#the difficulty curves are so fucking nonsensical

[toyota-supra]

Gran Turismo 2 just stopped being fun. I don’t get it. I know some of it is because I’m really tired and it’s super hot in my house and this stupid fucking fan does nothing to help but like god damn. Why do the races just become unfun all of a sudden. People keep commenting on how the beginning of the game has bad rubber banding, but what about the end? Am I just so miserably stupid that I can’t realize how easy the endgame is like everyone else says? No car in the highest speeds is as fun to drive as the 200hp-400hp range. Every race is stupid bad now. My only chance of winning SEEMS to be to grind so much money that I buy one of the 2 million worth cars and just cheat my way into winning. That’s not good. That’s fucking stupid. What’s happening here? Am I just shit at tuning? I bought everything I thought I needed and didn’t mess with what I didn’t. I have many cars with very high horsepower. I have done SO many races. Game just decided to not be good

[automatisma]

Discovered the allure of Topsters & made a chart of the games that significantly influenced my tastes. Not really a top 25 although I believe most of the games of the list are good. Ramblings under the cut.

TLOZ: Twilight Princess was my first Zelda as a child & while not a particularly interesting Zelda gameplay-wise it cemented my fascination with that kind of dark and decadent aesthetic.

Persona 3 is again the first Persona I've ever played. Not the best & with many larger-than-life sterotypical characters but it does have a lovely apocalyptic atmosphere and the sexiest dungeon concept bar none (sorry persona 4 tv world you were not It)

Hexcells is my favourite puzzle game. Perfect difficulty curve, minimal & functional aesthetic, little spatiality sense required to finish it. The whole trilogy is honestly brilliant.

Disco Elysium literally what is there to say about DE that hasn't already been said. Masterful dialogues and characters, deeply political while being smart and complex about it, it has one of the most interesting fantasy worldbuildings of recent memory.

Final Fantasy X was my first FF. Bizarre & unique if nonsensical world, great party interactions and often dumb but really really rich with overarching thematical meanings so

We Know The Devil I believe it's up to personal taste in the end whether you'll like this or Heaven Will be Mine more, but to me the minimal religious setup & the very realistic teenage dialogue take the cake. Also Saturn is #so me #releatable #girlsbeinggirls

Boku no Natsuyasumi 2 I bet everyone's sick of seeing it on their dash but what can I say I adore its day-to-day routine and the character subplots and its sound design and the beetle battles and

The House in Fata Morgana is maybe my favourite visual novel of all time. Often cheesy, frequently melodramatic, the epic highs and lows of its writing did not stop me from loving its intricate fantasy plot and multifacted characters.

Valhalla cyberpunk ok too long of a name. The bartending part was fun, the fauxanime thing is well MY thing and the #quiet cyberpunk adult disillusionment of its dialogues stuck with me in some way. Not great but really solid & it worked a lot for me for reasons I am not entirely sure of to this day.

Danganronpa is a terrible and complicated horror b-movie with cartoon characters and stupid but captivating mysteries. I genuinely believe the trials are absolutely cool and adrenaline inducing though & I would love more of this except better I guess

Darkest Dungeon a game in which every inch of its systems and aesthetic choices works in perfect synch to convey the hopelessness of this brand of lovecraftian horror. Also the turn-based combat is soooo fucking good

Final Fantasy VII THE final fantasy ecc ecc what can I say. One of the few games I played when the stereotypical version of the characters I saw in popular culture was so much less interesting than the actual story beats and the direction the plot went in. Packed with genre-defining moments and lovingly mystic at times.

Pyre is probably my favourite Supergiant game even though Hades is far superior in gameplay terms. The peculiar worldbuilding and the choices you make are really something unique to this one and they very much stick with you during your playthrough and even after that.

The World Ends with You when I played it Neku and Joshua were on my mind 24/7 I was on that fujoshi grindset which is quite peculiar for me. Weird and fun gameplay too but to me the main thing was the killer premise, its characters and its commitment to peculiarity in the JRPG landscape at every turn.

Valkyrie Profile 2: Silmeria weird ass sequel of a game I didn't play that spawned my love for this kind of combat. Perfect blend of tactical and reaction-based that's usually a mess but here it works and its glorious. The story was whatever but frankly who cares

Black Closet is probably the most obscure game on this list & I love it. I adore the setting, the writing of some of the subplots, the tight mechanics and even its wonky UI designs. Try it and be captivated by the playful eroticism of mystery and power NOW

Ib foundational as everyone knows. Kind of tied with Yume Nikki in my mind but in the end I played Ib more and I was in awe of its finale systems and the genuinely anxiety inducing gameplay moments. Epitome of you're a kid and something fucked up happens.

Analogue: A Hate Story my favourite Love game even though it's only vaguely sci-fi. Funniest thing about it it's probably that its title works even if it's a silly pun on her previous game

999 I like Danganronpa so this one was a given since it's even less stupid. Puzzles are ok but I was here for the characters & plot because I am a mystery junkie at heart.

Lisa: The Painful managed to work with the legacy of Earthbound without making a lol so random uninspired clone. Profoundly different in its subject matter while incorporating a lot of the bizarre & offbeat humor of its inspiration. It also deals with its themes in a quite brutal and blunt if not at all tactful way which i really respect.

The Stanley Parable is one of the first things I've played as a returned prodigal PC gamer and it blew me away at the time. Full of neat little secrets & mysteries and with a lot to say about the relationship between the player, the game and the narrative frameworks we encase our lives in.

Earthbound is my love and joy and nothing else will ever come close to recreate what I experienced playing it, which is why I never played Mother 3.

Digital Devil Saga yeah I've never played an SMT to the end but I played this duology and I was deeply impressed by its combat system and its weirdass apocalyptic world and even my party of broken people. I was on board for that Gainax ending baby

Dragon Age: Origins was the only good DA actually. I am also the only person who hasn't played it for the worldbuilding and the lore because I'll be frank it's run of the mill fantasy stuff except for some things but I adored my party and the choices I could make and some plot moments so yeah. Still a fan of the saga despite everything

Opus Magnum is the only Zachtronics game I've played but I'll have to play Hackers one of these days. I still have all the gifs saved and I am NOT a minmaxing person irl but this one sinked its claws into my skin and for thirty hours I was an engineer

[jayextee]

Mega Man 3

Yeah, I skipped it for reasons. But I couldn't ignore it forever.

It was the game that had, several times, put an absolute stop to my attempts to get to know a well-loved (by others) classic franchise I'd always liked the look of.

And to be honest, I've now played it through in its entirety a bunch of times and I absolutely have no regrets at having skipped it for the reasons I did.

Let me just outline the points I'd cite; nonsensical weaknesses and Those Fucking Doc Robot Stages™. And I shall henceforth address them now I know both the series and this particular game a little better.

Well, those weaknesses seem a whole lot less nonsensical to me; the benefit of having acquired a taste for the series' 'fridge logic' when it comes to what-can-beat-what. I'm not sure why a spinning top could beat a shady ninja, but shadows blotting out the light from sparks; sparks interfering with magnets; magnets sticking to hard metal; yeah, some of this I can dig. The fact that there are two weakness cycles is a little 'off' though, but I guess that means I can pick and choose whether I want to start any given run with Snake Man or Top Man though. Tough call, both musical themes are absolute bangers.

So, about those Doc Robot stages then. Well, they're no longer the difficulty roadblock they once were; I have now brute-forced the familiarity needed to find them very little actual trouble, but they still absolutely suck. Notwithstanding the reused content (stages themselves, plus boss attack patterns lifted from this game's immediate prequel), they throw the difficulty curve completely out of whack -- the following set of Wily Fortress stages are frankly a walk in the park in comparison, including the bosses.

I don't totally hate them though, as they're the kind of thing I think would've ideally made for an interesting set of post-game challenges. But they have no place being where they are and hurt the game as a whole.

Not that this game needs any help in hurting itself; despite the slappin' soundtrack and lush visuals (in places, I don't much like the all-green visage of Snake Man's stage, thus providing me the much-appreciated incentive to start with Top Man's stage after all...), it doesn't play so amazingly, due to some incredibly frequent and insistent slowdown that eats inputs at the optimal moments to prevent jumps over fatal obstacles and such. Also Rush Jet is completely broken, and Top Spin has got to be the worst weapon in the entire series without exception. Even if it worked as intended most of the time, which it really doesn't, it's such an ill-conceived weapon in both theory and practice.

There isn't even a cool intro like the rest of the games. Of course, that could be a side-effect of the game being kinda unfinished, so the legend goes, and essentially a released beta.

But I'm not going to score it for what it could've been, but what it is.

3/5

[professor-amaryllis]

:{ A Video file is embedded. Valencia Island, Orange Archipelago. 4/14/24 8:15 pm. }:

This clip is short, showing only Amy and Casi moving quietly through the lab hall before turning into a room. It's obvious that Amy knows this place well, and though cluttered with boxes and equipment and misc. nonsense in a difficult to navigate mess (to put it kindly) they manage to guide Casi through it with not much trouble, though Casi does mumble a few things to himself, like 'how does anyone find anything' and 'I thought your office was bad.'

As they enter this room though it does get easier to move as the floor opens up. Though cluttered there is at least a method to the madness, it's obvious that there is a system to it, even if it isn't easy to figure out at first. It feels almost like a time capsule, something barely touched throughout the years. A fine layer of dust covers piles of photos, stacks of paper and folders neatly organized and labeled, university textbooks and long dead plants still in their decorative pots. In one corner sits a wheelchair, folded up and shoved almost behind a chair, as if someone had wanted to forget about it.

It feels strange to be in this space, something about this much history laid out, wordless, seems to bother both of the professors, in different ways. Casi seems almost surprised, walking along the wall and looking at the dust covered photos there, wiping one off... Amy in Paldea with Ren, the red chair they're in a perfect match for the one in the corner. They look so much younger here- it must have been years ago, though it doesn't seem Ren has changed much. Something about that gives him pause, and he plays with his hair as he studies the image.

Amy watches Casi rather than the room, before walking to a desk and setting their bags directly on the pile of papers there, then adjusting them so as to cover then completely. There's a sadness in them in this space, and the quiet reflects that. Something they don't want to talk about, perhaps.

As Amy starts to unpack their belongings Casi sighs softly to herself and walks over to the bed, the one place that doesn't seem to be covered in dust, just piles of pillows and blankets in a disorganized mess. As she sits, though, something moves under the mass of fabric and we hear a small scream from an extremely startled Casimir and a yelp from the bed. With some difficulty a canine head pops out of the mass of blankets, the long curved horns marking her as a houndoom.

"What the fuck! Who's fucking dog is this?"

:{ Transcription ends. }:

:{ A Video file is embedded. Valencia Island, Orange Archipelago. 4/14/24 7:30 pm. }:

This video opens mid scene- we're in an unfamiliar place, a pier built off of a rocky beach. bright green plants and grasses grow in between the cracks of the shoreline and odd, dark colored rattata can be seen peeking out from their cover here and there. The focus of this scene, however, is the seaplane pulled up close to the dock, and the two professors stumbling out of it.

Casi has already managed to climb down the few ladder-like stairs that connect the gently rocking plane to the relative stability of the dock and is holding Amy's hand as they struggle a bit to do the same, their cane not so helpful in this endeavor. It's obvious that they weren't taking the flight all that well to begin with, their hands shaking a bit and looking more stressed than they usually are somehow.

Casi, however, seems to be taking all if this in good humor, and while we can't hear exactly what she's saying from the distance that echo's moved to take in the whole scene (the sound of the ocean crashing and the motor of the plane is a bit to loud for that) it's clear from her gently teasing tone and the laughter they manage to pull from even Amy that the whole scene is more than a little funny to her... and the bright purple lipstick smudges that Amy has obviously tried and failed to remove- the ones that match her lipstick exactly- probably add to that humor.

It's easy to see the visible relief that Amy has as he finally steps down off of the pier, a deep sigh and closing their eyes for a moment, leaning heavily into their cane while they try to feel grounded again. It takes only a few moments for the pilot to hand them their bags- well, for their drowzee to telekinesis them down onto the pier anyway- pull up the ladder and start to pull away. Seems like they (we??) aren't planning on leaving again right away...

Casi seems to ask a question, pulling out his phone and checking something on the screen. Amy starts to answer, pauses, then checks their pockets, becoming more and more frantic over a couple seconds before looking back at the plane, then around them. Their eyes settle directly on the camera and an exasperated kind of relief washes over them as they sign something to-

:{ To me!! ':3 Looks like i wandered off too far!! Oops, gotta go!! Translation Ends. }:

[rockheadcd]

unorganized nonsense about roark as a gym leader and how he does things:

roark’s absolutely still one of the youngest gym leaders in the region, especially after taking over oreburgh ( and as a side note, since i write him post-game and beyond if we consider pla shenanigans, he has a few years under his belt now ), and he really does love what he does. he really does love his town and his work and the local people and pokemon a lot. he carries a lot of pride despite being most gym contenders’ first challenge.

over time, he’s come to put together multitude of offerings based on the challengers that come to oreburgh’s gym. aside from the fact they typically have to go find him in the mines to begin with---his gym is essentially open 24/7 for people to train in, but he doesn’t have any dedicated trainers that are there exclusively to battle contenders. visitors are free to challenge people as they wish, where anyone who frequents his gym are typically oreburgh locals anyway. for him, if people don’t feel like gaining experience in battling rock types before asking for a challenge, then he’ll show them anyway. his operations are very lax despite the way he oversees the mines and constantly disappears into the underground. as for him specifically, his matches are by request only.

the team he chooses is based on the challenger themselves. if they’re from sinnoh, and new to the gym challenge, he uses the team seen in games. they’re trained, of course, but they match the kind of challenge that would be expected of the wilds surrounding oreburgh. he’s aware that the pokemon on the western half of sinnoh are mostly weaker, due to the environment they live in being less harsh compared to the other areas of sinnoh. roark does not expect a new trainer to be come in with a battle-hardened pokemon ( and if they do, expect them to listen ), so the curve isn’t really all that bad. he loves watching new trainers succeed, so as much as he doesn’t like losing very much, it’s dampened by seeing potential ( unless it’s a piplup squirting water gun. that’s a personal fuck you ).

if a challenger is from another region, he uses a more skilled team, especially if they’ve taken on the gym challenge in their home region. much of it scales based on general experience, number of total badges, etc. he likes to chat with his challengers, getting to know them helps him determine what kind of matchup best fits a contender. is that fundamentally kinda weird in terms of a challenge? yes and no---there’s no reason for roark to put in a novice team against a fully evolved pokemon that clearly has learned how to battle and completely outmatches his own, even if his pokemon wanted the challenge. it’s cruel, in his eyes.

roark views his gym as a learning experience and will cultivate his battles as such. if there’s a serious contender though, he has no problems in going all-out. and he enjoys it! it doesn’t happen often, which is why he also like to participate in the battle tower.

that being said, at the top rung are the pokemon that work in the mines with him the most, and pokemon he’s had the longest (like ramses, who he’s had since he was a young boy )--tybalt, ramses, salamence, etc. his rematch team and battle tower team. they tend to help him out with raising the younger teams and newly restored fossils, which is the primary benefit for having them heavily involved to begin with ( we aren’t gonna get into the cracked rib thing when it comes to restored fossils here ). his aces get their training with byron more than anything, seeing as they keep in touch regularly. roark has a system down after a few years into focusing much of his time into his strongest pokemon, figuring out how to efficiently establish different tiers of difficulty based on contender.

he puts a lot of pressure on himself to deliver a fair match, but in doing so he’s put quite a bit on his plate in terms of logistics, even more so including his actual day job. because of this, he’s in a constant state of stress ( which is a significant reason why he’s usually off in the underground somewhere ) in a need to satisfy his own expectations. he carries it well with a smile, but if he loses, it’ll show for a little bit. he’s a bit of a perfectionist, but doesn’t particularly like admitting it. he’s very used to doing something, so it’s hard to convince him to slow down and take a rest even if he’s quick to make sure his own pokemon are rested and healthy.

[cherienymphe]

Unhappily Married III (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, dad!Steve, age gap (reader is a 20 something college student so that could range from undergraduate to graduate and Steve is late 30s), slight college!Peter x reader

DNI if this offends you!

summary: your dream job becomes a nightmare when your employers reveal their true colors.

~

Steve parked the car in front of the apartment, and you didn’t bother to say anything as you unbuckled your seat belt. You could feel his eyes on you, you’d felt them on you practically throughout the entire ride, but you ignored his gaze.

Not only was Peter right, but in the worst way possible. You’d had no idea that Steve felt the way he did, and even worse, it seemed like he didn’t care if you felt the same way or not. You were coming to the harsh realization that he wasn’t who you believed him to be at all, and that broke your heart a little.

“You’re welcome,” he said when you reached for the door.

You paused, shoulders tensing as you glared at him over your shoulder.

“I didn’t ask you to drop me off,” you sneered, exiting the car.

You spun when you heard him do the same, eyeing him in fear as he came to stand in front of the vehicle.

“What are you doing?”

“You still have my clothes,” was his simple response.

You did. You had forgotten about that, and you clenched your jaw.

“I haven’t… They haven’t been washed yet. I’ll drop them off-.”

“Nonsense,” he cut you off with a smile. “You don’t have to do that. I can just get them today and do that myself.”

You pursed your lips, not taking your eyes off of him as you sighed.

“Fine. Wait here, and I’ll-.”

“I can just get them,” he said, stepping closer to you.

Your eyes widened a bit, the gravity of the situation fully resonating with you. You lived in an apartment full of nothing but college students. It was the middle of the day. Anybody who lived in the complex was probably at class…including Peter.

“That’s really not necessary. It’ll only take a second…”

He stepped towards you, and you stepped back. He eyed you, and you clutched your keys. You had taken them out in the car, not only so you could get out and get in the house quickly, but also because you’d read that they could be used as weapons in case…

He eyed the keys, and you tightened your grip on them. You felt your eyes water just a bit as fear almost crippled you.

“I have no problem just getting them myself. It seems senseless to have you walk back out here,” he proposed, and you glanced around for anyone.

“You don’t know where they are and-.”

You cut yourself off with a shriek as he lunged towards you, digging his hands into your shoulder with one hand, hard enough to hurt, and snatching the keys from you with the other.

“Then you can just show me, hmm?” he sweetly replied as he shoved you towards the door.

He unlocked it with ease, and you sobbed when he pushed you inside. You spun around, watching with wide fearful eyes as he locked the door. You flinched when he walked towards you, and he sighed.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” he softly said.

You shook your head, backing away from. He dropped the keys onto the coffee table, holding his hands up as he slowly straightened. When you first met the Rogers, you thought they both were lucky. You thought Sharon was gorgeous and that Steve was equally so, and big and strong to boot. Now, her big strong husband was alone in your apartment with you…making you more terrified than you’d ever been in your life.

“Just show me where they are…”

“They’re in the laundry room,” you shakily replied, not taking your eyes off of him.

He dropped his hands before gesturing, and more tears sprang forth.

“It’s right around the corner,” you mumbled, pointing.

He sighed again, blue eyes boring into your own. How many times had he smiled at you? How many times had those blue eyes looked at you in concern? How many times had he hidden his true intentions behind those comforting smiles?

“Y/N… I’m not going to hurt you, okay? Just show me where it is. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you…”

You sniffed, eyeing him as you realized you didn’t have much of a choice. You hesitantly walked towards the small hallway, continuously looking over your shoulder as he followed you. You pressed your back to the wall as you pointed to the door in front of you.

He eyed you as he walked past, hand brushing over your shoulder in what you were sure was meant to be a comforting manner as he walked into the tiny room. You glanced at the door when his back was turned, but when you looked back, he was staring at you, his clothes in hand. He stepped back into the hall, looking to his right, your left, at the other doors.

“That your room?” he questioned, nodding towards a cracked door.

Fresh tears fell.

“Please, just leave-.”

“I will in a little bit.”

He reached out, gripping the back of your neck before pushing you along. You trembled in his grip, stumbling into the room as he looked around. He hummed, running his hand along the bed you and Peter shared before tossing his clothes at you. You shakily caught them.

“Is this where he fucks you?”

You frowned in disgust, glaring at him.

“Leave! Please,” you begged. “I won’t tell anyone what you did. I promise, I won’t, I just want you to leave me alone.”

He walked towards you, and you hurriedly backed away.

That was a mistake.

He wasn’t walking towards you. He was walking towards the door, and you just gave him room to shut and lock it. A new fear crashed into you, only increasing when he spoke.

“Put them on.”

You eyed the clothes in your hand, glancing up at him with wide eyes. You swallowed, darting your eyes around.

“You can scream if you’d like, but I don’t think any of your neighbors are home,” he suggested.

“Steve… Please, don’t do this to Sharon. Don’t hurt her anymore than you already have,” you pleaded.

The corner of his mouth curved upward just the slightest.

“If only you knew…”

Confusion filled you, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“I said that I wasn’t going to hurt you, but that doesn’t mean I’m opposed to it,” he began, and you closed your eyes. “Don’t make me have to, because I don’t want to.”

You slowly turned around, quickly undressing and pulling his clothes on. You didn’t know what he had planned, and as you held his boxers to you, your confusion grew. You flinched when he reached out to turn you around. He eyed you, and you shrunk in on yourself.

His blue eyes were dark with hunger, and he began to push you back…towards the bed.

“No,” you screamed, pushing against him, but with one hard shove to the chest, you fell back.

You bounced on the bed, but you didn’t have time to right yourself before he settled himself in between your parted legs. You fought against him, digging your nails into his neck when he gripped your wrists, squeezing enough to make you cry out.

He maneuvered them both in one of his hands, pinning them to the bed as he hovered over you. You screamed, certain that you both were right, and no one was around, but you did it anyway. He only watched you as you kept screaming, and eventually you swallowed your screams, breaking down into sobs.

“Are you finished?”

You didn’t respond, squeezing your eyes shut. He gently shushed you, reaching out with his free hand to wipe your cheeks.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he softly said.

You didn’t open your eyes, wishing this was all a nightmare.

“Just relax,” he whispered.

Your eyes flew open when his hand slid inside of his boxers. You gasped when his fingers pressed against your opening, swirling them against your sensitive skin. You squirmed against him, begging him to stop, but he ignored you.

“Shh,” he hushed, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You gasped when he slid one finger inside of you, with difficulty, and you winced as he pushed it as far as it could go. He pulled out, sitting up to wrap his lips around it before reaching down again.

“Steve, please,” you shakily whispered.

He only hummed in satisfaction when his finger went in much easier this time. You scrunched your face up as he massaged your walls, brushing his finger inside of you again and again as he rutted against you. He leaned back down, brushing his lips against yours, and you turned your head away.

He sighed in frustration, shoving a second finger inside of you. You grunted, pushing your wrists against his hand, but his grip was airtight. He curled them inside of you again and again, you soon found your eyes fluttering, struggling to keep them open.

You could feel yourself dripping, soaking his boxers, no doubt, and shame filled you. You looked past his head, staring at the ceiling as tears escaped and ran into your hair.

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

“No,” you sobbed, shaking your head.

Your legs were trembling around him, and he jerked his hand before pulling his fingers out. You almost sighed in relief when he stuck them in his mouth, closing his eyes and humming in satisfaction before adding a third finger in his mouth.

You arched against him, fighting to get him to budge, but he didn’t. He reached down again, sliding one finger inside of you, then a second, and finally a third. A pained gasp escaped you, and he swallowed it as he kissed you again.

You could hear the lewd sounds your core was making as he fucked you with his fingers, shoving them inside of you in such a way that had your head spinning. Your breath hitched, stomach tightening and he grinned into the kiss.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Come on my fingers.”

“No,” you breathed, fighting it.

“Just relax. You feel how well you take them when you relax?” he murmured, pressing kisses to your neck.

The bed was shaking with how much you were squirming beneath him, and he moaned when you clenched around him. Your chest was arching up into his, pushing against his grip as you fought your oncoming climax.

“Come on baby,” he whispered. “Come on.”

You cried out, chest heaving as you attempted to swallow his fingers. He shoved them inside of you to the hilt, curling and twisting them as you soaked his boxers. He sat up to get a good look at you, biting his lip as he glanced down, letting you go to pull his boxers down.

You were still spasming, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched the way you clenched around his fingers, juices soaking his skin. He continued to stroke you, eyes never leaving the sight as you dug your nails into your bed.

He only pulled out when you finally came down, licking his fingers clean as you panted. He pulled the boxers back up, leaning over you to kiss you. His head twisted to the side from the force of your slap, tears streaming down your face.

