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maulusque · 4 years ago

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Clone genetic enhancement ideas

So the clones were genetically enhanced, but i don’t really see any writers (in fanfic or in published stuff) really exploring what that MEANS beyond “clone very stronk”. Here are some ideas that would actually make clones significantly different from just a regular-ass human in peak condition.

-enhanced senses: eyesight, hearing, etc. I’m talking eyes like a HAWK

-better reflexes

-quicker information processing

-can hear sounds of higher and lower frequency than standard humans

-can see light of a broader spectrum than human standard

-learn quicker, retain information and skills better (potential problem: if you learn something the WRONG way, that way might stick really well)

-photographic memory (really useful for memorizing layouts and maps)

-immunity to various diseases

-can tolerate a wider range of temperatures and environments

-increased stamina and strength baseline. Clones can just run full-tilt for hours and hours and be like “ah a nice stroll”. Over long distances, they can out-pace jedi in the same way that humans can out-pace horses.

-higher tolerance of certain poisons/toxins (clones can straight-up drink ethanol, and get maybe a little tipsy)

-bodies respond quickly to physical stress, and slowly to the absence of it (basically, this means that physical conditioning results in stronger muscles and a stronger cardiovascular system really quickly, and it takes MUCH longer for a clone to lose strength and conditioning due to not exercising than standard humans. Think how much valuable training time is saved if they only have to go on a run like, once a month in order to stay in shape)

-increased ability to function through intense pain and acute injuries. Basically, semi-disabling the pain system so it’s less distracting. Probably not good for the survival of the individual in many situations, but an advantage on the battlefield.

-heal faster and better, with fewer long-term complications. Clones can dislocate their shoulders and NOT have the joint be permanently fucked up, because the Kaminoans re-designed the whole damn thing to suck WAY less.

-actually, unique internal anatomy. There’s probably a lot about the human body besides the shoulder joint that is actually just really stupid, and something no intelligent designer would actually build. So the Kaminoans can fix a lot of that stuff. Better knees, maybe. Stronger ribs. Maybe Cody punches droids not just because he’s a mad bastard, but also because his metatarsals are literally as strong as steel.

-Hearing loss/hearing damage? No problem, your ear can regrow those little hair-thingies that help you hear.

-Of course, it takes energy to maintain muscle mass, which is why human bodies lose it if we’re not using it. Clones need significantly more calories than standard humans. However, their digestive systems are enhanced to extract calories and nutrients from food much more efficiently, so food goes much farther. Potential weird side effect: maybe clones only have to poop like, once a week?

-You could probably extend that into increased ability to tolerate long periods without food/on low rations, despite the increased need for calories.

-wouldn’t it be NEAT if the kaminoans somehow designed self-repairing DNA. This would mean that others couldn’t take a DNA sample from a clone and modify it to create their own clones (basically, it protects their product. It’s like DRM for clones). This ALSO means that clones couldn’t get cancer, and that they’d be immune to radiation poisoning. So a clone could just walk up to a sphere of uranium at critical mass and pick it up. Maybe with oven mitts on if it’s hot. (this would also make it harder for a rapid-aging cure to be developed, but uhhhh fanfic writers find a way)

- “bred for obedience” I think most of this would have to be accomplished through tightly-controlled messaging and cultural norms as the clones grow up- basically, enshrining obedience as a desirable and almost sacred trait, to be prized higher than anything else, including the lives of your brothers. In the same way that we hear stories of people sacrificing their lives to protect their loved ones, the clones would grow up hearing stories of soldiers sacrificing their brothers’ lives to obey an order from a superior.

-SOME of the “obedience” thing could be engineered, though. Humans are already super social, but it would probably make sense for the clones to have an even greater need for social bonds. This would make for greater teamwork and coordination, and better unit cohesion, since the clones would be more inclined to prioritize friendship/agreeing with someone over winning an argument. It would also make it so they’d bond with their natural-born generals more easily, so they would obey them not just because they’re supposed to, but because they’d be much quicker to see them as a friend, and someone who’s trust they want to earn, someone they want to incorporate into their group and make happy.

-consequently, clones who find themselves alone do NOT do well. Isolation has a much more profoundly negative impact on clones than on regular humans.

-Originally, clones designed to operate alone or in small teams would not have the social enhancement- ARC troopers, spec-ops teams, etc. There wouldn’t be much of a noticeable difference in everyday interactions, but they’d also be vaguely weirded out by what they interpret as aggressive friendliness from their brothers, and their brothers would think they’re a bit shy and standoffish.

-actually this social modification would make it MUCH harder for clones to kill people. REGULAR HUMANS are already super bad at killing people- i remember reading this article about how as soon as soldiers have to point their weapons at actual people, their aim gets mysteriously much shittier. Even when compared to situations that are exactly the same, except they’re not shooting at other humans. So reconcile this how you will, idk.

-I imagine a lot of these enhancements would be accomplished not through DNA, but through microorganisms. Retroviruses could explain the DNA resistant to modification, and the increased healing speed, and possibly some disease resistance (do i know anything about retroviruses other than a vague concept of what they are? no i do not. will that stop me? also no.) Their metabolism can be partially explained through specially engineered gut microbes.

-not sure how they’d go about making clones “resistant to any stress”, because you can’t exactly turn off the trauma response in the brain without breaking a bunch of other things. They could probably do a bit of fiddling to make clones more resistant to chemical imbalances, and therefore more depression-resistant. I think most of the “stress-resistance” would have to come through training. Either they train the clones to basically suppress everything, which might work alright in the short term. OR they actually have systems in place that help prevent the development of things like PTSD and help treat trauma. Meaning the clones are literally trained in self-care, positive self-talk, talking about their pain with their brothers, and having community rituals around things like death and grief. I don’t think that’s super likely because one thing that’s integral to those concepts is the concept of “i am a person and i have worth, and if i feel angry about something bad happening, that is ok and valid” and considering that a whole lot of bad things happen to the clones all the time and their childhood is a whole boatload of bad all happening at once, i don’t think the kaminoans would want the clones realizing “hey wait a minute i’m a person and i don’t deserve to be treated this way and it’s ok for me to be mad at you”.

- the clones were supposedly engineered to be “less aggressive” but i think there was literally nothing more to that than a cover story for the control chip. The clones wouldn’t be raised with a lot of the aggressive western concept of masculinity, where anger is the default reaction to like, everything, and your personal pride is extremely important and also fragile (no offense lmao). So you wouldn’t have clones posturing and getting angry over perceived slights and fighting each other all the time, like everyone in-universe apparently expects to be the case. Anyway, why would you want your soldiers to be less aggressive? they’re literally supposed to fight and kill the enemy. You want them fully capable of getting angry, anger is the human response to fear and danger that lets us DO something about it.

-obviously the biggest component in how they behave would be how they are raised, but that’s an entirely different post

-Specializations! I imagine that initially, the Kaminoans had different clones with different traits engineered specifically to fill certain roles. However, as the war went on, they struggled to keep up with demand and had to start shoving clones into whatever roles were needed (hence Fives and Echo becoming ARCs, despite not being engineered as ARC troopers).

-Command clones would have better abilities in the executive function parts of the brain that deal with extrapolation, planning ahead, spatial reasoning, etc. They’d also have increased visual pattern recognition (like a pigeon)

-search-and-rescue troops would also have the pigeon pattern recognition abilities. The coast guard literally strapped pigeons to helicopters who would tap a button when they saw orange in the water, because they were better at spotting it than humans. Pigeons can detect cancer in microscope images of cells, because they’re that good at pattern recognition

-Pilots would have hella reflexes, excellent spatial awareness and spatial reasoning skills, much greater ability to process visual information, stronger hearts and blood vessels (to resist greater Gs of force), and they’d also be much shorter, to better fit into a cockpit. Which reminds me of Axe, that poor bastard from Ahsoka’s squadron over Ryloth who was almost eight feet tall. rip poor Axe, how did you even become a pilot, you long bastard.

-medics who can smell certain diseases. If you want to get a little bit out there, make the medics able to purr so they can sooth stressed-out patients.

-infantry would have even greater endurance than everyone else, as well as greater tolerance for, and ability to, remain constantly on alert.

-ability to fall asleep at will? that would be super dope.

-maybe more efficient sleep, so to an adult clone, 4 hours of sleep is genuinely sufficient.

-concept: clones can sort of turn down their bodily functions- slow their digestion, heart, lungs, the whole nine yards- to last longer in adverse conditions. Sort of a half-hibernation (or quarter hibernation- they’d still be able to talk and think, but they’d feel very lethargic). They wouldn’t be able to function very well, but it would be great for things like enduring intense cold, periods without food, low-oxygen environments, and it would be especially useful if you were wounded and waiting for help, since you could slow your circulation, meaning it would take you a lot longer to bleed out. This state could be triggered by a combination of physical actions such as sitting or lying still, breathing slowly and deeply, and focusing on slowing the heart down (humans can actually slow down their hearts consciously if you practice at it, this is basically that, but turned up to like 1100).

-one thing that never made sense to me was the whole “we’re running out of jango fett’s DNA, all the new clones won’t be as good, and we have to stop ventress from stealing the original DNA” because like, can’t they just, get the EXACT SAME DNA from the clones?? you know, the exact genetic copies? With all the enhancements already done? But now my idea is that the kaminoans have engineered the clones so their DNA straight up can’t be copied. The clone’s own body can obviously replicate it, but if you take a sample and try to extract the DNA, it just self-destructs or something. This is to protect their intellectual property, but also means that they literally have to use a couple of Jango Fett’s actual human cells for every single clone they make (and the fact that they then have to do all the above enhancements to every single embryo helps explain why there’s so many small mutations, such as hair color and height). So they kinda shot themselves in the foot with that one.

-of course since things like ADHD and autism have a strong genetic component, the kaminoans could theoretically engineer those out of the clones, but actually FUCK THAT so for whatever reason, that’s just not something they are able to do, and neurodivergent clones are absolutely a thing

#maulusque's stuff #meta #clones

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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years ago

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Deja vu pt4

Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait! Who’s ready for 19 pages of Remus angst? If you’re new around [Here] is the first part, and [Here] is the previous chapter for those who want a refresher!

(To that one person who asked if Remus’s vision would get any clearer: I am so sorry.)

Summary: Remus has been able to see the future since he was eight years old. He thinks that maybe his mother would have loved him a bit more if he hadn’t. (aka, Remus calls home.)

Words: 7879

TW: attempted suicide, blood, death, bad parenting

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

By the time he’s twenty one and four months, Remus is no stranger to cross country traveling. He’s been all over the country, all over the back roads, the main roads, the highways and the interstates. He’s had paper maps from greasy gas stations stuffed in his go-bag since he was eighteen, and keeps souvenirs of his travels in the form of pins and buttons he’s clipped on the shoulder strap.

He had made it a habit to never travel with a plan. He had chosen directions on a whim, following signs when he felt the need to sleep somewhere, and picked up cars from dealerships when he had been too lazy to use his casino-breaking powers to get the cash to pay for it legally.

Travelling is something Remus has always been familiar with. The freeing feeling of pressing his foot to the floor and blowing through endless cornfields, of burning more gas than strictly necessary, of getting himself lost on backroads without cell service-- He loves driving with the windows down and the long distances. During the billions of times that he had slept in whatever car he was using, he had enjoyed climbing on the hood and staring up at the stars until sleep dragged him away again.

Travelling with Dee, however, is something else entirely.

At first it had been different just because there were two of them: the presence of another person made him feel the need to talk to fill the silence, made him actually have to answer the “where are we going” question, made him unsure of if what he was doing was the right thing to do.

(Not the morally right thing-- no that he knew the answer of. He meant the right thing as in the thing that Dee wanted him to do. He imagined in those first few weeks he acted a lot like a pet dog, always checking back to Dee to see that he was doing good, and wagging his metaphorical tail whenever the Shapeshifter gave him that delicious validation.)

Travelling with Dee almost means the death of sleeping in the car they were using. The Shapeshifter believes him when he says that they aren’t gonna be attacked in the night or the police aren’t going to come knocking on their windows, but Dee, as much as he tries to pretend he’s new to riches and money, is a fucking elitist.

“Why sleep in the backseat when there is a hotel with a bed and breakfast right there?” He used to ask, sometimes still asks, never needs to ask anymore. “Why act like a ruffian without a home when I can live like a king?”

And, well, Remus had looked into his eyes for too long and gotten lost in the depths of them. Dee was pretty, you see? And Remus’s stubbornness was a learned trick that Dee knew how to circumnavigate.

Travelling with Dee means hotels with beds and fake names in a log book. It means showers with mini bottles of shampoo and crisp covers freshly cleaned and watching the stars from the balconies while Dee smelled his money (again). It means complimentary breakfasts that aren’t super great, but they’re something that Remus hadn’t had in a while and sharing a room with another person who didn’t trust him not to run off with all their money, counting the near silent inhales and exhales, and trying not to think about stupid things like “family vacations” or “Just share the bed, Roman, its one night!”

It means no more stealing cars, because Dee rations out and puts aside money in the most atrocious order-- something that he won’t describe to Remus beyond “you’re cute, but not that cute” no matter how many times Remus asks, or when he asks. Somehow he always has the money for a new car and food and a hotel room and anything else they saw and wanted for whatever reason.

(“Not that one,” Remus had said, grabbing Dee’s arm before he could even look in the direction of the car in the lot. And Dee blinked but didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t pick out any other silver sedans and Remus managed to make it all the way to the bathroom before vomiting his guts up. Funny, isn’t it? That he can still see blood on a bumper and hear the screams of ambulance sirens thirteen fucking years later?)

Some things are the same, though.

Remus takes note of them as he drives calmly through the evening, like he used to in the four years where he had between running away from everything he’d known and running into Dee’s arms. The air still feels nice with the windows down, his eyes still burn when the opposite traffic forgets to turn off their high beams, the radio is still soft and soothing and plays along to his heartbeat. Dee’s still curled up in the passenger side seat, wearing a fresh pastel peach button up tucked into black dress pants and dress shoes bought straight from the rack.

He’s still cute like this, vulnerable, with scales on display and his seatbelt imprinting a line on his opposite cheek. There’s a duffel bag of stolen money at his feet, all counted and tagged in his pocket notebook that he never lets Remus flip through. In the backseat are two more duffel bags with just Remus’s atrocious half of the money and another couple of suitcases that contain their material possessions.

Something stirs in Remus’s gut at the sound of Dee’s soft snores. He really is asleep, really does trust Remus not to drive them into a guard rail or off a cliff or into another car. He really trusts that Remus hasn’t been hiding a switchblade in his sleeve, just waiting for the right moment to plunge it into Dee’s throat before making an abstract art masterpiece out of his blood. He really trusts Remus not to park somewhere on the shoulder and take all the money they have between them and disappear in the night without a trace.

He trusts Remus.

And he doesn’t have a clue how much that means.

Well, maybe he’s guessed a little. After all, Remus still gets that surprised look on his face when Dee actually listens to him, still finds himself rolling that purple coin from the Basilisk Casino that he’s kept, still gets a little shaky when he tells certain futures because this is it, this is gonna be the time where Dee says he’s stupid and crazy and dumb and he’s not gonna listen--

Trust was a hard thing to come by after Remus turned eight. How can you trust the crybaby that starts sobbing every time someone gets a little scratch? How can you trust the psycho kid who needs medication to go to school? How can you trust Roman’s Weirdo Brother when he says he can see the future like some sideshow circus attraction?

But Dee trusts him enough to keep travelling with him, enough to keep robbing banks with him, enough to let down his glamour and show his real self while he’s sleeping.

It's all well and good and fine.

Remus wishes he trusted himself the way Dee trusts him.

The music playing is still something that Dee had picked out hours before, classical and Remus doesn’t hate it necessarily, but he did turn it down so slow that the engine is louder than those stupid violins. Remus has an appreciation for people who find the screeching strings pleasant rather than just annoying, he swears. But the rumbling of the engine, the bump of every uneven bit of road, the slow winding turns is a familiar comforting melody.

Home, Remus knows, is more of the road than any building he’s ever been in. It’s more of the feeling of Dee’s hand in his over the console, more of the smell of pine tree air fresheners mixed with new car, than any concrete solid place he’s ever been.

Which is silly, maybe. Remus thinks if he squeezes his eyes closed really hard he can still picture the layout of the house he and Roman lived in. (Not “home”, not “the place he grew up in” and he definitely didn’t grow up in there-- because it wasn’t until he was seventeen and sleeping in gas station bathrooms in two hour spurts that he learned how the world really was.)

His mother really tried, Remus thinks. She really tried to be a good person, a good mother, a good role model. She made sure they cleaned their rooms and taught them how to do the laundry. She made sure he brushed his teeth and was fed and healthy and smil--

Listen when he--

Helped him take his med--

She tried, okay. Remus thinks that if he had been a normal child he might have grown up happy. He thinks that if she had had any other son to twin with Roman she would have been a fantastic Mom. He thinks that if he hadn’t gotten his power at eight fucking years old he would have been able to articulate what the fuck was going on and they might have had a chance.

Then he wonders what the hell they would have had “a chance” at.

And then he gets angry about himself even thinking about it and---

---drives his car directly into the guardrail. Killing himself instantly with the force of the side collision and the air bad while Dee gasps for life he desperately was clinging too and the car that had been behind them for three exits screeches to a stop a dozen yards ahead of them and with passengers scrambling from their pickup truck screaming for help---

---drives his car directly----

And Remus keeps driving on the quiet road, switching lanes so he’s in the middle lane rather than the side one.

Its not a good night.

Well in all honestly it hasn’t been a good day either. They had spent most of it driving and Remus hadn’t meant to be quiet, but his thoughts had been so loud he forgot that not everyone could hear them. They felt like screams, like a blow horn directly into his ear drums, like his brain was being torn apart with each and every fire of a neuron.

Thinking hurt. He hated to do it.

Dee must have picked up on it, must have taken note of his change in attitude since that morning when he had grabbed the car keys off the dresser and hoisted their bags into the car. He had asked once, Remus thought, maybe. It would have been out of character for him not to ask what Remus was doing with the keys, but if he had asked he had only done it one time.

And Remus hadn’t answered it and Dee hadn’t asked again.

He also hadn’t asked where they were going. Remus thinks that was blessing, a mercy, a silent kindness that he was too selfish to even say thank you for. He didn’t know where he was driving to, just that he had blown through a full tank and a half and somewhere over ten hours of driving and that they had crossed timezones again.

And the concept of timezones had made him angry enough to slam his foot to the floor and nearly run a blue minivan off the road entirely.

He switches hands he’s steering with, flexing and stretching his digits to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

There’s four hours now.

And Remus knows this because even if he hadn’t graduated highschool he knew how to read a clock. Which was what he had been doing all day: watching the speedometer and watching the clock and watching his blood pressure rise with every mile he drove.

There’s four hours between them now. Which means nine o’clock for him, which means the dim sky, which means the peaks of the faint stars through the grey cloudy sky, the closed mom-and-pop shops and the dwindling number of other cars-- which means that everything around him currently is not the same thing for someone who is four hours behind them.

Dee is asleep, shifting tiredly, when Remus, grinds his teeth together so hard and violently and angrily.

His skin feels wrong, too tight, too small. It feels like someone else and he’s only borrowing it. It twists around his lungs, constricting around him like a python and stealing every breath from his chest and getting smaller with every inhale.

His legs burn with a restless energy and his eyes hurt from driving for so long and he’s hungry.

The radio fuzzes as he drives, as they reach the end of the station's signal range, as the violins finally die and leaves them with just static. The noise is grating in a way that Remus can’t quite place, something more annoying than the screeching of his own thoughts that won’t shut up. He reaches blindly for the power button, trying not to take his eyes off the road because he doesn’t want to plow them into the back end of the SUV they’ve been trailing behind for the better part of fifty miles.

The radio goes off.

Remus’s thoughts do not.

The cloudy sky makes it darker than it actually is, making him turn on his headlights and make him growl at the lane reflectors he comes across every so often. The words on the signs might as well be written in Greek because Remus doesn’t bother reading them at all.

Mostly.

He tries not to.

But there’s one that spells out “RESTSTOP” and it gouges its phantom fingers in Remus’s brain, refusing to leave him alone after he sees it. He drives and he tells himself it's because they haven’t eaten all day, because Dee probably needs to use the restroom, because he needs a stretch. Dee hasn’t complained at all, you know? Remus owes him a little bit of a stop. Maybe they can look for a fancy hotel with a penthouse edition and get himself drunk on the minibar delights.

That’s all.

It hasn’t nothing to do with the four hour time gap.

Dee doesn’t wake even when he pulls into a well lit parking spot. There’s a handful of other vehicles in the lot: a deep green hatchback with two bikes strapped to the top, a jeep with no doors and a lot of mud, a group of sixish motorcycles and the owners of them standing nearby talking quietly. He counts at least seven eighteen wheelers resting for the hour all with a collection of name brands and graffiti on the backs.

Remus puts their own car in park and sits back, taking it all in.

He’s no stranger to travelling, hasn’t been for a long time. At twenty one years and four months old he’s no longer scared of the dark and certainly not scared of going to a public restroom. The signs clearly mark eating areas, restrooms, the dark, creepy, not-at-all well lit path into the woods for those who need to stretch and want to be murdered by psycho crazy forest clowns. There’s vending machines that take credit cards for sodas and packaged foods and Remus even spots one selling cheap portable phone chargers.

There’s a payphone booth.

Three actually.

None of them are in use, currently.

Remus looks back at the clock in their car-- its a quarter past nine-- and wishes that he couldn’t do math so well in his head. Maybe if he hadn’t been able to count he would have been able to take the stupid urge by is scrawny neck and throw it out the window while he drove right on by. Maybe if he hadn’t been able to keep track of days so well he would have been able to ignore the date. Maybe if he hadn’t been so great at counting he could have been better at something else, anything else, something normal.

She had tried, hadn’t she?

So Remus should have been thankful, grateful, happy at least about that, right? It was his fault that he hadn’t been able to figure out that his visions were telling the future until a year later, until the doctors told him it was all in his head, until his own mother had decided he was making it up. She had listened to him those first few times, listened and reassured him, and held him close when he couldn’t breathe from the crippling fear that Roman was going to die. She had weathered each of eight-year-old Remus’s breakdowns with the patience of a saint.

And he still hadn’t been able to be that perfect son for her.

“Take your meds, Remus,” She had still told him when he was sixteen and had stopped crying when he watched her cross the parking lot without looking. “Take your meds and you’ll get better.” She had said even though that wasn’t what the meds did for people who actually took them. The meds hadn’t been the glue to piece him-- or anyone-- back together. They just reminded people of how their pieces fit without scratching and breaking and shattering even more.

And Remus hadn’t even needed them back then, because his problem hadn’t been like anyone else's.

It hadn’t been delusions and hallucinations in his head. It hadn’t been him going crazy, it hadn’t been him losing himself.

She had tried though. To be a good mother. To love him and all his….quirks.

“I don’t need you!” Roman had said. Very loudly, very openly, very angrily. And Remus thinks about that day a lot, often, all the goddamn time. Because they had been arguing all the way up the stairs, had been fighting verbally and their mother, their mom, Mom, had been just below them in the kitchen making dinner-- or maybe it had been a dessert, baking? Or just messing around in the kitchen. She had been there.

And they had gotten in trouble for arguing much quieter before.

Remus thinks about that day. He thinks about the vision of Roman dying by his own hand, of the blood and the gore and then fluttering pulse and the concept of a soul leaving the body. He thinks about how his parents would have come running the moment they heard Roman scream in pain.

He thinks.

Maybe he thinks too much.

And maybe one day he’d get the courage to ask himself the big looming question: Had she loved him? Or had she loved the concept of him?

Today wasn’t, hasn’t been, isn’t that day.

It’s nine thirty, here, at this rest stop somewhere in Oregon, where Remus is clawing his fingers on his thighs and letting his unevenly chewed nails catch on the holes in his fishnets. Its nine thirty here on the day where Remus is twenty one and four months old and staring at a payphone like it was about to ring all by itself. Its nine thirty one and Remus is thinking too much, too loudly, not enough.

It must be around five thirty for her. Right in the middle of dinner. Or after. Maybe she’s doing the dishes under scalding water that boils her hands right off. Maybe the dinner was poisoned and she’s clawing at her throat right now. Maybe she went out for the evening and got hit by a car when crossing the street.

Remus knows he could check. He doesn’t.

Because his skin is already itching and his breath is too hot and he wants to cry but he’s too old to be crying over things like this, just like his mom has said a thousand times over.

He wonders if she would believe him if he told her how many times she had cried over Roman, how many times she had frozen at the sight of her precious baby boy going still and silent, how many times she fell to the ground and clutched at his body screaming her sobs like there was a chance any god out there would hear her anguish and give her son back.

Like she had only one to love and cherish.

She had tried.

Remus wants to laugh so badly it hurts. The urge itself rips through his body, shredding his organs with a razorblade and filling his lungs with fluids followed and squirming its way up his throat inch by inch with a determination Remus hasn’t seen in himself since that gas station four years ago where he saw himself jump in front of an eighteen wheeler and felt his insides go splat! for the first time.

Remus wants to laugh, because she had tried, and it hadn’t been enough and Remus still---

He still---

Remus pulls the keys out of the ignition and throws them in the cupholder next to the sleeping Dee. He exchanges it for his wallet, which had seen far better days and been handled far nicer, but that’s beside the point. His driver’s license is overdue but nothing short of a nuclear bomb will get him back to the state he had once lived in-- he skips over it and the various rechargeable cards he had picked up over the years (Starbucks, Seven-Eleven, a Techron Advantage Card he got for fun and never actually used because Dee always paid for gas) and goes straight for the cash.

They’re all large bills. He takes a fifty.

