you and Mina made your way to the main practice studio. You noticed how the walls, unlike those at the hip-hop studio, had little to no natural light. The small windows allowing little warmth to penetrate into the mirror filled room. It made you frown a little.

“So, are you going to tell me why you just left yesterday?”

You gave a silent groan feeling the urge to grab at your hair. Giving Mina an apologetic look you started, “Ya, sorry about that Mina. It’s just that Jungkook guy really kept hitting my buttons. When you guys were paying inside, he just kept calling me ‘Prima’ and, I don’t know, it just really got on my nerves, I guess. Maybe I was being overdramatic.”

Mina raised her delicate hand to her mouth not wanting to draw attention to her little laughing fit. “But Y/N, you are a Prima.”

You just about fell over in shock. How could Mina, probably your one true friend here, say that to you. Wasn’t she your ally? “M-mina! How could you say—"

“I mean, let’s be honest Y/N,” she smiled at you gently. Looking over she watched over the other dancers work on their own warmups, some of them showing off how many pirouettes they could do – like children in 5th level ballet classes. “You probably have the talent to actually be a Prima Ballerina one day – to be like Ms. Younghee. So maybe Jungkook was actually complimenting you.”

You struggled with her comments, though you knew they came from a good place in her heart. Even flattered that she thought you could one day be like Younghee. Despite what Jimin said earlier, Younghee was someone who everyone wanted to be in the industry. To have her parts, her connections, her history. Though you doubted that Jungkook was actually trying to compliment you. You figured he was probably a guy who thought ballet was boring and not worth the funds nor hype that the school put into it. He was probably jealous and gave the same treatment to the other ballerinas he came across.

Either way, you were just going to forget about him and focus on your own business. Hip-hop and ballet didn’t exactly mix, so you figured you’d only see him in passing again – if ever. 

The two of you made your way towards the same bar location as yesterday, fitting yourself in to begin stretches and warmups. You didn’t have to miss a rotation this time due to your tights and was able to go back to your automatic, almost robotic-like. Just how you preferred. No distractions. No wandering thoughts. Just you, and the bar.

Almost as soon as the clock hit 12, the door to the room opened. Pushing yourself into a tight first-position, you watched as Younghee made her way to the center of the room. Taking a look around to make witching eye contact with almost every person in the room. You tried not to look away when she graced you with her vision – it seemed to last an entirety.

She made her way to the old speaker, hitting the small button to play the same music as the day before.

Always the same.

 ________________

 Younghee spared nothing today. She worked every single person to the bone. Your own leotard was damp with sweat – thankful to the black color for hiding it. There have been many lessons that have gotten you to the point of exhaustion in your career, but to Younghee this seems to be her normal. There was an odd twinge in your triceps as you lowered your arms for the final time for this class. Although your arms have been sculpted over the years to be slim with muscle underneath, the work they went through today made them ache with foreign pressure. Perhaps you had been focusing too much on legs the past couple of months in preparing for Minji that you half-assed your other important limbs.

“I need to go to the gym after this” you thought with a small scowl. You were hoping that you’d have time to maybe do some reading – your only form of downtime. Even if it was readings about ballet history and performance memoirs. 

You were brought out of your thoughts as the most important woman in the room began to speak – her tone even but eyes scorching.

“As many of you probably already know, Minji Academy puts on many productions throughout the year. But of course, the most important is the Nutcracker.” The room didn’t buzz with excitement like it would have when you were children.

The Nutcracker, a timeless favorite to young and old viewers, was much more to those who performed on stage. It was an opportunity to showcase what you learned, how you behaved on stage, and, even more so, where you were in the industry hierarchy. You were most definitely talented if even given a role – two even – but anyone could tell you there was a difference between being casted as a party member and being the Dew Drop. And as first years, it was even more important because if you were given a part that was mostly reserved to upperclassmen. It meant that you were better and someone to watch closely.

You felt yourself stand up a bit straighter – if physically possible - as your thoughts ran away with possibilities. Everyone in the room did the same.

Younghee began to move among the room, each step purposeful and elegant. “Now, there are only about two months ‘n half tell then which means that auditions will be next week.”

Again, there was little buzz, this was normal. Auditions unlike what many people thought in the ballet world, were not people going in solo announcing they were looking to play the part of such and such. It was a big hall filled with dancers all doing as they were instructed and being watched under the careful eye of multiple instructors – looking for who would be the best for which part. You didn’t know who was going to get what until the paper was posted.

“I trust that everyone here will be part of the audition, but may I say, that not everyone will get a part. Let that speak for itself.” Again, nothing in the atmosphere changed. “Dismissed”

The room, like before, and as everyday would be, erupted in light applause towards Younghee – thanking her for her words and presence.

You looked at Mina, silently asking if she was ready to go. However, as she nodded and started walking towards the door you, and most others, stopped as Younghee’s voice came through.

“Ms. Y/L/N.” You froze. Mentally, you double checked everything you did today in hyper-speed. You were dressed correctly, hair still in place even at the end of the lesson and didn’t even speak. What did you do wrong? What could she want? “I would like to speak to you for a moment.” The older woman began to walk towards the door, the rest making room so she could do so.

Mina and you made a quick eye exchange as you followed the woman, trying to not let the other eyes the burrowed into your body bother you. You noticed the smirk the Jihyun gave you but ignored the snake as you made your way out the door.

You stayed a couple feet back from Younghee as she made continued to walk in silence. Rather quickly you noticed that you were heading towards her office.

Patiently you watched as the older woman sat down in her office chair, pinching a piece of nonexistent lint from her formal long sleeve. With long fingers she signaled towards the seat. You sat, no question.

Looking around the large office you noted the dark frames that protected several photographs – some black-n-white others of color. Many were of Younghee herself from back in her prima ballerina years showing off her elegance in action. Others were of birds, snapshots that were not quite good enough to be professional but still nicely lite and focused. Perhaps Younghee had a hobby outside of scaring ballerinas out of their tutus?

“I’m sure you are wondering why I’ve brought you to my office Ms. Y/L/N.” You gave a slow nodded answer. “I’m here to discuss your future here at Minji Academy. I know that you are aware that I accept nothing but the best and nothing but the best moves forward in this industry.”

Your chest felt tight. Was she already kicking you out? Did you mess up somewhere and didn’t notice? Did you miss a single rotation? This is all you ever wanted. If you were kicked out now… you didn’t know what you would do.