You shoved him away from you, and he let you, eyeing you as you sat up and backed away from him. Your lips trembled, body still tingling as he ran his eyes over you, reaching down to adjust himself when he stood.

“I should go, and you should clean up. I don’t think you want Peter to see what a mess you’ve made.”

His face was unreadable, but his voice was smug, and anger coursed through you. You looked away when he walked out, only satisfied when you heard the sound of the door slamming shut. You pressed your hand to your mouth, falling to the side as more tears fell.

 ~

“You’re quitting?”

You nodded, wrapping your sweater tighter around you before wrapping your arms around your knees. Peter’s eyes were questioning as he sat before you on the couch.

“I just got off of the phone with Mrs. Rogers before you got here,” you whispered. “I told her that I’m really sick, and in a few days I’m going to just bite the bullet.”

He eyed you, scooting closer as he rested his hand on the side of your neck. He looked like he wanted to say something but decided against it.

“What did she say?”

“Just that she hopes I feel better soon.”

“What…what brought this on?”

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile as you looked at him.

“Nothing,” you lied. “I just realized that you were right. This whole thing is messy, and I’m going to get caught up in it.”

Peter didn’t look convinced, and he took your hand, rubbing his thumb over the skin there. You swallowed, recalling the way Steve’s hands had felt on yours, and you pushed tears back.

“I feel like something happened, like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

He paused, thinking for a moment before he frowned, anger slipping into his boyish features.

“Did Mr. Rogers drive you home?”

“…he did…,” you eventually answered.

“He did something, didn’t he? Say something?”

“Peter…”

“Something happened. What the hell did he do?”

You squeezed his hand in a soothing manner.

“Peter, nothing…nothing happened. Not really. He just… He told me that he didn’t cheat on Sharon and that he only made her think he did.”

Peter scoffed in disbelief.

“Why would he do that?”

“Apparently, he wants a divorce, and she doesn’t. So he’s trying to force her hand,” you confessed.

It wasn’t a lie. He did tell you that. Peter threw his head back, blinking a couple of times.

“That…is so messed up,” he scoffed.

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

He glanced at you before leaning over to kiss your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” you asked, frowning in confusion.

“I know that you really liked working there. You love Nathan, and you’ll never say it to me, but I just know you thought Mr. Rogers was just…the perfect husband,” he chuckled.

You scoffed, swallowing down your disgust.

“I did,” you said, disappointment coloring your tone. “He is not who I thought he was at all.”

Peter stayed with you on the couch, eyes glued to the tv. He didn’t think anything of it when you wanted to sleep on the couch, telling him you were too comfortable to move.

 ~

“I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t desperate…”

You sighed, staring outside of your window as you held the phone to your ear.

“Mrs. Rogers, I quit though. Weeks ago,” you replied.

“I know,” she sighed. “I was very understanding about it too. You want to focus on school, right now, I get it, but it’s just one more night.”

“You haven’t hired anyone else?”

“We have, but they’ve only been working here for a few weeks. We don’t know them well enough, yet.”

You released a shaky breath, recalling the last time you saw Steve. The way he felt as he pinned you down, his lips on you, his fingers inside of you. You shuddered, turning away.

“Mrs. Rogers, I can’t-.”

“Please, Y/N. I am literally begging at this point. Steve will be out of town on business, and I don’t know just how sick my mother is. It’s an hour drive, I’ll be staying the night, and then I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” she explained.

You froze.

“Oh. I…didn’t realize that you both would be gone for the entire night,” you said, pressing for more information.

You didn’t exactly quit your job willingly. You needed the money, desperately, but Steve had basically forced your hand. There was no way you could go back there with him around, but if he was going to be gone…then maybe you could watch Nathan one last time. Mrs. Rogers offered to pay you double.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Steve is leaving the day before and won’t be returning until two days later.”

“Oh.”

So you wouldn’t see him, at all. You could do this one last job for them, get paid double, and then wash your hands of this family for good.

“Besides, Nathan misses you like crazy. He isn’t taking to Gwen too well,” she added.

Your shoulders sagged, heart clenching at the thought of Nathan. Curse her.

“Okay. I’ll see you in two days.”

“Oh, bless you, Y/N! You don’t know how grateful I am.”

The two of you said your goodbyes, and you hung up the phone with a sigh. You reminded yourself that you really needed the money.

 ~

Mrs. Rogers ushered you inside as you shivered a bit from the rain. It was lightly drizzling outside, but nothing heavy yet, and for that you were grateful. You didn’t tell Peter about everything until the last minute in a text when he went to class. You knew how he’d react, but you needed the money.

“I’m so happy to see you. Gwen is hardly ever on time, and I cannot tell you enough how much I’ve missed your punctuality,” she said.

You chuckled, tightening your grip on your sleeping bag as she led you upstairs.

“Did Peter get a new car?” she questioned.

“No. An uber dropped me off,” you replied.

“Oh! I’m so glad we live in the dawn of things like Uber and Lyft, now. It’s so convenient. I wish we’d had them when I was in college,” she said, opening the guest bedroom door.

You set your bag down, turning to face her as she smiled at you.

“I’m so happy that you’re here.”

“Me too,” you quietly replied.

“No, I don’t mean just as my babysitter. I enjoyed having you around very much, Y/N. I’ve told you before, but the house is just different when you’re not around. Nathan has missed you so much,” she continued.

“I missed him too,” you honestly replied. “Is he asleep?”

“Yes, actually. He’s been put down for bed already, so it should be an extremely easy night for you.”        

You nodded.

“…and…you’ll be back first thing in the morning?”

“Before the sun even comes up,” she confirmed, pausing as she thought for a moment. “Why don’t you go ahead and shower…”

“Um…sure. Okay,” you agreed.

“I’ll be pulling out of here shortly, but you can go ahead and get cleaned up first. I know you’ll enjoy having the house to yourself for the entire night,” she chuckled.

You nodded in agreement, taking your sleeping clothes out of your bag. You noted how easy it was to be in the house without Steve, and you found yourself just wishing Sharon would divorce him. You wish that she knew just how despicable he was, and you considered telling her, but you didn’t think she’d believe you. Besides, it wasn’t like you’d be telling her for completely unselfish reasons. With him gone, you’d have no problem working here.

Any nerves you still had, the warm water washed away. Peter had called you just before you had hopped into the shower. As expected, he wasn’t ecstatic about it, but there wasn’t much he could do or say. He knew that you were going to do what you wanted, and he also agreed that it was one last night of double pay without any chance of running into Steve. You had told him that you would call if you needed him.

You stepped out of the bathroom refreshed. You could hear Sharon downstairs in the kitchen, and you peeked in on Nathan as you passed. He was sound asleep in his crib, and you smiled before making your way downstairs. Sharon’s overnight bag was by the door, and she was cleaning up the last of her mess as you entered the kitchen.

“There you are,” she said, smiling at you. “Alright, well, I’m about to head out.”

She exited the kitchen, and you followed.

“You have my number, you know all of Nathan’s allergies, but don’t hesitate to call-.”

“Mrs. Rogers…”

She paused, exhaling with a small embarrassed smile.

“Sorry, I forgot who I was dealing with. God, I miss having you around.”

She grabbed her bag and her purse, keys in her hand.

“I’ll be back in the morning- oh! I also made you a cup of tea. I know you love vanilla chai…”

“Thank you,” you said.

You normally would make some yourself, but you appreciated her kind gesture. She hugged you goodbye, and you locked the door behind her. You turned on the tv before breezing into the kitchen.

 ~

You held the empty cup in your lap, eyes glued to the tv. Nathan had only stirred once, but after seeing your face, it wasn’t hard to put him back to sleep. You frowned a bit, reaching out to turn the tv down a bit when you heard a noise outside. You were just about to stand when you heard keys in the door.

Your eyes widened, heart dropping to your stomach when Steve stepped inside. He shook the rain off of him, and you were frozen on the couch when he finally looked up. You swallowed, tightening your grip on the cup.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m only here to get a file I left,” he answered.

He acted like nothing had happened, and to him, that was probably true. He had gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he?

“Sharon said you were supposed to have left yesterday.” you threw out.

He made his way past you, and you kept your eyes on him.

“No, I was supposed to. I didn’t leave till today, and I just spent the last two hours driving back,” he complained, walking past the stairs and down the hall.

You faced the tv, clenching your jaw as you heard him rifling through something in a room down the hallway. You didn’t feel comfortable being in this house with him, but you told yourself that he got what he wanted from you.

He was just here to get something and then he was leaving. With a huff you reached out with the remote to turn the tv off. You decided that you’d lock yourself in the guest room upstairs until he left. You stood, but you must have done so too fast, because everything started spinning.

You held your hand out to steady yourself, but it did you no good. You stumbled, and the teacup fell to the floor, shattering into pieces.

“Y/N?” you heard Steve call.

You swallowed, finding it hard to do so as you laid your hand on the couch. You stared ahead of you for a moment, trying to focus your vision before turning towards the stairs. He called your name again, but you didn’t answer, determined to get upstairs. You took one step, and your leg gave out. You would have collapsed completely, but a pair of arms caught you.

“Woah,” he said, holding you up.

“Don’t…don’t touch me,” you slowly said, your words jumbled together.

You tried to get out of his grip, almost falling again in the process.

“Woah, woah, woah.”

His grip tightened as he helped you walk. You could barely do so, and the more you moved, the worse your head started to hurt. Something was wrong…

“No,” you protested as he helped you.

He huffed as you fought against him.

“Y/N, you can’t walk. I’m going to help you into bed, and then I’m calling Sharon, okay?”

You thought you said no to that, but in actuality it probably came out a jumbled mess. Your vision started to waver, black spots appearing. You were hardly coherent as you felt yourself being guided up the stairs. You groaned, running your hands along the wall as you moved.

“Shh. That’s it. One foot in front of the other,” he encouraged.

You could hardly hear him, and it got to a point where Steve was all but carrying you to the guest room. He helped you inside, depositing you on the bed, and you had no choice but to lean against him as he pulled the cover back.

He helped you lie back, and your headache immediately improved. You groaned, feeling like you were falling as he pulled away. You watched with a blurry vision as he turned his back to you, hoping he would close the door on his way out.

Your heart raced, and you blinked in shock when he didn’t leave. You fought to sit up as he locked the door, but your body felt like it was full of sand. You forced yourself to roll over, slowly but surely crawling across the bed to the other side.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he said, rushing over to you.

You let out a small cry when his hands caught your ankles, dragging you back before turning you over. His shirt was gone, and you felt tears spring forth as you realized what was about to happen. You could hardly say anything, all of your protests coming out jumbled and slurred.

He undressed you, slapping your hands away at every weak attempt to fight him off. Your breathing picked up when he slipped out of his pants, on the verge of hyperventilating.

“S-Steve-.”

“Shh. Relax,” he urged as he climbed over you. “Just lie back and relax, Y/N. It’s going to be okay.”

You couldn’t do anything as he kissed you. His lips were soft against yours, a contrast to his hard frame that pressed against you. He paid no mind to your tears, manipulating you so that he settled in between your legs. The only thing that separated the two of you were his silk boxers, and soon enough, they were gone too.

You reached up, but he easily pinned your hand down. Your other hand was useless against him, hardly leaving a scratch as you hit him. His other hand was in between your legs, stroking and teasing you, moaning when you started to grow wet. You knew it was useless, but you still pushed against him, refusing to accept what was happening.

“I’m going to take good care of you, Y/N. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” he purred in your ear.

You could feel your mind slipping away, eyes fluttering. You didn’t know how long they remained closed the next time, but they flew open again when he entered you. You cried out, reaching up to grip his shoulders as your eyes widened. He moaned above you, low and deep as he closed his own eyes. His chest heaved, getting used to the feel of you as you did the same.

More tears fell, and everything became confusing as he began to thrust inside of you. You held onto him, pressing your head back into the pillow as you squeezed your eyes shut. He was bigger than Peter, and there was some discomfort, despite whatever was coursing through your system. Entirely too much was going on at once.

Your head was spinning, heart racing as you fought to focus on the way your core throbbed around Steve’s unrelenting cock. The bed shook under the weight of his thrusts, and one of his hands came up to grip your jaw.

He leaned down to kiss you again, nipping and tugging at your lips. You found yourself moaning as he stroked a fire within you. This wasn’t right, but you couldn’t stop the way your frame trembled beneath him if you could. Pleasure wracked through you like a fever, and your nails dug into his sweat slicked skin.

Your vision faded in and out again, and when it cleared, he was still there. Hovering over you, retreating again and again. His deep breaths filled your ears, low moans escaping every now and again as you clenched around him.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned.

“Steve,” you mumbled, toes curling.

“Let go,” he urged.

“No,” you whimpered, lips trembling. “No.”

“Yes,” he whispered, pressing his lips against yours.

“No,” you murmured into his mouth, repeating it over and over.

You pressed your hands against his stomach, trying to stop him, but he only picked up the pace, slamming into you. His teeth were bared, eyebrows furrowed as he was determined make you come, and come you did.

You gasped, tears falling out of your wide eyes, and you dug your nails into his hip. Your legs shook, kicking around him as wave after wave crashed into you. He grunted, teeth clenched together as one of his hands pressed into your pelvis, pinning your hips to the bed as he thrust into you.

You were still coming when he slammed into you one final time. Your chest arched upwards against his, and you continued to shake as sobs wracked your frame. Everything hit you all at once, and your eyes rolled as you felt yourself slipping. You felt Steve press a kiss to your dewy chest just as darkness claimed you.

~

tags:  @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @kellyn1604 @mcudarklibrary @darkficreposter @villanellevi @xoxabs88xox @harringtonsblackgf @sebabestianstan101 @notyourtypicalrose @opheliadawnwalker3 @readermia @everythingstucky @ironlady1993 @guardingstarlord @lovelymoonkiid @esistmon @sweetbvcky @mavelfanatic @beeeb05​ @mrsdeanwinchester19​ @stupendousshepherdloverpony​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous​ @jtargaryen18​ @nickyl316h​

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (2/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 9.1K which is also more than I remember writing. Which should probably be the subheadline of my life.  AN: Guys! All of you! Collectively! Separately! Thank you so much for your genuinely incredible response to this story that took on a life of its own. It’s very nice! You’re all very nice! More exclamation points! This time around we’ve got; a very discombobulated timeline, bedtime stories, peak!dad David, peak!dad Killian and f e e l i n g s. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam || Or you can start from the start

————

“How did you figure it out?” He lifts his eyebrow. Only one, and exactly the same way he does in whatever part of time the real Killian Jones is lingering in, but the thought of this Killian Jones not being entirely real makes Emma’s stomach knot. Several times over. She can’t stop staring at his eyebrow. It’s off-putting. And the complete opposite of that. “Out?” Killian echoes. “Not when?” “No, no I figured you knew pretty much from the get, but—” Emma shrugs. Tries very hard not to fall off the kitchen counter. Which might actually be made of granite. 

God, maybe they’re legitimately rich. 

She can’t imagine what the mortgage on a house like this is. 

She can’t imagine there are actually mortgages in Storybrooke. 

“Were you thinking about going to get your sword? Because it seems shitty to challenge an unarmed person to a fight.” The eyebrow gets higher. Arch'ier. Pointier, even. “As you’ve already pointed out today, I am a pirate. And that’s not really an answer to my question.” “Or mine,” Emma challenges. “Are you not a pirate anymore, then?” “You know you’d make a rather atrocious spy, darling.” Sneering is decidedly juvenile and the only thing Emma is capable of doing in the moment. “You are dancing around any answer and—” “—Well, if you’re a time traveling, abysmal spy then it seems wrong to provide you with any more information than what you’ve already gleaned from your day here, doesn’t it?”

She deflates. 

Shoulders sag and exhaustion creeps up the wholly unnatural and very uncomfortable curve of Emma’s spine, fear tickling the back of her mind because Killian hasn’t actually made a single move towards the basement, but she’s only passably sure of where the basement is and the specific sort of glint in his eyes makes her even more confident that he wouldn’t mind brandishing his sword at her. 

Literally in this instance. 

“I’m not sure it’s time travel,” she mumbles, staring at a floor that is questionably clean if it does in fact belong to her. Maybe Killian cleans. “Fascinating.” “I’m not the bad guy here.” “Because I am?”

Her shoulders can’t sink any lower. They try all the same, shamed by the hitch in his breath and the tilt of his head, angled to make his hair drift across his brows and eyes that are as distracting as ever and far too easy to get swept up in and—

Emma swallows. 

Exhales. She doesn’t remember when she decided to hold her breath. 

“I don’t know,” she admits softly, barely able to move her lips and no one remembered to turn the Christmas tree off. Lights reflect off the ridiculous number of windows in the wall, painting streaks of color on paint that isn’t blue and shouldn’t remind anyone of a ball gown Emma knows she hasn’t worn yet, but it’s pretty all the same and she wonders why she wound up here. At this point. This moment. 

Killian might not be breathing either. 

“What do you know, then?” 

Emma bites her lip. Hard. “That one second I was somewhere else, and then I was—” Shaking her head does not help what is undoubtedly a migraine blooming behind her left eye, but she hasn’t fallen off the counter yet and she imagines victories are going to be few and far between, so it seems fair to cling to them as they pass by. Six of her knuckles crack when she grips the kitchen counter. “Waking up, and you were telling me we had to go get paint, and people were bowing to me.” “They don’t do that where you’re from.” “Not a question.” “No,” Killian agrees, which is a very strange way of doing that, “more like a documented point. You haven’t tried to attack anyone yet, though. So I suppose that’s at least one marker on the positive column.” “I’m not going to attack anyone!” Eyes flashing at the crack in Emma’s voice, Killian’s neck all but snaps as he glances over his shoulder. Towards a staircase, and she hasn’t spent too much time upstairs yet, but those same stairs are as empty as they were sixteen seconds earlier and the force of Killian’s exhale ruffles the ends of his hair. 

“If you wouldn’t mind being just a touch quieter,” he all but growls at her, spinning back around with far more grace than Emma thinks is entirely fair, “I’d really appreciate it. Takes her forever to fall asleep.” “Hope, you mean? Don’t I, well—don’t we or…” “I’d suggest you stop talking.”

“And you’re still avoiding my questions,” Emma accuses through clenched teeth. That only hurts her jaw. And the rest of her, really. She’s so tired, she can’t believe she’s still forming coherent sentences. Counting that as another marker in the positive column is probably a dick move. 

And the standoff that ensues over the next twenty-seven and two-thirds seconds is something in the realm of ridiculous. Clenching her jaw tight enough to crush a variety of diamonds, Emma resolutely refuses to blink, and Killian’s an ass, apparently, so he simply stares right back, while his shoulders heave on every inhale. 

She doesn’t know what to say. Has no idea what string of words will convince this relative stranger, who still feels like someone who could potentially be hers in an overwhelming sort of way, that she’s not a threat and wouldn’t do anything to hurt that kid upstairs. Not when that kid did her own bit of staring at Emma all evening, like she was the sun and the moon, and a variety of constellations and—

Killian drags a hand over his face. Leaves red streaks in his wake, twisting the skin on his cheeks and the stubble there doesn’t move because it can’t, but Emma’s admittedly starting to teeter again. In more ways than one, really. 

The crinkles around his eyes are deeper. As if he’s used to laughing and smiling, and Hope had clung to him on their walk home. 

There’s that word again. 

Doing something silly to Emma’s heart. 

“I know you’re not going to attack anyone,” he sighs, “although I don’t really know if you’re in a position to demand I tell you anything, either.”

“What if we call it a request?” His lips twitch, fighting off the smile Emma can see tugging at his mouth and it’s definitely wrong to find any confidence in that. Charming a guy who’s already married and procreating with a different version of her shouldn’t be regarded as another victory. 

She’s going to do it anyway. 

“Tell me who you are, then.” “I’m—” Grunting hurts Emma’s throat, both of her elbows threatening to damage her ribs when she flails her hands. “I’m me. Just—” “—Not mine?” “Oh, that’s decidedly possessive.” Humming, Killian’s nod is barely that. More like a quick jerk of his chin and swipe of his tongue across the front of his teeth. She’s got to stop staring at his mouth. “Aye, it might be. I am having some difficulty wrapping my head around this, though. So you’ll have to forgive me.” Emma scoffs. Nearly laughs, really — which is as surprising as it is nice, and nothing about this can be nice. On principle. Her body doesn’t seem to care, and her heart certainly cares even less, and it’s still a struggle to rationalize this version of Killian with the one she left, but there are far more similarities than her brain is able to process quite yet and that same dark and distant part is very quick to point out she’d like to. 

No matter where she might be sitting.

If she’d let herself. 

“You can feel my magic?”

Killian nods. “Usually.” “What does that mean? It doesn’t always work?” “I—” Gritting his teeth only shows off how frustratingly straight there are, and at some point she’s going to ask about that. Pirates don’t get braces, after all. “I’d rather not disrupt all of time by telling you things you don’t already know.” “I don’t know anything,” Emma argues, trying very hard not to scream the words. And only sort of succeeding. 

“Did you fall into a portal?” “Are you fucking with me?” Killian glares at her again. “I’d advise very strongly that you answer the question, Swan.”

“Or what? You’ll legitimately go get your basement sword? Why do you keep your sword in the basement, anyway? Aren’t there—I mean, a monster a week in Storybrooke, right?” His goddamn fucking tongue is going to be the death of her. Sooner or later, Emma is positive. Shifting and poking at the side of his cheek, and she can hear the gears again, trying to place the few clues she’s given him with a life he’s already lived and it is absurd that she even thought the word clues. 

“Not in quite some time,” he admits, and Emma’s mind leaps. Back to conversations and knights and realm-borders. She needs a map. Or Regina, God help her. “That’s not the point, though. It’s—” Another head shake and hair movement, and pinching the bridge of his nose only makes it ten-thousand times easier to see the ring on his finger.

There are a lot of Christmas lights in this house. 

“You’re not someone else,” Killian finishes softly. 

“Disappointing, I know.” His head moves so quickly it’s hardly more than a semi-dark blur of hair and slightly pained eyes. Both of which make Emma very glad for her spot on the counter. If she had been standing, she would have fallen over. In a rather undignified heap. 

“No,” Killian exhales as the magnets make a glorious return. He crowds into her space before she’s entirely ready for it. Although that also suggests Emma would ever be ready for the way his face has twisted and how ridiculously warm he continues to be, the hand that’s already resting on her knee threatening to burn straight through her jeans. “Strange,” he adds, clenching his fingers when Emma flinches, “and possibly a little terrifying, since—” “—Your Emma has disappeared entirely.” He grins. It’s disarming, and inching closer to the kind of flirting they’d been dancing around before and Emma’s got to get off this dancing metaphor kick. She’s not a good dancer, anyway.  “No portal, right?” “No portal,” she confirms. “And I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t a very lucid dream, so.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. 

She realizes that about halfway through the sentence. Any hint of camaraderie or déjà vu-based flirting disappears from Killian’s face and immediately shifts into the same brand of pain that came when she called him Hook. 

Biting her lip is really Emma’s only option.

“You don’t think this is real,” he whispers, another statement she doesn’t feel the need to point out. Shrugging, Emma’s vocal chords fail her again, and the step Killian takes away from her resembles a rather large chasm. 

Grand Canyon-esque. 

“We’re back to things I don’t know,” Emma says, “but um—do we have other kids? Aside from Hope, I mean? I—” Heat rises in her cheeks, the weight of the compliment threatening to burst out of her both foreign and necessary and Killian doesn’t do anything. Well, he lifts his eyebrows again, but that’s something like second nature to him and Emma refuses to count it and his fingers find the back of his hair. 

Huh. 

“Henry,” he replies.

“And you’re counting Henry? As—” Her tongue is really going to become a problem, if it’s going to remain this size in her mouth. “As your kid too?”

Strictly speaking, Emma’s not sure she actually wants an answer. Can only imagine what her emotions will do if she hears the confirmation that’s quite obviously pressing behind the seams of Killian’s mouth, but that confirmation might also prove several thousand things that have been at war in her for far longer than she’d ever be willing to admit, and he nods once. 

“In all the ways that matter,” Killian says. “And Neal is…” Shaking his head, all Emma gets is another smirk as soon as she huffs out her frustration, but the frustration is also kind of lacking when it feels like her whole body is running on overdrive and there’s no way he could fake the emotion behind those words. Even in a dream-like state. She’s not creative enough to come up with that particular voice inflection. 

“How’d you know?” she presses. “Honestly?” “Aside from your rather startling inability to act like yourself?” “Yeah. Aside from that.”