Dee murmurs softly as he unbuckles his seat belt and flies into a wide blown panic when Remus opens the door. Quicker than Remus thought was possible for a guy to move, he springs over the dividing console and grabs Remus’s arm with-- OW FUCK DEE -- claws.

Remus yanks back on instinct, throwing himself against the already open door and tumbles into the empty parking spot next to them. His arm howls with pain, with an agony, with a cacophony that drowns out all his other thoughts for the moment.

The blood is red.

Remus is twenty one and four months old and his body wracks with such a vehement hatred for the color it makes the rest of his blood, the blood in his veins, the blood in his body, his blood boil. Its red, and he hates red, has hated red, will forever hate red.

Because red was the color of Roman’s favorite jacket when they were eight, the color of Roman’s shoes that he left out on the stairs too many times, the color of Roman’s blood too.

Red had been the color staining the bumper of a silver sedan, the color of a broken snow globe hitting the carpet, the color of Remus’s insides on the freeway, and the underside of an eighteen wheeler, and the bottom of the motel bathroom tub.

“Remus!” Dee yells from inside the car, morphing, changing, panicking in a way that is not like him at all. He clambers into the driver's seat looking too pale for a guy whose skin tone could be any color he wanted it to be. “I’m sor-- I didn’t know we ha--- Oh my god I’m sorry!”

He grabs all the napkins they have squirreled away in the crevices of the car, then the half empty tissue pack from the last time Remus had decided to check to see if the line in McDonalds was going to be long, then a scarf Dee had bought before he remembered that it was warm enough to cook eggs on the sidewalk in most of the places they went to. He spills out of the car even less gracefully than Remus had, bubbling up apologies like his mouth was a fountain. There’s an emotion wafting off him, something that taints the air and makes the hair on Remus’s neck stand on edge.

“It’s okay,” Remus whispers.

“You’re not okay!” Dee frantically responds, turning a stripe of his hair blonde and completely missing the part where Remus did not say he himself was okay.

Dee’s fingers feel like bugbites up and down his arm, like cigarette ends being jammed into his flesh, like he was the cake and Dee was placing enough candles in him to make up for every birthday his mother had missed celebrating.

“Its okay,” Remus says, tugging his arm away before Dee can turn him into a house fire that burns down the whole block.

“Remus--”

Remus stands up. “I need to make a phone call.”

Remus doesn’t need to make a phone call. He probably shouldn’t make a phone call.

“Remus!” Dee says standing up too. He’s taller this week, today, now, than he’s been before. He’s got an inch on Remus, and he uses that inch to look down at him and breathe like every inhale might be his last. There’s blood on his hands from trying to mop up where Dee had clawed him. Remus can feel the warmth of his blood trailing down his fingers even now.

“What the hell is up with you right now!” He demands in a way that makes Remus’s stomach churn, that makes his knees weak and his throat feel all lumpy in all the wrong places.

He should be mad. Dee should be furious at him for ignoring him all day, for driving them through a handful of states, for not pausing for bathroom breaks or any type of food, for not waking him when he stopped at the rest stop. He should be so angry he can’t see straight, so enraged that he stood up and grabbed the keys and drive the fuck away from here. He should be mad.

So why does he sound so scared?

“Is this about the Mall?” Dee asks, “I can do better, Remus, please! I’m sorry!”

He’s babbling like a brook, about things in the mall that Remus barely remembered because it was a day and a half ago and three, four, five states gone. He’s talking about the Mall the same way that eight-year-old Roman had been apologizing for name calling, while Remus was three sheets in the wind during a tornado on his own thoughts.

“No,” Remus says, which is about as effective as shoving his finger in a hole in a dam.

The parking lot lights make Dee look like he’s standing in a spotlight on stage. Remus hates the sight, hates the feeling that they’re putting on a production for someone else's entertainment, hates that he should know his lines by now and because he doesn’t he's ruining everything around him.

Dee moves like a clockwork mannequin with rusted gears. Remus thinks he can hear each individual gear screech as his back straightens and his weight shifts back and Dee looks more like Roman than he’d ever know.

“N--n--” Dee repeats, “No?”

As if he didn’t know what the word meant.

“Like….no I can’t do better?”

-- “Like, No Get Back in the Fucking Car, Dee!” Remus explodes.---

--“Like No, Leave me alone for five seconds!” Remus erupts.---

--”Like No, Its not your fault I’m a fucking mess!” Remus chokes.---

--- “Like No, Its not your fault. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”--

-- “Like No, I’m making bad decisions and I’m sorry and I don’t know what to do and I know that you don’t really love me the way you think you do because no one ever loves me that way. Like No, this is a future that I’m not going to choose but I wish I had because keeping this all in my chest hurts like a little bitch, Dee. It hurts so bad. Like no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m going to have such a nose bleed from this one, and because you’re you, you’ll know that I’ve been bullshitting my way through this for a good while. My power’s broken, Dee. Don’t you see? And once I tell you what's going to be left for you to stay?.”---

“Like No,” Remus says, defeated. “I don’t even remember what happened at the Mall.”

Dee stares at him with stolen sapphire eyes, with an emotion he can’t place, with wordless questions Remus doesn’t want to answer.

He doesn’t know what time it is.

A drip of his blood leaks down his lip and lands on the asphalt at his feet. That’s okay.

He breathes in the dry air, feeling it scratch down his throat and butcher his lungs with each inhale. “I...need to make this phone call.”

“Why?” Dee pleads, and Remus thinks that if even Dee can tell it will end badly, he should know better than to go through with it.

But Remus has been thinking too much lately, about too many things. He’s been trapped up in his own head, and the last people he tried to let help him gave up on him.

And he still can’t give up on them.

“It’s her birthday,” Remus says with a smile that borders on deranged, “And she tried, you know?”

He doesn’t know. Remus can tell by the look on Dee’s face. But that’s okay. They made a pact after all, after that first night, that they wouldn’t get personal, that discussions of feelings were off the table. And Dee had said in a future that hadn’t happened that Remus was an investment that will pay out one day. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know.

“Remus,” Dee says, controlling the stage like he was born to do it. “What will she say?”

Remus shrugs and turns away because he’s never been able to make it past intermission of any production he’s watched. The fifty in his hand has splatterings of blood, his arm aches and whines as he uses it to smear away the waterfall from his nose. At least a couple of the sidewalk lights are broken so he doesn’t scare every single normal person chilling at the rest stop as he walks up.

Remus is twenty one and four months, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t waste forty seven dollars on snacks from a vending machine just to get the change in quarters to call cross country. He’s not hungry but he peels open a Cliff bar and takes a bite anyway. The rest of the food he leaves on the patio floor around the vending machine for whatever comes by, be it the kids he can hear yelling or the raccoons watching from the tree line.

He glances back at the car, their car, Dee’s car. Just to make sure its still there. That Dee didn’t drive off without him.

Dee hadn’t, didn’t, doesn’t. He’s sitting in the driver's seat with the door wide open, half in half out, and it looks like he was fiddling with the radio again.

Remus tosses the other half of the bar into the trashcan and walks the last three steps to the payphones.

She had tried. Remus puts the phone to his ear and tries to remember how to breathe.

The buttons are stiff. Remus’s knuckle leaves behind traces of his blood as he dials. The back of his throat tastes like his inside of his stomach. There’s a gritty feeling along his teeth and the bottom of his mouth from the Cliff Bar. He’s knees tremble to the sound of the ringing, leaving him swaying in the too-long silences, in the bated breaths, in the calm before the hurricane.

“Hi! It's the Regis Family! We’re not available right now, but if you leave your name and number, we’ll get back to you!”

Remus’s mouth tastes like blood. He swallows it down, breathes through the rest of the message, the beep and another moment where his chest just aches with a billion words he doesn’t know how to say.

“H….hey.” His voice is raspy. Why is his voice so raspy? He clears his throat. “I, uh...I was calling to say, Happy Birthday. Hope it was a good one. That’s all. B--”

“--Hello?”

Remus’s jaw clicks shut at the noise, the words, the voice. Because even four years later Remus knows it like the back of his hand, can still imagine it screaming his name in the store, of it laughing as she brushed through his curls, of it whispering softly that everything is fine, everything is okay, I’m right here, Remus.

“Ha, Hi! Sorry about that, you caught us just as we were getting back to the house! Oh, this is embarrassing… Who is this? Our caller ID isn’t working…”

She trails off.

Remus thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe.

She sounds out of breath, flushed and happy and excited in a way that he doesn’t remember her ever being before. His vision tunnels through memories, through scenes in his head where she’s smiled and laughed and giggled the way she’s doing right now. He’s coming up blank.

He grabs the wall to keep himself steady.

“Hello?”

“I’m here,” Remus croaks.

She’s different now. So is he. Everything is different and the world seems to stop at that mind blowing statement.

“.....I’m sorry,” She says, “I really need to know who this is, now.”

Remus should hang up.

Remus needs to hang up.

He laughs, like he’s on death row, like the barrel of a gun in on his temple, like his foot just left the ledge.

“What?” He asks, “Can’t a mother recognize the sound of her own son's voice?”

There’s a breath. A moment. A second. Remus feels it. Like it's tangible, palpable, real. Like all the clocks in the world decided to stop. Like a tick without a tock. Like the past and the present and the future didn’t exist at all. There’s a breath, and Remus thinks that she had tried once, maybe she could try again.

They both could try again.

“Oh my god. Is that...Baby, is that really you? I’m so sorry for what I said. You were right.”

“Wait--”

“You’re always right. And I’m sorry about-- about everything. Please let me make it up to you?” His mother says and Remus gets a sinking feeling in his chest.

“What--”

“Or at least talk about it? Can we do that?” His mother says and Remus should have hung up.

“Mom--”

“Can you come back home, Roman?” His mother says and Remus sees red.

Because, of course, she thought he was Roman. Of course.

Red is the color of Roman. The color of his jacket and his shoes and the ball Remus should have thrown into the road when they were eight. The color of a past Remus can’t get rid of because every time he does anything he can only hear Roman’s voice in his head or picture his mom with her red lipstick telling him to take his pills and stop being so abnormal. It’s the color of a future that he can’t reach because every time he gets a little bit of hope he’s reminded that he’s unnecessary and forgettable.

Red is the color of Remus’s blood that looks just like his twin’s but somehow has always been valued less to their mother.

He squeezes the handle of the phone so hard his fingers go numb from the pain, and the scarf around his wrist turns scarlet. His body trembles and bubbles and boils like its housing a volcano ready to erupt, or a thousand termites are trying to chew their way out of him, or every atom in his body is trying to shake themselves apart.

Remus is twenty one and four months old and he hangs up the phone so hard that it pops right back out of the slot and swings to the ground by its cord.

He doesn’t fix it. In fact he doesn’t even see it because he’s too busy seeing red. Too busy seeing Roman’s head collide with the bumper of a silver sedan, too busy seeing Roman’s neck break when he falls off the swingset wrong, too busy seeing Roman’s body on the ground of his carpet surrounded by the shattered remains of a snowglobe, too busy seeing all the things he should have done or let happen or helped happen.

Too busy knowing that hindsight is 2020 and Remus’s insides suddenly want to be outsides and his arm hurts and he wants to--

He wants to--

--“REMUS!” Dee shrieks from across the parking lot, sprinting towards him because he forgot that he can shapeshift into something faster. There’s a terror in his eyes, a fear, a horror in his expression that's like being stuck under a collapsed building and knowing that no one is gonna come. “REMUS! SOMEONE HELP!”---

But no one is close enough and Remus’s knots are a practiced stubborn thing that has his body convulsing before Dee remembers he can make claws and cut the scarf off.---

But no one is close enough and Remus’s knots are a practiced stubborn thing that has his body convulsing before Dee remembers he can make claws and cut the scarf off.

But by then Remus is already dead.---

But no that’s not right.

He doesn’t want to die.

His mouth tastes like metal, and he’s so sick of the taste of metal, of the smell of blood, of the sight of red on his clothes and on him. He’s so sick of being the weird twin, of being the one everyone wants to forget, of being gifted with a power that's so shitty it his own body rejects it. He’s so, so sick.

And tired.

And angry.

That he spent all day trying to figure out what to say to his mother and she doesn’t even remember him. That his family pushed him away and now he watches himself jump off buildings or into traffic or off tables at a rest stop. That his skin feels too small and his mind too big and that there is absolutely nothing wrong with him but everyone still treated him like there was.

“Pardon me,” A voice says to his left. “Hello? Sir? You seem to be bleeding...”

It belongs to a guy with glasses, big thick blocky glasses that match every other part of him: his sharp jawline, his stiff spine, his set shoulders. It belongs to a guy with hair so dark it might as well have been a black hole, with eyes swirling with so many blues they looked like nebulas, with skin so pale it might as well have been the surface of the moon. It belongs to a guy that reaches out oh so carefully and touches Remus’s shoulder to check that he’s alright and---

-- “A stick in the mud?” Logan suggests sourly as they walk. The rain speckles his glasses and plasters his hair to his head.

“I was gonna say prude, but that works too,” His younger brother shrugs, sipping loudly from his drink. “Girl, you really just need to loosen up. You’re always so stressed!”

“I do not need to loosen up,” Logan counters, “In fact, if anything, I need to tighten up my interactions with people more. You saw what happened to the baristas at the Starbucks.”

“Yeah, and it was Awesome!” His brother motions to the drink in his hand, “Free drinks!”

“Will it still be awesome when they get fired and lose their source of income because they unwittingly gave away merchandise to customers?” Logan asks. He tugs his jackets around him tighter, hunching his shoulders and wishing that between the two of them they had thought to bring at least one umbrella.

His brother rolls his eyes because the rain doesn’t bother him anymore than the slight chill or the cars passing dangerously close to their sidewalk. “Honey,” He says, “Its two free drinks. It’s not gonna kill the infrastructure.”

Logan grunts, dismissing the rest of the argument as he was prone to do more often these days. “Remind me again why we’re here.”

“That prince dude is supposed to be around here today!”

“You mean, Princeps,” Logan corrects. “Assumedly named after the swordsmen from Roman armies pre-Marian reforms. Which does not make any sense considering that he does not carry a sword and his perceived power does not--”

“I wanna get his autograph!”

Logan squints back at his brother. “You want the autograph of a man who is running around the country in tights? You don’t even have anything for him to sign.”

His brother shakes his mostly empty drink and points to the spot right below where the barista had scratched out his own name, not that Logan can see it, or anything. “Duh.”

Logan shakes his head, as his brother prattles on about Princeps face, his biceps, his thighs. And as much as Logan enjoys listening to his brother talk about things that interest him, he wishes that it was something other than men that thought “superhero” was a stable dayjob. He sighs and removes his glasses and to clean them as best as he can with the raindrops being the nice of dimes.z

He hates the rain, hates that he couldn’t ever see more than three feet when it so much as sprinkled, hates that his brother has no such problems at all and can continue walking without a care in the world.

“LOGAN!” His brother yells.

And Logan has just enough time to feel his stomach jump straight to his throat, before he walks blindly into an open manhole. His forehead slams on the outer rim so hard he sees actual stars in the corners of his blurry vision. And he fumbles and flails and falls and...

And the empty air catches him, covets him, carries him off. Because he’s dead as soon as his head hits the concrete floor ten feet below---

Remus inhales like he’s been drowning for the past four years, and hasn’t been able to find the surface. He stumbles back from the stranger who had approached him, from the man who has a younger brother, who doesn’t like superheroes, who’s name is Logan. He stumbles back and feels the whole Earth roll under his feet, turning the solid ground to an uneven puddy.

Logan jerks back as well, be it shock or surprise or something in between and equally bad. He looks at Remus, the way that the first dealer from the Basilisk Casino had, the way that the new freshmen at their high school had when the older kids told them to steer clear of the guy who looked just like the theater star, the way that Roman had when he had first seen the orange bottle of pills that were supposed to make Remus not cry all the time.

“My apologies, you seemed to be in distre--” Logan starts.

“Don’t touch me,” Remus says quicker, louder, angrier. Because Logan doesn’t know that he’s going to die some day in the future, that its going to be a stupid sudden death, that his brother that he actually loves and whom loves him back is going to witness it. Because Remus doesn’t know why he knows either.

His skin blisters and bubbles and itches in a way that tells him he needs to take it off. His arm burns from the scratches, his blood is making his hand and wrist all sticky and his head feels a bit like cotton. His mouth tastes like Starbucks Hot chocolate and ash.

“Don’t touch me,” Remus says again, because he feels radioactive and can smell petrichor in the air and everything about it is wrong. If he says anything else he thinks he might throw up or cry or both and he doesn’t think anything other than more blood can come up.

Remus turns and runs.

“Remus?” Dee asks, when Remus throws himself into the passenger seat the way he should have that morning.

Remus shakes his head. And keeps shaking it because if he stops his thoughts will catch up and then they’ll really be in trouble.

“Drive,” He manages between his inconsolable gulps for air.

“Where?” Dee asks.

“Don’t care.”

He doesn’t. He just needs to be somewhere other than here.

Remus is twenty one and four months and he’s no stranger to travelling without a destination. Dee buckles his seat belt and pulls out of the parking spot without another word. Remus brings his knees to his head and counts, and counts, and counts. If he closes his eyes he thinks that he might see the silhouette of Logan standing next to the payphones staring at his hand still so he doesn’t close his eyes.

“That’s just what I’m saying, John.” The radio says, “All these new people with what can only be classified as “superpowers” and what is the Police doing about this? Nothing!”

“Hotel,” Dee says, “We can order some food there and actually look at those marks on your arm.”

“Whatever,” Remus says.

“Well what do you expect the Police to do?” The radio says, “Their answer to everything is “shoot it.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t want the police shooting at a kid who just so happened to be able to make lightning. You heard about that incident in the Idahoan Mall didn't you? Times are changing. It's up to the people to police themselves now.”

Dee sticks his tongue out ever so slightly, like a snake smelling the air.

“You’re encouraging the actions of people like that dragon guy from that incident? The child from that event is in the hospital right now.

“So is the man that had been robbing the store. Which is better than him being the morgue. I’m not saying that I think that putting children in the hospital is a good idea! I’m saying that only protecting the lives of “good” people is telling everyone to become judge, jury, and executioner. The Idaho Mall Incident could have been handled better-- in fact I think if the new guy, the one around the east wearing the white? You know the one I’m talking about, Karen.”

“Yeah, yeah, the Prince? I think he called himself Prince.”

“Yes. If the Prince had been the one who had handled the Idaho Mall, it could have been handled completely peacefully, without either parties having ended up in the hospital.”

Dee grips the steering wheel, tightly.

Remus reaches out and turns the radio off.

[Part 5]

#Deja vu AU #remus sanders #Janus Sanders #sanders sides #Logan Sanders #roman sanders #tw:blood #tw:suicide #Remus is not having a good time #Demus #Oh look!! A wild Logan!!#And a peek at what Roman has been up too #oooh its almost like....Roman has a power too #ooooo #remus angst #this boy needs some therapy I'm so sorry #Anyone else really hate Remus's mom?

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the-dimitrescu-seamstress · 4 years ago

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Twelve Yards of Floral Damask - One Shot

(Mun here. I was quiet for the most part of last night, but after Nicole Tompkins stream, a fire was lit under me and I finished a drabble I had been working on ever since I saw that one portrait of Lady Dimitrescu.

Below is a one-shot I wrote, one of many I have planned. Magdalena Petran is my OC, while Lady Alcina Dimitrescu belongs to Capcom. I hope you enjoy it.)

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

The castle was immense and, if Magda had to admit it, a bit intimidating. It was rather easy to get yourself turned around in the hallways, or initially forget which door led to where off of the interior courtyard. The servants that were around, and willing to speak to her, advised the seamstress that, in order to make life in the castle easier for her, she had better learn the layout as best she could and as quickly as she could.

That was a task easier said than done. She felt safe in her part of the castle, even if safe was only a relative term. If she took a wrong turn or opened the wrong door, she could easily end up in a place where she would not return from. She was well aware of the screams that would echo throughout the castle. Sometimes they came from the direction of the family’s private chambers, but more often they would crawl up from the castle depths. Either way, Magda never wanted her voice to join them.

But, if she was so afraid, why was she quietly walking the halls this late at night? The simple answer was that the servants were right. She needed to learn how to navigate this world; both the physical and the social aspects. That meant she needed to learn all she could about the castle and its inhabitants. Repairing garments they were used to could only get you so far. Anyone could mend a seam or stitch a button, but Magda needed to make sure she was invaluable. The Countess seemed pleased with her work so far, but she had yet to entrust her with creating anything new. She needed to change that.

The other reason Magda was using the late hour to do her self-guided tour was that there were less people around. Most of the servants were already in bed, and she had picked a night that the girls were out on a hunt. The last thing Magda needed was for them to stalk her through the castle for fun. Their laughter in the dark was unsettling.

The lack of individuals also allowed her to take her time on examining the various portraits, busts, and ceramics that were thoroughly scattered throughout the place. She tried to piece together how old Lady Dimitrescu was by the decor, but there were items from across many time periods, keeping Magda from placing an exact age on the woman. The daughters could have been from the mid-1800’s, if the portrait in the Entrance Hall was any indication, but all she knew of the Countess was that she either had lived for many centuries or she was a collector of fine antiques and enjoyed living in great opulence.

The seamstress stood at the top of the stairs in the Main Hall, mentally mapping out the areas through the doorways around her. “That way to the Hall of the Four… Left and to the left again for the Entrance Hall, Carriage Gate, and the decrepit elevator of death. Though all this is a circle as well. Door to the right in the Hall of the Four leads to…” Magda didn’t complete that sentence, but through that door was the receiving room where she… where she became an employee of the castle. That would be a place to avoid for a while. Taking a breath and ignoring the brief ache of her left wrist, she continued.

“Dining Room below, and through to the left is the kitchen, while straight ahead is the courtyard. Once in the courtyard, to the right is the private chambers of Lady Dimitrescu. To the left is the Opera House, and my workspace.” To think that this castle had its own opera house. Yes, it was small, but still incredible to be in. With the bottom floor mostly mapped in her head, Magda began to walk the second floor. Here were the doors to the dressing and sitting rooms, as well as the Wine Room. Knowing that, she turned away from the dressing rooms and quietly went through the doors opposite.

The statue in front of her was large, unexpected, and the subject matter was really almost clichéd. Magda thought vampires were only supposed to have decadent art pieces of the sacrificial sort in works of fiction, and yet here was one being displayed before her. Perhaps it was a family heirloom or a macabre wedding gift. Either way, she decidedly turn her attention from it and continued on her exploration.

Light bled into the hallway from the room to the left, its door partially closed, and there were slight sounds of movement coming from within. Curiosity overcame self-preservation as Magda slowly crept forward, barely breathing in order to be as quiet as possible. Naturally, her careful steps found the one floorboard that squeaked under her weight, causing her to freeze in place and wait.

“To whomever is lingering in the hall, your eavesdropping presence has been noticed and it is not appreciated. Announce yourself before I lose my patience.” Magda closed her eyes and mouthed a silent curse as the voice of Alcina Dimitrescu sounded from within the room.

“It’s… It’s Magdalena Petran, ma’am. Your seamstress?” she replied nervously, before realizing how stupid she sounded. As if there was another Magdalena working here. There was a tense silence before it was broken by a simple command.

“Enter.”

Knowing better than to make her wait, Magda obeyed and quickly entered the room.

She had expected it to be a private study, but instead she found the room to be a simple art studio. No, simple wasn’t the right word. While it lacked the gilded decor of the rest of the castle, the ceiling was high and vaulted, complete with a skylight to let plenty of natural sunlight in during the day. Its simplistic appearance was only due to how older looking, more worn, and used everything was. The darker woodwork and wallpaper contributed to the effect as well. The floor lacked polish and uniformity in board shape and coloring. The few pieces of furniture and large quantities of books were all pushed against the walls, leaving plenty of room for a canvas and easel to sit in the center of the room. This was a place of work. Lady Dimitrescu, clad in an artist’s smock and with brush and palette in hand, gazed down at Magda in her usual authoritative fashion.

“What is your reason for wandering the halls of my castle at such a late hour, Miss Petran? I doubt that you are looking for clothing to repair.”

“I was looking...” she stopped and quickly corrected herself. “I was learning to find my way around the castle. It’s a large estate and I’d rather not get lost or open the wrong door.” Or get eaten, she thought.

“Could you not do this during the day?”

“I didn’t want to get in anyone’s way, mistress. I thought if I did it at night, most of the servants would be asleep, your daughters would be out hunting or otherwise occupied, and you would be…” Magda’s voice died in her throat as she looked down, not quite sure of what to say next.

“You thought I would be secreted away in my private chambers, busying myself with whatever womanly duties a lady of the house tended to do late at night. Is that it? Look at me when I am talking to you.” Magda’s head immediately snapped upward, fear likely showing in her eyes since an amused little smile, one with an edge to it, crept across Lady Dimitrescu’s deep red lips.

“Ma’am, I would never do something like that or presume anything about your nightly activities. I was not prowling or sneaking around. I was just exploring and figuring things out and I saw the light, so I came to look and then… I’m sorry, Mistress. I honestly didn’t mean to intrude.” The taller woman watched Magda for a long while, yellow eyes boring into her unwaveringly, before turning her attention back on the unfinished painting.

“Which is it?” she asked in a clipped manner, adding a few minute details to the wings of the angel depicted on her canvas.

“I beg your pardon?” Magda replied, confused.

“Throughout this entire conversation, you have used both ‘ma’am’ and ‘mistress’ when addressing me. Are you unable to make up your mind, child? Pick one or the other.” A few more brush strokes. “Now, which is it?” Magda was a bit lost. She didn’t know if this was a test or if she was simply making a mistake that needed to be corrected. Not knowing which was the better option, she went for a third choice.

