#ten ff

[theficblog]

RUN, STUPID

TEN LEE

Prologue: You take ten to a local strip club, hoping you’d get some free food, but what happens when a dancer takes to your lap instead?

Genre: Crack + Established relationship AU

Wordcount: 1,331

Warnings: Mature content [ alcohol + strip tease + lap dance + language ]

"Are you sure?" Ten asked with a concerned look in his eyes, something that wasn’t usual unless it was about demanding proper explanations regarding his feline’s meals at the store.

"Of course! It’s not like somebody’s gonna murder us!" You reassured him, taking his hand in yours.

"We're doing this for cheap food? Tell me again that you are sure." He was still on the fence regarding your intention of going to this mid graded strip club only to get some nice cuisine at a lower price and possibly kill two birds with one stone.

As you went inside, you hastily pulled his hand along with you. Before allowing the two of you in, they conducted a quick security check. Too posh for a place like this, you thought. 

"We aren't even dressed for it." Ten whined, toying with your hand.

"We don't need to dress, this is literally a strip club." You were quick to shut him up but he wasn’t the easy type.

"Strip club? What do you mean? I'm not showing off my priceless physique to make some cash." He protested, purposefully being extra this evening.

You released his hold and folded your hands. Glancing around as if absorbing the atmosphere.

"I've never been here before." You expressed.

"I haven't either, baby."  He too, was taken aback by the room's opulence to respond. Maybe the two of you could have just been to the university cafe and worked on your assignments instead. 

Cliche neon green lights with a combination of bright white lasers were being thrown around in the room in rhythmic rotations. It was blasting sensual music and heavily autotuned voices of women moaning. This place was full of people, all of them fully clothed and yet the food was nowhere to be seen.

You sat on one of the sofa lounges along with Ten, moving your gaze at every corner hoping you would be able to read the air, as he did the same. 

A group of women passing by in sparkling, golden, and silver attire gave you two the side-eye. You may have been underdressed, as Ten suggested.

"What happens next?" He questioned as he sank his face into his hands.

"I don't know. Where are the girls?" You examined.

"And where is the food?" He sighed out of annoyance.

You were still oblivious while a quarter of an hour passed at the pace of a snail. This place was certainly not like the ones they showed in the movies, something was actually odd.

"Let's just leave." Ten followed your suggestion after you picked up your backpack.

But you and the man were stopped right then by one of the managers, who quickly ordered a waiter and offered you a few drinks and some free food. The food was only complementary, you see, and most of the people in the room were the least bothered about it anyways.

Ten asked you to affirm as he peered into your eyes, and you nodded.

"We easily have the money to relax here instead, so maybe we can go to that gala later." You spoke dramatically, loud enough so that the waitstaff, supervisors, and other customers could hear you. The exaggeration was embarrassing. 

They shouldn't ever be aware of the reason for your visit. You flipped your hair back as Ten facepalmed at your odd move.

“All that can probably do is paint us even more fishy in their eyes, Y/N i swear to god!” Ten commented.

“If you’re doing this just so we can go back to the hostel and see that flop movie you like, then this ain’t working.” The man blinked dramatically as though his eyelids were heavy.

After setting up the table with only a little variety of snacks and drinks, they left while you took turns sipping and each one. That was the most you could do.

The stage, which was about to be used for the performance, was the centre of attention, and it was a revolving one.

"Shit's getting real!" Ten beamed as he started to poke you on the shoulder relentlessly.

"Chill." You asked him to calm down.

In the beginning, it was only the dancers performing sensual dances. There was nothing too special about it you thought. "You could do better than them." You suggested your boyfriend. "Oh, of course." He joked along with you.

The actual business soon got underway as the fanciest, laciest clothing items were one by one flung to the floor, leaving only the barest necessities.

Ten was astounded by the acts and covered his eyes with his palms.

"What?" He continued to close his eyes even after you pushed his hand away.

"I'm a loyal boyfriend." He explained.

"Just look at it as art then." While keeping your eyes glued to the show, you exclaimed.

"They are doing what? I thought their policy was ‘just see, no touch’?" He asked about the dancers' performance because one of them had begun to execute a lap dance for a middle-aged drunk man seated at a different table.

"No, I guess they had to pay for the additional services." You answered Ten's query, who was busy stuffing his mouth with the fries by now.

He showed a thumbs up, indicating he was satisfied.

By the time one of the other dancers began to approach you, Ten was still fixated on the food. They must have had a clear misunderstanding because you believed you were not responsible for paying for it, even though the club sounded not too expensive, you were still unsure if you wanted it, it wasn’t just about the money.

She sat down in your lap less than a second later, shocking you momentarily as you sat there frozen.

Ten's eyes widened as he attempted to talk to her. "No, sorry, I don’t think she’s liking it." He stated, signaling a no with the gesture of his hands, too.

With the blink of an eye, it became more heated this time as she began to move her hands and hips to the excessively sexy beats playing in the background.

Your guy had already stood up at this point. "Why don't you understand it right away? Hold it!" He kept talking. “Excuse me?!”

She took your hands in hers and put them on your body as you made an effort to stop by lifting your hands to her.

"Get off my girl, you bitch!" He screamed, throwing one of the drinks on her and attracting everyone's attention. This was one very impulsive act. 

The club instantly froze. The dancer hastily left, but something didn't feel right. Nothing about this place has been right since the time you entered.

"Am I sensing trouble?" Ten was in a panic.

"Stupid, all you could have done was yell." You swore.

"What should we do now?" He asked.

Contrary to expectations, this conversation moved forward much more quickly.

"Run!" As you scooped up your backpacks, you yelled.

Gasps and gossips could be heard as you leaped upon the sofas and chairs. There was at least one bouncer chasing you out if not two or three, but none of you had the foresight or bravery to glance behind. Tall and well built men in those dark coloured suits and black glasses, while you two looked like kids in front of them. 

You continued running for around minutes before stopping to collect your breath in what seemed like a ghosted alley.

Ten followed after to make sure. "They've left." He was panting heavily as he put his hands on his knees.

"Fuck!" You swore.

"This was crazy." He remarked. "Your free food idea was horrible, baby. But I won’t lie I’m full for tonight." He chuckled. “More with adrenaline though.”

"Yeah?” You flicked him off as he joined your laughter and started clapping his hands enthusiastically.

"Are we real?" He spoke while caressing your face and gazing intently into your eyes.

"Very much!" You spoke up and gave him a quick smooch.

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[doiefics]

run, stupid

pairing: ten lee x gn!reader

prologue: you take ten to a local strip club, hoping you’d get some free food, but what happens when a dancer takes to your lap instead?

genre: crack + established relationship!au

wordcount: 1,334

warnings: mature content [ alcohol + strip tease + lap dance + language ]

"Are you sure?" Ten asked with a concerned look in his eyes, something that wasn’t usual unless it was about demanding proper explanations regarding his feline’s meals at the store.

"Of course! It’s not like somebody’s gonna murder us!" You reassured him, taking his hand in yours.

"We're doing this for cheap food? Tell me again that you are sure." He was still on the fence regarding your intention of going to this mid graded strip club only to get some nice cuisine at a lower price and possibly kill two birds with one stone.

As you went inside, you hastily pulled his hand along with you. Before allowing the two of you in, they conducted a quick security check. Too posh for a place like this, you thought. 

"We aren't even dressed for it." Ten whined, toying with your hand.

"We don't need to dress, this is literally a strip club." You were quick to shut him up but he wasn’t the easy type.