Stairs creak behind them, a not-quite ominous warning that this conversation has lasted longer than it should and there’s a kid of indeterminate age demanding to be put back to bed just out of sight. Emma should figure out how old her kid is. 

Hopefully that won’t ruin the space-time continuum, either. 

“You’ve got this lovely habit of calling me babe,” Killian drawls, leaning close enough that Emma swears she can smell him. Wishful thinking, maybe. “And I can’t remember the last time you called me Hook.”

He flashes her another grin — reminiscent of a man who is not this one, and then he’s gone, scooping up the kid and muttering promises against her hair, and Emma never knows how long she spends sitting on the kitchen counter. 

She does creep, eventually. 

Curiosity gets the better of Emma the longer she sits there, waiting without much hope for Killian to return. He’s not going to. She knows that. There’s only so many times he can come back, and this is a totally different thing than it was before, but it's also a perfect segue to the other reason she hopes off the counter. Her overall discomfort. Literally, and metaphorically. Marble, it seems, is a very fancy stone and good for the kitchen counters some alt-version of her eventually owns, but it also starts to dig into the back of her knees and those knees are bent kind of weird and in the grand scheme of where she wants to look again, inching up the stairs to peer through the barely closed door of Hope’s room is a much more appealing prospect than a basement that apparently houses weapons. 

So, Emma doesn’t spend too long thinking of the pros and cons, or how she should really be creeping towards the room of someone who might understand magic and why she’s here. Instead, she winces slightly on the creaky step halfway up the staircase and does her best to stay in the shadows, but these shadows aren’t quite as terrifying as they were in the realm she’s only just recently teleported from and that probably doesn’t mean a whole lot. 

He’s reading her a story. 

Captain Hook, terror of several storybook seas and probably a few Emma isn’t aware of, just to drive home the confusion point, sits propped up against a mess of pillows with his sock-covered feet stretched out in front of him, and curls pushed up against his side, a book balanced precariously on one thigh and she really would make the world’s worst spy. She hadn’t noticed the empty brace at the end of his arm. 

That’s never happened before. 

Honestly, she wasn’t even entirely sure it was possible, which is total asshole territory and maybe she’ll just collapse. Right here in the hallway. The carpet looks almost plush, so it might not be the worst move. 

And trying to memorize the look of it only feels like a half-dick'ish move, if only because the lack of a hook does sort of confirm the overall safety of this place, and Emma figures that outweighs whatever scene she’s interrupting. Or trying not to, as it were. 

Knotted scars line his skin, some of them looking older than others and that makes a few more of Emma’s internal organs flip. Something that feels a bit like anger rises in the back of her throat, an unexpected emotion that isn’t really directed at anyone except the people who caused those scars and that pain and he looks comfortable. 

Now, at least. 

Even slouched as he is against pillow cases that are far too frilly and remind Emma far too much of her mother. She keeps documenting. Lets her eyes trace over every inch of Killian — the way his fingers fluttering mindlessly against Hope’s back, brushing away strands of hair with the kind of ease that makes it clear this is a regular occurrence. His shoulders aren’t as taut as they were in the kitchen, but his head lolls towards the side more than once as fatigue starts to color his gaze. 

The story has princesses in it. Well, one princess. On a rather expansive adventure, if Emma’s actually keeping up with the plot. Dropped into a place she’s unfamiliar with, the princess in question naturally has a dashing love interest — although his name is Charles, so...maybe not all that dashing — and they get into several more adventures. Which include, but apparently are not limited to; taverns, a ridiculous amount of flirting, interactions with pirates, kissing as a distraction, the last of which endlessly entertains Hope, and the overall force of the little girl’s laugh makes Emma’s breath hitch, but then there’s more to the story and of course there’s a ball. More royalty, too. Obstacles are faced, only to be immediately overcome and Emma’s smile happens without any thought to the overall inappropriate nature of it. 

“And,” Killian says, shaking his head until his nose grazes Hope’s hair, “the exceptionally dashing prince took on the guards single-handedly, telling the princess to go and get the treasure they’d been looking for. While—” “—’Feating all of them, right?” Hope exclaims. As much as it’s possible to exclaim while also sounding half asleep. 

“In dramatic fashion. There was quite a lot of spinning involved. Made his jacket look all the more impressive. Fluttering tails and whatnot.”

Eyes flicker towards Emma’s garbage hiding spot, and she’s still not breathing correctly, so the odds aren’t very good he heard her, but she’s wondered more than once if he doesn’t just have a sixth sense when it comes to her and possibly them, and she pulls her lips behind her teeth. 

“What happened after that?” 

Most of Hope’s question comes out as a singular word, Killian’s soft laugh both indulgent and decidedly parental and he kisses her once before muttering, “Nuh uh, you’ve already gotten more story than you should, and you’ve got to get some rest.” “But I—”

Shaking his head once is all it takes for silence to descend on the room, although it does come with a slight pout and that’s—weird, it’s weird. Watching her own facial expressions reflect back to her from a kid she didn’t know existed a few hours earlier is more than enough to send Emma reeling. Wobbly knees shake underneath her, retreating in just enough time to not look totally suspicious as Killian mumbles something else and closes the door behind him, and she might have been right about the eye thing. 

They practically fly towards her. 

And the wall that was far closer than Emma anticipated. Hitting her head on it hurts more than it usually would, she imagines. 

“Truly,” he says, “an absolutely Gods awful spy.” “Was that supposed to be plural? On the Gods, I mean?” Tilting his head is the only response Emma gets, and she can’t blame him for that. For anything, really. “Does that happen a lot? The, uh—the stories.”

Silence. 

Relatively speaking. There’s the distinct sound of disgruntled kid on the other side of the other side of the door, what Emma figures are four flailing limbs as it appears Hope is determined to beat her half a dozen pillows into submission. 

Little sea monster makes a bit more sense now. 

“I do that too.”

Fatigue disappears. To make room for the invisible two-by-four that settles between Killian’s shoulder blades, shifting them until his spine is ramrod straight and he’s staring at Emma like that was the most obvious statement in the history of the world. 

“I’m well aware,” he says, but his voice drops, gruffer than it’s been all day. She’s going to bite both her lips in half. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s—makes sense, I guess. I, um—” No one actually told her to take her boots off, but Emma might have assumed, and the carpet does feel soft. Through her socks, at least. While she tries to dig a hole into the ground with her toe. So she can fall into it. “Seemed like a popular story.” “Aye, it is. Big fan of sword fights.”

“Ah, well, when they’re full of dashing princes who wouldn’t be?”

It’s another thoughtless sentence. One that makes Killian’s tongue shift and then his mouth shift and Emma only stares at that for a few seconds before her eyes drop to his arm and his wrist and—

He twists his arm. Behind his back. 

Her inability to dig a hole with her foot is genuinely disappointing. 

“A question for the ages,” he says. “What are the other ones, then?” “Excuse me?” “I cannot keep telling you how badly you mask your expressions. It seems redundant. So while I also can’t imagine getting too much information will be good, you’ve obviously got questions. As do I, if we’re being honest.” “Are we being honest?”

The lack of sword belt — or actual pants — makes it all the more absurd when he leans forward, thumb hooking into the top of the sleepwear he’s got on, and Emma’s fairly proud of her ability to not linger on that particular thing. Less so in her ability to temper the butterflies in her stomach as soon as Killian leans forward. 

Directly into her space. 

He must radiate heat. 

“I’ve never been anything except entirely honest with you, love,” Killian says, and there’s no way to doubt those words or that voice and Emma hasn’t. Ever, actually. 

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Eventually you really do believe it.” Blood hits her tongue — sharp and absolutely disgusting, threatening to make her retch in the middle of the hallway. Only marginally better than her hole idea. By some miracle, sent from an apparently merciful God, Emma manages to take a deep breath, jutting her chin out and meeting Killian’s almost cautious gaze with a determination of her own. 

The kind that sends magic shooting down her arms, and directly into the tips of her fingers. His eyes widen. 

“That’s never been the problem. It’s—” They’ve got to stop cutting themselves off. Sentences that hang without end will torment Emma for the foreseeable future, but the muscles in her neck are going to seize up if she doesn’t twist them, and Killian’s fingers tense at his side when her hair moves. Like he wants to brush it away from her face. “Where’d the tree come from?” “Anton.”

“No.” “Swan, we just proclaimed honesty and now you’re—” “—Don’t know if it was a proclamation,” Emma grumbles, but Doc did call her your highness before so maybe she wields that kind of power now. Killian’s lips tilt up. 

Finding something else to stare at should be number one on the list of things Emma needs to be doing. Desperately. 

“Aye, that usually requires your mother’s seal anyway.”

“My mom? Why would...isn’t Regina mayor of this town?”

Exhaling through his teeth is oddly attractive. “Not as such, no.” “Huh.” “That’s about the right reaction. But to get back to your original question—” Emma sticks her tongue out, Killian’s laugh soaring out of him. Directly into her. It feels that way, at least. Warmth blooms between her ribs, another pulse of magic she resolutely ignores in favor of watching his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle and it would be very easy. All of it. Is, currently. If she’s being honest with herself.  

That’s a problem.  

“You’re a picture of maturity,” Killian murmurs. 

“Well, depending on who you ask, I either got tugged through time, or I’m being tormented in my dreams and—what?” His eyes have gone very thin. “Tormented, is it?” “That was a shitty choice of words.” Humming, Killian’s eyes move anywhere but Emma’s face, and the regret in her gut is like a black hole and dying star and several other space-based puns she does not understand at all. All she knows is what a mess this is becoming, and she’s been a mess for as long as she can remember so that’s all the excuse she needs, hands moving on a mix of want and instinct that she’ll let herself over analyze later. 

He doesn’t flinch. 

For another moment, it feels like he’s going to do something drastic. Parting his lips, Emma hears his exhale, the quick flick of his tongue making her toes curl and her fingers tighten, and she wants to run. That’s her schtick. She can’t. She’s rooted to the spot and this carpet, and there’s nowhere to go really. 

Getting back to Neverland already seems impossible. 

“He’s very happy here,” Killian says, and it takes her a second to realize they’re talking about a giant again. “Has been for years. Grows all sorts of stuff, and you didn’t see the Christmas tree your parents have, but it’s ridiculously massive. Apparently there’s some sort of giant-type gene that helps with that.”

“Well, yeah of course.”

Whatever sound he makes isn’t the laugh Emma selfishly wants it to be, but the air that finds her cheek is warm and his left arm isn’t behind his back anymore. “You can take the bed.”

“What?” “We do have a bed, love.” “Yeah, but—” “—Very gallant of me, I know,” Killian quips, stepping away from Emma and the moment and she can’t believe the moment included talk of a giant growing Christmas trees. Somehow that’s almost comforting. “But it’ll be fine, and well if you’re going to talk to Regina tomorrow—” “—You think I should talk to Regina?” “Don’t you?” Nodding hurts. Standing hurts. The whole thing’s ridiculously melodramatic. “Probably,” Emma admits. “Um, but...maybe on my own?”

She’ll never admit to wanting an objection — this isn’t her life, or her Killian, but it also feels wrong to claim any Killian, and this constant flipping between emotions is going to snap her skull in half. “Whatever you think is best,” he says. “Two doors down on the left.”

“Ok, thanks.”

Nodding again, Killian gives her a barely-there smile before moving back towards the stairs he only sort of rushes down. That one step creaks again. 

Sleeping doesn’t happen. 

Emma didn’t think it would, but it’s disappointing and frustrating all the same. Her muscles ache, practically begging her for unconsciousness, but every time she closes her eyes all she can see is Killian’s face and the space between them and she’s got to get back to Neverland. 

Soon. 

Emma’s got to fix this. 

No one’s at Regina’s house. 

Waiting until everyone left her own house is something of a massive copout, and using that particular possessive makes Emma feel like a liar, but she couldn't bring herself to get off the bed until the front door slammed shut and she wasted quite a lot of time sitting on the mattress. 

Also very comfortable, despite the distinct lack of sleep it witnessed. 

So, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise when no one answers Emma’s rather pointed knocks. Or the few kicks she levels at Regina’s front door, just to be sure. All that does is make the wreath hanging out front wobble precariously. “God, fucking—” Snowflakes land on Emma’s face when she tilts her head up, as if the gods she’s challenging are responding. She’s still a little caught on the polytheistic. “Alright, alright, where would she go?”

“Emma?” Spinning, she doesn’t wobble at all — a testament to Regina’s salting regiment for her front steps, and the blonde twenty-something with impressively thick glasses who called her name far too easily grins far too quickly. “What are you doing out here?”

There’s no hint of confusion to her question. At least not in regards to who Emma is. She’s obviously surprised to find her standing there, though, and nothing about her is familiar. 

“I’m looking for Regina. Do you know where she might be?”

“Yeah, of course. She went into the office early this morning, said she had to deal with the knights situation and magic acting up and—” “—Magic is acting up?”

“Didn’t Uncle David tell you?”

“No,” Emma shakes her head, already moving because there are only so many offices in this town and it’s got to be the same one. It isn’t until she makes it back to Main Street that her mind catches up with titles, but then the woman is jogging up the stairs of town hall and swinging open doors and Emma’s jaw drops. 

At the “Regina Mills, Queen of the Combined Realms” etched in glass in front of her. 

“You coming?” this nameless person asks, jerking her head towards the office and at least the wallpaper is the same. Emma gives a jerky nod, willing herself to step forward, but it’s shaky going at best and Regina is on the phone. 

The buzzing in her ears makes it difficult to hear the conversation, but Emma picks up the gist. Magic, and knights and the sound of her dad’s vaguely frantic tone, while Regina sighs at regular intervals, rolling her eyes occasionally as well. 

“Aunt Gina,” the woman hisses, slumping into the closest chair. Sliding a small handful of bills across her desk, Regina widens her eyes meaningfully, not bothering to cover the receiver before she mutters—

“Only what was on the list, ok? Henry’s stuff is already taken care of, don’t let Doc try and swindle you.”

She gives a crisp salute, Emma’s mind practically tripping over itself because that’s like a slap to her entire being and the sanity she’s only just clinging to at this point. “I’ll sic Killian on him, if he even tries,” she promises, leaning across the desk to kiss Regina’s cheek before breezing out of the office with a quick “see you later, Emma.”

Emma doesn’t move. 

And Regina hangs up on David. 

“Well,” she says, somehow dragging the word out until it sounds like those royal decrees Killian was talking about, “here you are, then.” “Should practice your surprised face.”

Gasping as dramatically as possible, Regina widens her eyes and jerks back, making her chair squeak on its wheels. Her hand flies to her chest, and the necklace that hangs over her shirt. It looks a bit like an arrow. “How was that?” “My dad called you.” “Probably two seconds after you left the farm. So,” she props her chin on her palm, “time travel, is it? You fall in another portal?”

Blinking as quickly as she is makes it difficult for Emma to stumble into the chair only recently vacated by that girl, but she manages somehow. And doesn’t twist anything in the process. Victories, she’s claiming all of them. “How many time-altering portals are there?” “Only one that I’m aware of, but you also didn’t answer my question and I don’t think you can alter something that hasn’t happened for you yet.” “Because this is the future.”

“Frankly?” “You’re going to do it either way,” Emma grumbles, Regina’s sneer not quite as challenging as she expects it to be. 

“Nothing is ever set in stone, not really. Which is why you can appear here. We're...a possibility for you at this point. So, no—I’m not sure you can destroy yourself with knowing. With staying, for sure, but—” “—Wait, what?”

Regina’s fingers flutter against her cheek. “When did you come from?

“Not here.” “Obviously.”

Slumping further into the chair, Emma’s knees nearly slam into her chest. It’s definitely an arrow around Regina’s neck. “Neverland,” she says, “we’d just left the Echo Caves and you’d gone off with Gold somewhere.” “Rumor has it you met Ariel.” “Is that seriously who that was?” Regina nods. Emma exhales. Loudly. “Ok, ok, well—” Recounting the rest isn’t as hard as she expects it to be, details flowing out of Emma like some other water joke she’s not willing to make and Regina doesn’t interrupt. Occasionally her hand drifts back towards the necklace, but Emma chooses to ignore that as well and her mouth is only sort of dry by the time she’s done. 

And then Regina purses her lips. 

Which speaks volumes, without actually saying words. She says words too. “A giant plant. That crawled out of the ground and—” “—Ok, I never once said it was giant, just that it exploded out of the ground.” “It’s not much better.” “Killian can feel my magic here.” “Yuh huh.”

Lifting both her hands in what Emma can only hope is obvious frustration and soon-to-be-resolved confusion, Regina doesn’t look all that impressed. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Emma demands. “Is that a normal thing? I—as far as I know he can’t in Neverland.” “Well, normal is in the eye of the beholder, really, but have you ever actually asked the captain if he can feel your magic?” “Why would I—did you just call him captain? Are you and Killian friends now?” Clicking her tongue, Regina makes a noise that’s neither confirmation nor objection. “I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t—none of this is real.” “Ah, that’s actually a little rude.” “How did this happen, then?” Another noise. More guttural that time, and Emma hopes it hurts the inside of Regina’s throat. She’s feeling a little vindictive. No one’s explained the Unified Realms concept to her yet, that’s why. “I’ve got several working theories, some people who would know far more about Neverland’s vegetation and what its capable of than I would, and the deep-burning desire to know whether or not you told Killian about the plant.”

The gods are clearly feeling particularly charitable to Emma right now. All things considered, she feels like she deserves that. 

And she doesn’t fall out of the chair. 

“Do you think he remembers this? If I disappeared in Neverland, but he still married me here...God, that’s weird to say.” “Is it, though?’ Regina challenges, scrunching her nose like this is a conversation they can have.

“Why are you also being so goddamn weird?” “Time travels a funny thing. Lots of twists and turns, and potential pitfalls. And I’m not being weird, this is who I am now.” “Huh.” “Make it sound less like an insult next time,” Regina advises. “But I do think you’re right, you need to leave this part of the timeline. It’ll fall apart otherwise.” “You say so calmly.” “I’m almost very confident in your abilities.” “Almost,” Emma echoes, fully prepared for the snark-filled grin that gets her. Flames flicker between Regina’s fluttering fingers, not the first time that’s happened, but it usually only happens in times of particularly high stress and for as even-keeled as the so-called queen is acting, Emma knows at least part of it is a facade. “What happened with the knights? Also, shouldn’t knights from Camelot be under Arthur’s rule?” “That’s a whole other story. One your husband could recount much better than me.” “He’s not my husband.” “Not yet, I suppose.” Grimacing makes it harder to pull a breath in, but Emma’s butterflies make a triumphant return and the coffee maker was still on when she got downstairs. That might not be the coincidence she wants it to be. “The knights,” Emma demands, “what’s their deal?” “Nefarious, it seems. Which isn’t usually how they operate, and is wholly against the law.” “Of your kingdom?” Maybe Regina and Killian are friends. She’s much better at arching her eyebrow now. “Something like that. Anyway, the knights are here, without the proper paperwork, because they claim magic has been acting strangely in Camelot. And they’ve tracked it to our forest. What that magic is doing that’s so strange appears to be some sort of state secret, but Snow’s got a bird on it, so maybe we’ll find out eventually.” “That keeps happening.” “The fleeting nature of a bird’s attention span?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Is she not Mary Margaret, anymore?”

The flames disappear, Regina sitting up a little straighter like they’ve finally delved into the serious part of this conversation, and whatever’s churning in Emma’s gut is a bit like regret. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” “How am I thinking about it, then?” “As someone who still hasn’t found Henry in Neverland yet.” “Sounds like we do.” “Not something you ever should have doubted.” “I don’t,” Emma says, only kind of a lie because she still can’t really shake her worry and her fear has always been such a strong part of her; the concept of letting that go is as terrifying as anything else. The coffee had been good that morning. “Why this spot? I mean—if I was going to get tugged to any point in my timeline, Christmas in Storybrooke seems a little out of left field, don’t you think?”

Regina considers that for a moment, drumming her still-flameless fingers on her vaguely imposing desk. “Honestly? Seems like a test.” “Of what?” “You, obviously.” “Speaking English, Your Highness.” “Majesty,” Regina corrects, sliding away from the desk so she can stand up and rest her palms on it and Emma’s eyes nearly roll into the back of her head. “And you’re being obtuse on purpose. I understand, but it’s—well, it’s only going to get more annoying, for both of us. The point is, games were part of Neverland. Tricks and sleight of hand, making you believe something that wasn’t there because that belief fueled the place. Belief’s even stronger for you, Emma. Because of what you are, and what you’ve done. Or will do, I guess.” “No pressure.” “Some, but—you’re distracting me. That’s still an unconfirmed theory.” “What is the point, then?” “The point,” Regina repeats archly, “is that pulling you out of Neverland, away from a place that made you feel like the Lost Girl you believe you are, turns this into something of a Utopia. Home, and safety. When’s the last time you celebrated Christmas?” “Never?” “See, everything you’ve ever wanted all tied up and—” “—I don’t want to be married to Hook.”

Disbelief colors every inch of Regina’s face, the sound of her laugh far more evil than she’s been all morning. “You’re an awful liar, Emma Swan. No matter what you do, and all you’ve ever been able to do is make eyes at the pirate.” “I don’t make eyes.” “Don’t worry, he does too. Even now, which is romantic if you like that sort of thing.” “The point, Regina.”

She grins. “You’re being offered a choice. Here, or there. Past or possible future. It’s a dangerous option, Emma, and one you can’t give into, no matter how much you might want.”

Finding her dad is far easier than Regina. 

Emma’s feet drift down the path towards the farm, boots squelching in the snow, but none of the moisture gets to her socks and the screen door opens before she can think about knocking. 

“Would have been offended if you had,” David says, pulling her against his chest and answering a question she didn’t have a chance to ask. It’s the hand that does it though. Cupping the back of Emma’s head, there’s something inherently safe about the whole thing, her cheek scrunched and her eyes stinging with more unshed tears and the first whimper she lets out is so goddamn depressing she can’t believe it came from her. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” David chants. Over and over, pressing the promise into her hair and her temple, the bridge of her nose once Emma finally lifts her head, and the slight jut of her chin because she’s nothing if not consistently stubborn and falling apart feels like failure. 

“C’mon, we’re going to sit down,” David continues, already directing Emma back into the hallway. And through the hallway. Past more pictures, and this couch looks even more comfortable than the one she’d woken up on, and she’d been right about her mother’s taste in pillows. An excess of frill. 

“Was I that obvious that you had to immediately call Regina yesterday?" David shrugs, lifting his arm in unspoken invitation. Emma slings her legs over his when she moves, the flannel now under her cheek oddly comforting. As is the kiss she feels pressed to the crown of her head. “A little,” he chuckles, “but mostly it was Killian’s blatant freakout.” “He wasn’t freaking out. At least not here.” “He was. Not loudly, maybe. But obviously. And you looked at Hope like you’d never seen her. That also kind of freaked out your mom.” “How old is she?”

Emma doesn’t bother being anymore specific. She knows she doesn’t have to — not when her dad’s arm tightens around her shoulders, and she wishes she’d come here first, if only to help keep her balanced on the precarious edge of lingering sanity, and she’s got absolutely no idea where Killian went. She should ask about that too. “Four.” “Shit. That’s—shit.” Another chuckle and second kiss, and David has to shift slightly to make sure Emma’s elbow doesn’t impale his side. “Reasonable response, really. Anything else?” “About a million and two things,” Emma admits, with enough acid in her voice to do permanent damage to the atmosphere. Making science-jokes is apparently a coping device now. “Regina thinks it’s a test. Of whether or not I really will leave, when given some sort of idyllic future.” “Well you’re not a selfish asshole, so I’m sure you’ll do what you have to.” “Kinda blunt, Dad.”

It’s not the first time she’s used that word — but titles have been thrown around in enough conversations already, and Emma’s really very wobbly on her metaphorical cliff and she wants something. Solid and dependable and she refuses to acknowledge how Killian might be both. Is definitely both. 

In any version of this life. 

“Kinda,” David agrees, “but the knights showed up when you did, and I don’t know if that’s a coincidence. There have been reports coming into the station, too. Stuff feeling out of whack across the realms—” “—How many realms are there, exactly? Is Regina in charge of all of them?”

“There was something of an election.” “For a queen?” “We’re a very progressive united coalition.”

“And you’re what? Prince of that?” David makes a contrary noise, and it takes longer than Emma expects to detail the hierarchy of this realm, but she understands why her mom would need to make royal decrees now and why people keep bowing to her and— “So that makes Killian a prince,” Emma says, pleasantly surprised to realize she does not in fact die when her heart explodes. Or when she realizes that some parts of that bedtime story may actually be based in reality. 