“…Countess?” At that, the other woman paused and slowly turned to look at Magda once more, yellow eyes once again locked onto her, but this time her gaze was one of appraisal rather than judgement. This time her smile was one of satisfaction, as if saying ‘well, the mortal can be taught’. She then returned to her painting, the tension in the room having dissipated. However, Magda did note that she had not dismissed her. Whether this was another test, or the woman just enjoyed toying with her, she couldn’t say.

Rather than run the risk of spoiling the mood or the Countess’ artist moment, Magda took the time to quietly look around the room, taking in details she had previously missed; the large stuffed snapping turtles, the bell tower gears seen through the windows, and the immense portrait hanging in a ornate wood frame on the far wall.

You would think missing something like that upon entering would have been impossible, but then again, the subject in the painting was initially blocked by a living being of the exact same size. Now Magda could see it clearly, and it was gorgeous. It was the Countess, but perhaps a little younger. She still had a pink flush to her skin, still had life in her. No, that was wrong. Lady Dimitrescu ate, drank, and breathed like everyone else, but there was a difference that Magda couldn’t quite place.

The dress she wore was exquisite, and Magda took an unintended step forward before stopping herself. The Countess didn’t seem to have noticed, but she still decided to play it safe.

“Countess? That portrait… it’s you, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she replied with an amused half chuckle. “Unless you are aware of another woman of my stature.” She was clearly enjoying this. Good. Better an amused Countess than a wrathful one.

“May I take a closer look?” A gentle, almost absentminded, shooing motion with one hand was all the response that was given, but Magda took it as a yes, quickly walking over.

Up close, it was even more impressive that she originally thought. She had always been impressed by how artists managed to convey fabric and textures with simple strokes from a paintbrush. There were even minute wrinkles in the skirt. It was beautiful, absolutely stunning. Magda’s gaze hungrily devoured every detail she saw of this garment. At first she thought the fabric was a brocade, and from her initial distance, the mistake could be understood. The print was the proper size and detail for the material, but brocade would have been too heavy or stiff to have the folds of the skirt lay as they did.

“Floral damask?” she asked eagerly, not even thinking that she had just blurted out something in an otherwise quiet room.

“What?” came the terse response.

“The fabric, it’s a floral damask, isn’t it? Sterling gray and white.” Not even waiting for a confirmation, she went back to her examination. Too low a neckline for Victorian, also wrong hairstyle for the time. Late Victorian perhaps? Edwardian? That would make sense. At least she had a decade to work with, but Edwardian fashion changed every year of that decade. Either way, her mind was already clicking, and the desire to make or even see this garment had nestled itself thoroughly into her psyche, digging its damned little claws into her. Magda was like this when she saw a piece of clothing that intrigued her, flaming an odd passion inside of her. There was no way she would let this go so easily.

“Does the gown still exist?” she asked, turning around and looking unexpectedly at the Countess, who was now standing directly behind her. For a woman her size, it was unnerving how quietly she could move if she wished to.

“It intrigues you, doesn’t it?”

“I… If I can… I would love to make this. It’s twelve yards, at least, if that was when… if you were…” The Countess’ eyebrow quirked a little, and Magda immediately changed her wording, knowing it was a very bad idea to mention sizes, especially to her. “Historically, at least twelve yards of fabric would be needed for a Late Victorian or Edwardian dress like that. If… Countess, I know you think I’m babbling, but I believe I can recreate this gown for you. Please. I know I can.”

“Whether you can or cannot is not the issue, Miss Petran. The hour is late and I would rather not hear you prattle on about fabric or garments that have not been worn in quite some time. I believe I have indulged you for long enough. I suggest you retire back to your quarters for the night before you find yourself anywhere else in this castle.” It wasn’t quite a threat, but there was an edge to it, and the seamstress knew better than to test that edge.

“Yes, Countess,” she replied, giving her a bow before heading for the door, her mind still processing the gown.

“And Magdalena?” Magda froze upon hearing her first name spoken, a chill running down her spine. Why the sudden name change? Had she done something wrong? She was at the door, she could have simply continued on, feigning ignorance. But instead, she turned around, ready to face whatever faux pas she had unwittingly done. Alcina was still at the portrait, back to her.

“Yes, Countess?”

“Three days from now, I would like a tailoring session. Mid-afternoon. That is all.” It was good that she could not see Magda’s face, as her jaw went slack and she stared. Three days. She had three days to ready and prove herself. The workshop wasn’t a mess, per se, but she knew she could make it better for her visit.

“Yes, Countess. Absolutely.” Another bow, and she was gone. Magda may have just made herself useful.

#drabble #one shot #alcina dimitrescu

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d3-iseefire · 4 years ago

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Little Swan Lost Chapter 38

When Dis said she wanted to see how much of Thorin’s money they could spend, she wasn’t joking. Bilba had thought what she spent before leaving Shire was a lot, but quickly realized it was a mere pittance in comparison to what Dis cheerfully spent.

She’d expected them to go to the main Erebor mall, located near the center of the city. Back in Shire she’d often enjoyed spending a lazy afternoon at the mall, window shopping, grabbing a bite to eat or watching a movie at the theater. Here, the closest she’d gotten to the mall had been a few glimpses of it, both in person and in searches online during times when she’d been feeling particularly lonely or nostalgic.

Part of her had been excited about getting a small taste of what life used to be like but, really, she should have realized that it was never going to be that way again.

The Durins, as it turned out, did not shop at the regular mall.

The mall they went to, instead, wasn’t even on the main island. It was on one of the minor ones behind the main island. There was a second mall there, several stories high and covering nearly all the landmass of the small, rocky spit of land it sat on. It was, Dis explained, where the wealthy of Erebor tended to shop along with their sizable security entourages. The public were welcome to visit the mall but did so with the understanding that there would most likely be a background check run on them the moment they stepped foot through the door.

Back in Shire, with Rosie and Bofur, Bilba would have spent her time leisurely walking through the mall. Dis, in contrast, approached shopping the way Bilba imagined a general might approach a war. She had memorized the layout of the mall and knew the most efficient way to hit every store she deemed essential.

She deemed a lot of stores essential, as it turned out.

For Bilba, it became a whirlwind she could barely keep up with. They’d enter a store and immediately be surrounded by the employees, all eager to help Erebor’s princess. Dis would start talking and then, without warning, Bilba would find herself being measured and poked and prodded and fitted for all manner of things. Shirts, pants, skirts, dresses, and lavish gowns, all in various levels of formal and informal.

“Clothing is important,” Dis explained, as she casually rejected one dress for another without any reasoning Bilba could see. “Too formal and you risk elevating someone to a station they have no business at. Too informal, and you risk offending an ally. We’re judged in everything we do, down to the shoes we choose to wear or the jewelry we don’t. It all sends a message, whether we like it or not.” She paused suddenly, eyes staring off blankly into the distance and then, to Bilba’s surprise, shot her a guilty look. “You know what? I’m sorry. I’m sitting here lecturing you like you’re a novice on her first day of training.”

“It’s all right,” Bilba said quietly as she watched a new parade of shoes being brought out from the back of the current store, they were in. Boots, heels, flats, even a few pairs of sandals. After this, Dis planned to hit the jewelry stores to ensure she had the right bracelets, rings, necklaces and hair pieces for various functions. Tiaras would be supplied by the palace. There were apparently at least fifteen of them, all to be worn for, and at, specific functions. “I didn’t actually know most of this.”

Dis and Ori stared at her.

“I’m sorry,” Dis said. “You what now?”

Bilba flushed. “Shire has a large royal family. It wasn’t seen as necessary to train everyone, when only a few ever interacted diplomatically with other families.”

There, that was a good explanation…wasn’t it? Part of her felt like just blurting out the truth. Telling them that she’d basically been a pariah because of her grandfather’s hatred toward her mother. Tell them about the dreaded visits that were more about her grandfather showing off his evil than about training her to be a princess.

Just tell them…everything.

The other part of her, however, shuddered at how her grandfather would react if he found out she’d said anything. Yes, he was in Shire and she was in Erebor but, even so, the mere thought made her blood run cold.

She wasn’t stupid. Reckless, and impulsive sometimes like when she’d allowed a two-year absence from the palace to convince her that she could stand up to her grandfather, but she wasn’t stupid. Foolishly trying to stand up to him was a far, far cry to betraying him. What he could consider a betrayal anyway.

He could reach her in Erebor, of that she had no doubt.

She ran her hands up her arms, suddenly freezing, and forced a weak smile at the two women standing over her.

“Huh,” Dis said after several long moments. She waved a hand absently. “Well, in that case, I’ll keep talking then.”

She did, but seemed distracted, while Ori kept shooting her strange glances that Bilba couldn’t read. She didn’t think she’d given anything away, or said something she shouldn’t, but couldn’t be sure. In any event, it was obvious she’d have needed to say something. She was clearly in the dark about Erebor’s etiquette and, without help, stood an exceptionally good chance of offending just about everyone.

Suddenly, the fact that she’d spent a month in her room didn’t seem like the worst decision ever. In fact, deciding to leave her room was beginning to feel more and more like a bad choice. Since she’d done so she’d almost drowned, gotten Thorin hurt, and had to deal with the Thrain and now her apparent lack of royal training.

They finished with the shoe store and then hit the jewelry ones just as Dis had said. It was only after they’d spent more money than Shire made in a year that Dis announced their next stop would be to get dinner.

At this, Bilba stumbled to a stop in shock. “How long have we been here?” Without thinking, she fumbled for her phone only to remember that, of course, she didn’t have one.

“Oh!” Cerys suddenly stepped forward from where she’d been silently guarding them along with the rest of their sizable security force. “My apologies, Your Highness. I completely forgot.” She pulled a slim phone from a pocket and held it out to Bilba.

Dis made a tsking sound. “Well, that’s boring.” Her eyes narrowed for a second. “There’s a store on the second floor that sells phone accessories. We’ll hit there and then eat.”

“But we’re supposed to eat at the palace,” Bilba stammered, stumbling forward a few steps as Dis began to march off on her newest quest. “The king said—”

Dis spun to face her and, with a sigh, pulled her phone out and dialed. “We’re going to be late,” she said shortly as soon as the call was answered. She paused for a few seconds as the person on the other end responded. “Well, that’s not my fault is it?” She listened for a few more seconds, visibly rolling her eyes and mimicking someone chattering away, before hanging the phone up with a bright smile.

“That…that wasn’t the king, was it?” Bilba asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“He’s annoyed that Thorin is too tied up in meetings to come to dinner,” Dis said absently, focused on her phone as she texted something. She hit a button and then slid the phone back in her pocket. “And now the boys and Frerin won’t be going either.”

“Won’t he be angry?” Bilba couldn’t imagine ever treating her grandfather like that. He probably wouldn’t have killed her, but she had no doubt he’d have made her wish he had.

“He’ll be fine,” Dis said airily. She hooked her arm through Bilba’s and tugged her in the direction of the escalators. “Eating alone occasionally won’t kill him. Maybe he’ll reflect on his own behavior and stop taking us all for granted.”

“One can hope,” Ori said dryly as she linked her arm through Bilba’s on the other side. “In the meantime, I think Thorin would definitely want Bilba to bling out her phone as much as possible.”

“Oh, definitely,” Dis said cheerfully. She pointed her arm forward as if leading a charge. “Onward, to victory and draining my brother’s bank account.”

***

Much as Bilba had wrongly envisioned what going to the mall for a royal would mean, she soon found she’d been just as wrong about what “getting something to eat” meant.

In Shire, with Rosie and Bofur, it would have meant going to the food court and finding a place, or several places, that looked fun to try. Then they’d search for a relatively clean, and empty, table that, if they were lucky enough, would have enough chairs for all three of them. Eating would be a mishmash of trying to fit all their food on the far too small surface while ignoring just how uncomfortable the chairs were. They’d laugh and talk, voices louder than normal to try and carry over the chatter of other mall goers and the loud music being piped over the speakers.

Here, it meant a high end, exclusive restaurant that took up almost an entire floor of the mall. A snotty looking man at the door held a list of guests who were allowed entry, though he immediately swept aside when he saw Dis approaching. As Bilba passed, he gave her a look that made her feel like a rat following a swan.

It was the first such look she’d gotten while being at the mall that day and served to forcefully remind her just how poorly she was viewed in Erebor. Yet another difference from Shire. There, no one cared one way or the other about her. She’d used to feel sad about it from time to time, but now understood it had been a blessing.

She suppressed a shiver and instinctively moved a step closer to Cerys. She wouldn’t say she entirely trusted the other woman yet, but she was a familiar presence and Bilba could admit to feeling at least some level of safety when around her. An unstable safety to be sure, but safety.

They were led to a dimly lit private room with a thick, maroon carpet, a mahogany table and chairs padded with black leather. The overall effect might have been oppressive were it not for the fact that the walls and ceiling were literally covered in white and green tinged crystal. Lights had somehow been strung up behind them, creating an effect that made it feel like she’d just walked into a geode.

Bilba stumbled to a stop at the sight, staring in awestruck wonder. “Oh, wow. This is gorgeous.”

Dis beamed in pride. “Isn’t it? Ereboreans know how to decorate.”

“They do indeed.” Bilba shook herself out of her stupor and went to her seat. Their guards lined up along the walls and outside the room. Having so many eyes on them felt awkward to Bilba but Dis and Ori seemed oblivious.

As she settled in, Bilba absently set her new phone on the table. It now sported a case featuring inlaid gems that formed spiraling flowers and leaves set in a gold tone background. The case came with a spot to attach a charm, so she’d bought a small cat that reminded her of her feline friend from the beach.

Dis reached over and grabbed the phone. “I’m going to put my number in it, all right?”

Bilba nodded. “Okay. Would you mind putting any other numbers you think I should have? I don’t have any right now.”

“Oh!” Ori sat up straight and clapped her hands together. “Put mine too!”

Dis nodded, eyes focused on the screen. “I’ll put all of ours, and your guards.” She frowned and looked up. “Have you gotten your bracelet yet?”

“Bracelet?” Bilba asked blankly. “What bracelet.”

“We haven’t had a chance to sit down and design it with her, Your Highness,” Cerys broke in from where she stood against the wall. “It’s next on the list.”

Dis nodded absently. She looked back to the phone but raised her other hand and jingled a charm bracelet hanging from her wrist. “We all have custom security bracelets. If you’re ever in an emergency, all you have to do is activate it and you’ll bring down pretty much the entire palace security on you.” She set the phone down and moved one of the charms, a small, linked set of hearts, to reveal an almost invisible indentation. “It’s designed so it can be activated quickly, but not accidentally.”

“Oh.” Bilba started to ask if anyone had ever had to use it, but bit back the question. If the answer were yes it would have been under extreme circumstances and it was likely Dis wouldn’t want to relieve such a thing.

“Are you on Ravenhill?” Dis asked suddenly. “I’m going to send you a request.”

She did something on the phone, and then handed it to Ori who also fiddled with it before handing it back to Bilba. “There, I sent you one too.”

“Thank you.” Bilba carefully took the phone back, unsure of what else to say. To be honest, the entire day had been overwhelming and she was still trying to process everything that had happened. “I’ll send you texts, so you’ll have my number too?” Her voice was shy even to her own ears, and she couldn’t stop the irrational thought that both women would reject her offer in spite of having given her their numbers to begin with.

“Great!” Dis said cheerfully. “Now, the next time my father tries to pull a stunt you can text me and I’ll come help him remove his head from his ass.”

Bilba focused on her phone and didn’t react. She had no intention of doing any such thing. The last thing she wanted to do was have the king see her as some sort of snitch or troublemaker. Not only that, but she didn’t yet know if Dis was the sort to take her father to task only to get angry and protective when someone else did the same.

She pulled up her contact list and was surprised to see the long list of numbers Dis had added. Her own, Thorin’s, Ori’s, Cerys and Gareth, even Frerin who she still hadn’t met and the king, who she planned to never call if she could help it. She also had no intention of ever calling Dwalin or Nori, but could see the reasoning behind having their numbers, as well as Balin. She added Rosie’s, and Arwen’s and made a mental note to find out her steward’s number to add that one as well.

She moved instinctively to add Bofur’s, only to flinch and stop. They’d agreed not to communicate, she reminded herself. Bofur needed to move on, and so did she. She wanted to move on. The sooner she did the sooner it’d stop hurting so much every time she thought about him.

She pulled up her Ravenhill account to accept Dis and Ori’s requests, and was startled to see a third one waiting for her. “Thorin sent me a request.”

“He’d better have,” Dis said. “You are his wife after all.”

Bilba chose to leave that comment alone. She accepted the requests and then, nervously, clicked on Thorin’s profile. Her mood immediately soured at the sight of the name Kyra Lundair next to the newest post at the top of Thorin’s page. It was some meme or another she’d posted, innocent enough on its own, but for the fact that the woman was literally everywhere Bilba went.

It had been posted only an hour earlier, she noted, and already had been liked by Thorin. Thorin who was too tied up in meetings to go to dinner, but not so tied up that he couldn’t like something his ex-fiancée posted on his page.

“What’s wrong?” Ori asked from where she sat next to Dis.

Bilba clicked over to Dis’ profile. “Nothing.” She studied the banner for the page, featuring a younger Dis standing next to an attractive, blonde man. “Is this your husband?” she asked, holding the phone up.

The other woman’s face softened, and she took the phone to smile fondly at the picture. “Yeah, that’s Vili. It’ll be seven years this spring.”

“I’m sorry.” Bilba flinched in guilt, regretting having brought it up.

“It’s fine.” Dis handed the phone back. “We’ll find him. I know we will.”

“I believe you,” Bilba said sincerely. She studied the picture a moment longer, wondering where the smiling young man had gone and why. He looked oddly familiar but, given who he was, it stood to reason she’d seen a picture in passing on the internet or even somewhere in the palace.

The food arrived just after that and she put the phone away as it was set out. They’d never been given menus or ordered but Dis and Ori didn’t seem to think anything of it. A man Dis identified as the owner appeared and began announcing the dishes as they were set out. All of them sounded amazing, and Bilba felt herself growing hungrier with every passing minute.

The man finally stopped talking. He started to excuse himself, before pausing as Dis gestured him forward. He leaned over and, for several long moments, the two had a hushed conversation that Bilba couldn’t hear from her side of the table. Then the man stood, bowed and left, after which they were finally allowed to eat. The food ended up being just as amazing as it looked and Bilba ate more than she probably should in an attempt to try all of it, and then a desire to go back for seconds on her favorites.

“So,” Dis said as she snapped a breadstick in half. “How are things going with you and my brother?”

Bilba froze. “Uh…it’s okay, I guess.”

Dis raised an eyebrow. “You guess?”

“We don’t know each other all that well,” Bilba said, almost under her breath.

“Is that so?” Dis asked idly. She had an odd tone in her voice and Bilba had a sinking feeling she’d given away far more than she intended.

Dis didn’t ask any further questions and the rest of dinner was spent in light chatter, mostly about favorite movies and books and the like.

Once they were finished Dis led them back out into the mall proper. Bilba was relieved to see the man at the door who’d glared at her was no longer there. He must have gone off shift while they ate.

They headed out, the only signs of their mammoth shopping trip the case and charm on Bilba’s phone and the small, carry out box Ori had gotten to bring home to her husband. Everything else would be delivered to the palace later, Dis had explained.

“I hope I have enough room for it all in my wardrobe,” Bilba mused, as they traveled down the escalator toward the first floor. “I probably should have thought about that.”

Dis laughed. “That’s cute.” At Bilba’s look of confusion, her own expression became startled. “Please tell me you didn’t think that wardrobe was all you had to store your clothes in.”

“It’s not?” Bilba said slowly. It was all she had seen, and no one had mentioned anything else. Honestly, the thing was several times larger than what she’d had in Shire and was even larger than the ones she’d seen in Beatrice’s room or any of her other relations.

Dis sighed. “It’ll be too late by the time we get back but remind me to show you where your closet is. Or better yet just keep an eye out when the maids put all your things away. The wardrobe,” she said in answer to Bilba’s unspoken question, “is for your go to, day to day items, or to store an outfit you know you’ll need in the next few days or week or so. It makes it less of a hassle if it’s right there, you know?”

Bilba didn’t but nodded dutifully.

They exited the mall, and her steps slowed as she realized full night had fallen. They’d literally spent the entire day shopping. Bilba was certainly tired, but, if asked, would have insisted they’d only been out a few hours at most. She cast a guilty look at Cerys and Gareth, wondering if the two had been able to eat or see Wynne, but neither appeared unhappy. Perhaps they’d gone on breaks when she hadn’t been looking? She had spent a lot of time trying things on and being measured, so it was certainly possible.

They all loaded back into the limos and started the long journey back. Bilba must have dozed off because, before she knew it, they were pulling down a low ramp into an underground parking garage behind the palace.

Once they were parked, they all got out and took an elevator to the main foyer of the palace.

“This is where I must leave you,” Dis said as they made their way up the stairs toward the royal levels. “The boys will be waiting for me to tuck them in and read them a story.”

“I need to head off too,” Ori said, holding up the carry out bag. “Dwalin should be off shift by now and I texted him that I was bringing food.”

Bilba nodded. “Thank you, both, for today. I had a really good time.”

As she said the words, she was startled to realize she meant them. She had had a really good time.

“You’re welcome,” Dis said cheerfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast, all right?”

Bilba nodded and the other woman left, followed soon after by Ori who impulsively hugged her before skipping off to her own rooms. Most of the security had already dispersed, so Bilba bade Cerys and Gareth goodnight before heading to her own room. She’d hoped by doing so they’d head off to their own rooms and Wynne but they followed her until she’d walked through the doors of the suite before wishing her a goodnight and leaving.

Once the doors were closed, Bilba let out a breath and sagged forward onto the wood for a few minutes. It had been a crazy day from start to finish, but she was happy to have it end on a high note.

She pushed up and noted that, while the room was dark, a light was on in the small kitchen, casting enough of a glow for her to see by. She was pretty sure it had been off when she’d left that morning, which meant Thorin must have come back.

His door was shut and there was no light shining from under it so either he’d come back and left again, or he’d already gone to bed.

Bilba started to go to her own room, only to find herself slowing to a stop before she got there.

Did Thorin know what had happened? About the pregnancy demands, and whatever had gone on with Kyra? She chewed on her lower lip and cast a nervous glance toward Thorin’s door. If he did know, then she imagined she’d have found him waiting for her to come back to discuss it.

That or he was off, even then, comforting Kyra over whatever the king had said to her when he’d summoned her to his office.

Bilba grimaced. Think positive, she told herself firmly. You had a good day today, so don’t ruin it.

Thorin didn’t know, she decided. And if he didn’t, then she’d much rather have him hear it all from her before he heard it from someone else. Get her own side in as much as possible before he heard whatever twisted version she was sure would be making the rounds tomorrow.

She let out a short breath and wrapped her arms around her torso. Telling him herself would be best, which…meant…she’d need to go knock on his door…and wake him up to tell him.

She shuffled forward slowly, until she was standing in front of his door. She raised her hand and curled her fingers into a fist to knock…and then just stood there. Her stomach twisted, and she tried to force herself to breathe normally.

It’s fine, she told herself. It’s totally fine. Just…knock on the door. It’s fine.

She moved her hand forward, only to freeze as another, unwelcome thought came to her.

What if he wasn’t alone?

Her face flamed, and she shook her head. No. Not even Thorin was crazy enough to bring his mistress into his room at night. He’d have had to parade her past his own guards and the news would be all over the palace by the next morning. No way he was that stupid.

Hopefully.

She half lowered her hand, raised it again and then, before she could think about it any further, reached out and rapped sharply on the wood. Immediately her heart jumped into her throat and her muscles locked up.

A light snapped on under the door, and footsteps moved across the floor. A moment later, the door was pulled open and Bilba found herself face to face with Thorin…dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers.

Not…what she’d been expecting.

Not even close.

Follow on AO3: Follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743620/chapters/3723188

#Writing #My Writing #fanfiction #fanfic #LOTR #Hobbit #Tolkien #FemaleBilbo Baggins #AU #Modern Au #Angst #Arranged Marriage #Bagginshield #romance #Slow Burn

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waterfall-ambience · 5 years ago

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Void Fog (Cosmic Horror AU), Part 1

A summary of everything we have so far.

All the information here is already available, but I haven’t updated the AU storyline since April, so I’m making this post for completeness’ sake.

- The eldritch abomination is an entity that has existed for millennia. It resides in the space between worlds- the Infinite dimension.

- It's only true desire is to consume.

- It’ll consume anything, but it’s particularly drawn to worlds that have been, or are currently inhabited by players. Considering the practically infinite amount of worlds (seeds), these are difficult to come by.

- The Hermit’s pattern of moving between different worlds has allowed them to unintentionally evade the Entity.

- It’s able to enter minds and control people to some extent, usually with the goal of finding other worlds and entering them.

- EX was exiled to a blank void world within the infinite dimension. Though he couldn’t travel beyond the void world, he could sometimes access the rest of the infinite dimension through his dreams. The Entity established a psychic link between them by preying on his insecurities (which, all things considered, is a huge can of worms).

- When EX managed to escape using his unstable admin powers, the Entity was able to locate the Hermitcraft server and bring forth the apocalypse.

Meta plot stuff:

- From a meta standpoint, it’s kind of difficult to pinpoint when the story takes place, and write a lot of it beyond what’s happening to EX. He was banned from the server in March 2019, and stayed in the void world for an extended period of time. By the time EX manages to get back onto the server, it could be any time during S7, but likely in the future, when the world has been developed a bit more.