"Strip club? What do you mean? I'm not showing off my priceless physique to make some cash." He protested, purposefully being extra this evening.

You released his hold and folded your hands. Glancing around as if absorbing the atmosphere.

"I've never been here before." You expressed.

"I haven't either, baby."  He too, was taken aback by the room's opulence to respond. Maybe the two of you could have just been to the university cafe and worked on your assignments instead. 

Cliche neon blue lights with a combination of bright white lasers were being thrown around in the room in rhythmic rotations. It was blasting sensual music and heavily autotuned voices of people moaning. This place was full of people, all of them fully clothed and yet the food was nowhere to be seen.

You sat on one of the sofa lounges along with Ten, moving your gaze at every corner hoping you would be able to read the air, as he did the same. 

A group of people passing by in sparkling, golden, and silver attire gave you two the side-eye. You may have been underdressed, as Ten suggested.

"What happens next?" He questioned as he sank his face into his hands.

"I don't know. Where are the strippers?" You examined.

"And where is the food?" He sighed out of annoyance.

You were still oblivious while a quarter of an hour passed at the pace of a snail. This place was certainly not like the ones they showed in the movies, something was actually odd.

"Let's just leave." Ten followed your suggestion after you picked up your backpack.

But you and the man were stopped right then by one of the managers, who quickly ordered a waiter and offered you a few drinks and some free food. The food was only complementary, you see, and most of the people in the room were the least bothered about it anyways.

Ten asked you to affirm as he peered into your eyes, and you nodded.

"We easily have the money to relax here instead, so maybe we can go to that gala later." You spoke dramatically, loud enough so that the waitstaff, supervisors, and other customers could hear you. The exaggeration was embarrassing. 

They shouldn't ever be aware of the reason for your visit, you thought. You flipped your hair back as Ten facepalmed at your odd move.

“All that can probably do is paint us even more fishy in their eyes, Y/N i swear to god!” Ten commented.

“If you’re doing this just so we can go back to the hostel and see that flop movie you like, then this ain’t working.” The man blinked dramatically as though his eyelids were heavy.

After setting up the table with only a little variety of snacks and drinks, they left while you took turns sipping and each one. That was the most you could do.

The stage, which was about to be used for the performance, was the centre of attention, and it was a revolving one.

"Shit's getting real!" Ten beamed as he started to poke you on the shoulder relentlessly.

"Chill." You asked him to calm down.

In the beginning, it was only the dancers performing sensual dances. There was nothing too special about it you thought. "You could do better than them." You suggested your boyfriend. "Oh, of course." He joked along with you.

The actual business soon got underway as the fanciest, laciest clothing items were one by one flung to the floor, leaving only the barest necessities.

Ten was astounded by the acts and covered his eyes with his palms.

"What?" He continued to close his eyes even after you pushed his hand away.

"I'm a loyal boyfriend." He explained.

"Just look at it as art then." While keeping your eyes glued to the show, you exclaimed.

"They are doing what? I thought their policy was ‘just see, no touch’?" He asked about the dancers' performance because one of them had begun to execute a lap dance for a middle-aged drunk man seated at a different table.

"No, I guess they had to pay for the additional services." You answered Ten's query, who was busy stuffing his mouth with the fries by now.

He showed a thumbs up, indicating he was satisfied.

By the time one of the other dancers began to approach you, Ten was still fixated on the food. They must have had a clear misunderstanding because you believed you were not responsible for paying for it, even though the club sounded not too expensive, you were still unsure if you wanted it, it wasn’t just about the money.

The stripper sat down in your lap less than a second later, shocking you momentarily as you sat there frozen.

Ten's eyes widened as he attempted to talk to them. "No, sorry, I don’t think she’s liking it." He stated, signaling a no with the gesture of his hands, too.

With the blink of an eye, it became more heated this time as they began to move their hands and hips to the excessively sexy beats playing in the background.

Your guy had already stood up at this point. "Why don't you understand it right away? Hold it!" He kept talking. “Excuse me?!”

They took your hands in theirs and put them on your body as you made an effort to stop by lifting your hands to them.

"Get off my girl, you bitch!" He screamed, throwing one of the drinks on them and attracting everyone's attention. This was one very impulsive act. 

The club instantly froze. The dancer hastily left, but something didn't feel right. Nothing about this place has been right since the time you entered.

"Am I sensing trouble?" Ten was in a panic.

"Stupid, all you could have done was yell." You swore.

"What should we do now?" He asked.

Contrary to expectations, this conversation moved forward much more quickly.

"Run!" As you scooped up your backpacks, you yelled.

Gasps and gossips could be heard as you leaped upon the sofas and chairs. There was at least one bouncer chasing you out if not two or three, but none of you had the foresight or bravery to glance behind. Tall and well built men in those dark coloured suits and black glasses, while you two looked like kids in front of them. 

You continued running for around minutes before stopping to collect your breath in what seemed like a ghosted alley.

Ten followed after to make sure. "They've left." He was panting heavily as he put his hands on his knees.

"Fuck!" You swore.

"This was crazy." He remarked. "Your free food idea was horrible, baby. But I won’t lie I’m full for tonight." He chuckled. “More with adrenaline though.”

"Yeah?” You flicked him off as he joined your laughter and started clapping his hands enthusiastically.

"Are we real?" He spoke while caressing your face and gazing intently into your eyes.

"Very much!" You spoke up and gave him a quick smooch.

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

[foldingfittedsheets]

Mattresses, unbeknownst to many, are a lot like cars. Every year new ones roll out, they’re always tweaking and innovating and you’ll never find the same one you loved decades ago when buying a new one.

Where I sold mattresses had a three month return or exchange program for this reason. New beds take a while to break in, and they’re a big expense. Your body is used to the old one. So we made sure people were loving it. If a bed got returned we’d take it back, sanitize and clean it, then sell it again on clearance.

To sell these we always had to disclose what clearance meant to customers, and they had to sign that they knew what they were getting. (FYI, not every company is as… forthright about the used bed situation)

In clearance we had beds that were floor models, we had returns, and more rarely we had old models whose line had been discontinued. These clearance beds were always final sale, so a bed could only be sold twice.

Now, the manager at the store I was working at had realized a vital fact. Clearance beds in the warehouse didn’t sell, especially old models that salespeople weren’t familiar with. And even more especially in odd sizes, like twin extra longs. So he set up a split king on the showroom floor to exhibit clearance beds, pulling all those forgotten twin extra longs out onto the showroom.

Almost all of these were brand new discontinued models. Beds I’d never learned in training were exhumed to be displayed. The manufacturers had moved on to new lines and they’d been left behind. Why would he take such in interest in selling old stock, you might wonder? Because we made double commission on the sales margin of clearance beds, and if we’d had a bed long enough they dropped the cost in the system so it was a fucking cash cow to sell these. Even with huge discounts the commissions were wonderful so it was a win win.

When I got started I was jazzed about this program, I was so on board to sell weird old brand new beds and make a ton of money. I had a wonderful older couple come in, looking for a split king adjustable set. This was a white whale sale.

The current clearance models on the floor were a latex mattress that was brand new despite being of an age to start first grade, and a tempurpedic floor model. The couple laid down and it was like magic. They each loved the bed they’d laid down on. They wanted to buy the whole shebang.

I. Was. Thrilled. I told them about the clearance program and what that meant, and they weren’t bothered in the least. I wrote up the sale then dashed into the back, fizzing with excitement to tell my manager what I’d done.