“Usually I do not delve into the previous life of my dancers here at the academy – I trust that those in admission have some half of a brain to recognize potential – and I never truly care either whether they won this or that program or dance in some offshore production of Swan Lake. As far as I’m concerned as soon as a dancer steps into my studio, they are nothing more than bodies until they can show me that they are actually worth my time.”

Your bottom lip hurt; you hadn’t realized that you were biting it quite so roughly. Using the tip of your tongue you tasted for copper – not being able to afford any sort of bruise on your body. But what was Younghee getting at?

“However,” you watched as she placed her hands on top of each other, noting that there was no ring on her left hand. “When someone like Kim Eun recommends somebody to me, I don’t necessarily just overlook it.”

Although she continued to look somewhat bored, Younghee finally made full eye contact with you. Her dark eyes, looking into yours as if searching for something more than you were presenting. You, on the other hand, felt a slight sign of relief course through your body. As Jimin had brought up the day before, Kim Eun, a highly esteemed judge and former dancer, had given one of her highest scores at a program you danced at not too long ago. It was one of your proudest moments and something that you personally cherished – but never truly shared. After that program, many recruiters sent you emails and personal messengers to ask for you to apply to their school or even their company. But your heart had been set on Minji since the beginning so none of them truly mattered.

“I just want to let you know that I’m watching you very closely Ms. Y/L/N. And that I expect nothing but perfection from you from this moment on. And while Ms. Kim’s score and recommendation perhaps makes you think you are good enough already, you aren’t.”

You try not to wince at her latter comment.

“I will work you like you have never before, and I expect that you will handle it without problem. I will challenge you and see to it that you do not fail me or this academy.” You nod. It is the only thing you can do.

“That is all, you may leave.”

You quietly thank the woman and leave the office, softly closing the door behind you with a click.

Once outside the door you placed yourself against the wall, taking in deep breaths. Your heart was racing, and your face felt too hot for comfort. While what Younghee said could potentially be taken as a compliment, the thought that her eyes would be watching you more intensely, judging every move, every mistake was incredibly daunting. You felt like you were going to throw up.

“Y/N?”

Jumping slightly at the sudden voice you lift your head to see Mina approaching you, a slightly worried look on her face. Your brown bag was in her hand, she must have grabbed it after leaving the dressing room to come find you. She was too kind.

She approached you, her face was clearly trying to put on a brave face because honestly one of you had to be at the moment. Quickly, to not worry her enough, you said, “Hey. I’m fine. Younghee just wanted to speak to me about my future here I guess.” You gave a gruff light laugh at the end, making you sound unconvincing.

Mina raised a thin eyebrow to this, but instead of questioning anything -or really just wanting to get it off your mind – she changed the topic completely. Giving your bag to you in the process. “Jimin texted me while you were with Younghee. Said there was going to be a small party this weekend if we were interested in going.” She blushed a little, putting back that non-existent hair strand. You could already tell that Mina wanted to go, by the little buzz of excitement she silently gave away at her comment. She was just looking to see if you wanted to go.

Honestly you were not a party goer, or even more true, there hadn’t been many to go to when you were growing up. Ballet and school consumed your entire schedule. Any true precious time off was for catching up on rest. It shocked you that at a school like this there were even parties. But perhaps Minji was more than just classical music and ballet. And not everyone had Younghee watching them like a hawk.

“I-I’ll see if anything is taking my time this weekend.” That is all you could give her, and while Mina honestly hadn’t known you for that long she understood that was just how you were.

“Well,” she started looking at you with a smile, “let’s go find a practice room.”

________________

 You slowly stretched your arms in the corner of the school’s private gym. Although you were tired – exhausted actually - from Younghee’s lesson today, the strain in your triceps worried you. Normally you would incorporate yoga to help strengthen your arms outside of class, but you thought that the lack of focus and time has had them grow slightly weaker. And thus, were in dire need from the assistance of weight machines at an actual gym.

The gym wasn’t bad. It had the necessary equipment and gave people at the academy who weren’t in dance programs to work out well enough. But because the primary programs were dance, there were more wide-open spaced rooms that could double as solo practice rooms if the other buildings were being used. You and Mina had frequented those before official classes had begun during orientation week. And at this current time of day, it was fairly empty.

You loved to work out to be honest. It was the only time you really allowed yourself to listen to music outside of the classics and let the fire of current hits and old ones fill your ears and your veins. It made you want to move.

“Perfect,” you thought.

Searching for a simple machine to use you walked up to a pull-down bar. Taking a quick seat and adding the weight you desired you began to move. The twinge in your arm gave an uncomfortable tickle with each pulldown, but you assumed it was from lack of proper use and the weights giving a challenge. A couple more reps and you’d be good to—

“Prima?”

You almost groaned out loud.

Although muffled by your earbuds, you could not miss the sound of a very unwelcomed voice. Releasing the bar you were holding carefully you turned slightly to look at the man that you honestly thought you weren’t going to see again. Apparently, fate had different plans.

With a small smirk on his lips, Jungkook stood over you, forcing you to look up at him from your seated position at the machine. He was in a pair of black joggers and a plain white shirt that looked a little big on him. You noticed the dampness on his shirt around the sternum area. It caused the material to stick slightly to his chest, giving a decent outline of pectorals.

You were quick to look away to not only save yourself from being caught staring and to honestly signal that you were not really wanting his attention. Hot or not, he wasn’t your current favorite person.

“What you’re not going to talk to me?”

You gave an exaggerated huff, hoping he would get the hint. Apparently, he didn’t by the way he continued to stand there. Giving an eye-roll you turned back to him saying, “I’m trying to work out.” You didn’t except the chuckle that left him.

“I can see that, but what are you trying to do? Give yourself a tear?” You just raised your brow at him, not quite understanding. “The way you’re holding the bar and the weight you have on here is not good. Nor giving you the benefits you think you’re getting.” You weren’t really sure what he meant. Sure, you weren’t exactly the most knowledgeable about this particular machine, but you imagined – based on the image example pasted on it -that you were doing fine. And the weight wasn’t that heavy.

“Here, let me show you.”

Hesitating at first you gave Jungkook another sideways glance. Why was he trying to help you? You clearly made it known that you didn’t like him – you picked a fight with him and flipped him off during your little storm out. And now, one day later, he was trying to help your form? Did he forget or was he just ignorant?

You felt the twinge return to your triceps. The unpleasant tickle making you wince slightly more. You figured, if the dark-haired idiot, could help you, you might as well let him. After your discussion with Younghee you knew that you needed to get better. And desperate times call for desperate measures.