- Some elements of the story will change as the season goes on so that it can fit into the context of S7

- The story mostly focuses on EX, so unless a canon story arc has elements of alternate dimensions (eg Area 77) or the supernatural (eg Demise), then the ‘Hermit’ side of the story is unlikely to have a major impact on the story as a whole. If EX comes back in canon, then the circumstances of how he does so will be incorporated into the AU.

World notes:

- X and EX have admin powers. EX barely knows how to use his and as such, lacks control. For example, he might try to summon a few stacks of a particular block, and end up summoning too much or too little.  

- EX’s powers can be influenced by his emotions. When upset, he has a tendency to teleport all over the place and cause lighting glitches, lag, and other errors. His ability to teleport and travel between dimensions is also unstable.

- The Entity would’ve found the Hermitcraft server sooner or later. If the Hermits extended Season 6 into Sixfinity, they would’ve attracted its attention. If Doc had kept using the infinity portal to access other servers, then it’s likely that he would’ve run into the Entity at some point, and this whole apocalypse mess would’ve happened anyway.  

Exile: 

- When he was banned, EX was sent to a creative superflat dimension outside of normal worlds. No structures generated there, and the floor was made up entirely of blue glass. He spent most of his time trying not to think too hard about the isolation, and instead turned to building nonstop.  

- His main ‘base’ was an ever expanding rustic house. He spent some time with NPG before getting banned and was taught how to build in a rustic style, which is what he’s most comfortable with. The house has gotten exceptionally large, and is near impossible to navigate due to its erratic floor plan.  

- EX also spent a lot of time sleeping, because the less time he spent conscious and aware of the usual passage of time, the better. However due to the nature of the void world he was exiled to, he could enter other dimensions in the Infinite (infinite dimension) through his dreamscape, as could the Entity.

- Isolation did not help EX deal with his fears and insecurities in the slightest. Often he’d find himself thinking about the circumstances of his exile, no matter how hard he tried not to. The fear that everyone hated him, that he had pushed everyone away with his evil schemes and rash decisions, that even if the Hermits were nice to him, they would never truly consider him to be their friend- it consumed him.

It was only natural that they would never trust him- he lied and stole from them, after all. He deserved it, but realising that was a permanent blow to their faith in him stung far more than he anticipated.

Often he found himself questioning every relationship and interaction he’s had with other people. Was he too aggressive with the tag game? Did he forget to say goodbye to Pixl and Zloy that one time? Did he bore NPG with his rambling about Worm Man?

How long ago did X consider banishing him? Was it when he fell into old habits and reached out to press the button that would supposedly destroy the server? Was it then and there that X decided that he’d never be ‘good’, or was the decision the result of smaller mishaps? Was it when he over steeped their tea that one time? Was it when he caught himself slipping into a ranty, dramatic monologue? He recounted every stupid, impulsive decision he’d ever made, replayed it in his head hundreds of times, wracking his brain for answers he knew he’d never get.

- Over time, EX’s dreams became increasingly vivid. Most of them devolved into nightmares of phasing through fog, smoke, and crowds of vaguely recognisable people and ruined cities. Occasionally he dreamt of the dimensions in the Infinite- with its fleets of ships, endless libraries, and whispered orders.

- As he began to remember more of the dreams, EX noticed the near-constant shadowy presence that encompassed everything and nothing at the same time. He made a conscious effort to ignore it, but like all his other decisions to *not* think about something, it never truly worked. Most of the time, he was able to somewhat focus on his surroundings, but it’s when he dreamt of the Hermitcraft server that the presence was impossible to ignore.

- The presence never named itself, but disturbing as it was, EX felt compelled to trust it.

EX’s return to the Server

- EX was found at the base of an unfamiliar Nether portal. X and Joe theorised that he collapsed from the transition between game modes and exhaustion from forcing himself onto the Season 7 server.

- From the moment EX returned to the server, some of the Hermits reported incidences of objects disappearing and chunk errors. Some claimed that the layouts of their bases shifted as they walked through them.

- Joe asked around different villages to see if these incidents were constant across the server. Most of the reports tied back to folklore of an entity seen by those who travelled between dimensions.

More World Notes:

- Some of the Hermits have made contact or communicated with Higher Beings (e.g. Cub and Scar with the Vex, or EX with the ‘evil voice in his head’), but they are less powerful than the Entity.

- The Hermits are a group of interdimensional travellers. Each Season takes place on a different planet or in a similar alternate dimension

Infodump Continuation: Season Seven

Story note: Particular locations and events aren’t specific for the sake of flexibility, as the story takes place further into S7.

- Some of the Hermits reported incidents of chunk errors and missing entities. A few hours later, EX was found unconscious in front of an unfamiliar Nether portal.

- The portal was removed for the sake of clarity within the nether hub.

- EX was brought to Xisuma’s base and his reappearance was discussed during a server meeting.

- Xisuma and Joe began to investigate the cause of the reported errors. X spent hours poring over the server’s code, and Joe started asking around some villages to see if the errors were consistent across the server.

- EX didn’t wake up for a long time. Some theorised that he was exhausted from the transition between game modes and forcing himself back onto the server. Keralis and Stress mainly watched over him, and would occasionally pop in to see if he was okay. Sometimes they found him tossing and turning, but he only somewhat responded to outside stimulus.

- Joe returned, and EX woke up a few hours later. After a well needed shower and hot meal, Joe took him in and asked him to explain what happened. EX gave his ‘statement’, and began to help Joe with the investigation.

- EX talked a lot about consistent nightmares and how the dark presence didn’t go away, even if he was on the server. In fact, it seemed to whisper to him now.

- EX spent the next week or so trying to adjust to living in the Overworld. Everything was too bright and dark at the same time and called attention to itself. Sometimes he felt that the air was too full of particles. Sounds were louder than they had the right to be.

- While EX was recovering from his time in exile, the investigation was mostly reading written tomes of folklore and reports of errors in libraries.

- EX continued to suffer from frequent nightmares, and it got to the point where he was hesitant to sleep, and tried to stay awake for as long as possible. It didn’t help. Joe found him sleepwalking and muttering about searching for something, but couldn’t make out what he was searching for.

- EX grew increasingly worried about the dark presence and voices he heard in his dreams, and freaked out a bit when Joe told him about the sleepwalking. Joe offered to lock the door to EX’s room from the outside- it might not have directly helped with the problem, but it helped him feel more at ease.

#void fog #hc cosmic horror au #my writing #not maintagging bc all this information has been previously posted.#not sure how well tumblr's readmore system is gonna work with long posts #im gonna stagger the rest of the au info over multiple days.#i dont wanna flood the tags w this since it's not even a fully fledged fic and also bc that'd be rude #for anyone reading: there's 4 parts and an epilogue.

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queenjunoking · 4 years ago

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Wolf Taming Pt 18

CW: Noncon - Shock Collar - Pain - Petplay - Drugs - Kidnapping - Manipulation

Sasha had been staring at the door for a bit. I really enjoyed the moments where I got to watch those wheels spin in her head, it was cute watching her overthink things. She looked at me and tilted her head to the side and my heart fluttered. Such an adorable move, already picking up on nonverbal communication in the most dog-like way she could. She could have gestured to the door with her paw but instead she tilted her head to the side like a confused puppy.

“I see you’re confused. You won’t be doing any more activities there. Instead you’ll leave your cage when it's time to do training or activities of any sort. The cage is for relaxation and safety. I’m sure I can trust you to not do anything stupid outside of the cage. Right?” She nodded her head, keeping eye contact with me. “Then feel free to come out sweetheart. You can push the door open with your snout and shut it with your back leg.”

She cautiously approached the door, waiting for some kind of trick. I’d never use a trick to ruin such a moment. I found it adorable how much Sasha really looked like some kind of animal. She was being cautious, skittish about a change in her environment. There really wasn’t a difference between something like Sasha and a real dog. Both just animals reacting to their environments, they couldn’t do much else in captivity. Though she was smart enough not to just attack me the moment I let her out.

She carefully pushed the door open and crawled out, never breaking eye contact with me. It made it a little awkward as she missed the door with her foot twice, forcing her to look away so she could kick it closed. I suppressed a laugh, I didn’t want to lose her cooperation yet.

It was Sasha’s frankly funny behavior that I felt vindicated my position. She had been put through sleep deprivation, dozens of shocks a day at this point, been run ragged last night, drugged and kidnapped. Yet she never really lost her sarcasm. She made jokes. She said mean things that most people wouldn’t want to say to a kidnapper from fear of retribution. Above all she was working with me.

Even under threat most people in Sasha’s position wouldn’t be as cooperative. They’d be fearfully obeying orders or be screaming hellions refusing to obey any order until you had to break them down into nothing to get something to work with. They were getting boring to deal with. The fearful ones didn’t present a challenge, at their worst they would burst into tears and beg to not have to do something you asked them to do. But they’d do it. Unfortunately the hellions had to be broken which left many with very little personality. Most became quiet and reserved, good for maids and such since they would just do whatever you asked of them. They had no resistance left in them when you were through with them.. Rarely was there a case like Sasha. To think my friend just wanted to break her as a pony, it would have been such a waste.

“Sit.” She huffed and sat down like she had been shown. “Good girl Sasha. I’m going to give you a few new tricks you’ll be learning. I want to see how you interpret them so I’ll wait to see what you do before telling you how to change if you’re wrong.”

She looked like she wanted to scowl, but her heart wasn’t in it. I expected this to be a fairly easy session. Just a few tricks and we’d be done for the moment.

“Beg Sasha.” I watched as the gears in her head turned before she gestured at her collar. I knew what I wanted to see from her begging so I got what her concern is. “Like when you’re allowed to speak, beg temporarily allows you to sit up higher than you normally are allowed, but won’t let you stand all the way up. One more time. Beg.”

I watched her get into a squatting position, placing her weight on her toes. She straightened her back and pulled in her arms. She went red in the face when she realized this position put her entire body on display for me. It truly allowed me to admire my property. “Such a good girl Sasha, you got it on your first try. You have wonderful instincts, such a good doggy.” She tensed up from my compliment, I wonder if she was thinking of lunging at me? I’m sure she’d love to make me stop talking if she could. “Keep this position going. Bark Sasha.”

“...Woof.” A sad attempt. Barely audible. Wasn’t even a bark, she just said woof. “Try again Sasha. No dog says woof. They bark. Making a barking sound. Bark Sasha.”

The second time she did it correctly. Well, comparatively correctly. Much too quiet, but she let out a bark. “Again. Bark.” I kept encouraging her until she was doing it loud enough consistently. I was starting to feel a bit of resentment over her earlier outburst. This was what was supposed to make her feel dehumanized. Having to sit there and bark. It would be a fun thing to make her do if I ever had company. When I was unfortunate enough to have company. Unfortunately this wasn’t having the impact I wanted.

“Dogs need to pant Sasha, you aren’t any exception. Pant.” I hit a line there, just what I was hoping to do. Panting wasn’t a common thing for owners to have pets do, it was noisy and distracting. But I thought it was cute. Penny had picked it up pretty quickly as something she should do when she begged. She had been so eager to please. It was unfortunate that she couldn’t be housebroken after I had finished with her. Sasha at least had that down.

I turned the collar to 1 and pressed the button. Her body twitched and she glared at me. “You agreed to do what I told you to do. I want you to pant. I would hope that going outside means more to you than a bruised ego. If it’s any consolation, this is the last trick you’ll be learning today.”

She still didn’t budge. She just narrowed her eyes at me. I was having a hard time trying to figure out her thought process. She was already on display for me and we were at the finish line. Why would you choose now of all time to resist? I turned the dial to 2 and pressed the button again. She twitched again and tried to keep her balance. She still didn’t break eye contact.

“If this is about you wanting to say something, I’m not giving you anymore questions. I’ve been more than generous about those. You’re so close to getting to go outside, I’m not sure what your problem is.” She looked me up and down before doing something I wasn’t expecting.

She smirked at me.

Then I slowly pieced together the predicament we were in together. She had set me up. I remembered what she said. “The worst that can happen is that you shock me until I go unconscious again.” I had started at a low shock and was making my way up as she resisted me. I had nowhere to go but up. If I kept going up and she resisted I’d just knock her out again.

Having already shown her that I was just going to increase the pain made me run afoul of the other thing she said. “You keep hurting me even though you claim to care about me.” It was my prerogative to punish my pet as I saw fit, but Sasha saw the punishments as vindication of her view that I didn’t care for her.

It was the last statement that had stung the most. "At least they wouldn’t pretend to care about me." I cared a lot about Sasha. She was making me prove it, either I could do what I wanted or I’d have to give up because she didn’t want to do something.

She was trying to back me into a corner. Either I got what I wanted and she would be vindicated or I’d have to give up the winning position and give her what she wanted without getting what I wanted. She had been watching me closely today. She knew what I was excited for and she was ruining it.

“Fine… I’ll go get the stuff so we can go outside I guess. Stay.” That wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Perhaps it was the more pleasant answer. But I could see from the look in her eyes that she was trying to push me. She had waited until the more irritating moment to rebel, she wanted me to hurt her so she could prove that she was right.

Sasha at least stayed put when I went into the toy room. I gathered some of the supplies I had intended to use. A hood that covered her eyes, an arm binder, some nipple clamps. Just the basic stuff. I went over to the cabinet and took out a vial of my special concoction. It was something I had never planned on using on Sasha, it wasn’t really for someone like her. But it would be helpful for me new plans. I loaded it into it’s special applicator and put it in my back pocket.

I looked over at the package I had left on the table. I had been waiting so long to open it. It was supposed to be a reward, something fun I knew she would like eventually. But instead it was going to be used as a punishment. I picked up the package and went back to Sasha who still had that victorious look on her face.

It went away as I laid out the outfit I was going to have her wear. “Your outfit is simple. The hood is so you don’t see the layout of my house as we leave. The arm binder is help you behave. The clamps are so I can guide you as we we around.” She covered her breasts when I said that. It was cute. She was too preoccupied looking at the equipment to pay attention to me circling behind her. I pulled out the applicator and placed it against the back of her neck and pulled the trigger. She yelped and tried to scramble away, but her muscles very quickly gave out on her. There was a reason I called the drug “Ragdoll.”

“Well, that was going to be your outfit at least Sasha. But you decided to test me. I gave you what you wanted, you didn’t want to learn to pant. So in exchange for not learning that I’ve decided to change up your outfit instead.” I watched as her eyes darted around. The only thing she could move. In a little while her voice would be free, but the rest of her body would remain in this state until I gave her the drug to counteract Ragdoll. I knew of dozen of slaves who never got the dose to free them because their owners were too cheap to buy it or they simply didn’t want it. Sasha was completely awake and aware but locked in her own body. Unable to move a single muscle or resist me in any way.

The dumb animal forgot what I told her.

It can always be worse.

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jaybug-jabbers · 4 years ago

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Pokemon Prism Review

Well I’m currently finishing up the post-game content of Pokemon Prism.

Dang.

What a fun game.

(what follows is an informal review of the game. it got a little long, lol. it has some spoilers for the game, of course.)

My background

To give you a quick idea on my perspective on Pokemon, I grew up with Pokemon Red on the big grey brick Gameboy. After Red, I pretty much stopped playing for many years. My little brother had a Gameboy Color and had Silver, but I never got one myself. Wasn’t ‘til years and years later I found some emulators and played through several generations of Pokemon at once. So, Gen 2 really isn’t nostalgic for me. It’s close enough to Gen 1 to hit some nostalgia buttons, though. I am admittedly somebody who feels Gen 1 is the best gen of pokemon. I don’t care of people laugh or say I’m a genwunner for believing that. Gen 1, I feel, had the raw creativity and charm of the original idea, and it simply sets my imagination alight far more than any other gen does. Those simple pixel designs for those little virtual creatures just opened up a world in my mind. THAT SAID, I did play and very much enjoyed all the other gens of pokemon. I do not shun things just because they are new, and I am not one of those people who says the new designs of pokemon are stupid. I adore plenty of modern pokes.

Blend of Old and New

Anyway! Pokemon Prism, for those unaware, is a ROM hack of Pokemon Crystal. It essentially delivers a brand-new Pokemon adventure for the Generation 2 games. It’s a really neat blend of classic gameplay and modern features. You’ll find species from modern games all the way from Gen 3 (such as Breloom) to Gen 6 (such as Sylveon) but their sprites perfectly integrate them organically into the Gen 2 environment. You’ll get many modern pokemon moves and conviences but also plenty of throwbacks to older experiences. Miss crafting pokeballs from Apricorns? It’s there. Enjoy a simplier time when there weren’t any Natures? Well, there ya go. Really want to call Joey and talk to him about his Rattata? Well, err, no, you can’t do that, but let’s face it, the telephone feature was probably one of the most hated features in Gen 2. :P

But Prism isn’t simply about updating Gen 2 with some modern pokemon, moves and game features. Not in the slightest. It’s full of original mechanics and gameplay concepts, and has tons of original areas and an original storyline. Pokemon is known for experimenting with new gameplay ideas, so it’s really fitting and enjoyable to see these take shape as you play the game. Mining and crafting is introduced in the game, for example, and there are a couple new pokemon types. There’s even a few sections where you can play as your pokemon, Mystery-Dungeon style. Do all of these experiments with new concepts work? Probably not ALL of them– when you try something new, not all of them will work out as amazing as you’d hope. But a lot of them are welcome and fun additions. And the game is bristling with these new ideas! It’s a joy to see so much creativity and novelty.

Sprites

It should be noted the spritework for these games is A+ and utterly fantastic. There is perhaps 3 or 4 out of dozens and dozens of new sprites that I thought were a tad off? Seriously, they look AMAZING and their animations are perfect and they fit in with the style so well I found myself briefly getting confused as to which were originally from Gen 2 and which weren’t. Saying these sprites are good is no small thing, because they are such a vital part of the game. The backsprites were not shafted, either– something even Gamefreak often shortchanged on back then.

Music

It should also be noted the music in this game is really damn good and has a huge variety. There are tons of classic songs, classic remakes of modern pokemon songs, remixes, and original tunes. There were like one or two tunes I was a bit iffy on, but considering that’s only a few out of so many, that’s impressive. The new bike music and Surfing music are probably my favorites, and they are SO GOOD, and those are especially important ones to sound good, because you typically hear those a lot.

Writing

The writing in this game is fairly solid. Not A+, but still not bad. It suffers occasionally from slightly rough and confusing grammar, and the climax of the story is definitely anti-climactic and very weak. In addition, the post-game story basically does not exist, but that can be excused since most likely more story was planned but they ran out of time. (C&D)

I also felt that at times, the story felt out-of-place within the world of Pokemon and went “too far” in the darker direction. The entire prison sequence, especially, and the frequent mention of inmates being mistreated, pokemon being abused, etc., just felt a bit much. Because this game was largely concerned with replicating the feeling of a true Pokemon game (some hacks intentionally focus on making a story that would never take place in the Pokemon world, like zombie survival horror stories or whatnot), I find it relevant to mention that. All of that said, though, its darker departures were at least not *too* extreme. We don’t get the very jarring and frequent problem of some ROM hacks where it’s full of cussing all the time or intense violence. Compared to those it’s still relatively subtle. And while the NPCs in this game I felt were rude a little too often, (holy crap, it felt like 95% of Naljo and Rijon were crankyass people) I do appreciate the attempts at making people a little more “real” and not quite so freaking happy and idealized all the time like Nintendo tends to do. The dialogue often made me chuckle. It did go a tad overboard with that “realness” (because, hey, a variety of people exist in the world, you know, both rude and polite, optimistic and bitter) but oh well.

So yes, the writing had its drawbacks. But overall, it felt like it was progressing a pokemon-style narrative with some interesting ideas, and wasn’t simply a dreary rehash of the same basic tropes Pokemon has been regurgitating for ages now. I just think if the writing were cleaned up a bit– the grammar cleaned up in a few sections, the plot threads clarified a bit more, and the climax reworked– it could take a “decent story” and make it a great one. There’s definitely some neat ideas there, it just needs polish.

Maps

As to the different towns and locations in this game to explore, there are many. This game is ambitious AF. As I said, it’s FULL of new ideas, features, things to do, and places to explore. Naljo is the region you explore in the main game, but post-game you can wander a whole new region of Rijon (the featured location of an older ROM hack, Pokemon Brown) and beat all the gyms there. In addition, there’s a few towns in Kanto and Johto you can visit (I believe they originally planned to open up all of those regions eventually), AND one town in ANOTHER new region, Tunod. The game’s ambitiousness occasionally outpaces what it delivers, but that’s quite acceptable in my mind, since updates with additions to the game were originally planned. So, yes, there isn’t much to do post-game, but that’s largely because a lot of stuff was going to be added.

Back to the locations, though! It’s an important aspect of ROM hacks. Not everyone is good at designing a good town, with logical building placement, intuitive layouts, aesthetically pleasing locations, and interesting things to explore so it doesn’t feel totally plain and lacks character. I’m pleased to say this game does a great job of it, though. I should point out I have a terrible sense of direction and bad spatial memory. Despite that fact, I found myself remembering important features and where they were located– oh, the Move Deleter house is in Phacelia on the left, the bullet train is in Torenia– and that’s a good sign. Physical travel was not a sloggy chore, and it wasn’t bogged down in a confusing layout. Towns were memorable and fun to explore.

Pacing/Level Curve

Another thing ROM hacks can screw up, because it’s a tricky thing to do, is the challenge pacing. How many trainers? What teams do they have? What levels? Are the Gyms challenging without being insane? I actually Nuzlocked the main part of the game. In my opinion it was well-paced. There’s probably fewer trainers overall in this game than a standard Pokemon game. But it did not take me much extra grinding in the grass– and I was only doing that to play it safe for the Nuzlocke. And that’s GOOD. You shouldn’t have to do tons of grinding in the grass all the time just to have a reasonable shot at the gyms. Pokemon Uranium, sadly, seems to suffer from that issue. So, yeah, the pacing was very reasonable to me, good balance of fair and challenging.

… with one important note. Once you reach the League? Well, we could have used higher-levelled wild pokemon in the cave that served as the victory road. The highest in that cave was level 34 or so, and you were facing trainers with teams ~level 55. That’s a huge gap. Not everyone has the same play style. Some people like to do extra grinding before the Elites. Some people are Nuzlocking and may do extra grinding as a safety buffer. Some people might want to adjust their team & add a new pokemon to their team and need to grind them up from a lower level. For those cases, you NEED decently-levelled wild pokemon to grind on. So, yeah, I really do think the Seneca Caves wild pokemon need a level buff. It would also help with the level gap for the post-game. Trainers in Rijon are suddenly at levels 70ish and higher, and for some folks playing, that’s a bit much and they’d like to do a little grinding first.

Puzzles

This game has puzzles. You have been warned, lol. Apparently a lot of people found the number of puzzles a bit frustrating, or felt that some of them were excessively tricky or annoying. I find it very funny, because usually puzzles are my least favorite part of a pokemon game. But I really enjoyed the puzzles in Prism and didn’t find it annoying or offputting at all. I was sick with a cold through most of my play of Prism, and yet even in my dumb brainaddled state, I didn’t find the puzzles too difficult. I solved them all at a pretty average length of time, even the ones some people traditionally found a little unclear or confusing. (the Ruins puzzle often confuses folks, apparently, but I really didn’t have a problem with it at all.) I was briefly confused on one of the switch puzzles (and it contained an element of bad puzzle design imo– there’s a gap that you can leap down into when normally a gap of that size just gives the ‘run into wall’ sound and is not passable) but not for too long. Even the ice slide puzzles, which I traditionally hate with a passion, were not bad!

All except for one thing. The Magikarp Puzzle. Anyone who has played Prism knows what I mean. Haha, fuck that puzzle man. Even the creator of the ROM hack himself has acknowledged the puzzle was not great, heh. To be honest, I find it kind of hilarious, in a way, though. I mean, obviously it’s a nightmarishly difficult and frustrating puzzle and is intensely exhausting to look at, let alone try to solve. But it’s also kinda glorious in its demonicness. I didn’t spend too much time on it before just looking up a solution to it. It’s tedious and not fun at all, and hey, that’s OK, because even the creator realized that.

pls nerf magikarp

But seriously, outside of the magikarp puzzle, I didn’t just enjoy the puzzles in this game– I felt like they were an important part of what gave this game its character.

Fakemon

There are even a few fakemon in this game! Which I was excited to learn because I thought there weren’t! All of the fakemon are Legenderies. Unfortunately, I don’t care for most of their designs. Like, at all. I think Varaneous and Libabeel’s sprites look really, really shitty. They’re ugly and don’t match the style of Pokemon at all. This feels weird to say, since I love so much about this game, but man, there’s just no way around it, I hate ‘em. Everyone has their own tastes, of course. There’s a couple fakemon I have yet to capture– I’m finishing that up now and the very very last of the post-game. But one fakemon I did capture and ADORE LIKE NO OTHER is Phancero.

I happen to know about Phancero’s designer, because I saw their design years ago. They apparently were approached by the team and were asked permission for the use of the design, which is awesome. I won’t rant again about Phancero here because I already ranted about it before, and literally could keep ranting for pages. :P But yeah, it’s a totally creative and awesome pokemon both in idea and execution, and by FAR my favorite fakemon ever created.