“You sold the death bed?!” He asked in delight.

I pulled up short, my smile freezing in place. “What…?”

“Didn’t you check the notes?”

I hesitated for a long beat then slowly shook my head. You see, dear reader, all beds had a personal history. Every clearance bed had logs written up by the person who took the return, as well as warehouse crew after sanitizing. It helped us know what to expect when selling them. “Wasn’t it just a floor model? You said it was a floor model…”

He slowly shook his head. I checked the notes.

It turned out, it had been sold as a floor model. The first time. But the company had made an exception and taken it back as a return two months later. Why? Because it’s owner had passed away.

I stared at the computer in horror and my manager shrugged. “They signed the clearance form. Technically it was a floor model.”

“We know for a fact that a man died in that bed!”

“What they don’t know can’t haunt them,” he said philosophically.

The man came back a week later for more sheets, utterly delighted to tell me how well they were sleeping. I clamped my teeth down around the secret of the deathbed, choosing to let them love their new bed without the stigma. Only one person would be haunted by that deathbed, and it was me.

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Sleeps Ten, My Ass (2/2)

Summary: It's become tradition for Emma Swan to spend the holidays with her brother, their cousins, and their families. This Christmas was no different. The group booked a four night stay at a cozy mountain cabin to celebrate. The listing said it sleeps ten, but upon arrival they discover a small issue. The listing was wrong and now Emma and Killian Jones, the only two single people within their group, have to spend the next four nights sharing a bed. Fortunately... they've shared a bed before.

A/N: @eastwesthomeisbest I'm sorry this Part Two took a little longer to get to you than I'd planned, but I hope you'll find it worth the wait! Again, it was lovely being your CS Secret Santa!! I hope you have a wonderful 2025!!

For the rest of my readers, I started over with my Curious Crew Tag List (which I typically do at the first of the year). Although I'm pretty sure I've added everyone who told me to date that they wished to be added, if I missed you (SORRY) or you wish to be added, please let me know!!

Thanks to @kmomof4 for looking this over for me and to the @cssecretsanta2020 for once again hosting a fantastic event. Side note, this fic also completes my Only One Bed: Holiday Edition square for the CS Winter Bingo!

Rated E / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One

Part Two

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma clinked her mimosa against the glasses of her family and friends then settled onto the sofa next to her brother. Taking a sip of the bubbly beverage, she perused the room and let the early morning alcohol warm her from the inside as the fireplace beside her took care of the outside.

Much as Killian had done for her last night.

Shaking off that thought - and the remnants of the dreams she’d had where he’d kept her warm in other ways - Emma tucked her legs beneath her and gave Liam her attention as he passed out the gifts.

The couples tended to exchange gifts with one another in private before they met as a group, and Emma imagined this year was no different. The gifts Liam was handing out were the ones each of them had brought for a specific member of their group. Every Thanksgiving they drew names at random so each person only had to buy something for one other person. Then, Christmas morning, they would all open their gifts and reveal who had bought for whom.

Emma was grateful that she did not have to buy something for everyone, but she did not enjoy the fact that they opened the gifts one at a time while the rest of the group watched, making the person unwrapping the center of attention.

Well, the person unwrapping and the person who had gifted it.

“David, I love it!” Elsa praised with a laugh, holding up the lightweight sweatshirt for everyone to see.

Printed across the front in bold lettering, it read: No. I don’t need a coat. The cold doesn’t bother me.

“That’s perfect,” Liam chortled, already tearing his gift open.

And around the room they went. After Elsa was Liam, then Kristoff, then Anna, who Emma had drawn and gifted a pair of boots she’d known her cousin had been wanting. When Anna was finally done gushing over them, Emma began to open her gift.

“So… who will I be thanking for this…” She’d gotten the rest of the paper off and the lid to the box open when her words fell away as she looked over the myriad of items within.

“It’s a, uh...” Killian cleared his throat and pawed at the patch of skin behind his ear as he went on to explain. “It’s a sort of… winter stake-out care package, I guess is what you’d call it.”

Emma began lifting the items out of the box as Killian described them and the thought process behind his selecting each one.

“I’d noticed earlier this month when we all got together for that holiday festival that you needed a new beanie,” he said as she slipped the hunter green beanie onto her head and then pulled out a pair of soft gloves. “Now, I know you don’t tend to wear gloves on a stake-out because they get in the way of you taking photos or making notes on your phone, but with these you can slip the individual fingertips off so your hands can stay warm while you still have use of your finger pads.”

Emma tested them out whilst he explained their function, loving the ease with which she could quickly bare her thumbs and fingertips. They would certainly come in handy, as would the next item.

“A portable electric kettle,” Killian informed the group when more than one of them had murmured an inquiry about the item in question. “You just add water and plug it into the cigarette lighter in your vehicle and it’ll boil in less than 90 seconds. It also serves as a thermos once you’ve heated the water.” Killian lifted his chin in a pointed gesture and added, “There’s some hot cocoa packets and instant coffee in there as well.”

“This is…” Emma began, somewhat at a loss of what to say.

“Do you like it?”

Emma’s eyes jumped to Killian’s which were filled with a hesitant anticipation; his brows furrowed as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I do,” she answered, smiling softly at him. “This was all so thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Swan,” he replied, a bright smile adorning his lips as he let out a heavy breath of relief.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mary Margaret elbow David in the ribs. No doubt it was an attempt to keep whatever snide comment he had at the ready about her occupation from falling out of his mouth. Emma knew her brother did not approve of her line of work. In truth, most of them didn’t. The only one who never gave her a hard time about it, who never questioned her abilities or capability, who only ever asked about it out of genuine curiosity and interest, and without an ulterior motive to somehow diminish her success or exaggerate the dangers, was Killian.

Emma tried to focus on the remaining gifts being opened by the rest of their group, but her mind kept circling back to her own. The way Killian had noticed the state of her beanie and how he inherently knew and understood the reason why she tended to not wear gloves, despite her having the opposite reaction to the cold from her cousin.

The cold did bother her. It always had.

The contrast of her and Elsa’s response to it had always been a source of amusement within their circle. As evidenced by David’s gift to Elsa and past comments made regarding the issue. It struck Emma, in that moment, that Killian had never taken her objection to the cold lightly. From the beginning, he had always made sure she was comfortable. Warm. Content.

Like last night. Like many times before. Like with his gift. Making sure she’d be warm and comfortable during the long, wintery nights whilst on a stake-out. The way he’d made sure she was warm that night. The night in the Caribbean when a cool ocean breeze had met her damp skin - sweat soaked from dancing in a crush of people - and she’d shivered, her slip of a dress, which left little to the imagination, unable to combat the chill as goosebumps erupted over her entire body.

She could still feel the soft fabric of Killian’s jacket around her shoulders, the warmth it transferred from his body to hers, his scent lingering on the collar and intoxicating her sinuses in the same way the rum had infused their blood. The memory of the heat of his hand, pressing against the small of her back as he walked her to her cabin made Emma shift in her seat, as did the whisper of his hot breath against her neck when she recalled the words he’d murmured into her ear.

“I’ll keep you warm, love. Just say the word and I’ll make you burn until morning. It would be both our pleasure, I swear it.”

He had been good to his word.

So, so good.

“Who's ready for breakfast?”