Sighing, you twisted around, lifting your bare leg to get off the cushioned bench you were on. You didn’t miss the way Jungkook stared for the quick movement. Such a boy.

Sitting down soon enough Jungkook began to mess with the weight settings, adjusting them to the weight he liked. You had to admit you were a bit impressed with the heavy load he believed he could handle.

“First your weights were too heavy.” He started off. “You want enough to fill a slight burn but not so much that you feel like you’re pushing yourself too much. Or else you might get bulky. And from seeing the way you and the rest of your tutu-wearing friends look, I assume that isn’t what you want.” You rolled your eyes, already regretting agreeing to his help. “Also, your grip was incorrect, you want to do it the opposite way, so it actually works your triceps muscle.”  Using one hand to hold the puller low – oh so maybe this was light weight for him? – he pushed his white sleeve up revealing his taut muscle that was flexing from the pressure to show you how it was working the correct muscle. You tried not to stare too long at the tanned skin, but you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like in your hands.

You felt yourself get a little red.

Watching, Jungkook followed through with a couple of reps. Your eyes wandered up his arms as they began to show enlarged veins from the workout to the way the slight movement of his back-shoulder muscles underneath the white cotton. He was really pretty.

If it wasn’t for the clang that rug as he dropped the weights upon release you might have been still in a light trance. You watched as he got back up gripping the front of his shirt to air out. “Alright your turn.”

You sat back down at the machine. Placing the weight ring a bit higher up to lighten your original load. Correcting your hold, you began to do one rep, followed by another, and another. It did feel better and the twinge in your triceps weren’t uncomfortable like before. Now they just burned lightly – the type that came with building muscle.

Your grip on the bar was almost released as you felt a large hand land on the center of your back. Quick to regain a solid hold you twisted your neck to look back at Jungkook who just smiled at you and your questioning stare.

“You need to straighten your back more.”

That almost made laugh. Here he was telling you that you needed to sit straighter. Someone who has spent almost their entire life to become a body with perfect posture. But instead of commenting you pushed yourself to be more pin-like and began to repeat your arm motions. The warmth of his hand was lost a second later.

“See? That’s better right?”

You let go of the bar, allowing your arms to rest until you wanted to start the next set. “How do you know all this, are you a personal trainer or something?”

Jungkook laughed, shaking his head no. “Nah, I just like to work out. And believe it or not, us other dancers and junk-thrusters have to stay in shape too.”

You bit your lip, realizing that he definitely did not forget about your comments from outside the restaurant. “Ah, well, um, thank you,” you sounded unsure, almost embarrassed. “For showing me how to use the machine.”

Jungkook gave you a wide grin, one that you didn’t think you’d be on the receiving end of. He gave you a quick ‘no problem!’

Maybe you were bit quick to judge Jungkook. Jimin was clearly close friends with him and he was quick to help you figure out a better way to work your arms. Maybe, he was actually someone who—

“You have great legs by the way, Prima.”

--was still annoying as hell.

________________

 You spent another hour at the gym, working your arms the way Jungkook showed you and then finished off on the treadmill so you maybe wouldn’t have to run in the morning and get to sleep in for another hour. A luxury.

Jungkook had retreated to his own corner of the gym, where there were many more loose weights available. You saw him joking around with a couple of the guys that were also there, making fun while also helping each other lift if one wanted too. You tried not to stare and focus on yourself – and so you wouldn’t be caught.

You took a long drag of your water bottle as you fished for your towel in your gym bag. It was around 9:30 and the gym closed earlier on Fridays, so you figured it was best to get going. Whipping down the perspiration you gathered during you’re run you reached for your phone to see if you received any messages. A text from Mina and a missed call from your mom. You’d text Mina on your way back to the dorm and call you mom in the morning.

“Hey bunhead, you done?”

The sudden intrusion made you jump slightly. Turning around you again faced Jungkook. His shirt was damper than when you saw him an hour ago, sticking to his front much more than before. Even his dark hair began to curl and stick to his tacky face, the result of a hard workout.

“Really? ‘Bunhead’ now?” You crossed your arms while looking at him as he used a towel to dab at his own face. “Have you never met another ballet dancer? We don’t necessarily appreciate the children names.” Jungkook froze for a second, head still in the towel making you unable to see his expression.

He reemerged a moment later, face now dry, and smirked at you. You tried to not think of how appealing the smile was. “Nah, I just get a kick over how you get so pissed over something that should only bother kids, Prima.”  At this point all you could do is roll your eyes and continue to pack up, grabbing your bag and slinging it around your pointy shoulder.

“Well this kid, is going to go. Thanks for helping me at the weights.” You began to stroll off, heading towards the doors – excited to emerge into the cool night weather. Although your walk to your dorm was a good distance from the gym, it allowed you to collect your thoughts and mentally map you next day. A break from everything.

“Prima,” You turned around to see Jungkook jogging over with his own bag in hand. “Let me walk with you.” In more simple scenarios you might be flattered that a man, who could clearly handle his own, would want to walk with you. But this was the obnoxious hip-hop dancer that had a thing for stupid nicknames. So, you didn’t know if you were that lucky.

“You don’t even know which way I’m heading.” What if Jungkook was actually a serial killer you thought. What if he was trying to lead you towards your ultimate doom and leave your disfigured figure in the woods just off of campus? Pretty, wide, brown eyes or not – he could still be dangerous.

“Y/N, you’re just being stupid,” you told yourself.

“I figured you’re probably heading towards South Tower, that’s where most of you dancers live – close to the ballet studio.” Okay, maybe he was just observant. “I live in West, but I usually grab a slice of pizza at Mario’s before heading in.” Mario’s was this super small, school ran pizza place near your hall that was open super late to drag in those who crave a greasy, cheesy slice in the evening. Or hungry hip-hop dancers after a workout apparently. “You want to grab a slice with me?”

You could remember the last time you had pizza. It was three years ago at a small get together with ballerinas. Instead of indulging in the savory crust like most young adults would, the pizza was used as an awful dare. If you lost at whatever game, you were playing you would have to eat an entire slice. You lost. The memory of holding your hair up to throw it back up when you went home was still fresh in your mind.

Further you were shocked that Jungkook thought the two of you had a relationship to even invite you to do such. Though he did help you tonight, and you returned with gratitude, it still didn’t change the fact that you yelled at him in public and was rather rude to him too. Maybe as the youngest of his friend group, he was used to snarky comments to just not care. Innocent invite or not, there was no way you were going to eat pizza.