Conclusion

This is the best ROM hack I have played in years and probably ever. I haven’t played hundreds of ROM hacks, but I have probably played dozens over the years. I think they are a creative and wonderful expression of the pokemon community, but let’s be honest. There’s a lot of really bad ROM hacks out there. There’s even more ROM hacks that have a lot of potential but are never finished or anywhere near completion. (And that’s perfectly understandable. People run out of time, they have real life get in the way, etc.) The fact that not only did a ROM hack of this caliber get made, but was 95-99% completed? Is fantastic. It was an intensely massive project and I cannot begin to imagine how much work it must have been. Pokemon games are normally developed by an entire team at a company, and folks are paid to do it. The comparatively small team of devs who made this game in their spare time and implemented these amazing things had to do it all on their own. It’s no wonder it took as long as it did for them to finish it; and the amount of effort SHOWS. There is so much loving attention to detail and polish to Prism. (I mean, yes, there’s still some bugs and the occasional unfinished bits, but of course there are, those were going to be finished, but then the C&D hit)

Most ROM hacks are just strong in a few areas, because it’s one or two people who have strengths or interests in a few things. So, you’ll play a hack with a really good story but terrible fakemon and mapping, or you’ll play a hack with fantastic designs of new areas, but no new story, etc. Prism kinda has everything, though. It really did feel like playing a new Gen 2 game.

(It’s now almost 11pm and oh god where did the time go. I have a problem with being concise. :P This was far longer than I intended but thank you if you’ve read this far!)

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Jan 17, 2017.

#pokemon #pokemon prism #pokemon fan games #pokemon rom hacks #mycontent #spoilers #pokemon reviews

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ft-dads-au · 5 years ago

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Into the Lion’s Den

Gratsu Weekend 2020 Prompt: Joke Pairing(s): Gray x Natsu, Lyon x Loke, Sting x Rogue, Gildarts & Loke, Natsu & Sting, Gray & Lyon, Rogue & Gray Rating: M A Collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404

AO3 | FF.Net | Takes place after I Like You Too, Dumbass

June 12, 2021

Gray picked up his phone, surprised to see Natsu was calling him so early, “Hey, you’re on break already?”

“Nope, turns out I have the night off. A water pipe burst, and they had to close Fairy Tail down until it’s fixed. Uhm, Mira and Erza already took the kids somewhere, did you wanna maybe come over?”

Gray stared at the phone with a smile, thinking how cute Natsu sounded when he was unsure. He was about to say yes when he remembered he already had plans.

“I can’t, pain in the ass Loke was waiting for a night when both me and Sting were free to do his housewarming party, but you’re welcome to come with me if you want. You’ll know everyone, and I’m sure Loke would love for you to be there.”

There was silence on the other line, and Gray decided to push a little, “Live a little, how often do you get a night off?”

“To spend around drunk people?”

“Yeah, I’m not even gonna try to lie, you know they’re all getting plastered. Doesn’t mean it won’t be fun, though. Come on, if you hate it we can leave after an hour or so, I want to see you too.”

“Fine, but you’re driving,” Natsu demanded.

“You do realize Loke lives in this building now?” Gray pointed out.

Silence.

“Fine, I’ll come pick you up. I have to drop Aki off with my parents anyway,” he said, mostly for Lyon’s benefit. Not that it mattered, he was already laughing at him, swishing an imaginary whip in the air even as Gray flipped him off.

He hung up, turning on Lyon, “Keep it up, and I’ll just go out on a date and leave you to go to Loke’s alone.

“You wouldn’t do that, you already promised you’d go,” Lyon smirked.

“Every single one of you guys sucks,” Gray complained, grabbing his keys and wallet and going into his room to check that all of Aki’s things were packed.

“Too bad you’re dating someone who won’t,” Lyon called after him, and Gray could hear the ice moving around in his tumbler as he took a drink.

“That was rude! Starting early?”

“I’m spending an entire night at Loke’s place, what do you expect?” Lyon retorted, and although he sounded irritated, it was nowhere near his usual levels.

“Spending the night already?” Gray teased, getting a dig in while he could.

“What?! No!” Lyon protested, but Gray couldn’t help but notice that his face had changed colors at the implication, and he laughed.

“Interesting. You are much gayer than I ever gave you credit for.”

“Fuck you!”

“Sorry, taken.” Gray winked, going back into his room to grab the overnight bag and pick his sleeping child up in his arms. Now that Natsu was coming as his date to this stupid party, his night was definitely looking up.

Lyon had already opened the door for him, walking him to the elevator to help him with the buttons. “Come get me when you guys get here,” Lyon whispered, being mindful of Aki.

Gray nodded, waving as the elevator doors closed.

0-0

Gray could already smell the alcohol when Loke greeted them and let them in, although he didn’t show any signs of being tipsy yet. He did, however, pull Lyon into one of the most awkward hugs Gray had ever seen.

“It’s good to see you guys, glad you could make it!” Loke grinned, “Welcome to the lion’s den!”

He waved them inside, ignoring the way Lyon rolled his eyes, and Natsu let out a loud snort. Gray could only smile. As ridiculous as the name sounded, he could imagine Loke must be happy to have his own place now that all the shit he’d been through surrounding his marriage and divorce was in the past. And the place looked great, it had the same layout as Lyon’s apartment, but a different interior.

Sting, Rogue, and Gildarts were sitting on the sofas, already provided with drinks. They paused their conversation when they saw Gray, Natsu and Lyon come in, Sting’s face lighting up immediately when he noticed his best friend.

“Hey! I didn’t think we’d be seeing you tonight, aren’t you supposed to be at work?” he wondered.

“Nah, I got the night off cause of a burst pipe,” Natsu explained, looking around the room curiously, “Nice place you got here, Loke.”

“Thanks! Make yourselves at home, can I pour you a drink?”

“You know what?” Natsu remarked as he found a seat next to Sting, “That sounds awesome! It’s usually me who’s making the drinks, it’s nice to have it the other way around for once.”

“Don’t get used to it, I’ll give you the first round, but it’s all self-service after that.” Loke opened a cabinet, revealing a considerable collection of alcoholic beverages, all stored on the top shelves where his kids wouldn’t be able to reach. “Take your pick.”

“Anything is fine, uhm, how about a Rum and Coke?”

“Seriously?” Loke asked, looking disappointed but putting the drink together nonetheless, “You make all these amazing drinks, and that’s all you want?”

Natsu shrugged, “Just cause I make them doesn’t mean I want them, you’d be surprised how often I get the same lame jokes and come-ons from people using drink names. Bachelor and bachelorette parties are the worst!”

“Wait, what?!” Loke exclaimed, eyes glittering with interest, “What types of stuff do they ask for?”

“Well, one time I was at Crime Sorciere, Lyon’s ex asked Natsu for a Naked Lady,” Gray added helpfully, smirking at Lyon’s annoyed expression when he brought her up.

“That doesn’t sound that wild, Gray,” Rogue muttered.

“No, it was, she was like,” Gray imitated Juvia’s voice warming up to his performance once they started laughing, “Juvia would like a Naked Lady, unless you would like one instead.”

“That’s nothing, I’ve had people ask me for,” Natsu stopped to think for a minute, counting the drinks off on his fingers, “Red-headed Sluts, Cocksucking Cowboys, Creamy Pussies, Ass, Golden Showers-”

“There’s a drink that’s named Ass?” Sting burst out in laughter, “Now I’m curious, can you make it with what Loke has?”

“Come on, McDreamy,” Gildarts chuckled, “don’t tell me you’ve never tasted Ass before. Actually, on second thought, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know what the Half Pint gets up to in that department.”

“What makes you think it would have been Rogue?” Sting challenged, making Gray wonder how much he’d already had to drink.”

“Please! I’d bet 10 million jewel that you were each other’s firsts.”

The sheepish glance that passed between the two men was enough to send everyone else off into a fit of giggles.

“Well, it’s not like you have that kind of money anyway,” Sting grumbled.

“Who cares? There’s nothing wrong with that, Lisanna and I were each other’s firsts,” Natsu shrugged, coming to their defense. He sipped his drink calmly, receiving a beaming smile from Sting. “I think it’s romantic.”

“Fun fact,” Rogue smirked suggestively at the edge of his glass, “remember that double date we had in Edolas?”

Natsu squinted as he recalled the event, flashing a wide grin at Sting when he put two and two together. “Really?! Did my advice motivate you that much?”

Sting didn’t respond, only offered his fist so Natsu could bump it.

“And today, on ‘Too Much Information’... “Gray sighed, regretting opening his mouth the second he noticed the mischief in his brother’s eyes.

“I still remember the exact date, it was on your birthday.” Rogue had trouble holding back his laughter.

“Well, at least someone had fun that day,” Gray shrugged in response, sitting next to Natsu and grabbing his hand. “Just tell me it wasn’t on my bed.”

“Yes, Gray, I totally brought your bed over to Edolas.”

“Hey, it’s a comfy bed,” Gray grinned, giving his brother a wink.

“Oh, we know!” Sting retorted, waggling his eyebrows at Gray, “I stayed in your room for months.”

Okay, that bothered him a teensy bit more. “Don’t look at me like that, you look idiotic,” Gray groused.

“Well, this is fun and all, but I get the feeling those two are going to have the least amount of dirt, so why don’t we make things more interesting? We could play a game?” Loke suggested, taking a few bottles of liquor out of the cabinet and placing them on the counter.

His suggestion was received by groans, “A game, really? What are we fourteen?” Lyon asked, frowning as Loke sat down next to him and put his arm around his shoulders.

“A game could be fun,” Gildarts agreed, “You got any shot glasses?”

“I bought some of those plastic ones,” Loke got up and looked through some shopping bags that were on the kitchen counter, returning with a package of red plastic shot glasses and some snacks to replenish the ones that had already been devoured.

Gray could feel Natsu squeezing his hand tightly and turned to see that he looked irritated. “It might not be so bad,” he mouthed. Natsu rolled his eyes in response but loosened his grip.

“Hey, Natsu, can you mix up some shots with this stuff?” Gildarts asked, flashing one of his brilliant smiles, and Gray could only hide his laugh, knowing full well that Natsu couldn’t say no to him.

“Whatever, I got paid for the night, so I might as well work.” He got up and looked at the contents of the liquor cabinet, pulling out bottle after bottle and placing them on the counter with the ones Loke had already set out.

Gray could see they were about to get screwed by the wicked gleam in his boyfriend’s eyes. Natsu had the uncanny ability to make amazingly strong drinks that tasted just like any other, if he wanted to he could make you incredibly drunk in only two drinks, Gray was terrified to think of what he could do with shots. Seeing as he didn’t particularly want to be there, Gray could see him knocking them all out in a few rounds.

“Oh!” Sting bounced on the sofa, “Can you do one of those shots that you set on fire? I’ve always wanted to try one of those!”

“No!” Loke, Gray, and Lyon all yelled out, “No fire!”

“Why do I get the feeling that went horribly wrong one time?” Rogue quipped, laughing at the three men’s expressions.

“Alright, what type of game are you going to play, one where everyone drinks or one with a punishment shot?” Natsu peered at Loke, waiting for a response.

“You’re playing too, aren’t you?” Sting asked.

“I don’t really drink all that much,” Natsu replied, relenting when he saw the disappointment on everyone’s faces, “but I guess I could play a few rounds.”

“Alright, let’s play ‘Never have I ever,’ “Loke suggested, “I assume everyone knows how to play?”

Sting looked confused, and before anyone could explain, Rogue spoke up.

“Never have I ever had a drink called Ass,” Rogue explained, “If you have, you drink. If you haven’t, you don’t. It’s pretty simple.”

Sting nodded his understanding, and no one objected to the idea.

“One where everyone drinks then,” Natsu muttered, starting to mix up shots. He soon placed a small cup in front of everyone and moved the bottles to the coffee table so he could refill them easily.

“Who’s going to start?” Gildarts glanced at the other men expectantly.

“I suppose Loke should, it’s his party after all,” Lyon suggested, and the others agreed.

“Hmm, let’s see, never have I ever had sex in a public place,” Loke grinned, looking quite proud of himself as he waited to see who drank and who didn’t.

“Wait,” Rogue objected, hesitating to bring his cup to his lips, “let’s make sure we’re all on the same page when it comes to the definition of sex for the sake of this game.”

Gildarts shrugged and drank anyway, before Loke established, “Anything and everything that has the intention of getting yourself or someone else off.” With delight, he looked on as everyone took their shots, joining them because he didn’t want to fall behind. “I want to hear stories later,” he giggled. “Damn Dragneel, you trying to kill us?”

“If I was trying to kill you, I would have mixed you a different one,” Natsu snarked as he refilled the cups, “Who’s next?”

“Never have I ever asked Lyon for divorce advice,” Lyon smirked.

“Booring,” Gildarts cried out.

“I don’t know, I got exactly who I wanted,” Lyon grinned, watching Gray, Loke, Gildarts, and Rogue drink.

“Rogue? Something I should know?” Sting looked like a kicked puppy, making Rogue glare at Lyon.

“You did that on purpose!” Rogue accused even as he hurried to explain, “I was asking him about Gray’s stuff.”

Gray started to laugh at Gildarts, “You’re not even married yet!”

“Never too early to learn about your options,” Gildarts winked, “I also was asking about yours, though. Targeting is deserving of some punishment, I think. Let’s see,” he spoke ever so innocently, stroking his chin.” Never have I ever had homosexual thoughts about someone in this room.”

Everyone groaned as they grabbed their small cups, but Gildarts seemed to only be interested in Lyon’s response. When a minute had passed, and Lyon made no move to drink, Gray spoke up sweetly, “Hey Natsu, can you make Lyon another shot?”

Rogue began to giggle as Sting looked around in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“If you get caught in a lie, you have to have an extra shot,” Gray explained, still engaging in a staring contest with his roommate.

“I fucking hate you,” Lyon spat before taking both shots and refusing to comment on all the badgering he received about the subject of said thoughts.

Natsu provided more refills, and they waited for Rogue to take his turn.

“Never have I ever had someone walk in when I was performing sexual acts on someone else-” he winked at Lyon before turning to Sting with a smug grin and adding, “or myself.”

“Never have I ever learned how to knock!” Sting snapped, his cheeks flushing with humiliation.

Lyon stared at Gray in disbelief, “I thought you promised never to say anything about that!”

“He didn’t,” Rogue assured him, “Juvia did.”

Rogue had managed to get Gildarts, Lyon, Loke, Sting, and Natsu, leaving him looking quite pleased with himself.

“Okay, my turn,” Sting called excitedly, and it was obvious from the way he gave Rogue the side-eye that he was coming after him in retaliation. “Never have I never lied to make a move on someone!” He cast a look of judgment at his husband.

Gildarts and Loke raised their cups at each other in mutual understanding before downing their shots, while Lyon snickered and made sure that Gray was drinking his.

“You make it sound terrible, it was just a white lie,” Rogue rolled his eyes and drank, blinking slowly as he was hit by the effects of Natsu’s devastating mix.

“Alright, Natsu, you’re off mixing duty. At this rate, we’ll all pass out by the end of the second round,” Loke complained, “Besides, Gildarts and I made a drink earlier, and it should be chilled enough by now.”

Loke went into his kitchen with Gildarts following after him. Gray could hear the two of them laughing about something but paid them no mind. Now that Natsu wasn’t playing bartender, he had nudged him onto his lap and was busy kissing him.

Natsu returned it, parting his lips for more. They’d finally started getting a little bit physical in the last few weeks, and for Gray, it beat any high he’d ever experienced. He knew enough to take it easy, Natsu was still getting used to dating a guy, and Gray didn’t want to scare him away. As far as he was concerned, they had all the time in the world. He kept kissing until he became aware of someone clearing their throat.

“You guys done?” Loke raised an eyebrow, although he was also smiling.

“Nope,” Gray replied, hugging Natsu to his chest and letting go, “Now I am.”

Loke rolled his eyes and muttered “honeymoon period,” under his breath. Gildarts trailed after him setting cups on the table that Loke then filled from the pitcher he was holding.

“What’s so special about this drink?” Lyon grabbed the cup and sniffed it before setting it down, “It better not have something gross in it like a worm or something.”

“It’s not tequila, Lyon,” Loke mocked, “It’s actually called Screaming Orgasm, oh I should have asked, is anyone here lactose intolerant? No? Good.”

Gray could tell Loke was up to something, but he wasn’t sure what, “What’s in it?”

“It’s like you guys don’t trust me, I’m hurt. I told you, Gildarts helped me make it.”

“Yeah, that actually makes me trust it less.”

“Here,” Gildarts poured some in his cup and drank it, “Satisfied, you big baby?”

Gray still had some misgivings, but he kept them to himself. The game continued, and it was now his turn. He tried to think of something that was likely to get everyone.

“Never have I ever been hit on while at work,” Gray poked Natsu playfully, teasing, “Given how often it happens to you, you might want to drink twice, love.”

“In that case, you should probably drink too,” Natsu suggested with a knowing smile.

Gray raised his glass in mock salute and took a drink.

Everyone grabbed their cups full of Loke’s drink and sipped it.

“This is pretty good,” Sting commented, causing Loke and Gildarts to giggle. “I still don’t get this game, is the person who asks supposed to have done the thing or not?” his voice was becoming more slurred with every drink.

“I don’t think it really matters, the goal is to get drunk after all,” Loke pointed out.

“Well, if you’re caught in a lie, you’re meant to take two shots, I think that should apply to the askers too,” Lyon declared.

“Alright, Natsu, you’re up, make it a good one,” Loke encouraged.

Natsu giggled into Gray’s chest, “Uhm, what should I ask?”

Gray shrugged. holding him close and feeling the warmth of his body against his, “Anything you want.”

“Uhm, never have I ever gone to college,” Natsu laughed as he realized he’d just managed to get everyone while still telling the truth.

Everyone groaned but took another drink, and Natsu joined them, agreeing with Sting that the drink tasted good.

“You two are sugar freaks,” Loke shook his head, noticing the growing pile of cupcake and candy wrappers in front of them.

“Okay, my turn,” Loke announced, rubbing his hands together in glee while avoiding looking at Gildarts. “Never have I ever swallowed another guy’s cum.”

Sting, Gray, Rogue, and Gildarts all rolled their eyes at Loke’s infantile antics but drank anyway. Loke, however, wasn’t focused on any of them. His eyes were set on Lyon, who met his eyes with a shrug.

“Well, now you have,” Loke’s laughter rang loud in the otherwise silent room as he dropped a book on the coffee table.

Semenology - The Semen Bartender’s Handbook

“Your faces, oh my god, I want to take a picture,” Gildarts managed through his guffaws.

“The fuck?” Gray got up from his seat and grabbed the book, skimming it quickly.

It took him a moment to think about Natsu. He looked back to the sofa, taking in the way his boyfriend was curled in on himself. Natsu’s eyes were open wide, and while he didn’t precisely look disgusted, he certainly didn’t look pleased either. Gray was furious, especially when he realized Lyon didn’t look much better.

“I call bluff,” Rogue slurred and swayed a little as he grabbed the pitcher for closer inspection, “there’s no cum in this.”

Gildarts quickly came up next to him to sit him back down on the sofa before he lost his balance. “Don’t spill it, there’s top brand liquor in there,” he scolded, putting the pitcher safely back on the table. “No more for you.”

“Is he right, though?” Lyon wondered, begrudgingly trying to focus on the taste in his mouth to determine if it was off in any way.

“Of course he is!” Sting stated confidently, “There’s no way you would’ve mixed your juices in there…” His confidence faltered as he looked back and forth between Loke and Gildarts. “Right?”

“Nah, we were just fucking with you, there’s no spunk in the drink. Loke found the book at some yard sale, and we thought it would make for a funny prank.”

“Well, it was in terrible taste,” Lyon pointed out, snickering when he realized what he’d said.

“Juices?!” Rogue made fun of his husband, “I swear to God I better never hear you saying those words ever again.”

“There are a lot worse ways to say cum,” Sting shrugged, ready to name a few, but Rogue was quick to pounce on him, starting a wrestling match as he tried to stop Sting from yelling obscenities by clapping a hand over his mouth.

“Seriously, have none of you ever heard of the phrase ‘get a room’?” Lyon rolled his eyes. He glanced at Loke, “Well, at least you haven’t completely fallen out of grace...Yet.”

“I’m sorry, guys,” Loke murmured, directing his apologies to Lyon, and to Natsu specifically. He must’ve noticed his less than enthused reaction as well, and looked genuinely regretful. “When we planned this, I didn’t realize you were coming, and you seemed okay with all the other stuff, so I didn’t think you’d be upset.”

Gray was about to add his opinion when Natsu squeezed his arm, “It’s fine, apology accepted. I’ve actually heard of this book, had an older guy request some drink from it once, to which I replied fuck no. Apparently, age is a factor in the taste.”

“Age of the drink? Or the uh…supplier,” Sting wondered, dreading the answer no matter what it was going to be.

“Supplier. That’s why he asked me instead of doing it himself,” Natsu grabbed the book off the table, skimming through it until he came to the appropriate page and showing it to Sting, who cringed and began flipping pages warily.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by...whoever the fuck thought all this shit up, or just plain disgusted. But this gives a whole new meaning to the word cocktail.”

Natsu laughed and relaxed again, but Gray knew that despite the way he had acted in front of the others, he was feeling uncomfortable. He hadn’t exactly been looking forward to coming to Loke’s party in the first place, and honestly, neither had Gray. He’d much rather have spent tonight with just the two of them, the ill-advised prank had only reinforced that thought.

“Oh please,” Loke scoffed at Sting, showing his usual mischievous demeanor again. “Don’t tell me you’re not at least a little bit curious as to how it tastes!”

Sting considered it for a moment, chewing at his bottom lip. “Nah, I’m pretty sure those flavors don’t go together.”

“You don’t know that if you don’t try,” Loke challenged, filling another cup with the liquor from the pitcher, raising an eyebrow as he offered it to Sting.

“Why don’t you try it?” Rogue narrowed his eyes at Loke, saving Sting from the potential peer pressure, “It’s your party, your book, and it was your prank.”

Everyone awaited Loke’s response expectantly. Gildarts was practically on the edge of his seat, eyes twinkling with merriment as he watched the situation unfold. Lyon was pressing his lips together to hide a smirk of satisfaction, Sting was holding his breath, stuck between Rogue and Loke’s staredown.

“Fine,” Loke offered a bitter smile, refusing to back down, “be right back,” and he disappeared into the bathroom under the sound of Gildarts’ hysterical laughter.

“Man, did that backfire on him!” he wheezed, slapping his knee in enjoyment. “Nice save, Half Pint! McDreamy owes you a special thank you later!”

Rogue was already flushed from the alcohol intake but turned a shade darker, yelling something about inappropriate comments and family connections to Gildarts, but Gray tuned it out.

This was his cue to leave, he wasn’t about to stick around for more embarrassing conversations and watching Loke drink the cursed mix of liquor and his own bodily fluids, and he doubted that Natsu would want to stay any longer than he already had.

“Oh look, it’s bail ‘o clock,” he quipped, getting up and pulling Natsu along with him as he looked at his wrist. “We really should go.”

Natsu smiled at him gratefully, lacing their fingers together and waving at their friends, “Night guys, get home safely!”

Gray looked at Lyon, raising his eyebrows in question, wanting to know if he was coming or not. Lyon made himself comfortable on the sofa, with his arms and legs crossed. It was clear that he’d be staying a little longer.

“I’ll see you later, there’s no way I’m missing this.” The grin on his face told Gray that he was never going to let Loke live this down.

0-0

“Shall I call you a cab?” Gray asked as they waited for the elevator, “Someone made the drinks too strong, so I can’t drive you home.” He grabbed his phone and noticed the time, it was still early, and he didn’t like the idea of being all by himself in Lyon’s apartment, so he added, “Or we can hang out at my place for a while before you go?”

Once he’d spoken the words, he realized how it must’ve sounded after all the drinking and the sex-related topics, not to mention they’d be having the apartment all to themselves. No kids, no Erza or Lyon. He wanted to set the record straight, tell Natsu that his intentions weren’t anything like that, but to his surprise, Natsu agreed.

“Sure, I wouldn’t have been home yet if I’d been working anyway. And I did call to ask if you wanted to hang out earlier.”

“Right.”

The elevator arrived, and they got in. Gray pressed the button to the correct floor, trying to keep his thoughts from straying in the wrong direction. “Crazy night, huh?” he chuckled, wanting to break the silence between them, “how many cupcakes did you end up eating?”

“Hey, those were good!” Natsu defended himself.

“Really? I wouldn’t know, you and Sting claimed them all.”

Natsu smirked, “You snooze, you lose.”

They arrived at the apartment, stepping into the dark hallway after Gray had overcome his nervous struggle with the keys. He flicked on the lights and took off his shoes, moving out of the way so Natsu could do the same.

“Hey, do you mind if I use the restroom?” Natsu called out from behind him, still taking off his shoes.

“You know where it is,” Gray shrugged, walking into the living room and sitting on the sofa as he waited for Natsu to return.

His thoughts were inevitably moving to how he was going to handle this situation without fucking things up between them. Should they watch TV? That was kind of lame, considering they seldom got to spend any kind of time alone together, but then again, they’d talked about going slow. He could feel his brow furrowing as his thoughts continued to fight between what he would like and what he should do.

“You know if you keep making that face, it might stay that way,” Natsu grinned, plopping himself on the sofa next to him and grabbing his hand.

“Did you manage to have any fun at that party?” Gray wondered, “That was low even for Loke.”

“I did,” Natsu murmured, “I especially liked this part.”

Natsu climbed on Gray’s lap sitting as he had before, and Gray put his arms around him slowly, but unlike at the party, his body was tense.

He could hear Natsu laughing softly, “Hey, moron, stop that.”

Gray turned towards him, wanting to explain himself, but Natsu put a finger on his lips. “I know I’m not ready for a lot, but I like where we are, and if you do something I’m not ready for, I’ll tell you, alright?”

Gray nodded his approval, and he soon felt the soft brush of Natsu’s lips against his. He relaxed, returning the touch until once again, they were immersed in a world of soft sighs and caresses.

It probably wouldn’t be long before Lyon would return and interrupt their moment of bliss, and with Natsu’s words on his mind, Gray wanted to make sure they enjoyed it to the fullest while it lasted.