She kind of wants to see him spin in the middle of a sword fight. 

“Tell him that,” David suggests. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.” “Makes me think he won’t.” “Sometimes people bow to him, just to see what he’ll do.” “Challenge them to a duel?” “Nah, that’d mean he has to get his sword and that’s a whole thing. Plus, he’s got stuff to do in the station and there’s a fair bit of sailing involved.” “He keeps his ship?” Emma asks, sharper than she intends because something’s fluttering at the back of her brain and it’s big and important and she’s got absolutely no idea why. “And did you just say station?” David hums. “Doesn’t like wearing the badge though. Which I think is an affront to the position of deputy, but—” She nearly hits his chin. Jerking her head up, Emma’s eyes widen quickly enough that they also water and her dad might be the asshole here because he doesn’t do anything except smile knowingly at her. “You’re happy here, Emma,” he says, “after everything. And there’s a lot of everything, but it ends eventually. Gets the happily ever after it deserves, that both of you deserve. Although he’s a merciless cheat in Monopoly, drives me nuts every Christmas.”

It’s not a laugh. Not really. Sagging forward, air flies out of Emma’s lungs and her very dry lips, and that second thing is because she keeps breathing out her mouth, and trying to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t all that interested in finishing before. Now it’s all she wants, desperate to see what the picture is, and it’s probably very pretty. 

A covered bridge, or an oceanscape or something. Thomas Kinkaid, maybe. And part of her hears the warning, knows all too well that she’s already failing the test, but the rest of her absolutely does not care. 

“Are you really here, or is that some kind of trick my mind came up with because you’re actually stuck in Neverland?” David kisses her nose. “Here. And for the time being, so are you. Which means you can sleep.”

“Mind reading isn't one of your talents, as far as I knew.” “I get better at it,” he promises, tugging an exceptionally soft blanket off the back of the couch and Emma doesn’t put up much of a fight before resting her head on his shoulder and promptly falling asleep. 

There are lights on in half a dozen windows when David’s new — at least as far as Emma’s concerned — truck comes to a stop in front of her absolutely massive house, and she’s got to get out. Easier said than done, particularly with trembling fingers and obviously fluttering curtains in that one bay window, and it takes no less than four tries for her to undo her seatbelt,

“It’s going to be fine” David says again, “no matter what happens.” “Even with magic being weird?” “We’re not sure that’s entirely your fault.”

Scoffing, Emma tries very hard to believe that. No one’s updated them on the location of the bird. She kind of hates this bird. Possibly all birds, really. “Sure it’s not. So, what—I’m just supposed to go back into this stupidly large mansion and—” “—Wouldn’t all mansions be large?” David interrupts. “By default?” “Did we rob a bank to pay for this?” “You’d have to ask Killian, but I don’t think so.” “He says I call him babe.”

Wincing, Emma belatedly realizes this is probably not a conversation she should be having with her father, but she hasn’t really seen her mother and she wants to talk about it to Regina even less, and she obviously can’t bring it up to Killian when she’s avoiding him so much and—

A door slams. Footsteps rush towards them, voices on the breeze and the snowflakes that have kept falling all day because it’s New England and as far as Emma knows it��s required to snow in New England on Christmas. Or in the days leading up. 

David nods towards the door she should have opened five minutes ago. 

And it takes her about one sharp inhale, two eyes that very nearly fall out of her head, and that maternal-type adrenaline she’s starting to get used to, for Emma to tumble out of the truck, sprint the few feet between them and practically launch herself into Henry’s waiting arms. Arms that are much more adult than she’s familiar with. 

Although that does also make it easier for him to tighten them around Emma’s middle, and she supposes time-traveling beggars cannot be choosers. “Hey,” Henry breathes, mostly into her hair. Wind whips around them, only kind of unnatural and a little magical and the door opens again. Emma doesn’t look up. Seeing Killian standing there, with his feet crossed at the ankles, she’s sure, will only drive her closer to a line she’s not all that willing to cross. Yet. Or ever. 

No, definitely ever. 

Everyone calling him Killian is nice. Exceptionally, so. 

“Killian said it was bad, but…” Trailing off, Henry pulls back and Emma’s crying again. Like a total, entirely incompetent ass. She’s got so many questions still. Her arms tighten, a fresh round of terror rattling around her soul, or some other ridiculous sentiment, and Henry doesn’t argue. He kisses the top of her hair too. 

He’s much taller than her now. 

“Did Killian talk to you?”

“Mom,” Henry sighs, “c’mon—even when I was a kid, that shouldn’t have surprised you.” It doesn’t, not really. But there’s a grown man in her arms, and snow flying around them, and Henry’s barked “not now, Lu” causes another kid to scamper back up the porch. Towards Killian and his ridiculous grey-streaked hair, and he picks her up without looking away from Emma. 

He’s looking at Emma. 

Still, or always, or whatever. 

“Don’t ask what kind of favors he had to pull in to get us here,” Henry adds, “but he said you’d need it, and it might help and Ella definitely wanted to leave, even if she won’t admit to it, so—”

“Stop telling lies, Henry Mills,” another voice calls from behind Killian, and Emma’s going to pass out. For a variety of reasons, least of all her lack of caloric intake today. 

Henry clicks his tongue. A family trait, apparently. “It’s not a lie, she didn’t even really want to go, but Lu gets a ridiculous present haul, so we had to and—” Several puzzle pieces fly into place. Helped along by Lu’s rather loud screech of “papa” directly into Killian’s ear, and Emma is glad she hasn’t eaten. Throwing up on Henry’s shoes is not the festive reunion it should be. “I’m really here,” Henry adds, reading Emma’s mind. Or her face. “No matter what you think might have happened in Neverland, it didn’t. I’m here, and you’re here and Killian made food, so you should probably eat.” She’d been right about the puzzle, it is a pretty picture. One that doesn’t belong to her, entirely. But pretty all the same. Desirable, maybe. 

That’s a dangerous line of thinking. 

“Hook can cook? Ignore that rhyme, please.” Henry grins, marching them back towards the house as David yells something about getting Snow from school and then there are smells and kids and that goddamn Christmas tree. And it takes Emma a few moments she thinks she deserves to realize—

“How did Henry know I’d come from Neverland?” she asks Killian, standing in the middle of the kitchen. He’s stirring something. She’ll think about that for at least two hours. 

“I told him.” “How did you know?” Leveling her with an incredulous stare, Emma once again fails at the whole no blushing thing, and they own a stand mixer. Only adults own stand mixers. “How many times should I request you give me more credit before that also becomes redundant?” “This is probably good enough.” “Generous of you, and it wasn’t very hard. Although I am still trying to pinpoint when it was, exactly. Quite a lot happened in Neverland.” “Looking awfully smug about that.” He shakes his head, offering her the spoon and there’s sauce there. Delicious sauce. This must happen a lot. “Hard to do that when you can’t look at me straight on, but—” “—Echo Caves,” Emma says, rushing to interrupt him. Killian’s eyebrows jump. 

“Huh.” “Regina doesn’t think telling me things will affect anything.” “Huh.” “Nothing to add to that?” Silence. More relative, at least. The TV is on, and a pillow fort is apparently being engineered in the living room, and everyone was very quick to leave the pair of them alone. With the sauce. “Thank you, though.”

“For?” “Getting Henry here, whatever favors you had to call in. I—well, Dad told me some of the stuff, and it’s...nice.” His lips disappear when he presses them together. Emma’s still staring, it seems. “Part of the deal, I think.” “Of?” “You really want me to answer that?” “Probably not,” Emma exhales, “but—still. It’s nice, and I...well, I appreciate it.”

“That’s not something you have to thank me for, love. Now, c’mon, I know you haven’t eaten and there are some ravenous kids out there who will mutiny if we don’t get them spaghetti soon.”

Emma nods, not able to say anything else because nice is suddenly a vast understatement, and she eats a second bowl of mostly sauce, and she never really knows how she gets back into bed, only that she fell asleep under the pillow fort with Killian’s shoulder close to hers. 

[itsthelab]

SlutOut

It was late at night and I'd had a long day. The last thing I wanted to do was train another client. Well, that is, if it had been anyone else. But this was you, easily my favorite client. And there were several reasons why she was my favorite. But I'll get to those.

You had texted me earlier that day that she had had something come up in her regular time slot and asked if she could reschedule her workout to the evening. I obliged, but let her know that my only free time was after hours and that she'd have to pay extra for the session. She replied that that was fine and we agreed to meet late in the evening to begin the workout.

She arrived, and immediately I remembered why I loved my job. She was dressed in a tight gray sports bra that accentuated her curves and black yoga pants that hugged her firm ass. It was all I could do not to comment on her beauty, but I had to stay professional. And I did, despite the difficulty. So we finished our workout in a good time and I breathed a sigh of relief that I hadn't slipped up and told her what I was really thinking about when she did squats and stretches.

"I want to thank you for letting me train after hours," She said as we refilled our waterbottles. "I just had to get a workout in tonight."

"I know what you mean," I responded. "I feel like I'm in the gym 24/7 anyway so this isn't a big imposition. Anytime you need me to stay late for you, just give me enough notice and I'm happy to do it."

"That's great to hear," she said, screwing the top back on to her waterbottle. "I wish I could live at the gym sometimes, but I'm sure you get tired of it."

"It takes some doing, but yes, I do." I smiled. "Do you want to grab anything at the vending machines? I could go for a protein bar right now."

"Sure, I'll join you for that. But then I've got to shower and get out of here."

"Sweet. I won't keep you too long."

Our protein bars were soon washed down by the waters we had refilled and she undid her dark hair from its ponytail in anticipation of her shower. "I have got to get under some hot water now," she said, standing up from the table where we were sitting. "I just feel so sweaty after working out."

"Me, too," I concurred. "And I've helped ten people work out today. So I imagine I'm not exactly fresh either. Let's head to the showers."

We threw away the protein bar wrappers and walked down the hallway to the other hallway that led to the locker rooms. I quickly realized something was up when I saw that the women's locker room door was open. "What's going on?" I asked her, who was peeking into the locker room just then.

"It's being cleaned," she answered. "No one is allowed in while they clean it."

"Oh, shit..." I trailed off as I realized something. "I forgot to ask the janitors to hold off on cleaning the locker rooms until we were done using them."

"Is the men's locker room still available?" She asked.

"Yes, it looks that way. They usually do only one at a time. If you want to go first, you can use that one and then I'll go after you."

"Nonsense," she said, shaking her head. "That would take way too long. We'd still just get in the way of the janitors. Look, we're both professionals. I think we can be professional about this and use the locker room at the same time."

"Are you sure? I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"Of course I'm sure. I mean, if you can't be professional, I don't know who can. You never make comments about me, even though you're a red-blooded man and I look this good." She gestured to her amazing body as she spoke the last word.

"Well, you've got a point," I replied, thanking my stars that I'd kept my mouth shut when I could have made risky comments about the way she looked. "And I mean, we're both adults. We should be able to be nude in front of each other and not make it sexual. It's just our bodies."

"Exactly. Now let's get in there and take our clothes off and get under that hot, steamy water in a completely platonic manner." She giggled as she opened the door to the men's locker room.

"Oh, look who's staying professional," I huffed as I followed her.

"I have to tease a little bit," came her reply.

"OK," I answered, "but then I get to tease back when you do. Deal?"

"Deal."

"So... should I go ahead and turn the water on so it gets hot by the time we get in there? It's notorious for taking forever to heat up."

"Go ahead," she replied.

"And should I turn on two stalls or just one?" I said, grinning.

"OK, well played on the tease-back." She pulled her sports bra over her head as I went into the shower area to turn on the water.

"Just one, actually," She called after me.

I poked my head back into the locker room. she was topless, standing beside a bench with her duffel bag on the bench beside her, looking me square in the eye.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," I said, my breath catching nervously in my throat.

"I said, just turn on one," she insisted, her brown eyes staring a hole through mine.

"Are -- are you taking a cold shower?" I stammered.

"No," she said huskily. "We're saving water. Unless you don't think you can handle being naked in the shower with me."

"Oh, oh -- no, I can handle it. I can handle it just fine."

"Just one shower then."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled as I went to turn on the water again. Was I the luckiest man alive or was this an elaborate joke she was playing? Either way, I was going to see her naked, so even if she pretended to be into me and pulled back at the last possible second, leaving me hanging... still felt like a net win.

I came back and she was digging around in her duffel bag, bent over, with her back to me. She was sticking her ass out, too, and it looked like it would be heaven to slap that ass. But I refrained. Then she brought her hands to her waist and began to slowly peel down her leggings, revealing her silky, smooth skin, puckered little asshole, and tight, glistening pussy to me.

"Oh, come on, that's too much," I protested, in reply to which she just wiggled her ass. My dick was rapidly hardening and I ran my fingers through my thick hair.

Naked, she turned around and sat down on a towel on the bench. "It's just nudity," she said quietly, "don't take it too seriously. Come on, let's see what you're working with."

I sighed and removed my shirt. She bit her lip in response to my six-pack and well-built upper body.

"Now the shorts," she prodded.

"Were you... not wearing panties all day?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Took you long enough to notice," she said, rolling her eyes. "Now, come on, take it all off."

I removed my shorts, leaving myself in just my boxer briefs, which were now bulging quite conspicuously.

"Mmm..." she moaned, getting down on her knees and crawling toward me. "Is that for me?" she said, pointing to my sizable erection.

"Yes, it's for you." I sighed again.

She licked her lips. "No one's dick ever gotten hard for me before."

I started, unsure if she was serious. "You're bullshitting, right? I would think it's a daily thing for you."

"Yeah, I'm kidding. It's happened hundreds of times. But... mmm. I don't think there's ever been one this thick and big before. Not that I've seen, anyhow. Come on, pick me up and carry me to the shower."

"What?!"

"Come on, do it. I want you to pick me up and carry me to the shower. I know you're strong enough to do it."

She was right. She couldn't be much more than 120 pounds, and she was barely 5'4". I could carry her, and she stood up just then and basically fell into my arms, so I picked her up and brought her to the shower and placed her under the water.

She fell to her knees and immediately peeled my underwear down. My hard thick dick came to life in front of her face. She tossed my underwear across the room and opened her mouth wide, engulfing my dick. She took just the tip in her mouth at first, teasing its sensitive head with her lips and tongue, but then she began to choke and gag on it. At first, I thought she couldn't deepthroat so I grabbed a hold of her wet hair and thrusted violently into her eager mouth, fucking her face with a vengeance.

Ack! Guh! Nngh! The sounds of my dickhead hitting her throat made me even harder as she took my hard thrusting in her mouth. Her face was wet with tears as I fucked her mouth relentlessly, but she kept going like a slut. But then she pulled back off of my dick and caught her breath. Smiling, she said, "That was sexy. Now force it down my throat."

"Are you sure?" I queried, "Can you take it?"

"I can fucking take it," she responded, grinning seductively.

So I entered her wet mouth again and forced my way into her throat. She took me easily until the last three inches, but she stayed steady and let me force the last part of my dick deep into her throat. Her nose was deep in my pubes as I held her down on my dick for a full minute before letting her back up for air. She gasped for breath and immediately enveloped my dick in her throat again. Another minute passed and she showed no signs of letting up. Finally, I pulled my dick out.

"I -- could -- have -- kept -- going," she gasped.

"I don't know, you were dangerously close there," I responded. "Besides, I don't want to come yet, and I was pretty close myself."

"Fine," she conceded, "but you better fuck me good then."

"Oh, I will," I said, smiling.

She stood up and looked me deep in the eyes. "I want you to fuck me like a slut," she said huskily.

"Get on the floor then, Slut," I said to her, moving out of the way of the direct stream of water so we could fuck more easily. She got on her knees again, this time facing away from me. "What do you want?" I asked her.

"I want you to fuck this pussy," she said quietly.

"I didn't hear you," I replied.

"Fuck this pussy!" she said, more loudly this time.

This time I slapped her ass hard and said more sternly, "What the fuck did you say, Slut?"

She turned her head toward me and motioned for me to lean down and listen to her closely. She whispered hoarsely into my ear, "I want to fuck me like a slut right in my tight ass pussy and then cover my face in cum. Do you fucking hear me now?”

I decided to respond with action instead of words. I got down on one knee and lined my dick up with her dripping pussy. I entered her slowly, my dickhead teasing her soaking folds.

"Mmm," she moaned. "Give it to me,” she begged me.

Instead, I slapped her ass very hard on both ass cheeks -- repeatedly, until her ass redden. Every spank made her wetter and made her moan a little, so I knew I was on the right track. I began to enter her pussy more deeply, plowing her innermost part with my thick dick. I thrusted deep in her pussy, filling her up completely, and she responded by rubbing her clit and telling me "you're so fucking deep inside me."

This turned me on even more and I began to pound her pussy with quick powerful strokes. I thrust into her with everything I had and she began to squeal in delight every time I would spank her ass. Finally I couldn't hold on any longer and I knew I was about to cum. But not before she did, yelling out to me that she was cumming "so hard on your big dick”

"Cum on my pretty face, mark me as your little slut," she said, and I wasn't going to say No to that. I pulled out and went to stand over her, her face looking up at me, mouth open to receive my cum. I exploded on her face in a series of streams that got into her hair but also dripped down onto her generous titties.

She sank back onto the floor, exhausted, until I picked her up again. "Is that what you wanted, Slut?" I asked her, whispering into her ear.

She nodded, whispering back, "Fuck yes, Thank you for fucking the hell outta me. Now help me clean up."

We had forgotten to grab soap so I went back to get it from the locker room. I came back to see her standing under the shower, touching the folds of her pussy lightly with her fingers. I came up behind her and pressed my still-hard dickk into her ass crack.

"I want you to fuck me after every session from now on," she requested.

"You don't get to make the rules, Slut," I whispered into her ear.

"I'm sorry”

I was silent for a moment. Then I whispered again. "I want you to make time after every appointment so I can fuck you like a little slut."

She smiled. "Yes, Sir."

[laisaxrem]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Haruno Sakura & Tsunade, Haruno Sakura & Shizune, Haruno Sakura & Shizune & Tsunade Characters: Haruno Sakura, Tsunade, Shizune, Haruno Kizashi (mentioned), Haruno Mebuki (mentioned), Hatake Kakashi, Uzumaki Naruto Additional Tags: Sakura Week 2021, Sakura Week 2021 day 6: Family, Family, Family is not just blood, civilian kizashi and mebuki, civilian born sakura, tsunade to the rescue, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, i mean mental abuse, Angst, a little bit, One Shot, Tsunade doesn't give a fuck Series: Part 28 of This is Us (english version) Summary:

Sakura has never had an easy relationship with her family: civil by birth and from a wealthy family, her parents have never accepted her desire to become a kunoichi. On a rainy day, Sakura will find that family isn't always just the blood running through your veins.

Day 6 of Sakura Week.

.

.

Friday, 28th February 1680

«Sakura-chaaaan!»

Naruto’s annoying voice just outside her apartment door woke her up.

Turning around a little bit she glanced at the alarm clock that she kept on the bedside table next to her bed: it was only 7 o’clock in the morning and Sakura felt inside her the irrepressible desire to kill her friend.

For a moment she contemplated the idea of not getting up and waiting for Naruto to go away and leave her alone. Then she remembered who she was talking about and with a grunt came out from under the sheets.

Naruto was on the landing, his one arm raised to knock on the door for the umpteenth time.

«Oh, Sakura-chan, I was afraid you weren’t at home».

«If so why did you keep knocking and screaming early in the morning, you giant idiot».

«Uuh. Sakura-chan, don’t be so hard on me», he whimpered, pouting. «I felt alone at home… And my arm hurts».

The young woman sighed and stepped aside, inviting her friend to come in with a gesture of her head, then made him sit on her slightly battered sofa and placed a hand on the stump of his right arm infusing it with her healing chakra to relieve the pain. At the same time Sakura analysed the scar to make sure there were no active infections. Fortunately, everything was as it should be so the young woman sensed that Naruto had still abused his limb during training and gave him a good earful reminding him for what was probably the millionth time the indications they had given him to obtain the best chances that Hashirama-sama’s cells would take root when the prosthetic arm would be ready.

«Hey Sakura-chan, why do you still live in a chūnin apartment if you’re a jōnin?» her friend suddenly asked.

«Mmm». In fact, Tsunade-sama had offered her a new accommodation when Sakura was formally promoted to jōnin but she hadn’t thought about it too much and she had refused. «Maybe because this was the first home I could truly call my own».

«Uhh? What are you sayin’, you lived with your parents before you moved here».

«Mmm mmm».

In fact, come to think of it, exactly three years had passed since that day…

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

Tuesday, 28th February 1677

Sakura had always hated ultimatums.

That’s why she found herself wandering the streets of Konoha as if she no longer had a home. Because in fact Sakura no longer had a home.

She thought she had finally found her way, her place in the ninja world: she excelled in the medical arts thanks to the guidance of Tsunade-shishō, she had reached an excellent level in taijutsu thanks also to the help of Rock Lee, she felt useful and necessary in the hospital where she helped both shinobi and civilians too. She felt she was getting closer and closer to her goal: to bring Sasuke home. And she were happy.

Yet there she was, walking like a zombie in the rain. She sometimes hated her parents; they had never supported her desire to become a kunoichi and in fact they had often even done what they could to get in her way. She remembered as if it were yesterday how much they had fought to not sign the forms for the admission to the Academy. In those days at the Haruno compound there had been screams, tears and slamming doors. Kizashi and Mebuki had believed they could discourage her with their denials and their constant postponement; it was evident that they did not know her at all.

Some times she could still hear their words in her ears. “You are still too young”, they told her, “you will fail and then you will come and cry to us”; or, when they tried to change her mind using logic, they used arguments like “we are not ninja, the Harunos never were. Trying to be what you are not will only make you feel worse”. Sometimes instead they decided to use the sense of guilt: “and if something happened to you what would become of us? Don’t you think about your poor parents? We didn’t educate you to be so selfish”. But in the end she had won and enrolled in the Academy even if almost a year late. She had hoped that her parents would accept her choice but that had not happened. Whenever she found herself having some difficulty in an exercise, or a test didn’t go more than perfect, her father looked at her with disappointment and with an expression on his face that said he expected her to fail while her mother pointed out that they had told her that this was not her way, that she had to live as a civilian like they did. During that time Sakura had fallen asleep crying many times.

Years had passed and she thought that by now her parents had hurt her in every possible way. She was wrong; how wrong she was.

Her father had told her at dinner that evening that they would be moving to Hana no Kuni soon and that she would go with them.

Sakura had vehemently protested telling them that in Konoha she had a life, friends, a career and that she didn’t want to leave everything to move to the other side of the world. “You’re a Haruno”, her father had yelled as he slammed his fist on the table, “and it’s time for you to act like one. You will come with us, you will forget all this nonsense and you will get married with the nephew of the Daimyō! Everything has already been decided”.

So Sakura had ran out and slammed the door, ignoring the fact that it was pouring with rain outside and that her light civilian clothes were not suitable for a walk in the rain.

It was now more than an hour and Sakura knew she had to go home and talk to her parents, reason with them and make them understand that she really couldn’t leave the Village, even if they were asking her, and sure as hell she had no intention of accepting an arranged marriage. Because inside her she knew she would slowly wither away if she gave up kunoichi’s career. Yet, even knowing this, even the idea of setting foot in that house again made her nauseous and no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t find within herself the resolve to go back there.

Eventually in her wandering she found herself at the edge of the forest where a large black tombstone stood proud in the rain. Sakura knew that place well and she knew what that stone represented and she was not too surprised to notice that a tall and slightly curved figure stood in front of it.

«Kakashi-sensei», she greeted him as she slowly approached the cenotaph.

«Hey, Sakura-chan, we haven’t seen each other for a while», he greeted her with a small smile, which can only be guessed from the fold of the one visible eye.

In fact, he was right. After Naruto had left with Jiraiya-sama for his training, all that was left in Konoha of the Team 7 were Kakashi-sensei and herself, who had begun to educate herself under Tsunade-sama’s guidance, so their team had been temporarily dissolved. Sakura knew that Kakashi was constantly engaged in A-rank or even S-rank missions and it didn’t surprise her at all: after all, her ex sensei was probably the most powerful jōnin in the Village and since Suna and Oto had launched the attack that had led to the death of the Sandaime and many other brave shinobi, those who remained were forced to face one mission after another, both to prove that despite everything Konoha was still strong, and to bring some money into the coffers of the Village. Kakashi in particular, perhaps also because of his fame, was tremendously in demand and in the last year and a half he had spent more time on mission than inside the walls. In fact, Sakura knew that Tsunade had given him a three-week rest period after he returned home for the umpteenth time with the chakra reserve at a minimum for the abuse of his sharingan.