“I, um,” you tried to think of a good excuse. “I don’t really like—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you looked at him as he gave you a rather gentle smile. “Just make sure you eat something when you get back to your dorm. Something with protein. Not eating after could actually make you lose all the effects of your workout from today. Doesn’t have to be a lot, just something.” Maybe you were thinking too much into it, but he sounded so gentle at the end of his statement.

“Ya, okay. I think I have something in my fridge.”

“Cool, let’s go.” He took off down the sidewalk. All you could do is watch his broad shoulder before walking after him.

________________

 Jungkook had said goodbye as the two of you reached the door of Marios – the smell from outside was heavenly and tempted you dearly, but you already committed to rejecting the slice of mozzarella. Instead, you thanked him for walking you back and said goodnight. Leaving the boy to enjoy his pizza alone.

Your roommate, who you honestly never saw, was not in the dorm when you returned. But you liked it this way. You were able to enjoy some more silence and even not fret over taking up the bathroom for a long period of time.

Placing your gym bag in your room, you walked back out to the very small kitchenette to grab a glass of water. “Water, shower, bed,” you thought.

However, as you filled up your glass you turned towards the fridge. Although you knew you didn’t have anything in there of your own but baby-carrots, you could look. Opening the white door, you saw that it was fairly bare. Your baby-carrots were in there along with some dark chocolate your roommate like to eat cold and celery. You two were both dancers and so didn’t have a lot of time to shop for groceries. However, in the corner, in the back, you saw a small container reading ‘Plain Greek-Yogurt’ – it wasn’t yours.

Doesn’t have to be a lot, just something, Jungkook’s voice said in your mind.

You hesitated for a moment. Not because it wasn’t yours but because you were thinking of everything that might be in the personal container. How many calories? How much sugar? How much, how much, how much?

Just something.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed it and closed the fridge. Grabbing a spoon from the nearby drawer you raced back to your room. Sitting on your bed you slowly opened the yogurt container.

Not wanting to second guess yourself you dumped the spoon in, quickly brought it back and placed it into your mouth. With no sweetener, the taste was slightly sour and gave you small goosebumps.

It was amazing.

...

Some people asked to be added to a taglist, but I honestly don’t know how to make one or if I’m doing this right. I’ve been on Tumblr a long time but really don’t know anything other than liking and reblogging, hahaha. So for now, until I learn how to make one, I’ll just @ them. 

@mycurrentusernameisalreadytaken @mrcleanheichou @marvelatthemadness

[kldubois]

Lessons in Looking 1/?

A/N: I have a handful of original characters for this series I’ve unknowingly been working on. I say unknowingly because I did not intend to start a new series in the middle of other projects and it wasn’t supposed to go past a 24 day writing challenge, but it has. These don’t necessarily follow right after one another, but they are mostly in a forward linear motion with the exception of one short that I’ll note. These are posted in a few other places, but I’ve cleaned these up a little. They were each written in a night and posted with little editing. There’ve also been some changes to character names to keep things consistent because I’m working on something bigger than a series of shorts, I guess.

Title: The Warehouse

Words: 1236

Her phone isn’t working. That’s not a surprise. Marla told her she’d fixed it, but it’s no surprise to her that it hasn’t worked. Not because Marla’s not good at that sort of thing, but it’s just her luck to have the phone still not work after her tech wizard friend performed some high-level magic on it. Her EpiPen, though, that is working and she’s glad for that because it’s easing some of the pressure in her chest and constriction in her throat. More than that, it gives her just enough strength to get to her hands and knees to crawl out of the building that she can’t recall why she was there anymore.

Her head down as she shuffles along, she sees the light of the winter sun breaking through cracks in the door. It taunts her as her pace slows. The EpiPen is wearing off and she can feel the strain of breathing return. The dizziness, the quick heartbeat never left but are now worsening. If she can just get to the door, then perhaps she can find a signal to get her phone working.

For her, the noises she makes, the pained wheezing, the grunts as she forces herself to take one more shuffle forward, don’t register. Each sound echoes in the empty, dirty warehouse as her movements slow.

Sometime before she reaches the door she collapses, which knocks what air is in her lungs out. She would cry out too if she could. Instead, she lays there trying to get air back into her lungs, pausing as the effort strains her swollen throat. Her chest aches but at last she has enough presence of mind to find the second EpiPen she carries because this has happened before and injects herself with it. Its effects are quick and though she’s exhausted by her ordeal, the ability to breath gives her the drive to get back up, shuffling along on her hands and knees.

The last several feet are difficult as the aches in her throat and chest grow to make themselves known over the adrenaline coursing through her. The nail being hammered in her head doesn’t help either. She just wants out of here. She wants to be home, on her couch, her dog scrunched up on her side, taking up what little space there is left on the couch.

She collapses again, some several feet away from the door, so close she can feel the chill of the air on her overly, probably fevered, body. She’s so close, she has to get out, she thinks. It would be terrible to be found dead this close. She can just imagine her obituary. Evalyne Rose died two fucking feet from safety. If only she’d had a little more courage, she’d have been able to rescue herself.

Not going to happen, she tells herself.

Inch by painful, exhausting inch she pulls herself closer to the door, pushing her hands into the concrete as much as she can and pulls it back to push herself forward. It’s a long process but whenever she thinks of her obituary, she keeps going forward.

Opening the door takes a few attempts before she can get the right amount of force behind the push to get it open. The effort sends her tumbling out of the door and down the steps into the empty alley. She stops when she hits the brick wall on the other side of the alley and lays there for a few moments to regain her breathing and wits.

Then she calls 911. She can’t recall her answers or what the operator says and she passes out sometime during the call, feeling the strain to breath grow. During the ambulance ride, she’s in and out, not quite aware of anything other than the paramedic’s presence as he tends to her.

She finally comes back to awareness in the ER with Marla sitting in a chair next to her. She takes a moment to glance around, finding the usual set up in place, an IV in her arm, oxygen mask on her face, pulse ox monitor on a finger, and blood pressure cuff inflating regularly on her arm. Oh, and the dreaded hospital gown.

“I see you’re finally back with us,” Marla says grinning slightly. She finishes up something on her phone, then looks up at Evalyne. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” she answers, voice muffled by the mask. She moves to take the mask off so she can speak comfortably but Marla stops her.

“Leave it. Your O2 numbers still aren’t good. Your EpiPens helped but they still had to give you stuff to treat the anaphylaxis.”