A/N: In case you were wondering, that book actually exists. We've skimmed it, unfortunately, because we now possess knowledge we cannot unlearn. But hey, to each their own, if you find your alcoholic beverages lacking in protein, it's a natural and somewhat easily accessible option.

#fairy tail #ftdadsau #gratsuweekend2020 #ftlgbtales #gratsu #stingue #lyoke #fics #prompt: joke #natsu & sting #lyon & gray #rogue & gray #gildarts & loke #pranks #cursed fic

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kokobussy · 7 years ago

Text

The New Guy Pt. 2 - Chen x Reader

summary: Even before Minseok came along, Jongdae’s always had a thing for you.

warnings: sub!chen, dom!reader, humiliation, pain kink, bdsm, some cock torture but not too hard so don’t let that scare you lol

word count: 6.9k

a/n: sorry it took a million years but here’s the sequel you guys wanted! I hope you like it! Link to Pt. 1 is here

Jongdae’s worked here for five years now. Unlike a lot of his peers, he didn’t have to intern in order to work for Tokki Corporation. Surprisingly enough his internet reputation got him the job more so than his official GPA. Back in his college days, Jongdae coded anything from website layouts to viruses, ranging in severity and design, just to keep his belly fed. Over time his popularity surpassed him within the coding community for doing just about anything for money. Sure it wasn’t always good, but he was struggling just like everyone else and had to find a way to make end’s meat. As graduation reared its ugly head, Jongdae realized that in the real world he wouldn’t be able to get by with popularity and occasional payments alone. Before he could even upload his application, he received an email from the Tokki Corporation asking for an interview. Their company had been under cyber attacks lately due to...a bunch of nonsense that he hadn’t really paid attention to honestly. From what he did gather it sounded like easy stuff, child’s play, and would probably only take a couple of hours to correct.

When Jongdae arrived at the corporation’s massive building, he had shakily reported that he was there for an interview. Being fresh out of college Jongdae only had ill-fitting slacks and a baggy button down from a local Good Will to wear. The secretary had eyed him incredulously, probably chalking him up to be another throw-away-hire, and made a quick phone call. His interview took place at the highest office in the building, overlooking what seemed like the entirety of Seoul judging by how high it was. A man sat behind a large glass desk, back facing the city as if it meant nothing, and looked over Jongdae’s printed out resume. Jongdae stood there like an idiot, looking around the office in awe and wondering if everyone’s office looked like this here. Despite the regality of said office, he couldn’t help but notice the small rabbits littered around. Rabbit plushies and figurines, ranging in size, littered around the book case and desk and even the guy’s writing utensils.The man, probably the interview, looked at him pointedly until Jongdae sat down in a smaller chair just in front of his desk, slightly looking up at the man.

The interview process was incredibly quick. Some general questions were asked, questions that Jongdae “uhh”-ed and “uhm”-ed through as he shook like a leaf in his seat, but the interviewer seemed to disregard them entirely. Finally the interviewer placed the resume down and truly looked at Jongdae for the first time since he came in and said,”I’m Junmyeon by the way and I’ve seen what you can do. We’ve been following you for a while now.” Now at that point Jongdae nearly shit himself. He’s not afraid to admit it. Why the fuck would this major company be watching him? Every conspiracy theory known to man flowed into his mind from the men in black to the Illuminati, but Junmyeon immediately debunked those. “I’m a fan of your work,” he said with a smile,”I’ve already made my decision. I’d like you to lead our IT team.” After that one interview, Jongdae had the job in the bag. So he came to this company straight out of college with an open mind and an eager heart, ready to take adulthood on by the horns. He made plenty of friends inside the company and outside, rented out a one bedroom, and even started his adult life.

Everything came a little too easily though. Jongdae did his job well and he was proud of that, but over time everything seemed to become dull. As he grew more experienced in his role, made friends at the company, and even seemingly conquered adult life and all its misfortunes, Jongdae grew bored. He got tired of the routine, tired of coming to the same sad basement every day, tired of the leaky coffee machine that - depending on its mood- would shock him, and especially tired of Oh Sehun calling the IT line to taunt him and immediately hang up before Jongdae could come up with a well thought out response. Sehun and Jongdae began officially working for the company around the same time, spending the first two weeks together during orientation in order to “bond” as a team despite them being in completely different departments. The two of them had been friends, genuinely, for a little while, but eventually they grew apart once they were sorted into their own departments. Jongdae remembers you very clearly from orientation, way too nice to be Sehun’s friend and laughing at all of Jongdae’s stupid jokes. He remembers you trying your hardest to keep the peace when things got too heated between him and Sehun. He remembers you, every bit of sweet and charming, looking at him like he was something special.

After orientation though, Jongdae hadn’t seen much of you. There was really no reason to. The two of you weren’t that close and he didn’t really have any reason to go to the upper levels of the building since he could just send any of his employees in his stead. You eventually slipped into the very corner of Jongdae’s mind, a hazy lustful memory that sometimes came up when he couldn’t sleep at night and needed to rub one out.

But, of course, one day it all changed.

One particular day after Jongdae got to work late, received a horrible sting from the terribly mean coffee machine, and spilled said coffee on his khakis, he got another stupid call from Sehun. It wasn’t so much as what Sehun said exactly, but more the fact that he almost never wants to deal with Sehun’s antics. These phone calls usually ranged from a dig at Jongdae’s fashion sense, even though Sehun hasn’t seen him in a while, to random silly names in a childish voice that grates his nerves and before Jongdae can think of a good response, Sehun hangs up accordingly. But Jongdae was already having a terrible day. So with all the anger and frustration he could muster, he headed upstairs to give the asshole a piece of his mind. When he finally got there 10 minutes later, after walking up and heaving over numerous flights of stairs due to maintenance on the main elevator (somehow the only elevator that went down to the basement), Jongdae rushed through the halls of Human Resources to figure out how exactly to handle this situation.

In his anger he didn’t think to simply call one of the managers or even shoot an email. Like an idiot, he rushed up here only to slowly realize that maybe this isn’t exactly the most professional approach. His furious stomps turn into timid steps as he grows more aware of his surroundings. Employees hustle their way back and forth from their desks, simply moving to the side to avoid Jongdae and his confusion to do their jobs. Jongdae begins feeling out of place as more and more people shoot glances his way, at his coffee stained khakis and flustered face. He’s completely out of his comfort zone, upstairs with the other departments that made this company, and it’s kind of getting to him.

The IT department is located in the very bowels of the building, far away from all the regular workers here, and the distinction is very noticeable. None of the other workers really even knew what the IT department did besides the basics like fixing computers or getting malware off of Wu Kris’ porn ridden desktop a little too often. The department itself was filled with nice enough people who didn’t really know how to socialize, much less fix their weird reputation of being “troll people”. Jongdae likes to think he’s different and loves proving these people wrong by showing how handsome, talented, and outgoing he is. While Jongdae had reasonable social skills, he did tend to get flustered easily in social situations. His social anxiety is something he constantly denies and struggles with, refusing to admit that he’s as awkward as his employees. Suddenly a familiar voice pulls him out of his reverie, nearly making him jump out of his slightly damp skin.

“Hey! Do you need help with something?”

There are offices all around him, the amount of people flowing in and out and about them confusing him all the more, but a soft “Over here!” guides him to a large office with an open wooden door. He sees a small streetview of the city in a small window before his eyes land on you. Your suit, buttons undone a little too low to be professional, your golden name plate, bold and starking on your desk, and your smile, just as sweet as he remembered.

“Jongdae?”

Before his mind can catch up with him, Jongdae manages a smile and a friendly, “Jesus, Y/N, is that you? I haven’t seen you in forever!”

As Jongdae steps into the room, doing his best to come off as casual and not at all as nervous as he feels, he’s met with the very last person he wants to see. Sehun turns around in his chair, widening his eyes in surprise, as he says,“Kim? What are you doing up here?”

God. Jongdae can’t tell if he’s actually asking or just being an asshole, but whatever Sehun’s doing, Jongdae has entirely thought out an eloquent ‘fuck you’ that’ll send Sehun reeling. Somehow despite the eloquent and well thought out ‘fuck you’ he planned, Jongdae can feel his face flushing more and more the longer the two of you stare at him. There’s an awkward pause which Jongdae can feel in the very pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know what to say. He genuinely wasn’t expecting you to be one of the main managers now and he certainly wasn’t expecting Sehun, of all people, to be a part of the HR department.

With this sudden change, Jongdae feels his heart race, his skin prickle with nerves he didn’t realize were there. Your eyes, darker than he remembers, roll over his form and take him in for what he is. A nervous idiot who apparently doesn’t know how to talk to people. When your gaze moves to Sehun, you lightly smack his arm and nod at the door before saying,”I’ll see you later for lunch.”

Sehun’s eyes widen slightly, looking between you and Jongdae before landing on you once again, and he pouts,”Nooo! don’t make me leave. Look at his chinos. Let me have this.”

For some reason, despite his nerves, Jongdae feels the need to interject,“They’re khakis.”

“You would think that.”

You lightly smack Sehun again and nod at the door,”Goodbye, Sehunnie.” He leaves without further prodding, but not before snorting at Jongdae’s general direction and closing the door behind him. The two of you are left there, alone in your office, with the hum of afternoon traffic filtering in from outside.

“You can sit down, Jongdae.”

Your voice is more comforting than he remembers, something about it almost immediately calming the pressure building up in his body, the need to climb out of his own skin. Jongdae sinks into the very seat that Sehun previously occupied, resting against the arm chair and spreading his legs slightly. The attempt to look bigger than he really is isn’t lost on you, but you let him get comfortable without protest.

You’ve been working in HR for a few years now and have finally become one of the managers in your department. You worked very hard to get to where you are and you’re incredibly proud of yourself. A major part of your job is ensuring that everyone is comfortable in their workspace. The reason why you’re so good at your job is because of how observant you are as well as your ability to calm people down. There’s a heady lavender scent filling the walls of your office, a thick smell that lulls Jongdae’s senses. You have little knick knacks and pictures littered around the space to make your office appear more like a casual place than what it actually was. Here in the middle of everything is Jongdae, an old friend from orientation.

Jongdae sparks up small talk, trying desperately to get the attention off of him and onto something else, as he looks around the room. You entertain him, of course, and occasionally glance at the way he picks at an escaped thread on your arm chair. He’s more handsome than you remember, blonde tresses contrasting nicely with his skin.

When the two of you were new hires, you’d been attracted to Jongdae. You laughed at his jokes, went out of your way to hang out with him, and even met up with him a few times outside of work, but either he was incredibly oblivious or simply wasn’t interested. Eventually you gave up your pursuit and instead focused on work, burying yourself in your workload and sure enough coming out on top. The two of you move from small talk to actual topics of conversation to internet communities. Jongdae had entirely forgotten why he was so attracted to you aside from your figure. Your sense of humor is infectious and probably the weirdest he’s ever seen. The two of you are involved in a lot of the same online communities, Jongdae’s being a little more extreme and exclusive than yours.

So when the topic of memes came up, all of the awkwardness and tension completely dissolved. You both laughed, showing each other memes uglier and more obscure than the last, and soon time began to pass without the two of you really noticing. Soon there’s a knock on your door, signaling the actual work that needed to be done and the reason why the two of you were in the first place. As Jongdae stands up, apologizing profusely for distracting you and exchanging usernames so he could add you later on Reddit, you notice the stain on his khakis. “Oh right. what happened anyway?” you ask, eyes not really leaving his crotch.

He follows your gaze to his khakis - chinos - and huffs,”Fuck, I almost forgot. Long story short, the coffee pot downstairs fucking sucks and we need to buy another one.” As you nod along to his explanation, you stand from your desk and make your way towards another chair in the corner of your office. Now that Jongdae can see you, really see you, he almost pops a chub right there in his fucking khakis. Chinos. Whatever. Your buttoned shirt neatly tucks into slacks that hug your frame nicely, shaping your figure into something thicker and sexier than Jongdae previously remembers. Your legs, God your legs, go on for miles and miles before they’re met with those tall black heels that bring the entire look together. Weak at the knees, Jongdae can’t help but stare at your curvaceous figure, a familiar feeling stirring in the very pit of his stomach.

You blatantly and unabashedly bend down to grab something out of your purse, pretending to dig around as the Tide To Go pen remains in your hand. After a tension fills the room, varying from the one earlier, you stand up fully and make your way over to Jongdae. You smirk as you catch the very last second of Jongdae’s gaze moving from your ass to your face before holding out the small pen. “Here,” you say as you stare down at the stain,”it’ll get just about anything off.” The two of you stare at each other for a time, not really saying a word as a mutual understanding begins to form. Jongdae takes the pen out of your hand, his own confidence beginning to fade once your professional front fades and turns into something he’s never seen before. Your eyes seem darker as they take him in now, consuming every inch of him as they roam. He loves it though, loves the attention he’s getting from you, loves that your eyes are on him and him only. There’s another insistent knock before the door opens altogether, a frustrated and huffy Sehun appearing in the doorway. “I swear to God, Y/N, if I don’t get noodles immediately I will die.”

After being reunited once again, there are a series of convenient run-ins that you knew for a fact were planned. How did you know? Because you’re the only planning said run-ins, having Sehun make a phone call to Jongdae every single time a computer so much as froze. On the days that Jongdae needed to be called, you made sure to wear your best outfits, to smile especially bright when he looked absolutely exasperated as Sehun pestered him as he worked on Baekhun’s computer, and to make sure that he had the perfect view of you walking away. When Jongdae made trips upstairs to fix computers that 9 times out of 10 weren’t actually broken, he’d see glimpses of your form walking amongst the halls or overhear your voice not too far away. No matter where he is, you’re somehow always close by.

Soon Sehun’s daily annoying calls turn into sort of productive ones. He somehow keeps having computer trouble and specifically asks for Jongdae himself each and every time. At the possibility of seeing you and the threat of a single and possibly fatal phone call to Junmyeon, who would do anything for that annoying twink, Jongdae has to come each and every time. Each and every time Jongdae goes, the “issues” that Sehun has are almost always an easy fix: turning the computer off and on again when it froze, stop downloading malware from weird websites so the computer won’t freeze, stop going on weird websites, stop playing dress up Barbie games on said weird websites, reducing the zoom from 150% to 75%, or simply plugging the desktop into the outlet. With each trip you and Jongdae got closer and closer. From saying a polite hello in the hallways as the two of you passed each other to awkward yet eager small talk to inside jokes and texting. Jongdae, ever determined, returned every hello, talked about the weather for as long as he could, and replied to each and every text in a timely manner. He’d do anything to make you smile, anything to see your ass in slacks and A-lines as you walk away with that sashay in your hips he loves so fucking much.

During this last trip where Sehun literally jammed a Wham! CD into the disk tray of his desktop, the fucker isn’t even there. When Jongdae arrives at his desk, exasperated and tired, he sees you, conveniently leaning against Sehun’s desk and scrolling through your phone. Or at least pretending to. Jongdae walks to the desk, trying and failing to come up with some sort of tsundere vibe that would impress you. All he manages is a squeaky and pathetic,”H-hey.” You already know he’s there, could already feel the tension in his shoulders from a mile away, but smile up at him in surprise anyway.

“Hey! So Sehun had to run out for a second-”

But at the mention of Sehun and his general headassery, the nervousness fades into annoyance.

“He went out for his ‘second’ lunch didn’t he?”

“-....okay, yeah. He should be back by now.”

“He won’t be back for the rest of the day.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s Sehun.”

After ripping the CD out of the desktop’s tray, Jongdae takes the time to look at you, really look at you, while you’re rambling about something that happened in the office today. He thinks about how months ago he had absolutely no idea who you really were. You were just an acquaintance, a faded memory for his occasional spank bank, but in the time he’s come to know you, he sees you’re much more than that. The two of you are friends, genuinely friends, and it’s something that Jongdae is incredibly grateful for. Of course he still finds you attractive, but as the two of you got closer, Jongdae realizes that he isn’t just interested in your cup size or the shape of your ass in those yoga pants you wear every single time he comes over for a Futurama marathon. While you go on and on about how Kris made a pass at you, the HR manager, Jongdae makes a reference to the sloth meme that’s been your joke for the past few days just to make you laugh. Of course you laugh, letting out the cutest and ugliest snort he’s ever heard, and that’s when he realizes it. He cares about you. Like, actually cares about you. Some time between hanging back at the office until either of you were done to get drinks after work and him teaching you how to play Magic the Gathering with old friends, he’d developed real actual feelings.

It’s a weird feeling, a weird thing to realize while you’re ugly laughing so loud that most of your office is looking at the two of you, but he kinda likes it. Kinda likes that he likes you. Maybe things weren’t so boring after all. That day Jongdae knew he had to ask you out, but just couldn’t figure out when. He had plenty of opportunities to, but he just couldn’t manage. Any time the two of you texted each other late at night or when you find solace in his coat while the two of you brave the harsh winter weather during your lunch break, or even during sorta cuddling but not really sessions while the two of you watched Firefly, Jongdae had the chance to ask you out but he was never brave enough to. He simply couldn’t gather the courage to do it.

It happens around Christmas Eve. The two of you were the only ones left in the building, save for some Janitorial staff who would also be gone soon, finishing up work that needed to be done before the New Year. With nowhere to go, the two of you decided to spend Christmas together with large cups of egg nog and a back and forth of tragic backstories that revealed the reason why you weren’t spending time with your families. When he walks into your office, Jongdae sees a mostly empty space that’s lost all remnants of you. All that’s left is the desk, a bookshelf, and one of your old chairs. All of the knick knacks and books are gone now, the fading scent of lavender being the only remaining remnant of your time there. You’re sitting in the middle of everything, working hard at your desk, as if none of your things are gone. Jongdae’s mind races to a variety of situations, most pertaining to you leaving and never coming back, so he asks,“Are you leaving?” Even though he doesn’t know the answer to this question, his heart aches something fierce. The idea of you leaving, even if he can just see you outside of work, is upsetting and so devastating that he might truly be upset by it.

You shake your head, finishing up what’s left of the possible report you’re typing, and say,”No. Just moving to the other side of the office. I’m gonna have a temporary cubicle with Sehun. Can you shut that door?” While he’s happy that you’re not leaving, his initial reaction to the possibility reveals feelings that are truly undeniable. Somewhere, in all of this, Jongdae suddenly finds a courage that hasn’t been there for most of the day. The two of you are alone in this god forsaken building at night with no Sehun or other colleagues to intervene. It’s here that Jongdae decides maybe, just maybe, this is the time to confess how he feels. To lay everything out on the table bare for you to see. As the soft click of the closing door echoes throughout the office and you get up briefly to grab your things, everything seems to finalize in that moment. He works up the courage to ask you out, thinking of all the ways you could easily reject him with a pitiful look in your eyes, but he wants to at least try. Just so he’s not left with a heartbreaking “what if” for the rest of his life. Jongdae’s eyes look away as he resigns himself to his fate and says,

”Honestly, Y/N, I’ve liked you for a while. Of course I appreciate our friendship and I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but I was wondering if we could go out some time? We could get dinner or something - I mean I know we do that a lot, but I’ll take you somewhere nice and we can just-”

“Jongdae.”

“-dress up or something. But no pressure seriously! It’s fine I get if you’re not into me. Okay you’re not answering me or giving me any sort of tell so maybe I got the wrong idea. We can just forget all of this and move on. I just-”

“Jongdae.”

“-really hope we can still be friends. We can just go back to normal it’s no big deal. Fuck fuck I shouldn’t have said anything now it’s all awkward.”

“Jongdae!”

Jongdae looks up just in time to see your familiar black dress pool on the floor, your black heels kicking the offending fabric away. His eyes wander from your heels to the expanse of your legs, covered in black stockings, to the straps of your garter belt, barely holding onto the thickness of your thighs, to your lacy thong, up the expanse of your stomach, to your matching bra, and finally to your smirk. Your red lipstick, contrasting deliciously against the rest of your ensemble, makes Jongdae almost fucking lose it. Almost. He can’t pretend anymore or brush off your advances and claim it’s all in his head.

He’s here now with you, staring at the most beautiful person he’s ever seen and popping the biggest chub he’s ever had. You reach out for him, grabbing his limp hand and pulling him towards you, and place his hands on your hips. They tighten instantly, the lace bunching up slightly under his hands. Your smirk widens as you take in Jongdae’s shock, the absolute disbelief in his eyes, and you use that to push him down to the floor until he’s kneeling. Jongdae goes willingly, kneeling down immediately, and looks up at you with all the admiration in the world. You run your fingers through his hair and say,“Merry Christmas, Jongdae.”

Jongdae maintains eye contact with you as he lifts up your leg, leaning briefly to kiss your ankle and places the long limb over his shoulder. He stares at your lace covered center, nearly tasting the heat there, and whispers a soft and unbelievable,”Merry Christmas.”

Now, Jongdae hasn’t eaten pussy in a long time. Not since one of his ex girlfriends told him he was absolute shit at it. No matter how much he tried, she’d never fail to put him down and refused to tell him how to improve in any way. She was a bitch anyway, but it always left an impression on him. There’s something about your gaze though, as you look down at him, that makes him squirm with a feeling of complete and total helplessness. As your eyes watch him kiss at your thighs and generally put off what he could only assume is the main event, Jongdae feels a sense of guidance. A sort of safety net that ensures him that you’ll be there to put him back in line if he messes up. That you’ll tell him exactly what he needs to do and how he needs to do it. For some reason there’s a lot of comfort in that fact, comfort that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

There’s a sharp pain in his back that makes him wince. He arches away from it, only for the sharp to grow harsher as it twists. The firmness of it helps him realize that it’s the very edge of your heel digging into his back. “Don’t tease me,” you warn. It’s not a statement or a suggestion. It’s a command, a rule that leaves no space for breaking. So he leans in tentatively and gives little kitten licks, eyes closing as he focuses all his attention on you. You don’t moan or arch your back right away, but you do run your fingers through his blonde tresses again. He can feel your eyes on him, watching him as his licks get bolder and longer against your core. But Jongdae starts getting insecure, starts shrinking away and thinking that maybe he should just end this before it all goes to hell, but you pull him back by his hair to cup his cheek. “It’s okay, baby boy,” you smile, a complete 180 from before.

With renewed confidence, the IT manager gives it one more try. He gives you short kitten licks, nibbling and mouthing at your folds when he gets a little more comfortable. Jongdae’s licks make their way to your clit, honing in when you moan for the first time since you two started this whole thing. From what he can tell, your moans are precious and only delved out when he’s doing a good enough job to pleasure you. So he eagerly continues, trying all types of tricks with his tongue to pull more moans out of you. A handful of them work pretty well so Jongdae performs them again and again in different ways with the same level of incredible excitement. You end up riding his face anyway, grinding against his tongue with a fervor that he can barely keep up with. Your body begins shuddering from the sensations as you cum once and then twice on his tongue. Jongdae, always willing to prove himself, licks up your orgasm and lets out a moan of his own. He sucks at your clit now, letting it go to roll his tongue over the swollen nub, and starts palming himself in his slacks. He never thought he’d be doing this. Never thought he could be eating you out on your desk and getting off to it, getting off on all of it. Just when a hot pressure builds in his tummy, tight and sweet, the very tip of your heel digs into his back again. “Don’t you fucking cum, you pervert.”

The pain alone is enough to push Jongdae over the edge, but he somehow manages to get himself together. He lets go of the tent in his slacks and looks at you, waiting for your next move. You remove your leg from his shoulder with a little bit of help and lean against your desk again with your legs spread and Jongdae helplessly in between them. You cup his cheek briefly, letting a manicured finger brush his lower lip and ask, “Are you being a good boy, Jongdae?”

Now Jongdae’s never really been into bdsm or kink or anything weird like that. He’s never considered anything passed the occasional visit of pink fluffy handcuffs on especially exciting days or spanking. He hasn’t been that kind of guy or at least he never thought he would be. Until now. You towering over him and making him feel small and weak, pathetic even, is the most sexual excitement he’s had in a long time. So now as you hover a heel over the tent in his slacks and frown down at him, Jongdae can’t help but shudder at your appearance as you demand an answer. “Y-yes,” is all he says,”I’m being a good boy.” But that isn’t the right answer. Your heel makes contact with his cock, firm enough to give pleasure but light enough where Jongdae can say it’s too much and push away. He wants to do anything but that. When he doesn’t relent or get up to leave, you press your heel down harder with a lot less room than before. Jongdae cries out, shuddering and closing his eyes tight as he goes. The wet patch forming on his grey slacks where your heel used to be is the only tell of what happened without your permission. His cheeks redden with guilt as a flush slowly makes its way from his face to his neck. The guilt and shame is overwhelming. After dreaming about this moment for months, about seeing you like this and doing anything sexually, how could he fuck up this bad? How could he cum in his pants from that?

You grab him by his hair and pull tight tight tight and Jongdae can only brace himself on your thighs as he gathers his bearings. He feels so sloppy, mussed up hair and tie in a disarray, and dirty, face still covered in your orgasm and softening cock encased in cum stained boxers. Although you’re furious with him, clearly more disappointed than Jongdae is, in the tightness of your hold his cock twitches and bobs for more. He needs more, absolutely needs to see how far the two of you can go with whatever this is, but it won’t happen unless you’re on board too. “You’re a naughty boy, Jongdae. Maybe I should just head home alone if you’re not gonna take this seriously.” Fuck. Jongdae desperately wants to fix this, desperately wants to make you proud of him again, but he just doesn’t know how. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I want it,” he tries as he looks into your slowly approving eyes,”I wanna be a good boy.” You like that answer enough to let him go, but you’re still very disappointed. You release your grip from his hair and take the time to look over your manicured nails and ignore Jongdae entirely. He takes your threat very seriously, your disinterest making it clear that he still has a chance of changing your mind.

“Please, Y/N, please-”

“Mistress.”