Mary Margaret’s inquiry, which signaled the end of the gift giving portion of the day, shook Emma from her thoughts. Her highly inappropriate thoughts. Thoughts that had caused her cheeks to grow hot and blush pink; a fact she hoped no one had noticed.

“You look a bit flushed, Swan,” Killian commented on their way to the dining room - much to Emma’s mortification. “I guess my gifts are doing their job.”

Unable to meet his eye, Emma swiped the new beanie off her head and peeled the gloves off her hands. “Yep. I’m nice and toasty now. Thanks.”

“Anytime, love,” he replied in a deep, quiet timbre. Was she imagining the mixture of promise and longing in his words? Was he merely being his usual cheeky self, or was he reminding her of all the ways they could produce heat together… and his willingness to explore them with her?

“Who needs a refill?” Elsa offered, holding up the bottle of champagne and the pitcher of orange juice.

“Me!” Emma responded, hurrying towards the island with her champagne flute and receiving the first of many, many refills she’d imbibe that day.

~/~

This was a bad idea. No, it was a great idea, but it was also, potentially, a very, very bad idea.

It had been Anna’s idea. Which wasn’t the reason it was a bad one. It was actually a really good one. After a long day of cooking and drinking and eating and games and drinking and cleaning and drinking, her cousin had suggested they end the evening with a soak in the hot tub.

Which was a terrific idea, except… wearing nothing but her bikini, in a hot tub, with Killian Jones, also in his swimsuit, with his hair curling from the steam and water droplets clinging to his chest hair and pooling in the hollow of his throat while she - and the rest of them - continued to polish off the bottles of champagne that never seemed to end was a very, very bad idea.

But when had a bad idea ever stopped her before?

Especially when said bad idea had actually crossed her mind days before when she’d packed her bag. More specifically, the tiny, red, string bikini she’d worn during their cruise vacation. But no, she absolutely did not choose to pack this particular bikini because she remembered the look on Killian’s face and the hunger in his eyes when he saw her in it the first time on the pool deck. The same hunger that was threatening to devour her from a darkened, forget-me-not gaze across the hot tub.

Okay, maybe she did pack this particular bikini on purpose with this particular scenario in mind.

The idea wasn’t the only thing that was bad. Emma was also being bad. Very, very bad. And she wanted to do bad things. Very, very bad things with the man she found herself alone in the hot tub with after all their family and friends had decided to turn in about an hour after they’d first all got in.

“D’you wanna stay inna bit longer or turn in,” Killian asked with a heavy tongue from all the alcohol he’d consumed over the course of the day.

The same amount that was currently coursing through her veins and causing her to want to act on her very, very bad ideas.

“Prolly should turn in,” she replied in an equally tipsy tone. “M’ry Marget wants to head out early for after Kissmas shopping.”

Another loathsome tradition, but one Emma complied with for her sister-in-law’s sake. She wasn’t much for bargain hunting, but she knew what the bonding time together meant to the woman who had married into a sisterhood (despite Elsa and Anna actually being Emma’s cousins) after being an only child all her life and an orphan for the greater part of it.

“Right then,” Killian said, standing from where he’d been lounging in the corner and offering her a hand up. “We should get you to bed, love.”

Taking his hand, Emma stood, then immediately lost her footing and fell into his wet, firm chest. His arms circled her waist, his inebriation making him a bit clumsy and the slickness of their skin causing one of his hands to inadvertently land a bit too low. Palming her ass cheek may have been an accident, but the way his grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he prompted her hips forward was not.

Nor was the way she responded, bringing herself flush against him as their lips, teeth and tongues met with fervor. He groaned into her mouth when she raked her nails down his back, then reached up and wrapped his other hand around the back of her neck.

“I want you,” he breathed, the much needed air secondary to the words he seemed desperate to convey.

“I want you, too,” she told him before suddenly finding herself in his arms, being carried out of the hot tub and into the cabin. After setting her down by the dying embers of the fire, he grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped it around her.

“I’m gonna shut off the hot tub and close things up,” he informed her. “Wait for me in our room?”

Emma nodded, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she headed for the stairs. Glancing back over her shoulder, she giggled at the way he hurriedly - and drunkenly - took care of the tasks so he could follow after her. He didn’t keep her waiting long. No sooner had she finished drying off - still clad in her bikini, so not completely dry - and taking her hair down from the high bun she’d pulled it into so it would stay out of the water, than he came through the door like a man on a mission.

His mission, it seemed, was to pick up where they’d left off. In less than a second she was back in his arms, their hands indulging in the vast expanse of exposed skin while their mouths fought to devour the other.

“You’ve no idea what seeing you in this bikini does to me,” he growled against her lips, his fingers toying with the knotted strings tied at her back.

Reaching between them, Emma cupped his hardness through the thin, damp fabric of his trunks and hummed into his mouth before murmuring, “Actually, I think I do.”

“We’re drunk,” he stated, pulling back slightly while his hands gripped her hip and grazed her back.

“W’are,” she slurred, flicking her gaze up to his. “Your point?”

“We were drunk last time, too,” he reminded her, sloppily. “I’ve always regretted that.”

“Regretted it?”

“Not what we did,” he clarified, his fingers brushing up her side, over the back of her shoulder, then back down her arm. “I regret I wasn’t in complete control of my faculties when I took you. That the details of you, naked and quivering beneath me, are hazy in my memory because of the alcohol clouding them.”

Emma cupped his length harder, pulling a grunt from the depths of his chest and causing his eyes to slip shut as his lips parted in pleasure. “Will that regret keep you from taking me again?” she asked, kneading the underside of his balls with her fingertips. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she gripped his earlobe between her teeth, eliciting a sharp intake of breath that interrupted the moans vibrating up his throat. “Will that regret keep you from allowing me the pleasure of being taken?”

Killian jerked his head away, her teeth scraping against the lobe of his ear. A growl rumbled in his chest as he pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes dark and piercing despite the alcohol hooding his gaze.

“Absolutey the fuck not,” he declared in a tone that curled her toes and nearly made her knees give out.

With a series of sharp tugs, he undid the knots that had kept her bikini top secured, then tore the flimsy piece of fabric from her breasts so his mouth and hands could replace it. Clutching his head to her chest, Emma gasped and wrapped her legs around his waist when he managed to lift her, one handed, so he could carry her to the bed. He probably would have deposited her on the mattress with more finesse had he been sober, but Emma wasn’t complaining, not when he sank to his knees at the end of it and began divesting her of her bikini bottoms with his teeth.

She wasn’t sure whether she said them out loud, but the last coherent words to flow through her consciousness before his tongue began its assault on her sex were, we really ought to do this sober at some point.

~/~

“Got our to-go coffees!”

Emma groaned, her head resting against her arms which were crossed on top of the table they’d just finished having breakfast on. If you could call a slice of dry toast breakfast, that is.

She really shouldn’t have drank so much the day before.

She hated to think how much worse her hangover would be if, after their… relations, Killian hadn’t insisted they both take an aspirin and chase it with a large glass of water before crashing.

Yet another thing to be grateful to Killian Jones for.

And he had given her many, many things to be grateful for last night.

Of course, she’d given him her fair share as well.

Not that she should be thinking about any of that now, especially when thinking in general was causing her head to pound.

“Here,” Elsa said, prompting Emma to sit up and take the to-go cup being offered to her. “I slipped a little hair of the dog in it for you.”

Emma glanced down to where Elsa was brandishing the flask she had tucked away in her purse, a very Jones-esque smirk pulling at her lips.