Evalyne nods. She’d figured that more would need to be done. She’d been in that warehouse for far too long for this to be a simple ER visit.

“They’re waiting on a room to open up and some paperwork to clear before taking you up. Congratulations, you scored an overnight stay at a minimum.” The snark in Marla’s voice is a comfort. Evalyne knows she’s not mad, but worried.

“What were you thinking, going into that building,” Marla questions.

Evalyne shrugs her shoulders weakly, giving Marla a tired look. She’s not up to justifying her actions now. Besides, how was she to know that cinnamon all over the building, in the air and on the surfaces. Candle factories made more than just cinnamon scented candles, after all.

“Oh, look who’s alert finally,” Abby, a nurse, says as she walks through the curtains to the bed. Evalyne knows Abby well and doesn’t take the tone personally, rolling her eyes instead. She knows much of the ER staff from her many visits.

“Yeah, she woke up a few minutes ago. Tried to take the mask off,” Marla says for her.

“Well, we can’t have that happen. Make sure you keep that mask on. Okay, Evalyne? It’s helping you breathe,” Abby says, sarcasm gone from her voice.

“Okay,” Evalyne says, coughing lightly.

“And you should probably refrain from speaking much. You were in a severe state of anaphylaxis by the time the paramedics found you. Going into that warehouse was your worse decision yet. We had to bathe you after removing your clothes to get rid of the cinnamon that was on your body to stop the reaction.”

She feels guilt at that. Going into places like that warehouse was normal for her. She liked to do hands-on research and often times that meant that she got into some old, dangerous places, but she hadn’t thought that the warehouse would be so bad.

“Sorry,” she says, coughing again.

“Stop it,” Marla snaps lightly. “I know that you didn’t mean for this to happen. You never do, but you really need to think more about things before you do them. You’re a writer, not some sort of secret agent or investigative journalist. You write fiction. Most fiction writers do their research online from what I hear nowadays.”

“It’s ‘bout the ‘xper’nce,” Evalyne says.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wish you’d be more careful.”

“Well, all you’re going to be experiencing for the next day at least is a hospital room. And look, one’s just opened up. Are you ready for another adventure,” Abby asks, letting the snark slide in easily.

“Shut… up,” Evalyne says. It’s going to be a long day. She just hopes she gets a nurse upstairs that doesn’t know her.

[girlbookwrm]

AVENGERS: CIVIL WAR

THE MIGHTY PRE ENDGAME REWATCH

it took us two entire days to watch this, back in whenever we were watching this. I’ve got a Bundle of Papers here in front of me, and the CW Bundle is by far the thickest, and that’s with minimal salt content.

Speaking of Salt: The Roommate and I had to approach this as an Avengers movie. Because otherwise the salt levels in this would be toxic, possibly fatal. Even so, ppl with high cholesterol be warned

LET’S DO THIS

1991!

Winter Soldier: 

what is this

what is this please

dat beef tho

what is this op sec

honestly

NO mask

SHINY FUCKOFF ARM just HANGING OUT

CCTV???

~ooooooo he’s a ghooooooooooooost~

he’s got an extremely dedicated and very harried cleanup crew is what he’s got

OH! OLD LOGO ILU!!!

LAGOS!!

The Roommate: That’s a lot of sugar

i ain’t judging

what, you think her powers run on optimism?

is there an accent? is there not? Shroedinger’s accent.

droney the drone

sam’s lil sky roomba

i love him

guhhhh this scene every line shows character and growth and i just *clenches fist*

did

did falcon just throw steve

just yeeted him at the enemy?

god i love that

also: has steve bulked up since TWS?

that’s also on Sam, yeah?

CUT THE CHEEEEECCCCK

is this fucking NEUROTOXIN? STEVE WHERE’S UR MASK?

Steve, throwing himself into a room full of an unknown poison gas without a mask: I bet i can survive this

Bucky, in Bucharest: *breaks whatever he’s holding without knowing why*

god i love sam

“I don’t work like that no more” Means ?????????????

PARKOUR NAT

is also BRUNCH MOM NAT

“both grunting” is always one of my favorite subtitles

2 white boys fighting in the middle of the street like it’s a video game

god someone took the murder strut to heart wow that is some. that is some something that’s for sure.

give me even one (1) heterosexual explanation for "your pal your buddy your bucky"

there’s no way that bucky ever said this, right? this is just Rumlow fucking with steve, and the screenwriters fucking with us

because IN CASE YOU WERE NOT IN THIS FANDOM IN 2016, WE ALL THOUGHT CAP WOULD DIE IN THIS MOVIE

WE WERE SO SURE

wow i wonder if that will be relevant to anyone’s emotions here in the year of our lordt 2019

anyway, what bucky actually said was:

“please tell rogers... that he’s a big dumb dildo and he should wear a gas mask and also a parachute.”

listen i love this opening scene but also wanda is not at all responsible for this explosion and the fact that they act like she is undermines my ability to suspend my disbelief.

DIGITAL ENYOUTHENMENT ALERT

also, tony the fact that you are using your literal dead mom as an actual therapist is

wow

BARF feels right to me

too real, tony

it’s too real

how ARE you getting around the strings and taxes tho

Also can i say that i actually love that Pepper’s absence is this profoundly important to the story. The hole where pepper should be is a huge part of this story and i like that. i like that a lot.

WOW THAT EXTRA IS LIKE A MASHUP OF NAT AND WANDA. SHE IS THE GENERIC MARVEL WHITE LADY

more a+ visual storytelling with the elevator

I’m just so mad that they blame wanda and play that straight?

all they had to do was outright acknowledge one (1) time that the media is picking on her because she’s a woman/a foreigner

imagine that speech coming from nat instead of steve

though i do love Steve’s pep talk

again. give me one (1) heterosexual explanation

though why not have Steve say “they’re just bullies, you did the right thing” and hearken back to smolsteeb

The Roommate: Remember how i was mad at his Oscars Velvet Blazer? I am also mad at this sweater.... it looks... so soft... i don’t know if i want it on him or off him... just wanna tuch....... and wear..........?”

Vision’s Ascot is. Something else man.

The Roommate: Why is ross secretary of state?