(Sakura had once witnessed one of their squabbles because Tsunade had wanted to teach her how to heal people with exhausted chakra. It had been both fun and embarrassing to see her ex-sensei being scolded and treated as if he were a five-year-old kid).

«How is your enforced rest going?»

«Maa, maa, I feel like they’re holding me in a glass dome. I think I have reread Icha Icha Paradise at least a dozen times», the man complained, shrugging and pulling out the orange book long enough to show it to her before putting it back away from the rain.

«Honestly, sensei, I really don’t know what you see in those books. They are not even anatomically correct».

«You say so, Sakura-chan».

«No, the human body says so».

«I will not discuss about Icha Icha with you… And about the fact that you have read a book forbidden to minors under eighteen», he teased her, the light tone of one trying to pull a smile out of someone. «What would your parents say if they knew?»

Ouch. This hurt.

Instantly Sakura felt that weight that she had forgotten during the last minutes of conversation with her sensei return to her heart. Maybe Kakashi noticed her eyes darken as he turned to her just enough to look her straight in the face. The young woman could not hold up that dark eye that scrutinized her and lowered her face.

«Sakura, why are you here in the rain?» She didn’t answer, her throat tightened in a vice. She hated it when she felt this way and someone was nice to her because she felt like she could explode at any moment. The fact that it was Kakashi was even worse. «Sakura». This time Kakashi’s tone was harsher, the tone of voice that he would have used on a mission to get his companions to obey and Sakura found herself unwittingly straightening her back and getting to attention. «Look at me». She obeyed as if she couldn’t do anything else but she felt her throat tighten in a knot. «What happened? Has someone hurt you?»

She couldn’t help but shake her head. She wouldn’t cry, she absolutely wouldn’t cry. She was a kunoichi from Konoha, she was an adult, and she wouldn’t cry just because her parents were selfish.

«Did something happen to your parents?» Kakashi-sensei insisted and Sakura was surprised when she felt one of his hands resting on her shoulder, a reassuring anchor in that storm of emotions. «Come on, let’s go. I’ll take you home».

Sakura wanted to protest but lowered her head and followed him out of the field into the streets of Konoha. She didn’t even look where they were going, her eyes fixed on the jōnin’s feet, blindly trusting that he wouldn’t allow her to crash anywhere. Inside her she was already ready for the second part of that skirmish and she was trying to harden her heart just enough to allow her not to give in under the emotional blackmail of her family. But she actually didn’t know how she could do it. After all, she was not yet fifteen, and although genin far younger than her had been living alone from years, she was not an orphan and as an only child she was expected to follow the wishes of her parents.

Half an hour later Kakashi stopped and in a cheerful tone said: «Here we are».

Sakura looked ahead and realized that they were not in front of her parents’ garden but the door she had in front of her was the somewhat ruined one of Tsunade-shishō’s apartment.

«Oh».

She wanted to say something, ask Kakashi-sensei why he brought her there and not the house where she was born and raised, but he was already knocking on the door and a few seconds later it opened on Shizune.

«Yo», Kakashi greeted her, raising a hand. «I found a lost kitten in the rain and I thought it was yours».

«Sakura! What have you done? You’re completely soaked», her senpai scolded her before grabbing her wrist and dragging her into the house. «Hurry in Kakashi or you’ll let all the heat go out».

The girl did not turn to check but she heard the door close and light footsteps following them along the narrow and dark corridor, a sign that in fact Kakashi-sensei had obeyed the order.

The Hokage’s apartment was pretty damn small, certainly more than one would expect from the most important person in Konoha. It was completely unusual and against tradition and the Elders and the Council had tried to force Tsunade to move to the Senju neighbourhood or at least to accept one of the countless houses that had been offered to her and which, they said, were more appropriate to her role. Naturally, the Godaime had firmly refused, asserting that her small, damp and bare apartment was more than enough for her and Shizune, considering that she spent most of her life in her office at the palace.

Tsunade was sitting on the sofa in the living room, a small ceramic glass in her hand and an open bottle of sake on the low coffee table. In the other hand she was holding a large tome of medicine but when she saw them enter the room she closed the book and her blond eyebrows arch, creating a wrinkle between them.

«What’s the matter with you girl? You’re socked to the bone».

Sakura would have liked to reassure her and say that everything was fine, that there was nothing to worry about, lying and claiming that she had simply forgotten her umbrella on leaving the house. But maybe it was Shizune’s warm hand on her back, or the feeling of Kakashi’s eye on the back of her neck because Sakura couldn’t find the strength to lie.

«My parents have decided to move to Hana no Kuni next month and they want me to go with them», she let out in one breath, her voice low but calmer than she expected.

Her revelation was greeted by a moment of stunned silence, then Shizune blurted out: «What the hell does that mean?»

Sakura blinked like an old owl, amazed, because this was probably the first time she’d heard her senpai swear.

«They said I have to leave my life as a kunoichi and start acting like a Haruno», she continued in that cold and detached tone, as if explaining which procedure she would choose to undergo a certain operation on a patient. «They said it’s time I got to know the activities of the clan and bring honour to the family by finding a husband who can broaden the circle of our acquaintances».

As she spoke, Sakura couldn’t look her shishō in the eyes. As she repeated the words of her parents she felt her nausea and anger grow within her; how was it possible that they expected this from her? How was it possible that they did not understand her feelings in the least even though they were her parents, blood of her blood?

Sakura felt her eyes sting but never, never would she cry, not for that.

«Very well, let them go where the hell they like», Tsunade suddenly snapped, forcing her to finally raise her eyes. Her shishō was gripping the arm of the sofa so tightly that cracks were already starting to form in the wood and for a moment Sakura felt her heart break because she really hoped she would protest and fight to get her parents to stay. But after all, they were her blood family and Sakura was nothing more than an apprentice to her, so why should she protest? «But you won’t move from here», the Sannin added suddenly, the tone of her voice angry, while the wood gave up under her fingers. It was evident from her livid face that what she was about to say was the word of the Hokage and that she would not take no for an answer. «I didn’t waste the last year of my life teaching you everything I know to allow two ordinary people to drag you to the other side of the world to marry you to some preppy rich idiot».

«Tsunade-sama…»

«Don’t “Tsunade-sama” and “Tsunade-sama” me, Shizune», growled the Hokage. «I’m tired of those two. Not once did they give her the support she deserved so I don’t see why she should support them now».

Sakura would have lied if she said she didn’t fully agree with the woman, and hearing those words come out of her mouth took away some of the weight that oppressed her chest.

«And tonight you’re going to sleep here», Tsunade added. «In the morning I will take you to them and communicate my decision to Kizashi and Mebuki».

«Shishō, I can’t…» she tried to protest. Because, as touched as she was by Godaime’s feelings, the truth was that her sense of duty prevented her from considering that solution. And she knew that leveraging her good heart would do no good, not while she was in such an altered state, so she tried to use some logic even though all she wanted was to accept the invitation, lie down on the sofa and sleep until the following morning. «I don’t have my clothes or uniform or something to sleep with me…»

«Kakashi…»

«I’ll drop by and get what you need, Sakura-chan, don’t worry about that», came the prompt reply of her ex sensei who in a flurry of leaves disappeared from the living room, evidently headed for her bedroom in her house.

«You are my apprentice, Sakura», Tsunade continued, as if she had not just silently asked one of her jōnin to break through a window into the home of a member of one of the most powerful civilian families not only in Tsuchi but also in other Countries of the continent, including the Land of Fire. «Before being a Haruno you are my apprentice and I don’t intend to let you go like this». Suddenly the expression on her face softened and, after getting up and going to meet her, she placed her hand on her cheek with more tenderness than she had ever seen. «Don’t worry, little girl, I won’t let anyone take you away without your consent. This I can swear to you ».

Sakura nodded and allowed herself to lean on that rough hand as Shizune approached and placed a hand on her back. And for the first time since she was just a little girl dreaming of becoming a kunoichi, Sakura felt like she really had a family.

[thecandywrites]

Of Heaven and Fire Part 15

Oh this is gonna get worse. Hopefully it’ll hurt so good.

@probablyclever​ @imherefortheforthefanart​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​

Of Heaven and Fire 

Part 15

“Brock, this is your mate, Benyana,” Rhoslan introduced as she came to give you a side hug as she brought you closer to him. 

“Where did you get her from?” Brock asked as he looked you over, trying to figure out where you had come from. But you could tell he was having difficulty processing this. 

“She’s a moura, from the mountain colony of Suchi and you were the one who got her.” Drad answered as Brock scrunched up his face in disgust at the mention of Suchi. 

“So we conquered Suchi and she was my victory bride?” Brock tried asking but you could tell he didn't believe that as he started to look at you with suspicion. 

“Uh...kind of?” Rhoslan grimaced at you. 

“So where’s the rest of her people as our slaves then?” Brock asked as he noticed the other mouras on the edge of the crowd looking on curiously before everyone around you boomed a ‘No!’. 

“No, it is illegal to enslave a moura, the penalty is death on the person and death to their family.” Everyone informed him. 

“How about we go home and rest.” Rhoslan insisted as she gathered Brock and led him home as you and the shaman followed too and once in the living room Brock just kept looking at you like you were a spy. 

“Brock, what’s the last thing you remember?” Rhoslan asked. 

“We just celebrated the Lunar New Year, last night didn’t we?” Brock answered and you winced and grimaced and blew out a breath of defeat and cursed under your breath. 

“What does that mean?” Rhos asked you as even the shaman sat back and looked on curiously, because even he looked 30 years younger. But you sensed he didn't have the same memory loss Brock did. 

“It means that there is a reason why all moura’s choose to get reborn in the ashes on new years, it must be because of this,” you gestured to Brock. “It’s because it obviously resets the memory to the last new year, when moura’s do this, they lose a day, he’s lost the last 6 months. It means he won’t remember me or anything that has happened since then.” You revealed.

“Do the memories ever come back?” Rhoslan asked hopefully but you could only shake your head no as tears welled in your eyes. 

“I should go,” you stood up as you watched as he looked relieved that you said that. 

“It’s obvious that my presence is agitating him. Which makes sense, I'm a stranger to him now and I'm in his house, that would agitate anyone. Be kind and gentle with him for the next few days until he settles back into time.” You suggested before you left and went to your house where you sobbed, your brother following you and consoling you. 

It was so hard to keep your distance from him over the next week, because ever time you saw him, you just wanted him to look at you like he used toas his family took him out and showed him how the trees had not only gotten their leaves but were now producing fruit, how it was now late summer and the fields were still a month or two away from harvesting. Kari showed him how she had grown and how the changes to the clan that you and him had brought about had helped the clan. 

When Kaive and Cugas went out into the ships to gather fish and other seafood, they came back with full ships, the cargo’s still iced as the iced cargo’s were loaded onto Drauch and Drauch went with the wind to Suchi and came back with unimaginable wealth for the seafood and how half the clan was living on Drauch along with other mouras who had chosen the orcs as mates.  Funny enough, the same people that the orcs had initially caught when they had attacked back in the spring. Almost like they were fated to be together and you were happy that you weren’t the only moura in the clan and they were all too happy to keep you company while you kept your distance and let Brock get reacclimated to time and the season.

But you noticed that every time Brock saw you he suddenly seemed to frown before he would turn around and leave and he did his best to avoid you altogether. And as much as this hurt, you tried to see this from his eyes. If this had happened to you, to wake up from the ashes and suddenly find out you're mated with a stranger, you would be weary if not uncomfortable and you would want to resist it. It was only natural you supposed. Mouras liked to fly free and you probably signified a cage to him. You just needed to give him time and space. And honestly, this wasn’t unheard of. There had been a few couples who were reborn in the ashes together and once reborn, hated each other and lived a lifetime apart and the next rebirth would fall in love again. But he had already lost so much. You couldn’t bear to see him go through the ordeal again. He had won you over once, now it was your turn to win him over. But it didn't help things when your baby bump emerged and seemed to grow a little more each day and the whole clan had spun all kinds of tales of what had happened in the last six months and some of it was true and some of it was legend and while his family made sure to just tell him the facts of what had happened. Brock still had eyes and ears and who knew what he had been overhearing since his rebirth. 

One day soon after you were harvesting the produce in your garden around your house when Brock suddenly appeared before you, looking particularly agitated. 

“Is it true?” Brock growled angrily. 

“Is what true?” You repeated in confusion as you stood and faced him. 

“That you’re carrying my child.” Brock hissed, keeping his voice down and looking particularly embarrassed. 

“Yes, it is.” You affirmed as you placed your hand over your bump as your son soon began to kick you. He always did when his father was near. If Brock had his memories, he would be overjoyed and would have cuddled your belly and would have wanted to feel every kick. But, now, that was the last thing Brock would want to do. 

“Well you should know that I do not have to claim you or it.” Brock announced staunchly. 

“I know that.” You calmly returned. “You told me shortly after you impregnated me that orc warriors will often lay with many women before battle and that if he came back, he claimed who he wished to, he may even take all the children he fathered and dump them on his favorite to raise.” You recalled. 

“That’s right.” Brock nodded in agreement with a smug smirk. 

“But you should know that if you try to take our son from me, I’ll slit your throat myself.” You threatened evenly and for the first time, he cracked a grin at you. But there was a maliciousness to the curve of it. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.” Brock sneered before he turned back. 

“How do you know it’s a son?” He suddenly asked as he turned back towards you. 

“Moura’s have ways of knowing what we’re carrying.” You answered simply. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” You asked as you could practically see the hateful rage roll off of him. 

“Because you don’t belong here! You shouldn’t be here. So since I’m never going to claim you or your child, you should go back home, where you’re wanted. Because I sure as hell don’t!” Brock insisted. 

“But what if I want to stay here anyway? My home is already here. Besides my son will still be half orc, he should be here, with his clan.” You calmly countered as you gestured to your home then to the other clan members who were walking by, curiously looking on. 

“I’m told it wasn’t built here but moved here on a cloud. Moura’s do shit to clouds don’t they? You can pick it up and move it, in fact you should. Sooner than later.” Brock insisted. 

“Why?” You questioned curiously. 

“Are you stupid?! I just said that you don’t belong here, you stick out like a sore thumb and an orc clan is no place for a moura!” Brock argued hotly. 

“Those moura’s seem to be doing just fine.” You nodded over to a couple of couples who were at the blacksmith’s nearby, the mouras getting their orc counterparts new armor. 

“Well….you’re...you’re different!” Brock yelled before everyone turned and stared which embarrassed both of you. 

“How am I different?” You asked, forcing yourself to remain calm in an effort to diffuse his own anger. Because that’s what he used to do with you before. 

“Because you just are!”Brock roared. 

“Go home to Suchi, where you’ll have parents and siblings and friends who can care for you and support you. Because you won’t find any help or support from anyone around here!” Brock hollered before he stomped away, leaving everyone who overheard it- staring at Brock in confusion before you gathered your produce and went back inside, tears running in streams down your cheeks. 

“What the fuck was that?!” Dastrin, Brock’s right hand man and closest friend demanded as he chased after Brock from the blacksmith. 

“None of your business!” Brock snarled. 

“Yes it is my business! She is the next warchieftess, the clan has already decided. Before your rebirth in the ashes you announced that she was carrying your one and only heir and that she would reign as warchieftess until your son was of age. She has done nothing to disqualify herself from that position. Why are you treating her like the enemy when all she has ever done since she set foot in the clan is to help us because she has been our greatest ally?” He questioned. 

“Because she is not our ally! She never was, she did all that to save her own skin and to help Suchi. That’s where her loyalties lie. She is the enemy! A spy! She never stopped being the enemy, she somehow put a spell over everyone to love her. Besides I'm sure it was just a political alliance on Suchi’s part, give us a moura bride in exchange for peace for their own precious colony so we don’t attack and raid them. Those unions are always strained. This is no different.” Brock insisted as Dastrin growled in frustration. 

“What kind of nonsense is that?! No. You have it all wrong. How is she the enemy?" Dastrin demanded. 

“She just is, I look at her and I know something isn’t right about her, I just...I hate her, I hate everything about her.” Brock pouted as he crossed his arms over his chest as Dastin raised a disbelieving eyebrow. 

“Maybe it’s your memories of your strong love for her that are trying to come through and you’re misunderstanding them.” Dastrin suggested. 

“No! I have no memory of that woman at all. She could have fucked any orc or hell any of her previous suitors and gotten pregnant, she’s just trying to entrap me to be warchieftess by saying it’s mine. She’s like all the other power hungry bitches here.” Brock growled. 

“Well, if that's the way you feel about her and you don’t want her, then I guess that means she’s free for the taking, I already have one moura and she’s amazing, but I’ll take two especially one that’s already pregnant with a son.” Dastrin shrugged as he went to walk to your house, passing by Brock before Brock put a blade to his throat to keep Dastrin from going any further which caused Dastrin to grin smugly. 

“You take a step in that woman’s direction and I’ll slit your throat.” Brock seethed, feeling an overwhelming sense of possessiveness. 

“So let me get this straight, you don’t want her, you want her gone, but you’ll kill any other man who expresses an interest in her?” Dastrin questioned. 

“I..it’s...I’m protecting you! She has magic, she’ll put a horrible spell on you! Like she has with everyone else!” Brock insisted as he pulled the blade back and put it away once Dastrin took a step back. 

“Well moura’s do have magic, but not the kind you’re implying.” Dastrin nodded. 

“Look either claim her, or get out of the way so others can because I can tell you  half of your unmated commanders would give everything they own and pledge their undying loyalty to her right here right now if it means that she makes them the amazing food she has made for you and heal their wounds the way she healed yours and house them in that mansion of hers and they’ll happily adopt that pup in her womb before planting many more. She’s the most brilliant and coveted woman in the clan because she’s the wealthiest woman in the clan, if not one of the prettiest. I saw the angels, the heavenly mouras, the fae, the merfolk and elves all tired to court her and she turned them all down for you. I saw as they all took her rejection with grace and still gave her more gifts so that she has more wealth than any kingdom’s treasury. Because not only is she moura, she’s also part and angel and part siren, I saw it myself when I was on the ships with you. She dove down to the depths and got those water dragons to only ice the holds to preserve the fish for Suchi and the other colonies and every merfolk and siren and selkie alike were eating out of her hands. But she didn’t take to any of them because her heart was already set on you and that was only a couple of weeks after you got her. She could have been a queen of any realm she wanted. But instead she chose to come here. She’s the closest thing to a goddess this clan has ever seen and everyone likes her because she has earned our trust and respect because she fought for us and protected us and educated us and our clan has been nothing but blessed since she came." Dastrin explained before he had Brock look back at your house. 

"Look. Look at the very ground she inhabits. Look at how the vegetation is especially lush just around her house. She is a blessing just being here. Why do you want to drive her away? Don’t you think that driving a blessing away will invite tragedy and curses to our clan?” Dastrin questioned as Brock glared at your house. If it was anyone else’s home, he would be impressed but because of yours, he could only look at it and hate it because it was yours. 

“We don’t need her blessing! We were just fine before, we’ll be fine without her.” Brock insisted. 

“No we weren’t! We weren’t fine at all! Hurricane Breaker was at our throats, our fishing nets were never full and you could gather all the gold the clan had into a single chest and it wouldn’t even be half full and you could gather all our produce into a single storehouse. We were poor and desperate.” Dastrin argued. 

“So desperate in fact that you went to the shaman the day after the Moon Festival because we could only find and kill a single bear to roast for it for the clan. And all of us went to bed hungry that night. And the next morning you got up and went to the shaman and asked him to show you how to fix all these problems and he showed you your mate, he showed you Benyana and told you that if you went to Suchi- she would fly into your arms and would fix all your problems and with her as your warchieftess Stormbreaker would enter into a golden age and become greater than Hurricane Breaker ever was and ever will be.” Dastrin explained because Brock had spent the day after the Moon Festival in the Shaman’s home and when Brock had emerged, Brock had never been so excited and determined about anything in his life.  

“And you know what? That’s exactly what happened! You went there and she flew right into your hands as a missile hawk and you took her home and even though you had to tether her to keep her from flying away at first, she did everything the shaman said she would! She fixed the problems the fleet had with the ships being iced by those water dragons since the ice would cut the nets as they tried to bring the nets up on board, she found a way to make a truce with Hurricane Breaker by suggesting that instead of looking south at us, to look east to their own mountains and to set up trade with their own moura colony and they listened to her. No fight, no war, no raid, nothing. None of us ever had to see battle. She just sat there, looking like a vision and told them to sell their own catches to the other colony and they obeyed her and now they’re making almost as much money as we are. But Suchi is a bigger colony and we have better fishing grounds and catch more fish so we sell more fish so we make more money. The clan has never been better than it is right now and it’s all because of her.” He explained. 

“Now that she’s here, look- the fields are overflowing with grains of all kinds in varieties that are better and hardier than the ones we’ve used before. The gardens are bursting with fruits and vegetation and all the food bearing trees are nearly falling over because the weight of the fruits and vegetation is nearly causing the tree branches to break off the trees. The store houses are already showing signs of needing more room if not many more storehouses which are being built as we speak because we never had this kind of abundance in so many different summer crops because we’ve never planted this kind of variety before and everything we plant grows. We can’t make enough nets because the extra large catches keep straining them now. Even now the net weavers are weaving from sunrise to sunset every single day because the demand for them is just that high.” He revealed before he walked Brock over to the closest little stream. 

 “I mean look in the estuary, it’s teaming with fish and the waters in the estuary are now clear and sparkling and clean and the water even tastes sweeter than it used to be. The estuary has never teamed with fish before. You can walk across the river on the backs of the fish if you wanted to. The land is finally producing for us to it’s full. Because before the only reason we settled here is because no other clan wanted this land. The water in the estuary was muddy, the fish weren’t that clean and the river flooded the plains all the time and the mosquitoes used to eat us alive and the flies used to swarm the few fish we managed to catch. The merchants who used to snub us now do trade with us and we get the same quality products that Suchi got instead of the leftovers or the broken and damaged.” Dastrin reminded him. 

“This spring, every rabbit and boar had full litters, every deer had twins and even every bison and elk did too along with the bears and squirrels and trash pandas, you can't throw a stick in the woods without hitting some critter now. There’s more game in the woods now than there ever was and no one has gone hungry since she came and now all our cattle and herds have doubled and then tripled and now we have more animals than we can ever eat and they’re reproducing faster than we can butcher them and our lands are expanding and the clan itself is expanding and everywhere you look, there’s construction and business starting and people who are not moura or orc are coming to settle here and we’re becoming a town and soon we’ll be a city and then a kingdom and it’s all because you were sick of the way things were and you wanted a better life and a better way of living and you suceeded in getting the initial spark but you have put so many great things in motion and you put us on a path and if we don’t keep walking on it, we’ll be lost. We even have not one but five healers and medicine flows like water through the clan and every home now has a medicine garden in addition to their own food garden and recipes for every medicine are written on hides and nailed up in the city square. There’s even talk of a school opening up that even our young ones will get the same education that any other place does, if not better.” Dastrin explained as he gestured to the school that was being built. 

“I’m just scared that if you send her away, it will all stop. We’ve all gotten used to this, going back to the way it was before will be too hard for us and those who haven’t moved to Drauch yet, will move there and Drauch will just have to be flown from the sea straight to Suchi. Because none of us will want to live here.” Dastrin warned him before he turned and returned to his mate Kallimisa who was standing at a respectful distance nearby. 

"Everything OK?" She asked as Dastrin wrapped his arm around her and led her away. 

"Brock's just being stubborn as usual." Dastrin dismissed. "What do you want for lunch?" He asked before he passed Rhoslan who was marching to Brock before she grabbed him by the ear and drug him home as he cried out and whimpered the whole way and tried to fight her but couldn’t get traction. 

“Mom! Stop! You’re embarrassing me!” Brock complained. 

"Oh I’m embarrassing you?! No. You just embarrassed yourself and your father and I. You wanna act like you're two?! I'll treat you like you're two!" Rhoslan growled and pinched even harder and dragged him more forcefully. 

"How come I just heard from half a dozen different people that you are harassing Benyana?!" Rhoslan demanded once they got in the house where Dead was glaring at Brock from his seat. 

"I was not harassing her! I never even touched her!" Brock argued as he rubbed soothingly at his ear. 

"Just because you didn't hurt her with your hands does not mean you didn't hurt her with your words. You embarrassed her in front of the whole clan! How could you do that? You brought shame to yourself and our family!" Rhoslan accused. 