“Your brother-in-law is a bad influence,” Emma chortled, then winced at the way the action made her stomach gurgle.

Elsa laughed and stood, prompting the rest of the table to follow. The four women made their way out of the diner and towards the shops that were just beginning to open for the after Christmas sales. Emma took a large gulp of her doctored coffee, willing it to sustain her these next few hours. She was gonna need all the help she could get.

“Emma,” Elsa said quietly, as they milled around the third - or was it the fourth - shop of the day.

When Emma glanced over at her, Elsa tilted her head towards the corner, indicating a more private place to chat, and Emma, curious, followed her cousin.

“What’s up?” Emma asked, noting the discomfort and hesitation Elsa was struggling with.

“It’s just…” Elsa began, tentatively. “I know you were joking before, when you said Killian was a bad influence, but…”

“But?”

Elsa’s cool blue eyes locked onto Emma’s. She knew that look. It was the same look David would give her when he was about to go all I’m-telling-you-this-for-your-own-good, trust-me-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about, slightly insufferable, older brother on her.

“He isn’t a bad guy.”

Stunned, Emma blanched and assured, “I know that.”

“I mean,” Elsa continued. “I know David thinks he has a reputation of being a ladies’ man, and has written him off as a ‘bad boy’, but Killian isn’t actually like that.”

“Okay,” Emma drawled, suddenly very uncomfortable with where this conversation might be going. “Why are you tell--”

“Because… He talks about you all the time,” Elsa told her. There was something in her tone that alerted Emma to the fact that her words might be considered a betrayal, but she’d decided to place her loyalties with her cousin rather than her brother-in-law. “He asks about you when it’s been awhile since we’ve all gotten together. I really… I really think he has a thing for you, and I wouldn’t want any misconceptions to get in the way of you possibly--”

“Elsa, stop.”

Emma couldn’t listen to anything more her cousin had to say. It was too much. Too much to hope that this… whatever it was between her and Killian, was more than some ‘dalliance’. More than an itch he felt the need to scratch or some challenge he wanted to conquer.

More than just another notch on his bedpost.

“Look,” she said, her tone not quite as snappy as it had been. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t have to defend Killian to me. I know he’s a decent guy, and I…” Emma wasn’t sure what else to say without giving away her feelings, something she was barely ready to do with herself, and nowhere near ready to admit to anyone else.

“Right,” Elsa said, letting Emma off the hook. “Well, I’m glad we got that sorted. I just… Now that Liam and I are married, the Jones brothers are a permanent fixture in our lives and I--”

“I know,” Emma interjected, wishing to end the awkward conversation. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Elsa asked, stepping a bit closer. “Emma, Killian isn’t going anywhere. I know you keep your guard up because you’re afraid of being wrong about him, but… give him a chance? I really think he just might surprise you. In the best way.”

Elsa’s words lingered in Emma’s mind for the rest of the day, as did nearly every interaction she’d ever had with Killian over the past several years. If what Elsa had said was true, that Killian had genuine feelings for her, then why hadn’t he ever made a move?

Granted, in the early years of Elsa and Liam’s relationship, he only came around a couple of times, but he had been a solid member of their group for at least the past two. Yet, he’d never given her any indication of being serious about her. Sure, he flirted and made suggestive comments and did outrageous things with his eyebrows and tongue, but he did that with everyone, right? Even David and Kristoff.

He didn’t have their preferred drink at the ready when they inevitably showed up late, though. Nor did he buy them thoughtful gifts that affirmed and supported their chosen profession. He also did not gravitate towards the rest of them like he did her. And she to him.

He didn’t look at any of them the way he looked at her. In fact… She could not recall a single time they’d been together when she’d seen him look at another woman that way. Not even on the cruise when there had been no shortage of beautiful women in revealing, eye-catching outfits. Not even when those women had come onto him, slipping their room numbers, phone numbers, and who knows what else into his pocket.

Surely, given the fact that he was gorgeous and charming and sexy as hell - don’t get her started on the accent - and had women throwing themselves at him, he had no trouble keeping his date book full and his bed warm. It’s not like he’d been pining after her all this time.

Right?

~/~

The ladies got back to the cabin later than they’d planned. Initially, the group was going to make do with the leftovers for dinner, cleaning out the fridge and making sure nothing went to waste before checking out the next day. However, the shopping and bonding and girl-time had led to them informing the guys that they’d be dining out instead and to not wait up.

Emma - despite the internal turmoil and lingering questions her conversation with Elsa had left her with - had actually enjoyed the day with her cousins and sister-in-law. So much so that it might have been her idea to ditch leftovers with the gents and treat themselves to a lovely meal at the bistro they’d walked by several times during their shopping ventures through the town.

Was a small part of that suggestion due to the fact she wasn’t ready to face Killian?

Yup. Absolutely. 100%

There was no putting it off any longer, though. Despite their insistence that the men should not wait up for them, they had. Because, of course they had.

After a brief recap of the day and a run down of what would need to be done in the morning before they checked out of the cabin, the group dispersed, heading to their respective rooms and turning in for the night. Emma glanced at Killian, whom she’d been avoiding making eye contact with, and could see the same uncertain, hesitant, bracing-for-what-may-come-next demeanor she knew she’d walked into the cabin with.

Making her way into their room, she noted how he’d made the bed and picked up their discarded suits that had still littered the floor when she’d left early that morning. She swallowed heavily at the memory of her quickly quieting her alarm and getting ready - queasy and heavy-headed - as silently and stealthily as possible as not to wake him and force an interaction. What had it been like for him to wake up alone? Had he been plagued by thoughts and memories and questions all day like she had? Eager to see her and discover what it all meant whilst also willing to allow the hours to drag on and avoid having to face a reality that may not meet hopeful expectations?

The door softly snicked closed, the air growing heavy and charged as tense anticipation palpated throughout the room.

“Swan,” Killian began, his voice gentle but resolved as he hovered by the door, giving her as much space as he could within the privacy of their room. “I know talking about last night is probably the last thing you wish to do, but I really think, given that it’s happened twice now, that we really ought to dis--”

“You’re right,” she agreed, cutting him off. “I think we need to talk about it.”

Killian balked. That was clearly not the response he’d been prepared to receive from her. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said, wetting her lips and shuffling her feet against the carpet, her gaze turned downward as she slipped her hands into her back pockets. “I’ve, uh… I've been thinking about it all day. I mean…” she paused, her eyes closing briefly at how that statement could be misconstrued, even if the presumption wouldn’t be completely off base. “I’ve been thinking about us all day.”

“Me, too,” he replied with understanding, no hint of teasing or suggestive provocation in his tone.

Emma lifted her gaze and met his eyes. He was looking at her as one would a cornered animal, cautious and careful of making any sudden movement that might frighten the creature away.

“Actually,” she continued, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she gathered the courage to make her next confession. “I’ve been thinking about us since that night on the ship.”

“Aye,” he breathed out on little more than a whisper. “Me, too.”

With her hands still tucked away in her pockets, she dipped her gaze down to her feet once more and said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replied without hesitation.

It took her a moment to get over her own.

“The other night,” she began, haltingly. “When you implied that you didn’t share your bed often enough to develop a preference on which side of the… I know it’s none of my business, but…”

“But?”

Flicking her gaze to his once more, she took a breath and asked, “How often is not often enough?”

Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear; a usually endearing tell of his, but one that had her stomach churning at that moment.

“I, uh… actually…” He cleared his throat and cast his gaze aside, though he did throw a furtive glance her way as he answered, “This past year I’ve only shared my bed with one person.”