Me: Why is Trump President

Me: I bet Ross is vegan

the roommate, who has vegan-related trauma: UUUUGGGHHHHHHHH

Nat's reaction to vigilantes: Bitch please. she is Unbothered.

you don’t have to show us footage we’ve got the ptsd nightmares

400 pages in 3 days

[tired american sighing]

we honestly can’t even criticize this plot point anymore just

[my longest and most american sigh]

CLEVELAND!!!

hail hydra continues to be the Most Terrible last words

but WHY does ross have the congressional medal of honor

do you know how HARD it is to get one of those????

yeesh

sassy black friends sassing at each other

is definitely a

thing that is happening rn

Vision: Well Actually

no one cares, vis

ok like

a kid is dead but

3.6 is an okay GPA

maybe all my friends are overachievers

maybe it’s just because most of them are women but like

it’s an okay GPA

i’d have 8000% more respect for Tony if he was more upfront like “look this is on me” especially here

are we supposed to be picking all this up as subtext, actually?

because i know that this movie ALSO had a Troubled Youth ala ant man

and i really do appreciate the Russos for relying on a smart audience but there’s a lot going on

and it’s very obvious to me that they had to shift gears 18,000 times in the script writing phase

so like, you’ve got old man vet steve

but it’s painfully obvious that he missed vietnam right?

like

it’s painfully obvious

and he’s v egotistical and self righteous too 

it IS a battle of the egos

and no one is right

except natasha

Steve: i have to go

me: mood

LONDON!!!!

oh god

oh god no

steve god no steve oh god

gfhskfdjjjksjdjjhrrrrhrhhrhfhh [wailing and rending of garments]

Re Peggy’s age:

SURPRISE IT’S ACTUALLY PLAUSIBLE

so the True Hallmark of a Cap Movie is Peggy telling steve what to do.

so weird to have that in an avengers movie

i do love this. GOOD BRO NAT CONTENT

Um. is vision a minor? is wanda?

again, nat is the only Correct one here

stay together guys

it might be

reeeeeeaaaaally important in 

*checks watch*

two years’ time.

~hug~

VIENNA!!!!!

CHAD WICK! CHAD! WICK! CHAD! WICK!

god i love the xhosa in this

There is a level of worldbuilding in this that we p much only get from the russos/markus&mcfeely. i mean -- internal consistency worldbuilding? if that makes sense? we get a lot of visual worldbuilding in black panther, but this is distinctly different and hard to articulate and it has to do with the way they approach things and how they assume audience intelligence

it just works for me

oh no chadwick boseman don’t be cry

Sharon deserves better

than being cockblocked by her own aunt

and also sam wilson (who also deserves better)

cryptid!bucky

Nat did you get that suit from jenny agutter?

LA Brunch Mom Nat

mah girl

she’s just so tired

steve (bless him) is just so exhausting

couples date sam and steve dressed to match

“at the gym”??? really? the arm is... a bit of a giveaway

i do feel bad for zemo in this one specific case

russian IS hard

how. did he get that in there?

Soft Plumboy Bucky

BEEF

Captain’s Log: Buck’s place is a shithole

Sergeant’s Log: Steve’s face is pretty

surprise bitch

“That’s Smart, Good Strategy” is an excellent phrase to use in everyday conversation in order to weed out who Knows and who Doesn’t.

What i have learned from civil war: 

Captain America is a projectile weapon

further query:

did bucky ever hurl small steve at assailants?

Bucky: *punts steve down an alley*

Steve, 90 lbs of rage at 90 mph: GET WRECKED

Bucky’s got big tommy wiseau cryptid energy here

And now there’s a cat

bucky:

I love this vampire running and also bucky’s thighs

Steve Rogers: Excuse me sir I need to commandeer this vehicle. YEET.

Bucky Barnes: Excuse me sir I need to commandeer this vehicle. YOINK.

Bucky and Steve: Wrecking your morning commute since 2014

WAR MACHINE!!!

god vis has the biggest dorkiest crush

so vis are you a child prodigy? or? what?

The Roommate, a cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure: vis have you eaten anything between CW and IW?

Me, sinnamon roll, not to be trusted: *dying* *thinking about how Vision’s got schroedinger’s dick. does it exist? does it not exist? who knows.*

Me: Y. Yes. I th. think he has. eaten something. between now and. and IW. something.

The Roommate: *betrayed look*

Me: DEEP FRIED KEBAB MAYBE? I DON’T KNOW.

The Roommate: *is so disappointed*

BERLIN!!!!!!

Bucky is. So tired. Let him rest.

fucking up the morning commute again i see

u like cats??

I love the ratio of overkill:ineffectiveness with this glass box they put him in.

why did tony  bring these fancy pens

the time spent explaining them could’ve been spent doing literally anything else

*i still don’t understand the accords*

GOD STEVE WANTS TO BE AN UNCLE SO BAD

“my fault”

there it is

“truth is i don’t want to stop”

THERE it is

“i thought the accords could split the difference”

THERE IT IS

"no, i don’t.”

THERE IT IS

“IT’S INTERNMENT.”

THERE! IT! IS!

gah.

wanda’s accent et al -- MAKE IT EXPLICIT MARVEL YOU COWARDS

no but really what are the accords

here followed a 20-30 minute convo about the accords

basically the summing up was:

Nat is 100% Right Ross is 100% Wrong Everyone Else is In A Grey Area

look this is actually a really good avengers movie

but

this is a moment when the back catalogue works against them because this conversation is so -- it implies a lot of friendly interactions between these two. they seem to have a relationship

but i keep looking at all the other movies they’ve interacted in like

BITCH WHERE? WHERE IS THE TONYSTEVE FRIENDSHIP? WHERE???

i am anticipating this will cause me A Grief later

The Roommate, looking at Steve in his Grey Shirt and Jacket: Damn, sir. Stop wearing clothes.

“BIRD COSTUME???”

“j a m e s”

big holt talking to rosa vibes there

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

A VAST AND MIGHTY MOOD

Zemo’s plan is so ridiculous i genuinely don’t have time to get into it i still have two pages of notes to get through holy shit.

this fight scene. does things. for me.

hhhHNNNNHGH BEEFSTEAK

(oh tony left with no suit? growth dot gif)

THIGHS

T H I G H S ! ! ! !

CHADWICK!

Sam out here, serving looks, casually modeling

B I C E P S ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

TOO SEXY! *crashes helicopter*

I need twelve more scenes of steve and bucky faffing about in the water.

A more effective restraint than the custom made bucky bottle

(BRIEF 1991)

haaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAa biceps u stop that

Is Tony having a heart attack???

he has no concept of how to treat children because he never was one oh no i gave myself a sad feeling

QUEENS!!!!!!!