“What?”

You don’t repeat yourself and Jongdae’s left trying to figure out what it means in his post orgasmic haze. Then it clicks. “Mistress, please. I’ll do better next time, I promise.”

“Top shelf, towards the back.” Jongdae scrambles, genuinely scrambles, over to your bookshelf towards the door to grab a small foil from the very back of the top shelf. Just how long were you planning this? He tears the small package with his teeth and rolls the lubricated condom onto his cock. When he turns around to face you once again, you’re bent over your desk and looking over your shoulder. Jongdae stares at you for a time, wondering how on earth he got so damn lucky. He’s not quick enough, not taking advantage of this beautiful opportunity, because you say,“If you don’t make me cum, I’ll find someone who will.” Before he realizes it, his legs are moving on their own. Jongdae pulls down your thong, groaning when he has to use a little more force to get it passed your thighs, and pumps at his cock. You wiggle your ass just enough to get him going, but stop when he begins to line up his cock.

The mushroom head presses against your entrance, slowly but surely pushing until Jongdae is entirely sheathed. He’s not huge, but you can still feel him pulsing away. You’re full enough and that’s what matters. Jongdae slowly thrusts, getting used to the tight hot heat, and trying desperately not to cum so soon. He’s only had his hand for the passed few months and no matter how good his hand is, nothing compares to the real thing. You’re impatient though and don’t really care what’s going on with Jongdae. It’s not that you want him to fuck up again, but that’s exactly what you want. The opportunity to punish him, to further humiliate him, is something that you look forward to. There’s no way you’re letting him go after tonight, absolutely no way.

You reach behind you and pinch his thigh, giggling at the unabashed resulting moan he lets out. “Pain slut,” you coo as his hips stutter. The pinch works. Jongdae’s hips move faster and deeper, a concentration going as he focuses on making you feel good. You hold onto your desk and rock your hips to meet his, moaning aloud as Jongdae focuses all of his attention on you. His cock rubs against your walls, slipping out briefly due to his excitement before finding its way back inside of you with a helpful hand. This pace continues, growing more and more brutal as your moans grow louder and uncontrolled. Jongdae moans along with you, at the very feeling of you clamping down on his cock as you cum for the first time. He chases that feeling, angling his hips to hit your g-spot on every single thrust. Your moans ring throughout the office now, along with the sound of skin slapping skin. While you love that Jongdae’s absolutely rocking your world, you want to have even more fun. You bring your hand back once more to pinch and twist Jongdae’s thigh. His hips stutter again as he hisses and cries out, but continues regardless of the newfound pleasurable pain.

“Mistress,” he pants,”I can’t...I can’t do it. Please let me cum.” You’ve got him right where you want him. You smirk as you rock your hips against him and say,”I don’t know, baby. I haven’t cum yet.” Jongdae whines because he knows you’re lying. He’s felt you cum a few times already, your heat gripping his cock viciously while your body jerked and cried out, but now you’re lying.

In the heat of it all, you manage to push Jongdae away from you slightly so that you can sit up without being connected to him. You turn around to face him before sitting on the edge of the desk once again and spreading your legs. You take the time to look at him, really look at him, and smile with something like adoration as you take in his flushed form. Jongdae stands there, unsure but willing, as he looks at you in return. His hand finds his cock, swollen with need, but refuses to stroke as if he’s afraid of disobeying you. Even though he’s only just got into kink and bdsm and the like, he’s surprisingly obedient. “Do you wanna make Mistress feel good?”

Jongdae nods feverently, refusing to move neither his hand nor himself, and waits calmly for you to call him over. You stare at him for a time as his resolve cracks and breaks, whining and pleading tumbling from his swollen lips, “Please, Mistress, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything you want.” In that moment, with his eyes tearing and voice watering, Jongdae is capable of doing just about anything to get what he wants. But it’s Christmas and this weird holiday confession turned into something Jongdae wasn’t at all expecting. So you motion him over, call him a good boy as he slides back into you, and run a hand through his hair as his hips start again. Giving him what he wants does nothing to calm the whines down, Jongdae’s whines get louder if anything as he nears his release. The noises he makes is enough to make you cum again as the need to take care of Jongdae fills you. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you promise, moaning yourself when he brushes against that special spot inside you again,”You’re such a good boy right? Always a good boy.” “A-always a good boy,” he whimpers back at you,”I wanna be your good boy.”

While the feeling of Jongdae grinding against you is enough to make you cum a thousand times over, it’s time to end all of this. You don’t want him dropping in your old office without even really knowing what dropping is. “Cum, baby.” The hand in his hair, the nurturing voice, the wet friction of your pussy sucking him in, it’s too much. With another “good boy” kissed into his mouth, Jongdae cums in the condom. Cums for the second time that night and the hardest time in his entire life.

Aftercare is had on Christmas at your loft downtown after a 15 minute taxi drive. Jongdae is held and cherished and asked questions about what he liked and didn’t like about the night. He liked everything, loved everything, and insisted that the two of you do it again as soon as possible. You promise him a nice date on the day after Christmas with steamed buns. For now, Jongdae is fine with Futurama marathons on Christmas with stew and beer. Jongdae relishes this promise and all of the warm things to come while spooning you especially close that night.

But little does he know that none of these things would come to pass. You wouldn’t get to go on that date you promised. The two of you wouldn’t talk for a time. Sehun’s phone calls would stop coming in abruptly and soon you would be barely around for Jongdae to talk to. The next time Jongdae would see you, truly see you, was when you were with an old friend of his who just started working at the office.

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

Text

Contact Light (1/2)

Emma Swan has never been one for big, overwhelming...anything. And as far as she’s concerned space is both big and overwhelming and just a bit terrifying because she’s fairly certain her connection to gravity is slightly tenuous when he glances in her direction. But that’s neither here nor there because she watches all his stupid space documentaries anyway and keeps letting him glance in her direction and, at some point, she learns the first words uttered by a human being on the moon. Contact light. It’s not common knowledge. That seems, almost, oddly appropriate now.

Rating: Mature for swearing and a copious amount of making out and more swearing and eventually some angst. AN: @onceuponaprincessworld sent the prompt: “Ok, so Killian is new in town and David is inviting him on his house for Thanksgiving where he meets Emma, David's sister, who also happens to be the one for who he moved into town in the first place, with a lot of kisses maybe secret dating or maybe it in start of their dating or whatever you feel like writing! Thanks.” This is...not entirely that and also absurdly long and I have no excuse except that’s how I live my life. They make out a lot. Also living it up on Ao3 if that’s your jam. And if you want to read the rest of the CS prompt-a-thon.

She was going to murder him.

Or strangle him.

Which was kind of on the way to murdering him.

Semantics or whatever.

She hadn’t felt that way in a long time, actual years, and she wasn’t sure if her current murder-like tendencies were because of the smirk on his face or the way his eyes seemed to follow her around the apartment or because she just wanted to make out with him for the rest of the day.

Probably the last one. Definitely the last one.

It still caught her off guard sometimes.

And really at the beginning she would have punched him square in the jaw if he’d even suggested it, but he also probably would have laughed at the idea of it and that probably should have a been a sign.

Something about inevitable or some other word that Emma absolutely did not believe in because this was the real world and not...a Lifetime movie. Although maybe it was if she murdered Killian. There always seemed to be a lot of murder-type plotting in Lifetime movies.

And baby stealing.

She absolutely wasn’t stealing anyone’s baby. Except maybe Ruth Jones who was so goddamn adorable it sometimes hurt to look at her. No. Emma wasn’t stealing a baby.

And she wasn’t going to murder Killian. This was not a Lifetime movie. This was...probably a Hallmark movie or a made-for-Netflix special with lots of sentiment and feelings and lessons learned. Emma absolutely refused to learn any lessons.

“It’s going to be fine, Swan,” Killian promised, the sentiment falling out of his mouth seemingly every other minute and she kept pacing in the middle of her living room.

He caught her around the wrist, pulling her up short and eyeing her with the kind of meaning that didn’t belong in thisbecause there was no name to this, it just was and now it was going to exist in the same city for the first time ever and, maybe, exist in front of her brother.

“We have to follow the rules,” Emma said again. She’d written them down. She made Killian put them in his wallet. “To the letter. For real.” “I’ve understood the other twenty times you’ve told me already, love. Trust me, I’ve got it.” She wasn’t sure she believed him. Or, rather, she wasn’t sure she believed herself because he’d come to Portland for her, but no one else knew that and no one else could know that because David might have an actual aneurysm if he found out his little sister and his best friend had been doing...whatever – everything – right under his nose for the better part of the last two years.

“Yeah?” Emma asked, hating how nervous her voice sounded and how Killian blinked twice before he answered.

“Yeah,” he nodded. She sighed, sagging forward slightly, but she didn’t argue when he tugged her back towards the couch, tucking her against his side and kissing the top of her hair. “Nothing’s going to go wrong, Swan. We just need to...stand at least six feet away from each other at all times. And then we tell your brother and we let the chips fall where they may.” Emma laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it, pressing her face against the button up he had on and it was a fancy eventor so David explained when he sent out the group-wide e-mail invitations a week before and Killian had spent the majority of the night making of fun of that.

“You need to be less attractive,” she accused. “It’s frustrating.” “I’ll work on it. In the meantime. Six feet and no trying to make out in that one corner of the apartment that’s almost invisible from the rest of the living room if you’re standing the right way.”

“You’re making this difficult already.” “I’m just saying.”

“I know you are. And I’m just saying that there are rules and expectations and we can’t make out in that corner you can barely see because of the weird layout in their apartment and…” He cut her off. With his mouth.

And really that was how this had all started and how it continued and, eventually, evolved into something that Emma hoped, one day, to tell the whole goddamn world about.

She was the most stubborn person in the entire history of the entire universe though and then several others because Killian, naturally, refused to accept the possibility of singular universes and one reality and she’d watched Cosmos something, like, eight-hundred times.

It freaked her out.

“Space is just so...big,” Emma said, what felt like a million and two years ago sitting on a couch in an apartment that wasn’t hers just off campus of a college she didn’t go to and wasn’t, technically, supposed to be visiting. Her brother wasn’t there.

Her brother was visiting Mary Margaret in Williamstown. For the entire weekend. And Emma was in upstate New York, with her feet draped over Killian’s legs and she wasn’t sure who suggested she drive up, but she did and he kept making her watch shows about space.

Killian quirked an eyebrow at her, glancing up over the top of the bottle in his hand and it was stupid and absolutely playing unfair because she was totally freaked out by even the concept of space and he knew it. “I think that’s kind of the general idea, yes, Swan,” he drawled, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

She wanted to smack it off. Or kiss it off. It was an oddly similar feeling.

“Who came up with that idea?” she challenged and the smile was a full-blown grin or smirk and for someone who was vaguely terrified of space she certainly had a lot of questions about it. “Like...who just decided space was big? And we’re just bouncing around in it?” “We’re not bouncing anywhere, love. That’s how gravity works.” “Well, that’s stupid.” “Take it up with Sir Isaac Newton, not me.”

Emma grumbled under her breath, twisting her lips into something that was almost a scowl, but might have just been the visual representation of how much she fucking hated space. “You didn’t answer my question, though.” “To be perfectly honest, Swan, I’m a bit a loss as to what the question really is. You’re just mumbling insults about Sir Isaac Newton.” “Well, what did he ever do anyway?” “Gravity, we just did this. And an object in motion stays in motion. And proved that we weren’t at the center of the universe after all, it was the Sun. I’m sure Galileo was very excited to hear the news.” Emma rolled her eyes and he was teasing her and that might have been Killian Jones’ favorite activity. Second only to forcing her to watch documentaries about space.

She had no idea there were so many space documentaries until she started letting Killian force space documentaries at her.

And maybe, well, maybe it wasn’t nearly as much of a battle as Emma liked to pretend it was.

He’d always kind of been there, not quite in the middle of her life, but far from the edge of it – friends with David and always teasing her even when she threatened to punch him in the face.

He’d laugh and do that stupid tongue thing that Emma absolutely, positively never thought about and the blue in his eyes would get bluer somehow and he’d lean towards her and mumble take your best shot, Swan in her ear.

She’d swat at his arm.

He’d laugh some more.

And he was always there. Killian was David’s best man when he, finally, married Mary Margaret and he looked unfairly good in a tux and with a glass of champagne in his hand, waxing poetic about friendship and romance and life together and Emma didn’t think about either.

Of course not.

Killian was her brother’s best friend.

She’d known him since he was sixteen and had just moved to Storybrooke with his mother and Liam was already gone – enlisted just after college, but he sent checks home and postcards from ports with palm trees and different words for different stars in different hemispheres and when all of those things stop coming and a uniformed officer showed up on the steps of the Jones house, Emma was the one who held onto Killian until he stopped crying.

“Your shirt’s a disaster,” he mumbled into her shoulder and she couldn't really laugh, throat too scratchy and eyes too red and her left arm had gone numb from Killian’s weight resting on her side. She didn’t say that.

“That’s alright,” Emma promised and it was.

It was alright.

It was easy.

Emma stopped hating him at some point and started texting him and he answered and then started texting her and she responded in, like, point five seconds.

Easy. Totally.

He was there and she was there and he’d tease and she’d threaten and everyone kept telling them it was only a matter of timelike that was something that was even remotely normal.

It wasn’t.

A matter of time was not easy and they were...easy. They were acquaintances who were forced to dance together at David and Mary Margaret’s wedding and pose together and both of those things were a lie because there were photos of Emma wearing Killian’s tuxedo jacket just outside the reception hall with another glass of champagne in her hand and maybe she kept it on her phone.

She was smiling in the picture, calm and easy and he was leaning towards her with his hand halfway to her hip like he wanted, but couldn’t quite rationalize it and she’d clearly spent far too much time listening to Mary Margaret and even more time listening to Ruby because Emma kind of wanted too, but she absolutely did not say that out loud because they were not a movie.

Hallmark or Lifetime or whatever.

Whatever.

“Nothing happened?” Ruby asked for what felt like the eight-hundredth time and Emma resisted the urge to slide down the booth in the coffee shop they’d been going to for actual years. “Like...really, nothing?” Emma shook her head and Ruby let out a sigh that was far too distraught for how absolutely not involved she was in the situation. “I don’t know how many more times I can tell you the same thing, Rubes,” she muttered.

Ruby sighed again. Belle tried to smile. It didn’t really work.

“But, like...really, nothing?” Belle asked. Emma might have actually growled. “I’m just saying, you know, it’d make sense. And something happening at a wedding where you both look absurdly good in black tie type clothing and were, you know, maybe a little not quite sober...You guys have known each other forever and it’s…” “No.” “But...” “No,” Emma repeated and the word felt heavy on her tongue. It felt like a lie. “We...I mean we danced that one time, but that was…

“True love,” Ruby shouted, drawing a handful of stares from people just trying to enjoy lattes and overpriced scones. She glared at a table full of college kids, heads practically flying off their shoulders at the sudden noise. “Well, it was,” she muttered. “They’re...you don’t get it. They’re in love. You’ll understand some day.”

Belle held up her hands in mock-surrender, shaking her head quickly, like that would slow down the attack and Emma nearly knocked over her coffee.

Or threw it at Ruby, who, at some point, transitioned from dramatic sighs to disappointed laughter and both of them were equally annoying to an Emma who was doing her best to ignore the inevitable.

“We’re not suggesting that,” Belle said. “No one is suggesting that. We’re just saying we would understand if something did happen and maybe, eventually led to something of the true-type variety. At some point. In the distant future.”

Emma kept looking at that picture.

She looked really happy in that picture. She wondered what Killian’s hand would feel like on her waist. And...stop it.

That wasn’t easy.

Her phone buzzed on the table, like it was trying to prove a point and Ruby nearly cackled, head thrown back and Emma was going to bite her lip in half.

“Shut up, Emma grumbled. “I’m not...you all need to find a hobby or something.” Ruby stopped laughing long enough to shrug and glance in Belle’s direction, something very specific passing between them. They’d talked about this. They’d planned. They’d plotted. God damn. Emma tried to remember all the reasons she couldn’t throw coffee at her friends.

“Give us, like, six months and we’ll start asking when Mary Margaret and David are going to move out of that tiny, little loft and buy a great, big gorgeous house with an enormous backyard,” Ruby said. “Then we won’t be concerned about why you haven't started making out with Jones at every conceivable moment.”

“Not every conceivable moment,” Belle corrected, waving her hands again and Emma’s lip was bleeding. “That’s just unreasonable.” “Oh, yeah, that’s the only thing that’s unreasonable,” Emma hissed. Her phone buzzed again. And Ruby’s eyes were going to fall out of her head.

I’ve run out of wedding leftovers.

Swan, are you ignoring me?

I have a life. I am not at your text message beck and call.

Is this your not so subtle way of telling me that I’m bothering you, love?

Stop it.

What? You know what.

I promise, love, I absolutely do not. What’s got you so busy with life things, then? You can’t be with David and Mary Margaret. They’re far too busy standing in the ocean.

Yeah...I don’t think that’s what they’re doing on their honeymoon.

He sent her back a string of emojis that didn’t really make sense, but still managed to get his point across and Emma was far too busy being vaguely charmed by the whole thing to notice whatever Ruby and Belle’s faces were doing.

That’s disgusting, Swan. I don’t want to think about that.

You brought it up.

I don’t care. Where are you?

Ruby coughed pointedly and Emma’s phone crashed back on the table, drawing a hiss of air out of Belle because only Belle would be worried about the state of Emma’s phone when her heart was threatening to hammer its way out of her chest.

“What?” Emma snapped and Ruby’s smile looked almost predatory. “God what could you possibly be grinning about?”

“Nothing,” Ruby said, shaking her head slowly as she slung an arm over Belle’s shoulders. “I have no thoughts about this whatsoever. C’mon, babe, let’s go find a hobby.”

They were gone a moment later, leaving Emma alone at a booth with just the stares of some very confused co-eds to keep her company. She sighed, grabbing her half-finished cup of coffee and downing the lukewarm liquid before she could think too much about how she hated lukewarm coffee and she texted back as soon as she stepped onto the sidewalk outside.

She called when she got home four hours later to find that her internet had just…”stopped working,” Emma sighed, staring at the phone screen in her hand and Killian widened his eyes.

It was not the first time she’d said that.

“So you’ve told me, Swan,” Killian grinned, running a hand through his hair and she didn’t even try to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “You’ve got to restart your router.” “I did that.” “We’ve been sitting here for nearly forty-five minutes love, I promise, you have not restarted your router yet.”

She ignored the endearment and whatever it did to her stomach and whatever Ruby would say about that, huffing out an exhale instead. Killian laughed at her. “Then what have we been doing?” Emma demanded, trying without much luck to slide across her floor back to whatever he promised was a router.

“Mostly just you yelling at me. Loudly.”

“That’s because you’re not helping. At all. I call in my time of need and you just sit there doing that stupid eyebrow thing and don’t help at all and…” She ran out of air. “What am I supposed to be doing with the router?” Killian tilted his head, the ends of his mouth ticking up and he was hours away, but David and Mary Margaret were somewhere doing something that absolutely was not standing in the ocean and Emma didn’t know who else to call.

She didn’t really think about calling anyone else.

“Stupid eyebrow thing,” Killian echoed, pausing between every word for dramatic effect. “Tell me something, Swan, what exactly is a stupid eyebrow thing?” “That’s not the point of this phone call! You’re an engineer! Engineer this!”

He did the eyebrow thing again. Emma fell back on the ground, holding her phone above her head and it couldn’t have been a very good angle, hair splayed out under her and bags under her eyes because she’d spent the last four nights trailing some skip and trying not to fall asleep in her car and Killian knew all about that too.

He made her text him when she got home.

“A civil engineer, Swan,” he corrected and she made a noise in the back of her throat that wasn’t particularly adult. She wanted her internet to work. She wanted to stream...something...anything, maybe even that one space show that made her fall asleep like some kind of Pavlovian experiment because she really, really wanted to sleep. Just, like, for days. “I’m not programming anything, love.” “Just building ships,” Emma muttered, closing her eyes lightly. She heard him laugh. And could picture exactly what his face looked like – eyes probably just a bit too bright and smile just a bit too enthusiastic and she wished he wasn’t several hours away.

She’d watch whatever space thing he wanted.

She’d fall asleep, but she’d watch, at least, five minutes.

“That’s not really true either, love,” Killian said softly. Her eyes snapped back open.

It wasn’t.

He’d gone to school on as many scholarships as he could apply for – Liam was gone and his mom was...not great, sick and getting sicker and the only option was government funding and a ridiculous amount of loans he was only just starting to pay off and every scholarship application he could find.

Emma knew. She helped him fill them out.

It was exhausting. She still complained about tendonitis in her wrist and Killian promised that’s not a thing, love and then, usually, twisted his own wrist as if to prove his point.

It worked, though, he got into school and graduated manga cum laude because, of course, he did and David sat next to him and Emma cheered from the back row reserved for friends or family and she was pretty certain she was both for both graduates. Mary Margaret cried.

It worked and Killian got a job because, of course he got a job, he was smart and talented and a slew of other adjectives that would probably just serve to further Ruby and Belle’s cause.

Structural analysis.

On ships. To make sure nothing went wrong. The way it had with Liam. No one talked about that. Emma knew.

Killian left Portland and he went to Boston and he fixed things and Emma missed him. More than she was ever willing to admit out loud. Or...to herself.

“Yeah, I know,” she said and his eyes lost some of that distant look that always seemed to sound like warning bells in the back of her mind. “But I feel like you should be able to will this to work anyway. Just mind meld it or something.” Killian scoffed and they were back to normal, whatever normal was for them and it might have just been this. “That doesn’t even make sense, Swan,” he sighed, rolling his eyes for good measure. She shrugged. “Did you find the paperclip? You can’t hit the button with anything thicker than a paper clip.” They went on like that for another forty-five minutes and there were more dramatic sighs, on both sides of the FaceTime call that was probably destroying her data because she still couldn’t connect to her wifi and the whole thing dissolved into muttered insults under their breath and faces that grown adults who, just a few days ago had danced in black-tie outfits, shouldn’t have made and Emma threw her phone across the room when her battery died.

“Ah, shit,” Emma sighed, pushing herself off the ground to grab her phone and the screen still wasn’t cracked. It started buzzing as soon as she connected it to the USB cord hanging off the side of her laptop.

Did you just hang up on me?

My phone died. Because this is taking several lifetimes to fix.

Yeah, I don’t think you can just restart your router anymore. There’s something wrong with your wiring or something.

And you’ve only just now figured that out? I’m not actually there, Swan. I’m trying to hypothesize based solely off your descriptions, which leave quite a bit to be desired, and an admittedly shitty FaceTime connection.

That’s rude.

She swiped her thumb across the screen, hitting the first name on her recently called list and ignoring the tiny, little seven in parenthesis next to it and she really called him all the time. He answered before the first ring had even finished ringing.

“Go to sleep,” Emma said, but it sounded more like a command and it was late and they were never going to fix this. God, she’d have to read a book or something. And call the internet people the next morning.

Killian laughed. “Swan, you called me. And you’re the one who’s gotten something like four hours of sleep in the last week.” “It’s more than that and you know it. Plus with my crappy internet, I’ll probably get to REM way before I normally do because of some scientific study I’m not willing to acknowledge in any other situation except this very specific one.” “See, you’re saying words, but I don’t think you’re realizing that they’re not making sense in that specific order. Also it is nine o’clock at night. I don’t know what kind of sleep schedule you think I have, but it’s definitely incorrect.” Emma’s shoulders sagged and she was back on the floor, leaning against the front of her couch with one leg awkwardly thrown out in front of her. “Something about the brain being active while it can still hear noise,” she mumbled. “The millennials or whatever.” “Or whatever,” Killian grinned. She assumed he grinned. She knew he did. “And maybe it’ll fix itself overnight somehow.” “You know that won’t work.” “Yeah, I do."

"You really should go to sleep,” Emma said. “It’s late and you’ve got that huge presentation thing in two days and you’ve got to do experiments.” “Analytical methods,” he corrected softly and her eyes were already starting to close again. She climbed onto the couch, propping her neck up on the arm and she’d probably regret that in the morning, but it was almost comfortable then and she didn’t want to move.

She didn’t want to hang up the phone.

God, she was going to kill Ruby.

“Evaluating logistical operations,” she mumbled, voice starting to slur. It was a good thing she caught the guy already. She’d never have lasted another day in the field.

It sounded like Killian smiled again. “I knew you were listening, love,” he said softly.

“Sometimes.” “That’s enough.”

Emma must have fallen asleep at some point because she nearly fell off the couch when she woke up, a knock on her door and her phone was dead again and maybe being thrown around most of downtown Portland that afternoon had actually done more damage than she originally thought.

There was another knock and Emma stared at the door like it was a portal to another dimension or a wormhole – which absolutely freaked her out more than space when she learned about them while being forced into a multi-city viewing party of some new hour-long special on Netflix two weeks before.

“It’s just me, Swan,” Killian called, a soft thud on the other side of the door when he, presumably, fell against it. Emma wasn’t sure she was awake. “Did your phone die again?”

She blinked twice, licking her lips and wrapping a blanket she’d kicked off at some point around her shoulders as she padded across her living room.

Killian was standing on the other side of the doorway, a knowing smile on his face and jeans that were just absolutely unfair. He held his phone up, waving it in her face and he laughed when Emma swatted at his wrist. “Is it dead?” he asked.

“Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?” Emma countered, falling back into banter easily. He was wearing sandals.

She’d never seen him wear sandals in his entire life.

“It’s polite,” Killian reasoned. He did the eyebrow thing again, taking a step forward until Emma didn’t have any option except to move and she gasped when she nearly tripped over her own blanket.

His hand fell on her hip.