"I did not!" Brock defended. "Its not my fault she's thin skinned and got her feelings hurt by my words, all I did was tell her the truth."

"Benyana was not the one who told us about it, she hasn't left her house! But word is already spreading that you rejected her and her babe. Now half the male orcs in the clan who are not in mated pairs are going to try to claim her in the old ways, she could lose the baby because they won't be gentle with her and they'll make a whore out of her. Is that what you want to see? Just because you don't remember her, you want her to be ravaged by violence? She won't be your warchieftess after that I can tell you that right now. She may be fierce and strong in her own ways but if two or five or ten orcs gang up on her, she'll be finished. And all her sacrifices for you will have been for nothing because you turned into a thankless, ungrateful, pig headed stubborn jackass since your rebirth. Why?! Why are you being so difficult?!" She demanded. 

"Because it's wrong!" Brock repeated. 

"Why is it wrong?" Drad asked. 

"I don't know! I can't explain it. Why does the wind blow? Why do the rains fall? We don't know why but we know that they do. Every time I hear someone say her name it's like driving thorns into my skin and every time I see her it's like seeing a vulture circle around me. Like she's waiting to devour me if I drop my guard." Brock tried to explain. 

"But if you had any honor at all you still would not treat her the way you did just now. Even if I was the one who got her for you, you would still treat her well because you had a duty to her and you respect me enough to show appreciation for the great gift of her as a bride. And even if she was a victory bride you would claim her and claim the seed you planted in her for the sake of the peace and alliance to preserve her honor and dignity along with yours and ours. You had no right to treat her the way you did today." Rhoslan defended. 

"That is why you will respect our decision of Kellore." Drad commanded. 

"What?! No!" Brock blanched. Kellore happened when a warchief sent an engagement offer to a fellow clan, sight unseen and it was considered an engagement and once the woman arrived at the clan, she was accepted into the household of the warchief and was a daughter of the current warchief until the mating of the pair and it would protect the woman from any other courting rituals. It was the orc’s version of an arranged marriage. 

"Yes you will or I swear to the gods I will disinherit you from being the next warchief and Cugas' line will inherit it." Drad threatened. 

"Well if you do that, Benyana will no longer want to be with me but with Cugas." Brock insisted. 

"Brock, Cugas has already paired with Benyana’s brother and Cugas and Kaive have already said that Benyana’s babe will be their heir too, so either way Benyana’s son will be the next warchief, he is destined to be so and there is nothing you can do to change that. Besides, Benyana has never wanted power or control. She grew up in circumstances more humble than ours and she didn't ask for any of this. You were the one who put all of this on her and it was because of your actions that she had to deal with the fall out and she dealt with it better than anyone else ever has. She’s proven herself to everyone else. So give her a chance to prove it to you again that you two are a good match and that she is a good fit and is capable. Both of you took leaps and both of you caught each other numerous times. Yank your head out of your own ass long enough to give her time to prove herself and be kind, be respectful, be patient and be understanding with her or I will disown you, kick you out of this house and this clan and she will take your place in this family and this clan so help me gods." Drad commanded as Brock just glared angrily at his father and just sat in a chair and pouted before you came into the house since Kari had left and got you. 

“What’s going on?” You asked before Rhoslan went to you and informed you of what happened and explained the ultimatum Drad just gave to Brock before you came in as they could all see your red puffy eyes from your crying. 

“Drad, please don’t make this harder for Brock than it has to be,” you pleaded. 

“It’s for his own good and the good of this clan.” Drad insisted. 

“Drad, like I’ve explained before, this kind of thing happens. It’s not as uncommon as you think. It’s ok. I would rather be a single parent then mated to a partner who hates me. The harder we push this, the harder he is going to push back and the harder he is going to resist this. It’s the moura in him. Moura’s hate cages and what they hate more is the thought of slavery. And he is going to feel that being mated to me is the same as being enslaved to me, right?” You asked Brock who looked relieved that you managed to put into words how he had been feeling but just couldn’t verbalize and articulate. 

“If there’s a chance for us to at least be friends and at least be on pleasant speaking terms, then let me earn his trust and respect and admiration the way he earned mine. And if our relationship can progress from enemies to friends to maybe something even more in the very distant future- then let it be his choice every step of the way and something he wants, not something that has to be forced on him and not something that has to have his existance threatened against. That’s not going to help anyone, least of all him or me or especially my son. We have time. We don’t have to rush any of this. Please.” You pleaded. 

“Very well. But, Brock will still treat you with respect and dignity at all times along with kindness, courtiousness and consideration. And you are in a delicate condition. You must be protected at all times and if any harm comes to you, or especially to my grandson. Their lives will be asked for as recompense, no matter who they are.” Drad commanded. 

“That’s fair, I agree.” You nodded before everyone looked to Brock who huffed through his nose. 

“Agreed.” Brock reluctantly agreed. 

[gamearamamegathons]

Megami Tensei: Slogging Mall

Circe here! As you can see, I've decided to try and add in pictures for a bit of color. Probably should've sooner, but it felt like it'd be more work than it really turned out to be. Probably I'll try and snag more interesting pics going forward, but at least you get to have a look at our latest dungeon, the Sky City Bien. So anyway, how has it been going so far? Well, it's been, uh...up and down. Megami Tensei is a land of contrasts. We do at least have a new tileset. The Sky City seems to be styled to resemble a sort of future city, with storefronts and stuff, but it's unfortunately a bit busy, and it is, of course, still basically just a dungeon, so it does feel a bit like exploring a city made of cardboard sets.

The good news is that encounters are not too tough in Bien. At this point, the game offers you two dungeons to explore, either Bien or Valhalla Corridor. I hung out a bit in the Corridor to recruit some demons, and it left me quite concerned about a spike in difficulty, because the monsters in Valhalla Corridor do not fuck around. Luckily, once I'd gotten all the monsters on my wishlist and gotten out, I found that things were considerably less dire in Bien. In fact, my team can pretty easily punch a hole in most enemies in a couple turns at most. Unfortunately, other issues have plagued my attempts to explore the city. For one, you'd think that now that you're required to make use of demons to get by, you'd start picking up magnetite pretty frequently. Unfortunately, that's not true at all, and I was bleeding magnetite pretty much the whole time I was exploring. Luckily, I had a solid stockpile to last me through the dungeon, but it does kinda concern me how this is going to play out in the long term. If I'm forced to grind in the Tower of Daedalus in-between every dungeon just to have enough magnetite, I'm not going to be happy.

The dungeon itself is no picnic either. Despite the enemies not being that strong, there's still the random chance that some enemy might paralyze you. You might think that we're hitting our stride to where the game should be giving us tools to deal with that, but no, the only solution if one of your human characters is hit seems to be to go back to town and get it fixed (for demons, you can just un-summon and re-summon them). Odder yet, the healer can't actually heal status effects. Rather, the guy who fuses demons for you does that. Because...uh...hm. Nevermind that.

Of course, I was adjusting to this game's bullshit and kinda getting used to what to expect. The magnetite concerns and the random status effects are annoying, yes, but they're pretty par for the course so far, and I was taking them into account as I was exploring. The real fuck you came when I was exploring the first floor; the path through the city starts on one side of the first floor and then loops up to the third floor and back down, so I was quite far from my starting point. I found there was an exit on the opposite side of the floor from the entrance, and poked my head in to see that it appeared to be the Valhalla corridor again. I took a couple steps out, decided the area didn't look familiar, and turned around, only to find that a guard was blocking my way back in. So now I was stuck in a completely unmapped area of Valhalla Corridor, with no idea how it connected to the small area I had mapped. Basically I was just completely screwed, and went ahead and reset. So yeah, that soured my mood a little bit. I suppose these kinds of setbacks are going to become easier to swallow once I acclimate to the idea that random resets are going to be necessary sometimes.

The boss of the Sky City is Medusa, and given how much bullshit this game heaps on you, that might make you nervous. Luckily, you can find a statue that makes you immune to being petrified, and even while you have it Medusa will waste a bunch of turns trying to petrify you. With that protection she's pretty much a pushover. I'll admit, bullshit aside I could get used to this difficulty curve. Defeating Medusa un-petrifies some NPCs in the area and unlocks a healer and a shop on the second floor. It seems like the city can now be moved to different areas as a sort of fast travel system, although it's probably a bit early to be making use of that.

Combat continues to be as simplistic as ever. Basically all the problems this game requires me to confront so far are about resource management, team management, and unfair nonsense that makes me randomly have to reset. Still, I'm moving forward at a steady clip now, which is encouraging if all I care about is just making it to the end.

[lovelyirony]

"Maybe I’ll see you in another life/if this one wasn’t enough" from Florence + the Machine prompt lists, for winter13, please?

Sharon is no stranger to knowing tragedy. She sees the way Aunt Peggy’s lips curve up and fall slightly when she talks about knowing Steve Rogers. It’s a life that is not defined, not confirmed. But there was possibility. Sharon knows about possibilities. 

When she’s eighteen, she sees him. 

Winter Soldier. 

The legend that Peggy tells her about. 

“I’m not supposed to be telling you,” Peggy whispers. Sharon knows more about SHIELD than she should, but Peggy’s soft when it comes to Sharon. She knows Sharon’s destiny, knows that she needs to know more than the average recruit when she goes into the organization. 

“Be careful,” Peggy says. “The Winter Soldier isn’t a myth. He’s real. They remade a man into what they wanted, and that’s...Sharon, you know how dangerous that is.” 

She does. She knows that this person, whoever they are, will not hesitate to kill. He won’t listen to any pleas or bargains, because that’s not in his code. He will not stop, will not stray from the mission, and will not look at you--he will look through you. 

Her graduation present from her parents is a trip to Europe. She gets to visit Vienna and learn all about old history, carefully taking note of suspicious characters. Peggy has come along to tell her all about World War II and the history of it, rare smiles gracing her face as she explains a prank Sergeant Barnes pulled on the rest of the division or the time Dum-Dum messed up ordering food. 

They see him. 

Winter Soldier is not on a mission for Director Carter--or rather, former Director Carter. He’s on a mission for someone else. 

“We need to follow him,” Peggy says. “Sharon, get the car.” 

Sharon has never driven in Europe before. But she manages just fine as she nervously presses on the gas pedal and they zoom forward. Winter Soldier is chasing after someone, and someone who knows it. 

Aunt Peggy sees red hair and pauses. 

“Sharon, get out of the car. Let me drive.” 

- 

Sharon is not allowed to tell her parents that she met Black Widow, or that Peggy dented the car hood by attempting to run over the Winter Soldier. 

She also does not tell anyone about the fact that as she opened the car door for Black Widow and her charge, that Winter Soldier tore off his goggles and stared. 

That was...unsettling. His eyes were brilliant. She could tell they were a light color from a hundred feet off. 

“This your girl?” Natasha Romanoff asks Aunt Peggy. 

“Yes.” 

“I’m impressed,” she says. “Welcome to SHIELD, Sharon.” 

“I’m not inducted in yet.” 

“You might as well be, facing off the Winter Soldier,” she says with a snort. “Come on. Peggy, we need to start training.” 

Sharon starts during college. She still goes to college, although her heart is not completely in it. She finishes her classes with passing grades, gets a degree in sociology, and moves on. 

Natasha trains with her and she becomes skilled as all hell. 

She still dreams of light eyes staring through her. The dreams are more like nightmares as they get closer and closer. 

- 

She sees him again when she’s in New York helping out with protection at an undercover science delegation meeting. Some of the most influential scientists are the ones you never hear about. Sure, they have published papers, but they also have papers that never see the light of day because it would change the fabric of reality as everyone knows it. 

Winter Soldier doesn’t spare her a glance, not until she launches herself at him to knock him into an alley. 

“Stop,” she hisses. 

Sharon didn’t think this through. She most definitely is not on his skill level, and they both know it. 

“Let me go,” he says, voice almost dead. “I have a mission.” 

“So do I,” she says, “and it involves stopping someone like you.” 

“You miss the point of my existence,” he says, almost robotically. “I am not a someone. I am a something.” 

“You know the difference. Robots don’t,” Sharon says, dodging a fist that goes slamming into concrete. “Now back the hell off.” 

In all of the missions that Winter Soldier can recount, (oh yeah, they’ll let him remember the decapitation but not his own fucking birthday. Classic) most of the agents that are sent to stop him are not this bold. 

Because a.) they realize in the moment that they are outmatched and outclassed in every way that matters, and b.) they have accepted death. 

Not this girl. No, she’s young and she’s fierce but she knows...she knows something. 

This gets him distracted. 

And this allows Sharon to be able to slash a knife down his leg, and it’s not the kind of cut that allows continuation to be done. He would survive, but this is gonna slow him down. 

Begrudgingly, she has his respect. 

- 

He doesn’t tell his handlers about her. He doesn’t know why. Usually he’s fine with revealing anyone who got in his way, and usually someone catches onto the fact that he’s lying and make his brain circuits go pop. But not...not this time. 

They believe the fact that a spare part from a crashed car knicked his leg as he jumped down. They stitch him up, give him a good old brain wipe, and send him to the freezer. He’s not sure when the next year will be, if they’ll even let him out again. 

(There’s a joke about rent insurance in there somewhere.) 

-

Sharon cut the Winter Soldier. She fucking cut the guy who people said would kill you. She got away. 

This isn’t something you brag about. She could but then she’d be an asshole who everyone at the office hates. And instead of them stealing Rumlow’s lunch once a week, it’d be her. 

And she likes that Rumlow keeps bringing quality food. 

She doesn’t tell anyone. Well...Peggy doesn’t count. 

Peggy is riveted, on the edge of her seat. 

“You didn’t,” Peggy swears. “You didn’t!” 

“I did,” Sharon responds. “But I don’t know what he told whoever he works for. I could be dead, Peggy.” 

“Nonsense,” Peggy scoffs. “It’s been more than a week, correct?” 

“A month.” 

“You just told me this today?! And it’s been a month?!” 

“...I didn’t want you to worry.” 

“If you had told me the day of, I would have worried. But if they haven’t sent anyone to kill you, your little escapade is safe. Although it does make me curious...” 

They sip on tea for a while longer and laugh about Sharon’s father, who is fretting about Sharon all over again. It’s a bi-monthly occasion, very entertaining for Peggy, who knows that Sharon knows a little over a hundred ways to incapacitate someone who’s up against her. 

Sharon kisses Peggy goodbye. 

- 

Winter Soldier is woken up for another mission. 

He remembers a woman with blonde hair and a firm ask for him to “stop.” 

There’s a feeling that she’s important. There’s a feeling that Hydra doesn’t know anything about her. 

He’s sent to make sure that SHIELD is destroyed. 

Great. This is gonna go fantastically, he’s sure. 

-

Sharon really knows what’s going on. Peggy had her suspicions, and made sure that Nick Fury thought outside the box. Hell, that he thought outside the universe. She knew that SHIELD would never be pure of intention. Peggy never was, why would her organization be? Humanity isn’t either. 

She knows that Hydra is inside SHIELD and it’s looking for Captain America to be its first example. 

Do they know it’s a Wednesday? Like honestly, it’s a Wednesday. It’s two p.m. She thought she would get herself a pizza tonight, make a wine night. Wine Wednesday. It would’ve been fun. Maybe Natasha could’ve come. 

But no, Hydra decided they wanted to eliminate threats they couldn’t control so now she’s on the run from the guy the next office space from hers and has to deal with Rumlow bitching about people stealing his sandwiches. 

“Your own fault!” Sharon yells, swiping his feet from under him. “You’re also just annoying as fuck!” 

She then has to run. 

She knows that Natasha and some special agent who was in the flight division are helping Steve and maybe Maria. Probably Maria. They wouldn’t have gotten as far as they had if Maria wasn’t in on it or if she was Hydra. 

God, if Maria Hill was Hydra...

Couldn’t think about that travesty now. She has a world to save. 

- 

Steve, naturally, has been sort of a disaster. He makes it functional. She sort of wishes that she could make it functional, but she is not able to have that sort of function in her life, unfortunately. 

He’s wearing his old uniform. She doesn’t know why, just that he’s stupid. She doesn’t care how carefully the restoration workers at the Smithsonian have repaired it, she knows his levels of stupidity. 

And then he turns. 

Winter Soldier. 

Now, apparently, Bucky Barnes. 

What a kick in the goddamn head. 

She can’t even think. She doesn’t want to think, she just charges and kicks him out a window. 

Steve slams the card in, they save the world, and she’s diving after a man with a metal arm. Metal is also falling from the sky, so you could imagine the level of difficulty she is under. 

But she finds him. He’s a heavy guy as she lugs him to the shore, waiting for him to wake up. 

“Who the--?” He’s coughing out water, trying to get up. 

“I’d suggest you take a vacation,” Sharon says. “I think you have a lot of days saved up.” 

Sharon doesn’t know why she leaves him there. She really doesn’t understand why she doesn’t just say “hey, come with me,” and then he decides to join SHIELD and Steve and him can bond over not understanding music apps. 

But he needs to have time to himself, she reasons. 

“You’re insane,” Natasha says to Sharon. Steve is trying to visit Sam and hang out, so they’re doing their own thing. “You let him go?” 

“He needed to find his own life,” Sharon says. “You know Steve likes to define what he knows, and he knows Bucky Barnes. But I think Bucky Barnes isn’t really a sure thing right now. So we’ll find out.” 

“Okay.” 

“Hey. If I’m meant to have him in this life, great. If not, then that is what it is,” Sharon says. 

- 

She doesn’t know that Barnes did not hop a plane to Europe. Not yet, anyway. 

No, he’s a block away in an abandoned office building. He’s not sure what he’s doing, just that he doesn’t want to leave anything yet. 

She may hold answers. Answers that he wants. 

[kurokoros]

Focal Point | Part Three

Title: Focal Point

Rated: M (language, smut, references to past violence)

Words: 9.6K

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Jones!OC

Summary: Jubilee stares at him in disbelief, mouth opening and closing though no words come out. A dozen emotions flicker in her eyes as she takes in what he’s said, but they pass too quickly for him to register anything but her confusion. Eventually, she crosses her arms, leaning back in the booth, quirking a brow at him. “You want me to pose for you,” she repeats slowly, absolutely bewildered by the request. “Naked.”

Sweet Pea wets his lips, mirroring her pose, looking far too calm for the request that just came out of his mouth. His eyes meet hers, throat bobbing with a harsh swallow, and she’s relieved to see a flicker of nerves in his eyes. “Yeah.”

College!AU in which Art Major Sweet Pea needs a nude model for an assignment. He decides to ask his best friend.

Chapters: One | Two  | Three | Four | Epilogue

Read on AO3

AN: This is going to be a four part fic (now with a short epilogue!) that’s part of my extended College!Verse Like the Kids in Art School Said! It should be updated every Thursday until complete assuming nothing comes up in my personal life! Inspired by @sweetpeasbabydoll wanting an artist Sweet Pea au with him doing a nude portrait!

With everything that happened last night, Sweet Pea didn’t take into account the fact he’d have one bitch of a hangover in the morning.

He pops two Advil and downs a glass of water as soon as he wakes up, grateful that his non-sober self remembered to leave them on the coffee table. Blankets pool around his waist as he shifts on the couch, stretching and wincing as his back cracks loudly. Sweet Pea groans as he rubs at his eyes, swearing under his breath at the light streaming in through the large, open windows lining the far wall.

The windows were what sold him on this apartment: big and tall and perfect for painting in the early morning. The view out the window is probably the best thing about his cramped studio apartment. When the sun rises everything turns to gold, the light filtering into the room perfectly. Sweet Pea was never an early riser until he started living here, far more content to sleep in and work into the late afternoon. But the lighting was too tempting to ignore, especially after he started getting into some of his more difficult classes.

Now, at seven on a Saturday morning after a night of drinking, he’s really starting to reconsider that view.

Sweet Pea sets his glass down gently and slips off the couch. He sucks in a sharp breath at the slight ache in his right side, his ribs still tender from a brawl years back in Riverdale. It doesn’t hurt often, but the couch is cramped and he must have slept on his side.

Squinting through the harsh morning light, he glances over at his bed tucked away in the corner. Something in his chest constricts and then loosens again when he sees Jubilee on his bed. The blankets are low on her hips and twisted around her legs, but she hasn’t moved much since he set her down last night. She’s not usually that heavy of a sleeper, but between the tequila and her panic attack she must have been exhausted last night.

His tongue flicks out across his lips as he stares at her, the fuzzy details of last night piecing back together and hitting him hard.

Jubilee kissed him last night.

She kissed him and they were drunk and he never should have kissed her back and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do now. It would have been so easy to just keep kissing her, to let everything fall into place like it should have years ago, but he couldn’t. Sweet Pea’s always known exactly how he feels about her. He could lie to everyone else, but never himself. He’s always loved her more than he should, more than he’s allowed to.

Last night brought him to a place he doesn’t want to think about, but now that door is open and he doesn’t know how to close it again. This entire week has wrecked havoc on him with the damn project always lingering in the back of his mind. He should have known better than to ask Jubilee to model for him. To let his thoughts drift towards picturing her like that. Before asking her, he was always able to shove his feelings down and ignore them.

But not anymore.

Sweet Pea catches himself staring and manages to peel his gaze away from Jubilee with some difficulty. It’s hard not to look at her like that: relaxed and curled up on his bed, hair a mess, and all of the stress from earlier in the week chased away. She looks soft there, with the morning light spilling in through the window.

Swallowing, he turns away from her, cursing as he jerks around and a dull ache spreads behind his eyes. His stomach churns and gurgles and Sweet Pea winces, but nothing else happens. It’s been awhile since he went drinking like last night. Usually, he’s more content to stay home and drink, or go to one of the bars nearby with Fangs. He forgot how shitty college parties make him feel the next morning.

He blames the beer pong.

Once he’s sure he’s not going to throw up, Sweet Pea sighs and shakes his head. Not even ten minutes have past since he woke up and he already feels jittery, the apartment suddenly suffocating. His mouth is dry and the taste of cheap beer and something sweeter that he tries not to think about lingers on his tongue. He casts another glance at Jubilee and then swears, groaning low in his throat.

He’s absolutely fucked and he knows it too. He’s in way too deep and only has two days left to finish his project for his art class. It’s going to be difficult looking Jubilee in the eyes later after last night, and he’s pretty sure that seeing her naked isn’t going to help with that.

It’s all way too much to process this early on a Saturday.

Belatedly, he wonders if it’s too late to ask someone else to model for him. Maybe he can still ask Fangs instead. But it’s still too early and he doubts Fangs will be awake anytime soon, judging by how much he drank last night.

Fangs isn’t exactly a lightweight, but last Sweet Pea saw him he wasn’t looking so great. Hopefully Toni and Lydia managed to get him home without too much trouble.

Sweet Pea’s stomach grumbles again as he flicks through his phone, seeing a slew of nonsensical texts from Fangs that he ignores, and one from Lydia letting him know that she and Toni got home safe and wondering how Jubilee is doing. He types out a brief, vague answer about how she’s still asleep and pockets his phone again before leaning back against the kitchen counter, his fingers drumming against the smooth surface.

Glancing at Jubilee again, he chews the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowed as he watches the gentle rise and fall of her back. Sweet Pea stares at her for a moment, gaze tracing the curve of her back and the relaxed expression on her face.

His keys jingle as he swipes them off the counter and shoves them in the pocket of his jeans from last night.

He wants pancakes.

The apartment is unusually quiet when Sweet Pea comes home from the little diner down the block.

He juggles two takeout bags filled with breakfast in his arms, trying not to drop them as he fumbles with the lock on the front door. It takes him a minute to find the right key and he swears when he nearly drops them. The Advil was slow to work and the short walk to the diner did nothing to help his headache or the dry feeling in his mouth. It took him longer than usual to make the short trip to the diner and back and he almost threw up in a bush on the way there, but the savory smell of pancakes and bacon coming from the bags more than makes up for it.

It’s the closest thing to Pop’s breakfast food they have this far from Riverdale, and they could both use some comfort food after last night.

Sweet Pea nudges the door with his shoulder, easing it open as quietly as he can, not wanting to wake Jubilee if she’s still asleep. She deserves a break after last night. Though, it may be better to wake her up and get some food in her to soak up the tequila.

Immediately, his eyes search the room for her, checking to make sure he didn’t accidentally wake her. A frown twists at his mouth and his eyes narrow in confusion when he doesn’t find her where he left her a half-hour ago.

His bed is empty. The sheets are rumpled, hastily thrown back and laying in a pile at the foot of the bed, but the rest of the apartment is undisturbed. She’s not nursing her headache on the couch or fumbling around in his kitchen with the ancient coffeemaker that only she uses.