“Oh,” Emma replied, her heart sinking a bit. “Can I ask who?”

Killian’s head snapped back towards her, a look of amused confusion on his face. His expression softened and he closed the space between them, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he said, “Don’t you know, Emma… It’s you.”

“What?” she exhaled, stupidly. “What do you mean… me?”

“I haven’t been with another woman since last Christmas when you kissed me beneath the mistletoe.”

Emma knew her mouth was hanging open. She knew she must have looked - in his words - absolutely gobsmacked. “B-But that was…” she stuttered, recalling the moment he was referring to. “That was just a silly, little peck on the lips because Elsa had hung it over the bar station and caught us standing there. It was hardly even a kiss.”

“Perhaps not to you,” he said with a tinge of hurt in his voice. “But it was to me.”

Dropping his hand he took a small step back and Emma instantly regretted making it seem as though the kiss hadn’t been a big deal. In truth, she’d had to convince herself for months afterward that it wasn’t.

“But it wasn’t just the kiss,” he continued. “It’s what the kiss exposed.”

Emma felt her breath hitch at the way he was looking at her now: vulnerable, unguarded, and - to use the word he’d just uttered - thoroughly exposed.

“Which was?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a longing took over in his forget-me-not depths. “That you’re it for me, Swan. I…” Boldly, he approached her again, his words and expression leaving no room for doubt as to his sincerity. “There’s no one else. I don’t want anyone else. You’re the one I want.”

“Why… Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, the sound of her heart thundering in her ears, her chest rising and falling a bit too rapidly.

He cocked his head to one side, an uncomfortable expression taking hold of his features as he reminded her, “At the time, you were with that Walsh bloke, and despite my dislike of the fellow, it seemed bad form to make heartfelt declarations whilst you were in a relationship.” Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled heavily and added, “When it did, thankfully, end, although his timing was rubbish, leaving you high and dry on Valentine’s Day, you seemed a bit… put off by the idea of, well, all men.”

“Right,” she said, her cheeks flushing hot at the reminder. “My rant at the pub about how all men are bastards and how I was vowing to live a celibate life from then on.”

“Aye,” he chuckled. “Didn’t seem like the right time to suggest we start… anything.”

“So,” she said, understanding why he’d taken a step back. “You gave me some space.”

“I thought it best to give it time. Let you heal. Remind yourself that, though the wanker had broken your heart, at least that meant it still worked.”

“And then,” she said, prompting him to continue. “The cruise.”

“Aye, the cruise,” he parroted, swallowing hard. “Liam and Elsa’s wedding, both of us in the wedding party, spending all that time together, flirting, connecting. I thought… I thought, perhaps, it was finally my chance. Our chance. We had that amazing night together. Not just the sex, but everything else that had led up to it. And then…”

“And then, I metaphorically ran for the hills the next morning.”

Killian dropped his head, his shoulders tense as he drew in a deep breath. “I was afraid that I may have taken advantage of--”

“No, Killian,” she said, cupping his cheek and urging him to look at her. “We went over that the next day. You didn’t take advantage of me. At least, not anymore than I took of you. That wasn’t why I--”

“I know, love,” he murmured. “I know you weren’t ready. You were still getting over--”

“No, I wasn’t,” she told him. “I got over Walsh a long time ago, I just…”

“What?” he asked, his eyes flicking between hers. “You just what, Swan?”

A contrite expression pulled at her brows and she dropped her hand to his chest as she confessed, “I didn’t want to be just another notch on your bedpost. I didn’t want to be some conquest.”

“Oh, Emma,” he whispered, gathering her in his arms. “You are not some conquest. Not to me.”

He held her for several beats of their hearts, his face nuzzling the top of her head. “Ever since that night, I have waffled between the desire to respect your wishes, and the urge to fight for what I want.” Pulling back, he gazed down at her and professed, “I’m done waffling. I want you, Emma. I want to be with you. I want to pursue you, and woo you, and court you in all the ways you ought to be.” Bringing his hand up, he caressed the side of her face with the backs of his fingers and murmured, “But only if you want that as well. Whatever we become is as much up to you as it is to me.”

“That all sounds good to me,” she said, pulling a deep chuckle from his chest, and they both smiled at one another, basking in the joy of the moment.

A joy that transitioned as they stood there, lightly caressing the other, breathing the other in, and gazing into each other’s eyes. Eyes that were darkening and becoming more hooded and intense as the atmosphere began to electrify around them.

When their lips met, it wasn’t in the chaotic and frenzied way they had in the instances before. There was no less passion, no less heat, but the desperation in this kiss was for closeness, intimacy, and not because either of them thought this might be the only time they’d ever get a chance to experience the other in this way.

After a long, thorough, languid exploration of her mouth, Killian’s moved to her jaw, the space below her ear, then down her neck. Emma’s fingers carded through his hair as his tongue mapped the slope of her shoulder, his hand gently pulling at the collar of her shirt to expose a greater path.

“I agree,” he murmured into her skin, his lips applying soft kisses and gentle, sucking pressure to her pulse points as they traveled back up her neck.

“With what?” Emma panted, torn between wanting to bask in this unhurried moment of enjoyment and her eagerness to move things along so they could get to the really good stuff.

“With what you said last night,” he reminded her, pulling his face away from her neck so he could stare down at her with a smoldering gaze of desire. “We really ought to do it sober sometime, and I see no better time than now. Do you?”

“Uh, yeah. No. I mean…” Emma silently cursed herself for sounding like an idiot. Taking a deep breath, she reached down and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, then began lifting it as she replied, “I think so, too.”

Killian raised his arms, allowing her to peel the shirt from his body. His breath visibly hitched beneath her touch as she ran her fingers down the front of his chest; the muscles in his lower abdomen jumping when they reached the top of his jeans where his body hair began to taper into a happy trail. She could feel the heat of his gaze as she loosened his belt, heard the soft gasp that fell from his lips when she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and the groan he let out when she slipped her hand past his boxer briefs to wrap around his hardening, hot, velvety length sent a shiver of wonder down her spine.

“I think,” she whispered in a sultry tone, flicking up her gaze up from beneath her lashes to meet his; her words causing them to open after her actions had clearly made them fall shut in pleasure. “I’ll be the one doing the taking this time.”

A shudder ran through him and his gaze darkened. “As you wish,” he murmured, his timbre low and gravelly and making her want to do all sorts of naughty things to him.

Her hand still wrapped around his cock, she guided him to the edge of the bed and prompted him to sit on the edge as she sank down onto her knees.

“Lie back,” she instructed while working to free him from his jeans and underwear.

“As my lady commands,” he replied, collapsing back onto the mattress, though his head remained lifted so he could watch.

After divesting him of his remaining garments, Emma pulled her hair into a high ponytail. She delighted in the way his body jumped and quivered beneath her touch; her teasing caresses and taunting kisses applied to all the areas except where he’d want them most. Pained pants puffed from his chest and soft whimpers collected in the back of his throat. The cords of his neck strained whenever his head fell back, his eyes following the motion, his lips parted and sticking at the corners whenever his teeth weren’t burying themselves into their soft flesh. When she finally turned her attention to his neglected manhood, his hips jerked off the bed from the feel of her tongue running the length of his cock.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, his hands balling up the comforter in a white-knuckeled grip.

“Shhhh,” she admonished. “Don’t make me gag you like you had to with me last night.”