“I’m having a big fight in a parking lot with my superhero friends better go pick up a child as backup.” - tony stark

tony he doesn’t have a passport and if he understood what was happening he would not be on your side

Now That’s What I Call Vigilantism.

Why are you bringing a CHILD to a gun fight

Tony’s face, to me, suggests that he knows EXACTLY what he’s doing

also? it’s painfully obvious to me that these scenes were copypasted in late stage when they finally found out that yes they would have the rights to spiderman lol

for some reason they don’t feel the need to tell is that this is avengers compound in 400 point font

i’m so lost

where are we?

without the 400 point font i can only assume we are on mars

THAT’s a fine way to greet YOUR FATHER, WANDA

hawkeye is in fact the team lynchpin

is it

ugh

is it because they listen to him but he listens to natasha

ugh

i bet it is

UUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH

Vision: I have been FALLING! for THIRTY MINUTES!

“i know someone who does”

i’m confused by the cut here, because it seems to imply that Sharon, deliberately or inadvertently, rats them out to natasha?

Birds and raccoons do not get along

steve

steve no

steve

ur timing is shit steve

Scott Lang might be the best thing in this movie

well except for Dat Bone Structure

CUT THE CHEEEEEECK

*costume change in a parking lot to the yakkety sax soundtrack*

Thinking about the coming battle i am forced to concede that Iron Man Has A Point?

“do you really want to punch your way out of this?”

Steve: I ALWAYS wanna punch my way out

god scott’s such a fukkin nerd

tiny quibble but Scott “got punched by hope van dyne” lang would never say that to the black heckin widow

“gimmick”

um

people in falcon houses shouldn’t throw spider stones, samuel

wanda

those cars belong to people

oh god iron man has a point

LET’S GO LESBIANS! COME ON LESBIANS LET’S GO

*catfight sounds*

“then why did you run?”

dude you attacked me in a catsuit

Tony’s true superpower is that he knows steve, that’s how spiderbabby gets the upper hand

althought god

Tony was pre-gaslighting peter

he was pilotlighting peter

*my longest UGH yet*

“Queens?” “Brooklyn”

MAXIMUM NEW YORK ACHIEVED

ant man is the MVP

hmmmmmm “we don’t trade lives” HMMMMMMMMM

why did that truck explode

also *omg iron man has a point*

tony tedward stark how did you not know how old this child was

also peter stop pretending you don’t know what Empire Strikes Back, AT-ATs and Hoth are.

why doesn’t Vis get more flack for this

hey. hey tony. you know what sam is? A MEDIC. maybe let him LOOK AT YER FRIEND THERE instead of SHOOTING HIM IN THE FACE.

zemo’s plan is noooooonseeeeennnnnnsssse

guh these two beautiful men emoting in different directions KILL ME

this doctor is just like “yup there’s a giant purple robot here seems legit”

natasha is the only one who’s 100% right

did... did the russos kill themselves in this movie? did they cast themselves as dead extras? was this a statement of some kind?

HOW did ross get the congressional medal of honor. H O W.

“you read it”

NO ONE READ IT, IT’S 400 PAGES

tony this is Some Nonsense

ffflslkds he’s taking one of Nat’s guns KILL ME

one (1) heterosexual explanation.

rode back in a freezer truck

got pneumonia

already had pneumonia

and you blew three whole dollars on some slut

(seriously. gimme one. i’m waiting.)

srsly tho, whether you ship it or not, these two are old marrieds

the red star looks weird on his beefcake arm. did they forget to scale it up?

KITTY

listen zemo is just really turned on by cam and he didn’t mean to say that and that’s the most relateable thing he’s done so far.

It’s not just that bucky killed his mom. it’s that bucky killed his mom AND STEVE KEPT IT FROM HIM.

life alert a senior citizen has fallen

T'Challa, observing this White Nonsense™: I truly should... check myself. Before! I wreck myself.

agism is what it is

god this bit

steve dropping the shield

look at him

he is Stick A Fork In Him D O N E

Rhodey really deserves better than this? He deserves development showing the evolution of his opinion between here and IW

i wish we could get more of him grappling with this

that said

gosh wouldn’t it fucking suck if Cap and Bucky got relegated to End Credit scenes in their own got damn movie to make room for Iron Man to emote at his buddy his pal his rhodey?

*looks directly into the camera like i’m on the office.*

Anyway.

Steve rogers: getting the last word in every argument since 1918.

“from the bottom of my heart: My Bad.”

[creamytinydays]

Part 2: “Pizza Delivery” - An Everlark Drabble

Fresh from the oven, it’s Part 2 of “Pizza Delivery”!

Thank you @dailyau and @demineil for the prompt: “you’re the only delivery person who gets to my house in any semblance of the word fast which is why I keep requesting you but you don’t believe me and tease me constantly about it” AU.

I’m so grateful to all the amazing folks who read Part 1, and to @d1163​ @historywriter2007​ @alliswell21​ for asking for a second slice. 

Special thanks to my beta 2ee, who is the parmesan to my mozzarella. 

I’m indebted to the incredible @butrfac14 who beta’d this on short notice, even faster than Peeta can deliver pizza. And speaking of which…

[The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.]

It’s been three days and I haven’t ordered once from Cornucopia Pizza. Every time I picked up the phone to order, I couldn’t help but remember what Peeta said. I know it’s no big deal, but somehow I can’t face him. So Wednesday, Thursday and Friday have passed, and I haven’t called at all.  

They probably think I’m dead.

I’m down to my last box of macaroni and cheese and things are getting desperate. Luckily, on Saturday I’m so busy running errands I barely have time to think, and by the evening I’m driving to my friend Annie’s house and haven’t even thought about Peeta once. At least, not once in last hour.

Annie and I work together, and one day over lunch discovered we both love this one ridiculous sitcom. Every Saturday night we watch it together at her place, and tonight is no different.

“Hey!” When Annie swings her door wide, she smiles and flips her brown hair over her shoulder. “You’re just in time!”

Annie leads the way into her living room, and once we’ve settled on her huge sectional couch, she flicks the television on.

“I totally forgot to eat dinner,” she says. “Do you care if we order something?”

I had dinner, but I could always eat again. “Sure,” I say. “Where do you want to order from?”

Annie frowns. “What about that place you were talking about the other day? Cornucopia?”

I hesitate, but if I say no Annie’s going to pick up on it, and there’s no way I want to get into what happened. “Okay,” I say casually. “They should be here in no time. There’s this one delivery guy, Peeta, you’re going to want to ask for him. He got to my house in under ten minutes the other day.”