“Try not to die on me, love,” he muttered, flashing her a grin and her mind was racing, trying to sprint to Boston and back to Portland and she’d never resented the shitty battery tendencies of iPhones more in her life. “Where’s your router?”

Emma blinked. He hadn’t moved his hand. “What?”

“The router. Or just...all of your internet connectivity.” “I thought we decided it was broken. You said my descriptions left a lot to be desired. I’m going to call the internet person tomorrow.” “The fact that you’re referring to them as internet person gives me pause.” Killian squeezed his hand and grinned, moving around Emma when her legs, just, decided to stop working. She was frozen in the middle of her own living room with mascara smudged under her eyes and a blanket hanging off only one shoulder. “What…” she stammered. “What are you doing here? How did you know where to go?” He didn’t answer, already crouching on the side of her TV stand and clearly focused – the way he got when he was trying to figure something out and Emma barely gave herself a moment to consider how she knew that before her legs decided to, suddenly, work again.

She felt like she was sprinting towards him.

And he’d never been in her apartment before.

He stayed in hotels or with David and Mary Margaret when he came to Portland and he came to Portland less and less recently, building some sort of name for himself in Boston. Literally.

“Killian,” Emma said, resting her hand on his shoulder. He flinched. “How did you know where to go? Why did you even try to go?” “We really need to work on your sentence structure, Swan.” “You are avoiding my question.” He glanced over his shoulder, four different colored wires clutched in one hand. “I’m trying to save face,” he admitted, shaking a piece of hair away from his forehead. It didn’t work. Emma sat down next to him. On the floor. “And I asked Belle. Who was then sworn to secrecy because I don’t want to hear anything from Lucas about any of this.” “This?”

“You caught the guy yesterday, right?” Emma nodded slowly, still not entirely sure she understood where all of this was going or if she was even awake. “So you’ve got two days left on your mandatory recovery period and I can’t imagine what you’re going to do without internet over those forty-eight hours.”

“You’ve got a presentation in two days. There are powerpoint slides and charts to print out and laminate. You don’t have time to be fixing my internet.” “No one is laminated anything, Swan. It’s not 1995. And I have an assistant for all of those things. This is, well, I can fix this. I just needed to do it in person because your 4G is more like 2G and at some point in the next two hours we should figure out if you can upgrade your phone too because that can’t be safe.”

She was absolutely dreaming. “I don’t....you don’t have to play internet white knight for me.” Killian’s eyes flashed up towards hers and then, maybe, away from hers and, possibly, towards her lips and it was jarring. It was...like the Earth stopped rotating on its axis for a few moments and then started turning the wrong way.

She knew all about the Earth’s rotation.

“I’m not,” he promised. “I just...it wasn’t that late.” “You live two hours away.” “Eh, an hour and forty-five without traffic.” “That seems like pulling at straws,” Emma argued and that’s exactly what it was, an argument and a lifetime’s worth of everyone promising eventually and inevitable and she probably moved first. She’d argue that point as well though.

He made some kind of absurd sound when she all but launched herself towards him, throwing his hand back to make sure they didn’t crash onto the floor and his other hand found its way underneath her shirt and they both groaned when one of them moved their hips.

Emma twisted, trying to get some kind of leverage and it just ended with her straddling him in the middle of her living room, knees on either side of Killian’s hips with her fingers anchored in his hair. She pulled back, not entirely sure what she was doing or what he was doing, but he didn’t look nervous. He looked absolutely certain.

And that was enough.

She definitely kissed him first that time, ducking her head and slanting her lips across his and that thing with his tongue should be absolutely illegal when he was using it on other human beings.

Or just her.

She just wanted him to use it on her.

She didn’t say that out loud.

She kept kissing him.

“This is not fixing the internet, Swan,” Killian mumbled, but she could hear the laugh just on the edge of his voice. She was half a second away from arguing the distinct lack of kissing until the kissing moved to her neck and behind her ear and over her collarbone and she’d lost all control of her body when her hips practically bucked against him.

It worked another groan out of him that she’d probably think about twenty-six times a day.

“I’m sorry, were those actually words?” Emma asked, grinning against his jaw and her shirt was a lost cause, twisted up between them and halfway up her stomach.

They were still on the floor.

“Are you actually making fun of me right now?” Killian countered. He pulled back to gape at her, but Emma couldn't quite focus on that when his pupils were blown wide and his shoulders were moving a bit than usual. “Currently, Swan?”

“Seems pretty par for the course, doesn’t it?” “Not when I’m actively trying to undress you.” “Is that what you were trying to do? You’re being awfully subtle then, don’t you think?”

She appreciated his wide eyes more than she should have, but she didn’t have long to linger on that particular look or how it looked on Killian when his hand was still under the hem of her shirt, before his mouth crashed against hers and she was dimly aware of him trying to stand up.

“What are you doing?” Emma laughed, yelping when he finally managed to get a bit of momentum under them and her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. “God, calm down with your feats of strength.”

Killian grunted slightly and she was fairly certain it was because of her knee and its placement in what might have actually been his spleen. “Was this part not obvious?” he asked and she pushed her face into his shoulder when she started to laugh. “Fucking hell, Swan, you can’t do that. That is...distracting.” “Distracting from what? Are we not talking about the same thing here?”

“Swan.” “I”m serious.”

“I know you are, love,” Killian said, kissing across her cheek and back towards her mouth. He pulled away before she could kiss back. She nearly punched him.

They were moving, though, stumbling slightly down the tiny hallway in her tiny apartment towards her tiny bedroom and Emma made some kind of absurd noise when she fell back on the mattress. “Did you just dump me on the bed?” she asked, but she wasn’t sure Killian heard her when his eyes traced down her body and landed on the bit of skin where her shirt had ridden up again.

Emma pushed up on her elbows, lifting her eyebrows and trying to fight off the feeling in the pit of her stomach. She saw the muscles in Killian’s throat move when he swallowed. “Still with me?” she asked and it felt like a very big question.

“Yeah,” he breathed. He took a step towards her, kicking his sandals off and he hadn’t even taken his goddamn sandals off. Fuck. “I’m...good.”

“Ok, good.” It was, easily, the lamest thing she’d ever said. Killian didn’t seem to mind. “You need to take this off,” she muttered, tugging on the bottom of his shirt. “And if you scuffed up my baseboards I’m going to kill you.” “We really need to work on this whole swooning thing, Swan. First you’re not sure if I’m trying to undress you and now you’re talking about baseboards. It’s almost insulting.” “Yeah, that seems like a you problem.”

He flashed her look – amusement lingering on the edge of his gaze, but with something else that made her whole body feel as if it were melting into the mattress and she didn’t say another word when his fingers found their way underneath the shorts she had on.

Their clothes ended up in some kind of pile on either side of her bed, kicking at blankets and knocking off pillows and trying to avoid the lamp on the night stand next to Emma’s head. “You’ve got to…” she started. “That drawer.”

He stared at her for half a moment – which she’d eventually come to consider one hell of a confidence boost – and Emma rolled her head on the one pillow that hadn’t landed on the floor. “The drawer,” she repeated and he understood that time.

“Right, right, right,” Killian stammered, trying not to fall on top of her when he tried to move as quick as light or some kind of meteor and she needed to stop making space jokes in her head. “Good, yeah, that’s...responsible.” “Yeah, that’s definitely good for the mood.” He rolled his eyes at her, pausing quick enough to kiss the edge of her mouth and she smacked at his arm when he chuckled as soon as she tried to chase after him. “I’m not going anywhere, Swan.”

And it was like something settled or maybe she just caught her breath, but Emma didn’t care about the specifics of it because he was there and he’d always kind of been there and she’d watched so many goddamn space documentaries.

It wasn’t exactly good at first, a weird rhythm they were both trying to dictate or find and there was far too much sighing for it to be anything except frustrating for the first few minutes.

Until it was suddenly...the opposite of that.

It was good and great and a slew of other words and adjectives Emma would come up with if she weren’t too busy chasing friction and that tongue thing and trying to take a deep breath. He was everywhere all at once, hands moving and hips moving and she shifted against him, trailing her fingers down his spine until he hissed softly in her ear, mumbling her name over and over again as if he couldn’t remember anything else.

Emma kissed him as soon as she felt tension coiling at the base of her spine, fingers back in his hair and she couldn’t seem to stop touching his hair. She squeezed her eyes closed at some point, fairly certain several different stars exploded just on the edge of her vision and it was another goddamn space pun.

Killian didn’t leave.

Emma didn’t ask him to leave or tell him to stay. He just didn’t move. And neither did she, curled against his side with her head on his shoulder and her arm flung over his waist.

He texted her a photo of the charts two days later.

It went from there.

She visited and he visited and there wasn’t much of a schedule, just phone calls and FaceTime and one hour and forty-five minutes, without traffic, and they didn’t spend much time worrying about definitions when they were so busy kissing the goddamn daylights out of each other.

Killian was impossibly good at kissing.

And, Emma liked to imagine, he felt the same way because he’d barely stepped into her apartment, six months after that first step, before his mouth landed on hers and his fingers danced along her spine and it was absolutely a confidence boost.

“We don’t have time for this,” Emma mumbled, but the words seemed to get stuck halfway out of her mouth and maybe they could make time.

So they were celebrating Ruby and Belle and an engagement and Killian had taken Friday off so he could get there before five o’clock, but all of those things seemed to fall by the metaphorical wayside when Emma’s arms found their way over his shoulders, like she was trying to make sure he was actually there.

And maybe she missed him when he wasn’t there or she wasn’t there, but that wasn’t part of the plan and no one had actually ever used the phrase just sex, but that was definitely what it was. Right? Sure.

No, of course it was.

They were….getting it out of their systems. For six months. With alternating weekends and dinners that sometimes felt a hell of a lot like dates and nothing had really changed, there was just a lot more kissing and a lot less clothing.

Killian hadn’t really ever stopped kissing her, just pulled away from her lips and moved towards her jaw and that one spot on her neck that made her whole body break out in goosebumps and he always seemed very pleased with himself whenever it happened.

It happened every single time.

That didn’t mean anything. At all.

“We can be a little late,” Killian argued and for half a second Emma was ready to agree, to just tug him back into her apartment and, possibly, bolt the door, but then her phone started to ring and there was a schedule and he wasn’t supposed to be there.

He was supposed to be staying in a hotel – had told David he just wanted a little more space when he had to explain why he didn’t want to stay in the guest room of the house they’d actually bought two months ago – and showing up twenty minutes late, together, would probably send Ruby into some sort of crazed I knew it fit.

She felt like she’d run into a brick wall, slamming into something she wasn’t entirely aware was there until it reached out and hit in the face and it was painful and jarring and Emma suddenly realized she wanted to be late to this stupid, forced friendship interaction because she wanted Killian to stay in her apartment without a story or an explanation and it was the single most terrifying thing she’d ever thought.

She didn’t...well, he knew about Neal and she knew about Milah and that was part of the reason she’d argued againstinevitable for so long. Emma didn’t do relationships. It didn’t work, wasn’t in the cards or the stars, jeez, but she couldn't seem to stop kissing her brother’s best friend and there wasn’t enough oxygen in the world for the deep breath she was trying to take.

Emma shook her head, pulling back slightly and it was as if she could see the understanding settle on Killian’s face, the way his eyes dimmed just a bit and she swore something landed in the pit of her stomach.

It felt a hell of a lot like regret.

She wasn’t sure what there was to regret. And that was a great, big enormous lie.

“I just…” Emma started, but words were, suddenly, rather difficult to come by. Killian didn’t say anything, just lifted his eyebrows and waited and he was always doing that. He waited on her. “Maybe we should just, you know, take a deep breath.” His eyebrows didn’t move, but he blinked twice and his hand sounded like an anvil when it pulled away from her, crashing against his thigh and Emma tried to keep staring straight ahead.

She couldn’t.

God fucking damnit.

“A deep breath,” Killian echoed and it sounded a bit like a question and a lot like disbelief and they should have done this at any other time. “And what does that mean exactly, love?” She shook her head again, mostly because she couldn’t come up with anything else to do and she’d lost control of the situation and all of her body parts. “I mean...we’ve been….it’s not…” “It’s not.” “God, stop repeating me!” “I”m trying to make sense of what you're saying, Swan,” Killian sighed, taking a step back into her space and his hand moved again, thumb brushing across the curve of her cheek like he couldn’t stop himself. “This isn’t…” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together tightly and Emma tried not to punch him. They were both horrible at finishing sentences. “Is that about what your brother will think?” “No,” Emma yelled. Killian scoffed. “Well, no, not entirely! You can't tell me that you haven’t thought about it.” “I’ve thought about several different things, love and strangely enough none of the things I think about you have anything to do with David.” “That’s insane.” “It’s insane that I haven’t considered your brother’s opinion when I think about us? How is that insane? I couldn’t care less about what David thinks. Or anyone for that matter. It wouldn’t make a difference.”

She was positive the people on the sidewalk twenty-seven blocks away could hear her heart hammering against her rib cage and Emma still didn’t know much about gravity, but she was fairly positive it had just altered when Killian’s words seemed to land at her feet. “There is no us,” Emma muttered, staring at her feet and she’d never put socks on because he’d shown up early at her apartment to make out with her.

And make proclamations.

That she was absolutely going to ignore.

God, she was an idiot.

Emma tried to pull the air in through her nose, memories of some kind of breathing exercise Mary Margaret taught her when she was freaking out about finals sophomore year, but it didn’t work and Killian took a step back. She hadn’t noticed the bag sitting in her doorway still.

“What?” he asked softly. “Emma, I….” She was positive her head had never moved so quickly in her entire life because she couldn't remember a single time in the history of the entire fucking universe that he’d called her by her actual name.

And if she were being honest with herself, she probably would have realized he’d been calling her love more than anything else.

She was not being honest with herself.

“C’mon, let’s be honest, this is, I mean this was….” Emma stumbled over the words, still not able to finish a goddamn sentence and Killian’s mouth was hanging open slightly, shoulders moving like he’d run to her apartment from Boston.

“This was what, Swan?” “A matter of time, right? That’s what they all said and we’d just eventually stumble into each other and then it’d be over. I mean this isn’t…” Killian’s mouth twisted, something that almost looked like a sneer settling on his face and Emma felt like she’d just fallen into the pile of snow outside her window. She lived on the fourth floor. “Right,” he said, crossing his arms tightly and she didn’t consider all the reasons he did that until far later. “Right. This isn’t, well, it isn’t, is it?”

“Those were a lot of words in an order I didn’t entirely understand.” He laughed, a sardonic edge to the sound that sent a chill down her spine. “Ok, well, it’s good I got here early then, huh? I’ll see you in a little while, Swan.”

Emma stood in her living room for what felt like several sunlit days after Killian closed the door behind him and she was ninety-nine percent positive she’d missed the entire engagement celebration by the time her feet managed to move, tugging on boots that felt far too tight and a scar that she was fairly positive was going to strangle her at some point and she was the last one to get to the bar.

“Hey,” Ruby cried as soon as Emma shook the snow out of her hair. She was wearing some kind of light-up headband and bright red lipstick and a smile that seemed to melt some of the ice in Emma’s heart.

She wasn’t just an idiot, she was a melodramatic idiot.

“You’re late,” Ruby continued, seemingly unaware of whatever Emma was trying to deal with. “Jones is already like three shots in and I think he and David are doing some sort of unspoken challenge thing, but it’s probably going to be pretty entertaining and…”

She blinked when Emma didn’t immediately announce she was going to join in on shots and she barely had time to think about how well her friends knew her before Ruby was tugging her towards a corner and staring at her intently. “What’s going on with you?” she asked, tapping Emma’s shoulders the saw way she had when they first met at a cramped college bookstore, each trying to buy the same overpriced textbook.

They split it and shared it for the same class and it wasn’t the most conventional friendship, but Emma really believed Ruby could read her mind.

“Nothing,” Emma lied and Ruby didn’t even bother sighing. She laughed. “Honestly. I’m just...you know it’s been a long week.” “Yuh huh.” “It has.” “Sure it has. When’s the last time you haven’t had a long week?” “Should I be offended by that?” Emma asked, trying to slink further back into the corner when she could feel the rest of the group shooting furtive, almost painfully obvious glances in their direction. Killian hadn’t moved.

Ruby shrugged. “You can do whatever you want. You’re an adult, in theory, but I’m just saying that, at some points in the last few months, you’ve been almost...good.” “Almost good.” “Ok, now you’re being rude,” Ruby muttered. “And it’s real obvious you’ve got a thing going on. So don’t bother lying. You just happen to have out-of-city stakeouts for weekends at a time? That’s not even clever, Emma.” “I have to work!” “Yuh huh. So how come during those weekends you’re less likely to answer your phone than you are during stakeouts downtown? Something doesn’t add up.” “You are not a detective,” Emma argued, defenses rising automatically and she wanted to get drunk and make out with Killian and she didn’t want him to stay in a hotel. Fucking hell.

Ruby made a noise in the affirmative and that wasn’t what Emma expected. “True,” she said. “But you know who is? Your great big, overprotective idiot of a brother, who is also very interested in what you’ve been doing on those weekends abroad.” “I’m not going overseas.” “A turn of phrase,” Ruby hissed. “God, keep up with my interesting banter. Did you screw it up? Is that what happened?” Emma made a face, holding her hands up and shaking her head, but Ruby didn’t look deterred. She just widened her stance and Emma didn’t have anywhere to run. “That was definitely rude,” she grumbled. “And, yeah, maybe.” “Maybe...definitely?” “Absolutely.” “That’s dumb.” “That’s a pointed opinion from someone who just told me they thought I’ve been going abroad for weekends.” “Fucking a, Emma, that was a joke and you are doing a piss poor job of deflecting,” Ruby growled, an intensity in her voice that left Emma reeling. She was glad there was a wall to lean against. “Are you all in on this? Is that what’s going on? You freaking out?” “You’re not a journalist either,” Emma mumbled, but the questions were almost too on point and she kept thinking about the way Killian’s voice shifted when he said her name.

God, he called her Emma.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Another deflection. I’m going to assume that was a blanket yes, then.” Emma sighed, forcing the air out of her lungs like it had personally offended her and Ruby almost smiled when her whole body fell forward. “Ok, tell me one thing,” Ruby continued. “In this great, big secret of a whatever you’re doing, this guy, I’m assuming it’s a guy?” “It’s a guy,” Emma confirmed.

“You happy?” She considered that for a moment – memories flitting through her brain like she was watching them through a Viewfinder and it wasn’t just about the making out or the sex or inevitable and she was so goddamn happy when she was with Killian.

It was easy.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered. She really needed a drink. “Really happy.” “Then stop being stupid about it and go tell Jones he’s real good at making out.” Emma nearly fell down the wall. Ruby cackled. “Please,” she laughed. “You think I don’t know things? I know things, Em. I’ve got sixty-two senses of knowing things. And I know he showed up at your apartment six months ago and you’ve only been going on these little excursions for the last couple of moths and he’s running through PTO like that’s his actual job.” “How could you possibly know that last part?” “Ariel told Belle who told me, obviously. Because we don’t have secrets.” “That was heavy-handed,” Emma sighed. “And I...I don’t know, Rubes, I...he’s David’s best friend. We weren’t really planning on this, it just kind of happened and, like, two hours ago I told him I didn’t think there was an us.”

Ruby made a noise that sounded a bit like a gag. “Oh my God, that’s so you it’s almost scripted. No wonder he’s been trying to drown himself.” “I didn’t….”

“Think,” Ruby finished. “Yeah, I get that. If there was an Olympic sport for shooting yourself in your own foot, you would win gold at the summer and winter games.” “How long have you been waiting to use that insult?” “Actual years. Listen, I know we’ve always been about how you guys should just, you know, whatever and get it over with, but this is, well, it’s obvious this is different. And Jones came in here looking like some kind of ghost person whose sole job in the afterlife was to test as much rum as possible. Even David realized something wrong and he’s the single most obtuse person on the planet.” Emma sighed. “I really fucked up.” “Oh, I know you did, but if science is sixty-two percent reactionary, then you’ve still got time to engineer a fix here.” “You’re on a roll.” Ruby’s eyes practically lit up. They nearly matched her headband. “I know, right! Even I’m impressed. It’s because I’m all in love and love will do that to you. And don’t bother saying heavy-handed, that wasn’t my best work. But what I’m saying, Em, is that he clearly cares and he has since forever ago. Although, you know, maybe don’t start making out here because I’m not entirely sure David won’t kill him.”

“You’re a beacon of support,” Emma said, but some of the ice in her spine had thawed and maybe that was what hope felt like.

Ruby clicked her tongue, shrugging slightly and possibly winking before announcing they were all going to do shots and no one could argue with someone wearing a light-up headband.

And, really, Emma tried. She tried to talk or approach or whatever someone who, just a few hours ago, had promised her maybe-boyfriend that they were operating under labels, should do, but nothing worked and by the time six o’clock turned into one o’clock, she’d done a questionable number of shots and Killian had already left.

“Here,” Belle said, the words slurring just a bit and they’d probably put that bar in the black for the entire year just on their group’s alcohol consumption that night. She pushed a sheet of paper towards Emma and the letters weren’t quite perfect, but it was an address. To a hotel. A few blocks away. “It’s by the water,” Belle added, like Killian would stay anywhere that wasn’t by the water, and everyone knew.

Except David.

God, Emma hoped David didn’t know.

“Thanks,” Emma mumbled, squeezing her fingers around the paper and waving towards a slightly wobbly David and a vaguely entertained Mary Margaret. “I’ll uh...I’ll see you guys later.”

“Text us when you get home,” David shouted, but she barely heard him, waving a dismissive hand over her shoulder and she sprinted to the hotel. She nearly killed herself six times.

There was ice everywhere.

She was out of breath by the time she skidded to a stop in the hotel lobby, drawing a curious stare from the guy behind the desk. “Can I help you?” he asked cautiously, like she was going to rob the place.

“No, no, no,” Emma said, shaking her head and already moving towards the closest staircase. The piece of paper in her hand claimed he was staying on the ninth floor. “I, um...I’m fine, thanks.”

The guy didn’t look convinced and she didn’t blame him – she was far from fine and maybe just a little drunk and her legs were already protesting the idea of nine flights of stairs. She didn’t give herself a moment to consider that before she was climbing and trying to breathe and the romance of it all seemed to wane just a bit when she realized she was actually sweating.

“God fucking, shit, hell,” Emma breathed, trying not to pass out in an abandoned hotel hallway. The ink on the paper still clutched in her hands was starting to smear a bit, but she’d memorized the numbers on her sprint through downtown Portland and she could see the door just a few feet away like it was taunting her.

She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to knock.

She could hear footsteps behind the door, like he was pacing and her stomach clenched at the thought. She knocked. And the pacing stopped.

He didn’t say anything and that felt decidedly unfair, like the ball was in her court or something. She licked her lips before she knocked again. Still no answer. “God dammit,” she grumbled, resisting the urge to kick at the door too. “Killian, I...it’s me. Can you just open the door? For two seconds. And then I’ll…” Emma didn’t finish, nearly leaping back when the door swung open and he didn’t look drunk. He looked pissed off. “Hi,” she said softly and lamely and she didn’t know what else to say. She was having trouble breathing again. Killian crossed his arms again, narrowing his eyes slightly and Emma tried to swallow back the wad of actual emotion she could swear was lingering in the back of her throat. “I, um...Belle told me you were here.” One of his eyebrows moved. “Did you ask?” “No, I…” Emma shook her head and Killian sighed, uncrossing his arms to run one of his hands through his hair and this was not going according to plan. There was no plan. “I mean, I would have. I wanted to know where you went. I wanted to….apologize.” Killian stared at her, like he was taking stock of the words, or maybe just Emma, and she wasn’t sure which one made her more nervous. And she realized rather quickly, he wasn’t going to say anything. He was going to let her talk.

Of fucking course he was. “I’m sorry,” Emma continued. “For, well, you know, being me and pushing with both hands and that’s just how I react when I want something too much. I’m so certain it’s all going to blow up in my face, some kind of fight or flight syndrome that should probably be studied at some point. And, really, it’s all stupid because I’m really happy and this is...it’s been good, right?” Killian nodded slowly, leaning against the open doorframe with his feet crossed at the ankles and Emma tried not to growl when he didn’t use actual words. “So I guess I’m just, well, I know I fucked it up, but I’d like to fix it or we could just...go back to before and you can send all the text messages you want and I’ll let you know I don’t die on stakeouts, but I can’t…” She huffed out a breath of air, blinking quickly when she realized she was on the edge of crying and this was absurd. He was distractingly good looking.

“You can’t what, love?” Killian asked, reaching out to rest his hand on her hip and Emma’s entire body felt like it exploded into flames.

“I can’t lose you.” His eyes widened slightly, but it didn’t take long for him to react, pulling her flush against him and they fit together so goddamn well and he was always so ridiculously warm and that tongue thing was absurd.

Emma sighed against him, pressing up on her toes to reach him better and they may have stood there for days or years or the rest of theirs lives. It didn’t matter.

She was all in. In some kind of decidedly overwhelming way that made her stomach flip and her pulse pick up and Killian laughed when he kissed that spot.

“I’m not going anywhere, Emma,” he whispered and it was exactly what he’d told her the first time, with one very important distinction.

“Good,” Emma smiled, arms wrapped around his waist and face burrowed into his shoulder and she didn’t argue when he started walking them backwards into the room. “But, uh...maybe we don’t tell David just yet. I really think he’d kill you.” Killian barked out a laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. “Oh, no, he absolutely would. We’re good as is for now, right love?”

“Yeah. We are.”

#cs ff #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain swan #cs #thanksgiving prompt a thon #there is so much making out in this story #there are so many words in this story #i wish i had a light-up headband like ruby's #i would wear it unironically

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