The reminder forced a half-growl, half-groan from his chest, but it fully transformed into a moan of pleasurable relief when she took him fully into her mouth.

“Gods above, Swan,” he croaked after several minutes of her working him over, trying to keep his voice down. Trying… and failing. “Fuck!”

With a soft pop, Emma released him and stood.

“Apologies, love,” he whispered in a desperate tone. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“I have no intentions of stopping,” she assured him. “But you clearly need help staying quiet.”

If he had a retort to her statement, it must have been forgotten when she lifted her shirt over her head and then removed her bra. Killian’s tongue slowly dragged across his lips, his eyes intently focused on her as she shimmied out of her own jeans and panties. Her black lace panties that matched her bra; a set, like her swimsuit, she had intentionally packed with him in mind.

Black lace panties that she picked up off the floor and let hang off her index finger as she made her way up onto the bed, mounting him dramatically and straddling his hips.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and keep quiet, or…”

She swung her panties once around her finger. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes trained on the black fabric until it came to a rest, crooked on her finger once more, before they met hers. Emma could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to decide which he’d prefer.

After a deliciously taut moment, he said, “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed, leaning down so her lips could hover over his. “Good choice.”

She laid her panties on the pillow next to his head as they kissed - just in case. Killian groaned when his tongue ran alongside hers and Emma knew it was because he could taste the brine of his precum still lingering there. When she finally broke off the kiss so she could sit back and position herself over his length, he followed. They both broke the promise of being quiet when he slipped inside her, filling her, stretching her, molding her to him as though they were only ever meant to fit one another.

Rolling her hips, Emma began to move as Killian held her. Murmurs, grunts, staccatoed breaths, sweet nothings, curses, praises, all filled the space between them as their bodies rolled, their hips swiveled, their lips collided, their eyes connected, and their pleasure mounted.

Whenever Emma would arch her back, Killian latched onto her breasts, lavishing them with his tongue and applying sweet torture with his teeth. Torture that reverberated down to her clit, causing it to throb and ache until she couldn’t take it any longer. Pushing Killian back down onto the mattress, she ground down hard against him in an attempt to alleviate the torment. When she felt the damp press of his thumb against her she nearly cried out before remembering herself.

“That’s it, love,” he encouraged, vigorously applying just the right amount of pressure and rhythm to her clit as he shifted beneath her so he could continue to thrust up into her warm, slick center. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight. So soft. So wet.” His words became breathier and more strained, his exertions unrelenting as his thumb and cock competed to bring her to completion. “Come for me,” he pleaded, though there was a tone of command that grew more prominent as he repeated them.

“Come for me, love. I want you to come. Need you to come. Come for me, Emma. Oh, Emma. Emma, Emma, My Emma. Come!”

And come, she did.

Hard.

Showing her no mercy, Killian kept pounding into her, his ministrations at her clit sending wave after wave of ecstasy and bone-numbing pleasure through her, making it impossible for her to stay upright. Collapsing against him, she felt his rhythm falter for a few brief seconds when he brought up his knees, giving him the necessary leverage to chase after her into the euphoric abyss she was still tumbling down. The sounds of his desperation panted and grunted and moaned in her ear, until his breath hitched and guttural groanings, deeper than words, reverberated through his chest and stuttered over his lips like his hips did against hers.

Emma wasn’t sure how long they laid there, sated and spent and unbearably content as their bodies cooled and their breaths evened out.

“Do you need to move?” Killian asked, his legs stretching back out as his arms kept her held firmly against him.

“I don’t want to,” she mumbled into the side of his neck. “But I probably ought to.”

During their post-coital cuddling, he’d already begun to soften and slip from her, but the emptiness she felt when he fully left her had them both quickly moving through their aftercare routines so they could be back in the other’s arms, nestled beneath the covers, as quickly as possible.

“Does it all still sound good to you, love?” Killian questioned between the soft kisses he was applying to the back of her shoulder.

“The wooing and pursuing and courting, you mean?” she clarified, sleepily.

“Aye.”

“Mmmm, you bet.”

~/~

“Well, I think that’s everything,” Liam said, tying a knot on the last of the trash bags that needed to be taken out. “Elsa is going over the check-out list one last time, but I think we’ve taken care of everything.”

“I don’t see why we even bothered,” David groused. “It’s not like the owner kept up his end of things.”

“And Elsa will make sure her review reflects that,” Liam assured him.

Emma and Killian exchanged amused glances with one another. Other than the heat going out that one night - which Kristoff had managed to fix the next day - she and Killian had been the only ones truly ‘inconvenienced’ by the misleading information in the cabin’s listing.

An inconvenience she was tempted to leave a five star review for.

Sleeps ten, her ass… and her eternal gratitude.

The End

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

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[gunsatthaphan]

"maybe we should stop."

[ganondoodle]

kind of expected that the ability breakdown wouldnt get that much traction (especially on twitter bc if it doesnt do well in the first few hours it might as well be dead) but what i didnt need to wake up to was looking at my twitter notifications and thinking there was a long comment on it at first but then i read it and it turned out to be some guy having dug up one of my old totk tweets where i talked about how zelda was treated-

and if a quote retweet with a thread attached already starts with "this entitled brat didnt understand that zelda was being a history nerd by being in the past and getting to experience it herself" with two screenshots attached of the end of totk with zelda staring at the cam all uwu (which has ??? to do with their point??) i dont even want to know what else was in that thread

if thats how the majority of the fandom is then im even less surprised that nintendy doesnt even have to try to write anything good :I

ah yes, i am a game nerd, and by putting me in a game where i stand around doing puppy dog eyes while being shoved around by NPCs is me being a game nerd OBVIOSULY

[hey-heigo]

have a shitty unfinished comic from ages ago

[luzeiin]

guns n roses!! based on 'the chain' by merril_fran on ao3, really enjoyed the fanfic :>

[doverstar]

the real trouble I have when writing Eleven/Rose stuff is that if it's gonna be believable to canon, he cannot just be randomly traveling with her. I did Lost and Rewritten. I already did that. and that's the closest thing I feel like getting to human AUs and domestic AUs etc. like oh it's fine with the Tenth Doctor, with him they can be doing anything, but with Eleven/Rose the circumstances have to be so specific. I don't want to write "Dimension Hopping Rose Runs Into Eleven" because that bores me personally. I don't want to write toughened lonely soldier Rose. I already did that. I want to write the Eleventh Doctor not with Clara and not necessarily dragging the Ponds along behind him, with Rose, but also not any kind of AU. which boxes me in QUITE A LOT-

[potionwine]

Thinking about Margrace as Joshua's name post-Phoenix Gate.

Mar-grace.

In FFXVI the Undying choose their own names (Cyril explains this in-game), and many of them have names drawn from Final Fantasy XII, including their leader 'Margrace' himself, from Al-Cid Margrace. The page for Al-Cid notes that Margrace is likely an alternate form of the title 'margrave', an old title for military commanders on the border.

That aside. This is the name chosen (by the boy himself?) for the boy who should have rightfully been known henceforth as 'Your Grace', 'His Grace'.

Grace (style of address), from the Oxford English Dictionary:

With a possessive adjective: a title of respect, esp. for a person of royal or noble rank. Frequently (in 'your Grace') as a form of address. Now archaic or historical. Formerly (in England until the reign of Henry VIII and in Scotland until 1707) used for a monarch or prince; now replaced by Majesty or Highness. Even so, "Majesty" for the sovereign of England was not used exclusively; it arbitrarily alternated with both "Highness" and "Grace", even in official documents, until "Majesty" finally became the official style to the exclusion of others (source).