I may have overdone it, because Annie looks up from where she’s perusing the menu on her phone. “Okay…” She looks back down at the screen. “Wow, this place has everything. Did you ever get the sushi?”

“Stay away from that,” I warn. “They have everything, but the pizza is the best.”

“Okay.” Annie bounces up from the couch. “I’ll call them. What do you want?”

“Veggie pizza, cheese breadsticks and cinnamon rolls,” I say.

Annie squints at me. “I’m going to order you a salad, too.” I roll my eyes. Annie’s under the impression I need to eat healthier, and I’m under the impression she’s wrong.

She goes into the kitchen to call. I pick at my thumbnail, wondering who’s on phone duty tonight.

A few minutes later, Annie comes back, slightly flushed. “I think the guy on the phone was flirting with me.”

“Who was it?” Most of the guys there are pretty professional, except…

“Was it Finnick?”

Annie looks at me sideways. “You know this place pretty well.”

“I don’t really cook.” I shrug. “So it’s take-out most nights, and since they’re the fastest, well…”

“Since he’s the fastest, you mean,” Annie says, and I look up sharply at her. Her face is smooth, and she doesn’t seem to be teasing me. But still.

“I just appreciate efficiency.”

I grab the remote and start the show before Annie can cross-examine me.

We’re about halfway through the episode when my mind begins to wander. Where’s the food? Maybe since it’s Friday night, they’ve got more orders than usual. Although, last Friday night he was pretty quick.

The doorbell rings. Annie and I both stand up.

“Can you get that?” Annie asks, and heads to the kitchen. “I’ll set out the plates!” she calls over her shoulder.

I try to think of an excuse, but Annie’s already gone and it would be too strange to call her back. I slowly walk down the foyer to Annie’s front door. I peek through the window at the top of the door and then quickly duck down. Peeta’s standing outside in his red uniform jacket, with two bags of food piled on top of the pizza box.

Why did I have to wear sweatpants today? I try to brush my hair out with my fingers then realize I’m being ridiculous. It’s just the delivery guy.

Who thinks I have a crush on him.

Who maybe isn’t wrong.

I take a deep breath and open the door. Peeta’s looking down at his phone, reading off the order.

“One veggie pizza, an order of breadsticks, one house salad –” Peeta looks up and stops when he sees me.

“Uh, hey, Peeta.”

“Katniss!” Peeta’s blond eyebrows disappear into his bangs. He shakes his head. “I should’ve known by the order.” He frowns and looks back at his phone. “Though the salad did throw me off…”

I don’t really know what to say, and I’m regretting not having Annie handle this.

“Well, thanks,” I manage. He hands me the order, and I try not to let our fingers touch. I’m about to turn to drop off the food when his voice stops me.

“Hey, Katniss?”

I turn back to face him. His hands are in his jacket pockets, and his shoulders seem tense.

“Look, I just wanted to apologize for what I said about Finnick. It was stupid and I shouldn’t have repeated it.”

His blue eyes are serious, and his voice is level.

“I know he was joking,” I say, trying to play it cool. “But thanks.”

“Of course.” He nods.

“So, what took so long?” I ask lightly. I’m curious, and I can’t help but ask. “This place is closer to Cornucopia than mine.”

“I know.” Peeta sighs. “I’m sorry for the wait.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal.” I shrug and smile at him, and this seems to put him at ease.

“Well, to me it is. As my favorite customer, this one’s on the house.” He smiles at me. “It just took a little longer to make all the food,” he explains.

Now I feel stupid. Of course it took longer with our monster order! I’d smack my forehead if my hand wasn’t currently occupied with the pizza box.

“That’s really not necessary.” There’s no way I’m letting him give it to us for free. I shove the food onto a side table in the hall, and grab the cash. He looks hesitant as I reach out my palm towards him. “Please?”

He gently picks up the cash, his fingers warm against my palm. “Thanks,” he says. “Actually…” He digs out a pen and scrap of paper from his jacket pocket. “Maybe I can make it up to you sometime. Here’s my number.” He hands it to me and I pocket it without thinking.

“Okay.” I smile, and fight the urge to wipe my hands on my sweatpants because they’ve started to sweat.

Peeta’s gaze shifts over my shoulder, and I glance behind me. Annie had just poked her head out of the kitchen, before quickly ducking back. I know she’s hungry, and the food is still with me in the hall.

“Well I’d better to go,” I say.

“Of course.” He starts down the steps. “Have a good night!”

I close the door and try desperately to figure out what he meant about making it up to me. Did he mean in a pizza-related way? Or…

Annie strides up to me.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting the pizza?” I’m puzzled by her face, which is aghast.

“He just gave you his number, and that’s it?” She shakes her head and pushes me towards the door.

“What…hey!” Annie’s stronger than she looks, because she’s shoves me outside and shuts the door behind me, leaving me stranded on the porch.

I know I could get back inside, but I’ve never been good at waiting.

I can see Peeta, silhouetted against the street light, already in his car. I’m gripped by the image of him driving away.

“Peeta!” I run over the grass towards him, and he looks at me then quickly gets out of the car. He walks towards me, his eyes worried.

“Um…” Now that he’s standing in front of me looking much more concerned than a casual acquaintance should, I find my courage has escaped me. “Annie says we need some of those parmesan packets. And hot flakes,” I lie.

“Oh, sure.” Peeta nods but doesn’t move.

Pull it together, Everdeen.

“Okay, that wasn’t totally true. I’m here because, because…” I can’t seem to get the words out, especially when he’s looking at me so intently.

“Actually, I have a confession to make, too.” My eyes widen, and Peeta looks at the ground, then back up at me. “I should have said this a long time ago, but there’s another reason why I get to your house so fast.” He takes a deep breath, but the words have found me and I do something I’ve been waiting too long to do.

“Do you want to have dinner sometime?”

Peeta looks stunned.

He opens his mouth but no words come out, and I realize I must have read the situation wrong. I try to calculate how long it would take me to run back inside the house. If Annie tries to keep me out again, I’ll jump the fence.

I’m just about to slowly back away when he smiles, and I know I can’t run.

“Yes.”

He replies simply, but it’s more delicious than the first bite of hot pizza.

“Okay,” I say, grinning. “I’ll call you.”

He smiles and gets back into his car, waving at me through the window before driving down the street. I’ve seen his car leave so many times before, but this time it doesn’t feel like an ending.

And I know the next time I order from Cornucopia, I’ll order for two.