Did she leave while he was gone?

Jubilee���s always been an early riser, so he wouldn’t be surprised if she was already awake, but he’s pretty sure the hangover she’s bound to have is a nasty one. Tequila has never agreed with her and while he’s not sure how much she drank, it was probably a lot more than she can usually handle. She might not be a lightweight, but she’s tiny and can’t throw back drinks like the rest of them. Granted, she has a better tolerance than Lydia, but that’s not saying much.

Sweet Pea steps further into the room, his grip tightening on the takeout bags, but he relaxes again when he sees her shoes and bag still laying in a pile on the floor, unmoved from where he dropped them the previous night.

She didn’t leave.

That must be a good sign. Either she doesn’t remember kissing him, or she doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. It would be more awkward if she snuck out while he was gone.

The toilet flushes and a muffled swear comes from the bathroom. Sweet Pea glances over his shoulder, noticing the light in the bathroom is on and the door is cracked open. He drops the paper bags on the counter with a sigh and runs a hand through his messy hair, shoving the strands away from his eyes before heading towards the bathroom.

“Jubilee?” he murmurs, knocking lightly on the frame to get her attention. She doesn’t respond to him and he groans, keeping his eyes on the floor as he nudges open the door slowly, giving her enough time to stop him if she needs to.

Jubilee barely reacts as he slips into the room and she looks smaller than usual sitting on his bathroom floor in her dress from last night, clearly exhausted and hung-over. She’s squeezed between the toilet and the wall, her head lolled back against the tiles and her legs stretched out, the skirt of her dress riding up on her thighs. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and there’s sweat beading at her hairline. A shiver wracks through her and she cracks open an eye to peek up at him, looking paler than usual and absolutely miserable.

“I’m beginning to think college parties aren’t my thing,” she mumbles, her dark eyes rimmed in red. Seeing her like that makes something inside his chest squeeze, but he shoves it down when Jubilee gives him a weak smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Sweet Pea chuckles as he sinks down onto the floor across from her, his back against the bathtub. “I could have told you that, Doll,” he teases, resting his elbows against his bent knee and knocking his foot against her bare leg. She groans, sending him an annoyed look that’s offset by the twitch of her lips.

She doesn’t respond as she drops her head back against the wall, her eyes flickering shut. Jubilee’s body sags against the tiles as she sighs and leans her temple against the wall. Her foot nudges against his. Sweet Pea stays silent, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks her over, making sure she’s okay.

Her joking is a good sign, but Jubilee has always been a good at putting up a front, never wanting to make people worry.

After taking a series of slow, steadying breaths, Jubilee forces her eyes open again and meets his gaze. “Remind me to kill Fangs the next time I see him.” She huffs, squinting slightly at the bright lights in the bathroom.

Sweet Pea snorts, rolling his eyes. “You should know better than to let him talk you into matching shots by now,” he says, an echo of what he told her last night as he was carrying her into the apartment. His thoughts shift to the little sigh that left her as his lips trailed along her neck and his jaw clenches. “Fangs isn’t exactly a lightweight, Jubilee.” Neither is she, but Fangs has a good fifty pounds on her.

She shrugs, pursing her lips in annoyance. “I would have won if it wasn’t tequila,” she tells him. “Fangs knows I can’t keep it down. The fucking cheater.” Sweet Pea chuckles and Jubilee groans again. She draws her legs up to her chest and drops them sideways to rest against the wall she’s leaning against. “I’m never drinking again,” she mumbles, rubbing at her temples.

“You’ve told me that before,” he reminds her. Jubilee doesn’t respond and he stretches out one of his legs, nudging her foot with his. “Why’d you let him talk you into shots anyway?”

She’s not as big of a drinker as the rest of them, given the struggle her father had with alcohol. And shots aren’t usually her thing unless she’s upset about something. As far as he’s aware, Jubilee was doing all right last night. Maybe a little stressed with her classes, but not enough to agree to shots with Fangs. He can be persuasive, but Jubilee doesn’t cave to anything she doesn’t want to do.

Jubilee hesitates before saying, “it doesn’t matter.” She waves off the frown he sends her. “I thought it would be fun, but clearly that was just the tequila talking.” She shrugs, her eyes slipping shut as she relaxes back against the tiles.

He nods slowly, deciding not to push it. “You feelin’ any better?” he asks instead, trying to gauge how much of last night she remembers. If she remembers taking shots, there’s a good chance she remembers the rest of the night, and that’s not something he knows how to talk about at the moment.

“I woke up this morning and immediately vomited for a solid twenty minutes,” she tells him, and he wrinkles his nose, trying not to wince at her frankness. “I don’t think I’ve ever thrown up that much before in my life. And that includes the Christmas party with Archie’s eggnog from Hell. My head hurts like a bitch, my mouth is dry, I’m starving, and I really don’t want to move, even though your floor is kind of disgusting.” His lips twitch up in amusement and Jubilee shoots him a wry smile. “I’m doing just peachy, Sweet Pea. How are you?”

Sweet Pea wets his lips, trying to hide a smile. “I’m not the one who had to be carried home, so I’m pretty good.” Jubilee glares at him.

“Oh, please,” she drawls back, rolling her eyes. “I’ve had to drag your dumb ass home plenty of times.” Jubilee purses her lips and crosses her arms, raising a brow at him. “Or did you forget New Years already?”

The teasing lilt to her voice only makes his smile widen, though he winces at the reminder of the party just a few months earlier. It wasn’t one of his finest moments. “Hey, we agreed not to talk about New Years,” he reminds her. “That was Fangs fault, not mine. He’s the one that pulled out the vodka.” She snorts and he narrows his eyes playfully. “And be nice, I let you take my bed and slept on the couch. You know that thing is shit.”

Jubilee sends him a look he can’t quite place. “I keep telling you we can just share the damn bed,” she says. His heart stutters at the seriousness in her voice and for a moment he can’t breathe. The bathroom suddenly seems too cramped, too hot, and Sweet Pea swallows thickly as Jubilee continues to stare at him, eyes searching his.

Before he can think too hard on the implication there, Jubilee’s stomach growls loudly, ripping through the tense silence. “Fuck, I need food,” Jubilee mutters, groaning and stretching out her legs again. “Please tell me you have something other than dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets?”

A surprised bark of laughter escapes from Sweet Pea and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, a nervous tick. He tries hard not to think about them sharing a bed again, but the image slips in anyway.

“I haven’t been grocery shopping in like two weeks,” he admits, shrugging half-heartedly. “So I guess it’s a good think I got breakfast this morning.”

Her eyes narrow. “Pancakes from Benny’s?” Sweet Pea nods and her eyes light up. A small, soft smile pulls at her lips and warmth floods his chest. “Blueberry or chocolate chip?”

“Chocolate chip, of course,” he tells her scoffing. “Who do you take me for?” He shifts on the floor, struggling to stand in the cramped bathroom.

Jubilee’s lips twitch as she watches him. “My hero.”

Sweet Pea’s smile slips just the slightest when it registers, and he tenses, towering over her. His gaze snaps back to Jubilee, still curled up against the wall and watching him with a look that’s heartbreakingly honest. Maybe it’s the look in her eyes or the soft way she said “hero”, but it makes his throat close up. For a moment he can’t breathe, pinned in place by her dark eyes that are so easy to get lost in.

He rips his gaze away and swallows. Jubilee is still watching him when he turns back to her, and Sweet Pea forces a grin as he reaches for her. “Come ‘ere, Doll.” Her hand slips into his and Sweet Pea hauls her up easily, his other hands settling on her hip when she wobbles, unstable on her feet. She inhales sharply at the contact, but he doesn’t move to step away.

Jubilee sinks into him without a word and Sweet Pea relaxes as well. His thumb strokes across her hip absentmindedly, and if she notices she doesn’t appear to care. The silky fabric of her dress tickles at his skin and he glances down at her, eyes raking across her frame.

She catches him staring and he swallows, suddenly reminded of last night and how close the two of them were, how she felt pressed up against him and the way her fingers dragged along his neck.

“Do you wanna change?” he blurts out, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

Her lips twitch. “Please.”

They end up sitting at the counter, the TV playing some old cartoon that neither of them are really paying attention to as they pick at their food. Just something to fill the silence. Jubilee is sitting on the counter in front of him, her bare legs dangling over the side and swinging back and forth lazily. Sweet Pea is on a stool in front of her, trying hard not to stare at the space where her shirt brushes her legs.

He nearly groaned out loud when she walked into the kitchen wearing one of his old flannels and nothing else, the shirt’s hem tickling at her thighs and leaving plenty of her creamy skin bare.

It was bad enough that she changed out in the open, Sweet Pea’s back to her as he fiddled with their takeout bags. He was ridiculously attentive to every move she made, and the sound of her unzipping her dress made him shiver and he hates how aware of her he is after last night.

He’s pretty sure she’s going to kill him at this rate.

Jubilee shifts beside him. Sweet Pea glances up at her as she sets her plate on the counter next to her hip. She looks better now, less pale as she leans back on her hands and closes her eyes, content.

Sweet Pea has to fight to keep his gaze from flicking down to the buttons of the flannel she’s left undone, the fabric revealing plenty of cleavage. Once again, Sweet Pea is painfully aware of the fact that she isn’t wearing a bra.

If Jubilee cares that he can basically see clear down the front of her shirt, she certainly doesn’t act like it.

“You planning to stay here today?” he asks her when the silence starts to be too much for him. It’s the same question he asked her earlier this week, before he asked her to model for him, and this time it feels different. There’s more weight to it, though he isn’t sure why.

Jubilee hums lightly, her fingers drumming against the countertop. “It’s quiet here,” she tells him eventually, fiddling with the sleeve of her borrowed flannel. “I’m supposed to start that paper for Tanner’s class soon,” she continues. The fuck that that follows is implied. “Asshole assigned a fifteen page paper due by Wednesday. And I’m sure Lydia is making up for last night by practicing all day.”

He’s not sure if that’s the answer he wants or not, but his arm brushes against her leg in a way that might mean stay.

“I’m sure the girls will stop over later,” he murmurs back eventually. “Lydia and Toni were pretty worried last night.” They all were. It’s been a long time since Jubilee had a panic attack like that. He can’t remember one being that bad since their first year on campus when she went to that party with Kevin. “They were blowing up your phone this morning. You might wanna call them.”

She exhales through her nose. “They worry too much.”

“Nah,” he corrects her, nudging her leg again, “they just love you.”

They lapse into silence again. His gaze wanders around the room, Sweet Pea searching for anything to distract him from Jubilee. The sketchbook propped up on an easel in the corner catches his eye like it did last night, and he swallows back a low groan at the sight of it.

His project is due in two days and he has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do anymore. He’s still reeling from that kiss last night and can’t stop thinking about the way she felt pressed against his chest, how he felt like he was coming home. Even now, he can still feel the tickle of her breath on his neck and it makes goosebumps rise on his arms.

It should be weird, the two of them eating breakfast together like normal after a night of drinking—after she kissed him—but it’s not. It’s completely natural and that throws him off. He’s still not sure if she remembers kissing him, and he doesn’t know if he should ask or forget about it.

“You gonna be okay here?” he ask instead. She frowns, her brows knitting together in confusion as he stands from the counter hurriedly, leaving his food half finished. Sweet Pea doesn’t wait for an answer as he swipes his keys and wallet of the counter and shoves them into his pocket. “There’s something I need to take care of. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Jubilee doesn’t react until he’s already across the room and grabbing his coat off the hook by the door.

“Sweets?” she calls out as he shrugs on his jacket. He glances at her over his shoulder. “Thanks, for taking care of me last night.” There’s something in her eyes that he doesn’t recognize, a little confused and a little hurt, but he pretends not to see it.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Doll.” He swallows, mouth dry. It hurts to look away from her, but he can’t be in this apartment anymore. Not right now.

Sweet Pea glances at her over his shoulder briefly as he slips out the door, and the disappointment that flashes in her eyes is the last thing he sees before the door closes with a quiet click.

He can’t draw her for his project.

The walk to Fang’s apartment isn’t long, but it gives him enough time to think and shove back the confusion and panic welling up inside him. It’s still chilly this early in the morning, spring coming in cold, and he focus on the weather instead of the fact that he has two days left to work on a project worth ten percent of his grade and his model, who happens to be one of his best friends, kissed him last night. While they were drunk. And he kissed her back. While shoving her against his front door. Classy.

He tries not to groan as he makes his way into the apartment complex and trudges up the stairs. Of all the things he expected to happen last night, making out with Jubilee was not one of them. He was prepared for crying and vomit, not learning exactly how she tasted and the sounds she made as he kissed down her neck.

Sweet Pea is absolutely fucked. He’s never been in this much trouble before, not even last summer when the Serpents got into it with the Ghoulies or the time he got stuck in a deal with Penny Peabody back in high school.

At least he knew how to deal with those things, but Jubilee? Jubilee’s always been the one thing he could never quite wrap his head around. He’s gotten good at ignoring how he feels and shoving it down so deep that most days he can forget about it, but now it’s there in the open and that’s something he doesn’t know how to deal with. He doesn’t know what that means for them and something squeezes in his chest until it hurts.

Sweet Pea shakes his head, already exhausted with everything that’s happened so far this morning. He’s been awake for barely three hours and already he wants to go back to bed and pretend the last two days haven’t happened.

He takes the stairs up to their apartment, too antsy to stand still in the elevator for the five flights up. Sweet Pea doesn’t bother to knock when he reaches the door, opting to just break in instead. The lock gives easily and he shoves open the front door of Fangs’ apartment, uncaring as it bangs against the wall. Joaquin and Kevin are probably already awake and Fangs isn’t going to be asleep for much longer anyway.

It’s not like he plans on being here long. He’s pretty sure he can get Fangs to agree fairly easily, if only because Fangs owes him a favor for that time Sweet Pea helped him paint set pieces for the play last year.

It surprises him when a groan sounds from the couch and a head of messy, dark hair pops up over the back. Sweet Pea startles slightly, but his shock melts into irritation quickly. A pair of bleary, blue eyes blinking at him in confusion. “Sweet Pea?” Jughead murmurs, yawning as he squints at his friend.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jones?” Sweet Pea sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Jughead is just about the last person Sweet Pea wants to deal with right now. While he hasn’t done anything particularly annoying lately, Sweet Pea can only handle the older Jones twin’s smart mouth in small doses without wanting to strangle him.

Jughead yawns again, altogether undisturbed to find Sweet Pea breaking into their friends’ apartment. “Archie brought a girl home last night,” he tells Sweet Pea, wrinkling his nose. “Sleeping here was the better option, even if it meant taking the couch.”

Sweet Pea nods absently, only half paying attention as he stares at Fangs’ bedroom door, which is cracked open just a little. “Did Fangs come home last night?”

“That or it was my dad snoring in his room all night.” Sweet Pea shoots him an unamused look and Jughead sighs in annoyance. “Yes he’s home. Toni had to call Joaquin and Kevin to come pick him up from the frat party you left them at and they dragged him in a little before two after dropping the girls off.” Jughead folds his arms across the back of the couch and rests his chin atop them. “Fangs offered me a striptease. I declined. He gave me one anyway.” Jughead makes a face and Sweet Pea snorts. “I never want to see Fangs take his shirt off ever again. How much did he drink last night anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone throw up so much in my entire life.”

“He busted out the tequila,” Sweet Pea explains vaguely, shrugging as he kicks off his shoes by the entrance. “You know he gets messy when he drinks that shit.” He debates shrugging off his leather jacket, but opts to keep it on for now.

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Oh, how could I forget considering the time he broke into my apartment and fell asleep in my bathtub? He nearly gave Archie a heart attack.”

“Andrews has seen worse.”

Sweet Pea starts to walk away, but Jughead calls him back before he can go far, making Sweet Pea sigh in annoyance. “What do you need Fangs for at…” Jughead trails off, gaze sliding to the clock on the wall in the kitchen that Kevin insists on keeping for the aesthetic, “eight-thirty on a Saturday? Why the fuck are you even awake right now?”

“He owes me a favor,” Sweet Pea says vaguely, much to Jughead’s apparent frustration. Despite them being much friendlier than they were back in high school, Sweet Pea has no intentions of spilling his guts to Jughead about his feelings for Jubilee. “I’m cashing in.”

Jughead’s eyes widen. “Christ, Sweet Pea, did you kill someone last night? Are you asking him to help you hide a body?”

“What?” His head snaps around and he frowns. “No! What the fuck, Jones?”

“It’s a valid question,” Jughead argues, though he calms quickly, apparently satisfied with Sweet Pea’s confusion. “I can never be sure with you two. We used to get into so much shit back in Riverdale.” He shakes his head, then turns back to Sweet Pea. “How’s Jubilee, by the way? Toni called and told me what happened.”

Sweet Pea stiffens, wincing. Even though he knows she’s fine now, he doesn’t like the reminder of last night. It’s sobering, to say the least. “She’s… okay,” he settles on, clearing his throat. “She’s okay. I got her to calm down last night and took her back to my place.”

“I figured.”

Jughead stares at him, eyes narrowed slightly. It’s unnerving, the way Jughead seems to look right through him, and Sweet Pea’s always hated the way Jughead tends to psycho analyze people. Sweet Pea meets his friend’s gaze regardless, clenching his jaw as he waits, practically daring Jughead to run his mouth.

Jughead surprises him by saying, “thanks for taking care of her.”

Sweet Pea’s eyes narrow in confusion. “It’s Jubilee,” is all he says before turning away and heading for Fangs’ bedroom, ignoring the way Jughead’s eyes follow him across the room.

He doesn’t bother to knock as he shoves Fangs’ door open the rest of the way.

Sweet Pea rolls his eyes when he finds Fangs sprawled across the bed on his stomach, drooling and snoring obnoxiously. The blankets are knotted around his feet and Sweet Pea is infinitely grateful that Fangs managed to keep his boxers on during his little striptease for Jughead last night.

Granted, he supposes it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if he accidentally saw Fang’s dick today, considering why he’s here to begin with.

Taking a deep breath, Sweet Pea steels himself. It’s not going to be easy to wake up Fangs, given how heavy of a sleeper he is, but Sweet Pea has plenty of experience dragging Fangs out of bed before nine in the morning. With a frustrated groan, he crosses the room to Fangs and kicks at the leg dangling over the side of the bed. “Fangs,” he snaps, eyes narrowing when his friend doesn’t react. Sweet Pea nudges his ankle again and Fangs shifts, grumbling something unintelligible. “Wake the fuck up, Fogarty.”

“Sweet Pea?” Fangs mumbles, squinting up at him with one eye. The light streaming in through the window makes him groan and bury his face back in his arms. “ ‘m I dreamin’?” The question comes out slurred, Fangs’ voice still thick with sleep, and Sweet Pea sighs, not having the patience for this today.

“You wish.”

Fangs huffs and rolls away from him. “Ugh, go away then.” He closes his eyes and gropes around blindly until he finds his blanket, hauling it up over his head to block out the sunlight and Sweet Pea’s glare.

Sweet Pea purses his lips, unamused by Fangs’ lack of cooperation. “Get up, dumbass,” he snaps, ripping the blanket away from Fangs, who whines in protest and buries his face in his pillow. “We need to talk.” His temper rises quickly, though he doesn’t mean to yell at Fangs. It’s been a long week and he’s still rattled from last night.

Fangs tenses and glances up at him again. “Okay,” he starts slowly as he rolls onto his back and raises his hands defensively, “before you yell at me for whatever I did, I just want to say that I remember nothing, aside from making out with some blonde girl in a corner before Joaquin showed up and dragged me away.”

Sweet Pea crosses his arms. “That doesn’t surprise me.” Fangs was already half-way to being wasted by the time they were done with that game of beer pong and he tends to make shitty decisions when he’s tipsy. Sweet Pea probably should have kept a closer eye on him last night, but for the most part Fangs can take care of himself.

Clearly last night was not one of those times.

Fangs squeezes his eyes shut and rubs a tired hand across his face before raking his fingers through his hair. “What the hell did I drink?” he mutters, flopping back on his bed and squinting up at the ceiling.

“Tequila,” Sweet Pea tells him shortly, drumming his fingers against his forearm impatiently. “Apparently Toni found you matching shots with Jubilee last night. And thanks for that, by the way. She spent like twenty minutes throwing up in my bathroom this morning.”

“I do remember the shots.” Fangs groans and rubs at his eyes. “Didn’t realize it was tequila though.” He pulls a face and lets his arms flop onto the bed. Sweet Pea rolls his eyes, but decides not to comment on it. He’s tired and more than a little sexually frustrated at the moment, so he’d really appreciate it if they could skip the small talk. “How’s Jubilee holding up?”

It’s the right thing to say. Sweet Pea’s expression softens as soon as Fangs says her name. “She’s better now,” he says quietly. Sweet Pea sighs, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “She had a panic attack last night, but she’ll be okay.”

Fangs eyes snap open at the new information, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment. He looks like he wants to ask, but Sweet Pea clenches his jaw, his fingers digging into his arms, and Fangs shakes his head. “She always is.” It comes out easily, like it’s a fact, and Sweet Pea wonders if Fangs is trying to reassure him.

“What are you doing tonight?” Fangs frowns at the abrupt change in subject, but Sweet Pea only stares down at him, jaw set as he waits for a response.

Fangs shifts on his bed, sitting up slowly and sending Sweet Pea a bemused look. “I have a shift at the bar, remember?” he says slowly, significantly more awake than he was a moment ago. “I’m covering for Tom. It’s why I had Wednesday off.”

A sigh escapes Sweet Pea and he uncrosses his arms. His eyes narrow as he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, tugging painfully at the roots. Fangs sits up straighter, concerned as Sweet Pea bites his lip. “What about tomorrow?” Sweet Pea asks him.

“I think I’m free. Why? What’s going on?” Fangs leans forward, bracing his elbows against his knees as a look of concern flickers across his face. The urgency in Sweet Pea’s tone makes him frown. It isn’t often that Sweet Pea is like this.

Swallowing down his hesitation, Sweet Pea decides to just bite the bullet. “You still up for modeling for me?” he asks Fangs. The series of emotions that flicker across Fangs face would be amusing if Sweet Pea wasn’t so frustrated with everything. It’s almost comical the way Fangs’ eyes go wide and his mouth drops open in surprise.

Of all the things either of them considered Sweet Pea asking, that certainly wasn’t one of them.

“What?” Fangs manages to sputter out, mouth opening and closing several times in disbelief.

Sweet Pea clenches his jaw, sighing through his nose in irritation. “Would you still be willing to model for me?” he repeats, slower this time. When Fangs expression doesn’t change he elaborates. “For my art project?” They literally talked about this yesterday. Fangs just blinks at him for a second until understanding slowly starts to kick in and Fangs seems to realize what he means through the haze of his hangover. “I know it’s short notice, but I really need to get this project done and I only have two days left.”

“Shit,” Fangs breathes back to him, shaking his head slowly. “Did Jubilee back out or something? I thought she was okay with the whole nudity thing, though I totally understand if she isn’t, because damn the first time I modeled for a class I was freaking out inside and—”

Sweet Pea is quick to cut off his rambling. “No, I just…” He rubs at his temples, cursing under his breath. His headache is starting to come back already. He should have brought the Advil with him. “I don’t think drawing her is a good idea right now,” he admits, softer than before. The words stick in his throat, barely audible, but Fangs hears him anyway.

Fangs’ frown only deepens as he stares at Sweet Pea, his hangover making it difficult to follow what his friend is saying. “What? Sweet Pea, what are you talking about?”  

“It doesn’t matter,” Sweet Pea tells him, tone harsher than he means it to be. He clenches his jaw, avoiding Fangs gaze for a moment, afraid that if he looks at his friend, Fangs will immediately know everything that happened last night. Fangs has always been scarily good at reading his expression, and that’s not really something Sweet Pea wants to get into at the moment. “I just need a model and you seemed pretty willing before. Figured you’d jump at the chance to take your pants off again.” Sweet Pea gestures to Fangs’ semi-nude state and his apparent lack of concern thereof.

But Fangs doesn’t take the bait, knowing him far better than that. His eyes narrow critically as he looks at Sweet Pea, who steadfastly ignores him while playing with one of the silver rings adorning his fingers.

“Is this because of what happened at the party?” he asks lowly, softer than before as he references Jubilee’s panic attack.

A twinge of guilt rips through Sweet Pea, just like it always does when something happens to her. It’s part of the reason, but not the whole truth, though Fangs doesn’t need to know that.