Grace (other meanings):

1. Divine favour, benevolence, or providence bringing about worldly benefit or advantage. 2. A person's lot, destiny, or fate; luck, fortune. 3. The quality of being pleasing; attractiveness, charm; esp. (in later use) refined elegance of manner, expression, form, or movement, esp. regarded as natural or effortless; gracefulness.

Whatever the etymology of margrave, the name Margrace in-game is probably meant to call to mind the meaning of 'mar' as in damaged, spoiled, ruined. All the grace that ever belonged to his family, his home, his birthright—marred, of course.

Mar+Grace, the last heir of the oldest unbroken ruling dynasty in the Twins at the time of the opening events of the game**.

The living ghost, carrying the desecrated corpse of his legacy in his new name. Introducing himself by his humiliation: "Hello, I am Margrace", "Hello, I am the ruined dignity of my house." "Call me Margrace", "Call me the wreckage of one fallen from divine favour." "My name is Margrace", "My name is blemished fortunes and diminished nobility".

It's appropriately brutal and dramatic for such a character, especially since the game is frustratingly silent on how Joshua personally feels about the loss of his duchy which is a rant for next time.

**Footnotes:

In the Year 860 (Prologue year/Phoenix Gate), Rosaria is about 260 years old (est. Y600). Older, if you count from the time of the Rose Alliance (est. Y550). The Rosfields have been on the Rosarian throne since the inception of the duchy in Y600, and prior to that House Rosfield was already known to be the chief of/the preeminent house of the Seven High Houses that united to found the duchy. House Rosfield has held ruling power for 260-310 years at a minimum.

For reference, England's longest-reigning dynasty was the Plantagenets, who held on for 300+ years. Rosfields aren't doing half bad!

Veldemarke would have been older had it not been overthrown by Barnabas; therefore Waloed is the youngest nation state at the time of the prologue (only 17 years old). Also we do not know much about the governance of Veldemarke, although as a 'kingdom' it was likely some type of monarchy.

Sanbreque was formed 100 years after Rosaria, and at any rate is not actually a hereditary monarchy. The Holy Emperor is voted into office by his fellow Cardinals, likely the five who form the Council of Elders. We are also explicitly told that Sylvestre 'won his throne' in 865; there is no indication either way that his predecessor emperor was a Lesage. The wording suggests the throne is not Sylvestre's by lineage or birthright. How this is supposed to relate to the concept of Sanbreque having a 'crown prince' (Dion) is unclear and contradictory, since an emperor by election should probably not have the authority to unilaterally decide on the succession of the throne, and his issue—legitimate or no—should not automatically be in the line of succession.

Dhalmekia is a republic with elected officials.

The Iron Kingdom apparently has a royal family, but nothing else is known apart from it being impotent and sidelined by their state religion.

The Northern Tribes likely do have hereditary rule, and Jill is referred to as a princess, but once again little is known.

Ergo—and I am ceaseless in this propaganda—Clive and Joshua are really, properly posh! Absolutely baffling that Anabella would allow anyone to put down the pedigree of her sons when they are so blue-blooded precisely because she is! For someone with such entrenched ideas of blood purity she should not stand for it, no matter how she feels about her eldest.

[thedevilundercover]

TFW you read a new book or watch a movie and you fall in love with it but it literally does not exist on the internet

[ghoulliojr]

JESUS CHROIST Ambrosia you are a BIG BIG GORL

[foldingfittedsheets]

My mom has this awful friend, Cynthia. My loathing goes deep enough that I’m not even going to change her name. If she ever finds this she knows what she did.

On multiple occasions my mom asked this horrible irresponsible chicken brained woman to watch after our animals while we were away. I don’t know why once wasn’t enough, because the first failure was so spectacular that anyone in their right mind would know she couldn’t be trusted with any level of responsibility or direction following.

You might be thinking to yourself, FFS, this level of antipathy is surely unwarranted! But you’d be wrong.

To set the scene, we were living in downstairs of our house when I was about fifteen. My mom has always wanted more animals than can reasonably be kept indoors which is how we ended up with three cats. When she wanted to kick them all outside I protested, and so all three cats lived in my bedroom with no access to the rest of the house.

That really wasn’t great, so in an attempt to give them options we made a window cutout with a cat door in it to give them access to the outdoors. Looking back on this as an environmentally conscious adult it’s wretched, cats should be indoor only, but at the time I was desperate to give them some freedom because one bedroom is too small for three cats.

So my parents and I went on a week long trip to visit family out of state. We told Cynthia to come feed and water the cats, and to scoop the litter box. Most importantly, don’t lock the handle of the door, because we only have the key to the deadbolt.

I’m sure you can see where this is going.

Cynthia locked us out. We arrived home after 12 hours on the road, desperate for the comfort of our own beds. We were met with an unyielding door. With a sigh I volunteered, “I can punch in the cat door and climb in the window.”

I slipped behind the bamboo outside my window and pushed in the cutout. A horrible insidious reek wafted out at me. I paused, prickling with foreboding. But I had a job to do, and by god I’d see it through. I hefted myself up into the window and my hand immediately landed in something wet.

Skin crawling, I pulled myself up and surveyed the darkened room as a miserable odor of decay and suffering poured out of the room around me. I could see dark shapes littering the carpet and it didn’t take a genius to guess that the cats had taken up hunting in a big way during my absence.

I pulled my hand out of the pile of vomit it had landed in and dropped into my onetime bedroom turned now into a hellpit of decomposing wretchedness. I turned on the light. I wished I had not turned on the light.

My eyes scanned across the floor, tallying as they went. Two dead birds, a dead baby rabbit, five dead mice, and one dead snake. I paused on my alarm clock, perplexed to see a stain of white on it. I stepped closer and saw a furtive movement.

The tally suddenly contained also: one live bird that had shit in several places, probably in pure terror to find itself trapped in a room littered with decomposing woodland creatures, which honestly, fair. I coaxed it out the window and finished the survey with five discrete piles of vomit.

I unlocked the door and let my parents in. They exclaimed in disgust at the horrible smell. We stood together in my doorway floored by the magnitude of neglect. The unscooped litter box was a subtle footnote in the tangible reek my living space. I disposed of the parade of ecological disaster, cleaned vomit, and scooped the box after a brutally long day on the road. The cats were fine, and happy to see me. They had a huge dish or food and water so Cynthia’s neglect at least hadn’t harmed them.

Then I slept on the couch while my bedroom aired out, the windows flung wide to dispel the uneasy ghosts of the hunted. I spent the whole night cursing Cynthia’s name for this evil she’d visited upon me. When my mom asked her, "Cynthia, didn't you see the dead animals?"

Cynthia responded, "Yes, they smelled so bad, I just ran in and out as fast as I could." I fully don't believe she did any caretaking, and I'm personally of the opinion that she locked herself out on the first day and never came back.

The next day my room had returned to a habitable level of smellscape and I gratefully crawled into my bed that night. I stretched out and froze as my foot brushed something cold and wet?

The final indignity: one last dead snake, inside my very sheets.

Fucking Cynthia.

[spineless-lobster]

I just watched a stunning performance of the trojan women and the amount of visceral rage I felt at every injustice is almost unmatched to anything I’ve ever felt before

[gunsatthaphan]

loading sweetness.... 🧁

[disaster-racing]