When Sweet Pea doesn’t respond, Fangs continues. “Did something else happen last night?” Sweet Pea stiffens, his gaze dropping to the floor. Fangs sits up a little straighter, his eyes widening just a fraction as a smile slowly starts to pull at his lips. “Shit, man, what did you do? Kiss Jubilee?” he asks, snickering to himself. His laughter ends abruptly when Sweet Pea doesn’t deny it. “What the fu—Sweet Pea did you kiss Jubilee?”

“No,” he answers quickly, glancing at Fangs and crossing his arms again. And then, because he figures Fangs will find out eventually anyway, he tacks on, “Jubilee kissed me.”

Fangs relaxes again at Sweet Pea’s easy response, snorting and rolling his eyes. Then, he freezes. His eyes snap back to Sweet Pea. “Wait, you’re serious?” Sweet Pea nods and Fangs looks about ready to burst with joy. “Oh my god! That’s great! It’s about damn time one of you did something about the unbearable sexual tension. Let me tell you, I was about ready to—”

“No,” Sweet Pea is quick to cut him off again, his impatience growing. “No, Fangs, that’s not great! She was drunk,” he reminds his friend sharply. “She had a panic attack. I shouldn’t have—and I can’t—fuck.” Sweet Pea fists at his hair painfully and turns away from Fangs, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He sighs through his nose, turning back to Fangs slowly. “It shouldn’t have happened.” He says it lowly, reminding himself. “And I can’t use her for this project, okay? Not after last night. I can’t.”

The apartment is too quiet and his words hang heavy in the air between them. Fangs stares at him, mouth opening and closing like he isn’t sure what to say. Sweet Pea has always had a quick temper. It used to get him into plenty of trouble when he was younger. But the panic welling up inside him is making him more snappish than usual.

“What are you two yelling about?” Sweet Pea snaps around, tensing, but Joaquin only squints back at him, running a hand through his sleep rumpled hair and yawning. “Jesus Christ, it’s not even nine yet. Some of us are still trying to sleep, you know.” He leans against the door-frame, quirking a brow at the two of them and lifting his coffee mug to his mouth.

“Jubilee kissed Sweet Pea last night,” Fangs blurts out before Sweet Pea can stop him, having absolutely no filter, as usual.

Joaquin chokes on his coffee. “She what?”

Sweet Pea glares down at Fangs, who holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Fangs, I swear to God if you don’t learn to shut your fucking mouth—”

“Jubilee kissed you?” Joaquin sputters, cutting off Sweet Pea’s threat. He blinks at Sweet Pea blankly for a second. “What do you—why did she kiss you?”

Before Fangs can run his mouth again, Sweet Pea sends him a nasty look. “She was drunk and upset,” he explains to Joaquin who nods slowly. Toni likely told him everything that happened last night. Joaquin takes another sip of his coffee as his brows pinch together, but he waits for Sweet Pea to continue. “She passed out again afterwards.” He shrugs, making Joaquin’s frown deepen. “It’s not a big deal. It didn’t mean anything.”

Joaquin snorts loudly, rolling his eyes at Sweet Pea’s blatant lie. “Man, you are so full of shit,” he tells Sweet Pea, shaking his head. Fangs shifts on his bed, nervously glancing between his friends. Between Sweet Pea’s easily provoked temper and Joaquin’s low tolerance for bullshit, their arguments can get out of hand quickly. “How many times have you had to tell yourself that one before?”

Sweet Pea stiffens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Piss off, Joaquin,” he snaps back, voice low and warning. His anger is already starting to rise, Sweet Pea already on edge from last night and his conversation with Jubilee this morning.

When Joaquin scoffs at him, Sweet Pea clenches his jaw and starts to leave, feeling trapped in the room.

He doesn’t make it far. Before he can leave, Joaquin slides in front of him, blocking the exit. Sweet Pea could move him easily if he wanted to. Joaquin is nearly half a foot shorter and wiry, but Sweet Pea stops anyway. “No,” Joaquin tells him firmly. He sets his mug down on Fangs’ dresser by the door before crossing his arms. “We’re gonna talk about this. You’ve been in love with Jubilee for years and you’ve never done a damn thing about it!”

Joaquin catches him off guard with the word love, and Sweet Pea’s heart stutters. His breath catches, and he immediately moves to deny it like he always does, but this time he can’t force the words out.

Fangs stands up. “Joaquin, man, maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Get out of my way,” Sweet Pea says. When Joaquin still doesn’t move, Sweet Pea shoves around him, knocking Joaquin sideways away from the door-frame before stalking out of the room and heading for the front door.

Joaquin is right on his heels. “I am so sick of watching you act like this,” he snaps at Sweet Pea. Fangs hovers just in outside of his room, watching them with wide eyes. “Four years. That’s how long I’ve been watching you throw yourself into hookup after hookup when it—”

“Fuck off!” Sweet Pea snaps at him, and Joaquin purses his lips. “I don’t do that anymore,” he reminds Joaquin firmly. He stopped taking girls home with him months ago. The hookups only made him feel worse.

Joaquin shakes his head, laughing though there’s no humor to it. “Why can’t you just admit that—”

Something inside him snaps. “You fucking know why, Joaquin!” Sweet Pea whirls on him and Joaquin flinches. His throat tightens and he chokes as his shout echoes in the apartment. Joaquin stares back at him, blue eyes wide, and Fangs stills halfway over to them.

Sweet Pea squeezes his eyes shut at the onslaught of memories that flood back to him. “I couldn’t protect her,” he chokes out, voice cracking. His fingers tremble as he turns away from them, shaking his head. “I couldn’t protect her and she deserves better than that.”

It takes only a second for understanding to flood Joaquin’s face. They’ve never talked about what happened back in Riverdale with the Ghoulies. In the six years since it happened, Sweet Pea has always refused to say a word about that night to anyone but FP. But they know how bad it was. Sweet Pea had bruises for weeks and Jubilee was never the same afterwards.

The wound left behind from that night is still raw and open, even after so many years.

“Sweet Pea,” Joaquin starts, falling silent again just as quickly, unsure what to say.

Fangs’ takes a few slow steps toward them. “That wasn’t your fault,” he says sternly, not a trace of humor left in his voice from earlier.

“It was,” Sweet Pea tells them, sighing lowly. “I’m the one that pissed them off.” The image of Jubilee on the ground, small and broken, flashes in his mind again and he feels sick thinking about it. Sweet Pea squeezes his eyes shut. He sighs, the fight draining out of him, replaced by something that leaves him feeling hollow inside, an ache settling in his chest. “She still has nightmares. She still has fucking panic attacks,” he reminds them. “You heard what happened last night. Fuck, I never should have asked her to do this in the first place.”

“So why did you?” He stills at the unexpected question, turning to find Jughead staring at him over the back of the couch, an irritated expression on his face. Sweet Pea forgot he was sleeping on the couch.

“What?”

Jughead sighs, running a hand down the side of his face and murmuring something too quiet for the rest of the to hear. He props his head up with one hand, elbow planted on the back of the couch. “Why did you ask Jubilee?” he asks again, slower this time.

“She’s one of my best friends,” Sweet Pea answers immediately, practiced after so long. He swallows down the real reason, keeping it on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t have to say it out loud. He’s always been painfully easy to read when it comes to Jubilee.

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Cut the bullshit, please. None of us have believed that since we were sixteen.” Sweet Pea’s gaze shifts to the floor, but Jughead isn’t done yet. “You love her. Congrats. Now do something about it.”

But Sweet Pea shakes his head. “I can’t lose her,” he bites out, throat raw and thick with emotion. He won’t push things. He can’t. They’re on a delicate knife’s edge of coming together or falling apart and he can’t take that risk. After everything they’ve been through he can’t risk fucking that up.

Joaquin and Fangs exchange a look and Jughead stares at him blankly, annoyance flickering in his eyes.

“You’re an idiot, Sweet Pea,” he announces dryly. “You’re literally the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met.” He ignores the glare Sweet Pea sends him. “Why do you think she agreed to this?” The question makes Sweet Pea pause. “Why do you think Jubilee would agree to posing naked for one of your art assignments, knowing fully well that a room full of people is going to see it and probably recognize her from how often you two are together on campus? Why would she agree to this knowing that Fangs is going to give the two of you shit for this for the rest of your lives?” He pauses, quirking a brow, but he doesn’t give Sweet Pea a chance to speak before continuing on with his berating. “Do you think she would do this for anyone else? After what the Ghoulies did, do you really think she would do this for anyone other than you?”

Sweet Pea swallows but doesn’t respond, his chest tight all of a sudden.

Jughead stares at him for a few more seconds before huffing and flopping back down on the couch. “Now shut up so I can go back to sleep.”

Jubilee is reading on the couch when he comes home early in the afternoon. She glances up as he opens the door, a smile immediately pulling at her lips, and Sweet Pea just stands there for a moment, staring at her.

She’s changed since he left this morning, no longer wearing one of his borrowed flannels, instead switching it out for a pair of ripped up jeans and an off-white top that’s ridden up her stomach, revealing a teasing strip of skin. Jughead’s words keep ringing in his ears.

“Hey, Sweets,” she greets, turning back to her book a moment later. Absently, he realizes it’s the same one she was reading on Monday. She’s almost finished with it now.

“Hey, Doll,” he murmurs back, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on the back of the couch. He braces his forearms against the furniture, leaning over it to look at her more closely. “You feeling better now?” The back of his hand brushes against her cheek as he moves some of her hair away from her face and Jubilee glances up at him again.

Jubilee’s lips quirk up again. “Yeah. The girls stopped over and Toni made some disgusting hangover cure and I feel fine now.” He snorts but relaxes slightly, glad she wasn’t alone all day while he was gone. “How was your thing?” There’s something off about her tone, but he can’t place what.

Sweet Pea hesitates, withdrawing his hand. “Okay. I got some things figured out.”

After his conversation with the guys he needed some time to think. He didn’t mean to be gone for so long, but he got lost in his own thoughts walking around the city. It gave him time to clear his head and figure out what he needs to do.

“That’s good. You seemed a little stressed out this morning.” Jubilee closes her book, setting it aside as she sits up and stretches out her limbs. Sweet Pea lets his eyes linger on her for just a moment longer than necessary. “By the way, there’s pizza on the counter. I didn’t know when you’d be home, but figured you’d be hungry.” She doesn’t elaborate, but he hears the implication anyway.

“Pepperoni?”

She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

Sweet Pea reaches down and ruffles her hair affectionately before heading for the kitchen.

“Do you work tonight?” Jubilee calls after him as he pulls a slice from the box on the counter. He quirks a brow, glancing back at her and taking a bite. Jubilee crosses her legs on the couch, staring at him expectantly, and Sweet Pea swallows.

“No, I have the night off.” He leans back against the counter, watching in confusion as she nods and stands from the couch.

She runs her fingers through her hair. “Well, that’s perfect then.”

Frown deepening, he cocks his head to the side, unsure what she’s getting at. “Perfect for what?”

Jubilee sends him a funny look. “Your project? Sweet Pea it’s due Monday and we both know you’ll be a grumpy asshole if you wait until tomorrow to start it.” She props one hand up on her hip and purses her lips, caught somewhere between annoyed and confused.

He nearly chokes at the mention of his project. Sweet Pea swallows down his mouthful, eyes wide as he stares at her. “You still want to model for me?” It’s not what he was expecting.

She frowns. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought—” He cuts off, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” A part of him thought after last night and her panic attack she wouldn’t want anything to do with stripping down for an unspecified amount of time while he drew her. Sweet Pea’s also not entirely sure he’ll be able to do this without making an absolute fool of himself. Last night he fucked up. And this morning he panicked and bolted. He’s already at two strikes in less than a day and things could get a lot worse from here if he’s not careful.

Jubilee doesn’t seem to notice his slight hesitation. “Well then, lets go. You’re losing daylight.”

The pizza slice almost slips from his hand. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now.” She sends him a critical look as she picks up her book and walks over to him. Jubilee stops when she’s right in front of him, her head craned back to look at him. “Unless there’s something wrong with that?” she teases.

Sweet Pea shakes his head, placing his slice of pizza down on top of the box. “No. Now is good. It’s great.” She’s so close that it wouldn’t take much to grab her and kiss her again like he did last night, but Sweet Pea doesn’t move, holding her gaze as he’s caught between her and the kitchen counter.

“Good.”

He wets his lips and Jubilee’s gaze shifts from his for just a second, dipping lower. He clears his throat. “I’ll get my sketchbook then.”

She nods, but doesn’t step away from him. “You do that.”

Sweet Pea doesn’t move for several seconds, keeping his gaze locked on hers. Eventually, he forces himself to move and slides away from her. A pleasant shiver shoots up his spine when her arm brushes against his, but he shakes it off.

He walks over to the corner, gathering up the over-sized sketchbook and the wooden easel automatically. He props it up in the living area, grabs a stool from the counter and brings that into the living room as well. It takes him longer to find his good pencils and the eraser that doesn’t leave smudges everywhere.

It doesn’t really hit him what’s happening until he sits down and opens to a fresh page.

He’s about to draw Jubilee while she’s naked.

Sweet Pea tenses as he realizes what’s happening. It all happened to quickly for him to really process it, but he’s really about to draw Jubilee while she’s naked. He glances up at where she’s sitting on the couch, staring at him expectantly.

“Ready?” she asks, not waiting for a response as she stands up.

“I’m not the one that has to take my clothes off,” he murmurs back, lips quirking up when she giggles lightly. He sobers again pretty quickly. “Jubilee.” She glances up at him. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

She doesn’t respond to him right away, just looks at him, and Sweet Pea can’t tell what’s going on in her head. Finally, she rolls her eyes. “You better not be a silent artist,” she says instead of answering the question, and he figures that’s about all he’s going to get.

His lips twitch in amusement. “I’ll try not to be.”

She nods and that’s it.

Sweet Pea shifts slightly as he stares at Jubilee over his sketchbook, watching as she yanks her shirt off over her head with ease. The fabric drops to the floor at her feet and his throat bobs with a harsh swallow as her hands drop to the button on her jeans. She wriggles out of them slowly, letting them fall to the floor like her top, leaving her in a lacy, black and white bra with matching panties that makes his mouth go dry.

His eyes flick between her face and torso, lingering on her chest and the smooth expanse of her stomach. Absentmindedly, he wonders how she might taste beneath him, how soft her skin would be under his hands and lips and tongue and—

The pencil nearly slips out of his hand as he rips his eyes away from her bare skin.

Jubilee’s eyes lock with his as she reaches behind herself, fingers finding the clasp of her bra with ease. He tries not to look at her naked chest as she slides the straps down her arms slowly before letting the lacy thing tumble to the floor. “Where do you want me, Sweets?” she asks as her thumbs hook around the sides of her underwear and pull down.

Fuck me, is the only thing that comes to mind.

[bngtnblues]

reverie

genre: strangers to lovers!AU + non-idol!AU + fluff

author’s note: im reposting reverie again because my dumbass didn't realise if you changed your url, all your original content will be deleted as well :(  you can read iniquitous here to get the backstory as this is an alternative version <::: credits to @jitonic for the gif!!!!!!!

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader | a scenario

blurb: You, a constant sore thumb, didn’t realize how painfully obvious you were, gawking at the strawberry-scented boy who’s alluring enough for you to start sketching him.

word count: 1,870

You were quite terrible when it comes to expressing your feelings. Especially when it comes to liking someone. At a mature age, you should’ve known how to start up a conversation with this person but how the hell were you supposed to do that, since whenever he made his presence known with that strawberry scent of his, you voice gets stranded in your throat and as always, the train ride resulted in him sleeping and you stealing furtive glances at him.

And today was no different.

He sat in his usual seat; head slouched onto the window, earbuds plugged in as slow breaths exhaled out, not a single trouble on his face while the train barrelled along the rails. And then there’s you, in the seat opposite him, twiddling your fingers, then biting your lips out of habit, the process in a ceaseless replay as your conscience flew out the window ever since his toned legs made his way to the seat.  You didn’t even notice the woman, sitting two seats away from you, rolling her eyes at another episode of your obvious infatuation with the handsome man.

And boy, was he handsome. He had the type of face that could occupy your eyes from a mile’s distance. Chestnut brown hair tousled in the middle, rosy lips parted from sleeping, even his nose is perfect. To most, it might’ve been slightly big but to you, it was just right. But you never clearly saw his eyes. Masked from his hoodie’s shadow and his head tipped down whenever entering the carriage, his eyes remained vague to you as he always closed them instantly when taking his seat, much to your disappointment.

It’d be an understatement if you said this “non-existent relationship” with the hot stranger has become rather unhealthy.

So, today you thought to change your predetermined course of stolen glances and finger twiddling, you decided you might as well save the twenty-or-so minutes of this train ride by sketching him.

In your head, this was a progress from staring. In your head, you thought this would be a satisfying first step in finally asking out the hot stranger. That specific part was still complicated but all in all, it seemed like a win-win situation.

You gingerly brought out your sketchbook from your bag and soon, the artist entrenched in you made sure you captured every ounce of his face, from that small mole under his lips to his slender neck, the pencil worked tentatively onto the white page. Finishing it off, a frown formed on your face as you studied the drawing with an unsatisfying feeling because there is no way the drawing could be finished without his eyes.

And it was as if the gods above finally answered your calls after the four or more rides you’ve shared with him, but only in response to seeing your embarrassment unfold right in front of the only guy who made you question your sanity. To start on a positive note, it wasn’t your fault. It was the trains and mostly him. Your fingers compulsively grabbed onto the pencil once more because his lips just weren’t right and as you ready yourself to glimpse at him, you find yourself in a sudden shock to see him looking right at you.

Nut brown. Large, doe eyes with specks of nut brown. Damn.

You merely thought as you kept on gawking, too entranced by his bright orbs that peered right back. You felt your cheeks betray you with pink and it was a miracle your heart didn’t ram into your throat which had difficulty functioning at the moment.

Even if you were already a wreck of anxiety while he watched with such curious eyes, clearly it wasn’t enough for the gods, because you didn’t notice your sketchbook steadily falling from your hands onto the floor. It took a matter of seconds for the doe-eyed boy to break the intense stare down to direct his gaze towards it.

You followed his gaze and for a second, you thought, someone might as well shoot me now because there it is, your sketchbook lying flat open on that one shitting page. Becoming awkward while trying to seem normal in front of him turned out to be not such a good idea, because, in the next moment, your mouth opened to splutter out nonsense on how that sketch couldn’t possibly be of him.

“O-Oh, t-that’s my brother, just so you know. N-Not you, of course, because that would be just weird… but y-you look a lot like him when I think about it,” you stutter out, your heart easily matching the pace of the train. For your first actual words, you manage to say to the hot stranger, who still had his gaze fixated onto the sketchbook, you mentally cringed at how absurd you sound. That’s my brother just so you know… fucking hell, Y/N!

When he finally looked up, you were surprised to see a faint blush on his cheeks as he leans down to pick the sketchbook off the ground to offer it to you. You expected him to say something in return, a repulsed reply maybe, but his rosy lips remained sealed as he placed the book onto your hands. A process in which his fingers touched your palm, the gesture causing nerves in your body into some kind of joyride, enough for your plummeting self - confidence to hit rock high.

“It’s actually pretty shit looking, don’t you think?” you chuckle tensely, “Without the eyes and all,” you mumble the last part. Your second attempt of garnering a conversation seemed to fail as you stare at him from the corner of your eye, his eyes now focused on the ground, and an even more distinct tinge of blush spraying across his cheeks. The action making you wonder, given that there was nothing for him to be blushing about. As a matter fact, the roles should be reversed, however, here you are sprouting out crap, and there he is, flushing as if he initiated this whole drastic situation.

At once, the effects of this catastrophe was coming to an end as you noticed the train was nearing his stop and your fixated gaze on the floor saw from the corner of your eyes his legs getting up, and, all of a sudden, your mind was concocting some kind of desperate plan for you to at least to find out his name.

You set the sketchbook into your bag as you also stand up, your legs tremoring from the train reeling to the stop, your arm instinctively gripping onto the handlebar. Swallowing tensely, you train your eyes upwards, but your muscles stiffen as if your body could ignite into flames because what you least expected was the scent of strawberries inches away from you.

You feel your cheeks multiply in heat and you feel his fingers grazing yours as both of you hold onto the same handlebar above in hopes of not falling onto one another. The ding! of the doors are heard as a stream of people get off the train and you noticed the proximity with the stranger was still lingering. Why wasn’t he getting off? Your mind was spinning endlessly while more people entered the carriage.

You deepen your attention onto his hoodie, not daring to look up as you mutter out, “ My n-name’s Y/N, by the way…umm, isn’t this your stop?” and when you finally have the courage to peer up, you see him staring down at you with those eyes of his and it was as if all you could, in return, was treasure his beauty. You gauge his subtle expression with a clobbering heart and some sweaty palms and he held your stare with inquiring eyes. You compel your mouth to mutter out something, anything before he cuts you to the chase.

“And for a second I actually thought that sketch would be of me .” His voice whispers so delicately to you, so lightly with a hint of a tease, it mesmerizes you to the point where you wondered what he was whispering about. In a matter of a heartbeat, it dawned upon you that he was implying about the sketch that led to you being in this position.

You blink, stunned and perplexed by his answer. “W-What?”

His lips curl into a dazzling smile as he sees your dazed face. “You’re-” The monotone words of the train announcer disrupt him as she signals the doors closing, and you hear a curse fall out of the hot stranger’s mouth as he darts his eyes to the window behind you. When he fixes his eyes back onto you, he seems hesitant to finish the sentence, as if he lost the confidence to say whatever he wanted to say.

With a sheepish smile, he ruffled his hair to utter a sorry, before he dashes out, through the doors with earbuds stashed into his jean’s pocket and a waft of strawberries left behind. You simply watch him leave before impulsively grabbing your bag and rushing out behind him, barely scraping through the closing doors. As you step out onto the platform, you instantly look for his retreating figure through the deserted station. When your eyes land on a white hoodie a few steps ahead of you, you call out into the breezeless night.

“Wait, what were you going to say?!”

He immediately looks over his shoulder in alarm and when he saw you slightly out of breath form, his face contorted into a startled expression before his lips slowly curved into a slight smirk. With long strides, he reached you in a matter of seconds. You straightened yourself up in attempt to peer up at him and utter out,

“I know I’m quite insane to jump out of the train to follow a complete stranger… b-but I won’t be able to sleep tonight without thinking about what y-you were about to say, “you pause to curse yourself for stuttering(again) before quickly adding, “and also it’s been bugging me to know your name ever since the moment I first saw you.”

Your eyes fall to his black sneakers and you slowly let out a long-held breath.

“I was going to say you’re shit at lying.”

You instantly widen your eyes, still staring holes at his shoes while mentally wince.

“But it’s not every day a cute girl jumps out the train for you.”

You slowly look up at him, wide-eyed and all to see the station lights giving him an angelic glow and his eyes fixated on you with amusement as he holds out a hand, enough for your cheeks to heat up again.

“And as for my name, it’s Jungkook.”

You clear your throat and cautiously stretch out your hand to meet his, a prompt of warmth embraces you as he envelops your hand into his. You internally relax a bit as you gently beam up at him.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Jungkook.”

(^-^)

Bonus ending:

“Was it that obvious I was staring at you during all those rides?”

“Oh, definitely.“

“ Then, why didn’t you say anything?“

“Let’s just say good things come to those who wait, Y/N.”

[artlessdevotion]

"I want to call you mine-- that's all."

The sound of Elsa's voice, sweet and solemn haunted Anna into the morning's early hours-- the beautiful image of her sister, smiling wistfully down at her with two brilliant blue eyes that gazed at her with such brilliance they were akin to flames in a polished skull; the smooth, pale curve of her heart-shaped moving with infinite flexibility, but minimal lines of a cartoon, as she groaned and panted her name a hundred times over was like a fever dream-- reality however, was not far behind as sun came to wash over Elsa's bedroom. It was clear that the night's heady events had not been a dream at all, but stone cold reality-- for how beautifully her cunt ached from the brutish way in which she'd been fucked-- and how wonderfully the muscles in her legs cried out from being taken on her knees time and time again-- how her stomach groaned devilishly in pain, her abdomen weary and tight from how many times it had tensed in ecstasy-- and oh, how raw her throat felt from hours of growling and moaning Elsa's name.

Nose scrunching at the bridge and eyelids tightened as she mentally cursed the sun for its crude brilliance, a "humph" of dismay falling from the redhead's lips as she turned from her sister's window, burying her face instead against the smooth, swell of Elsa's chest, hiding herself from the light in hope that a few more moments of darkness might keep the heat of their affair alive. That however, was an impossibility. The morning was upon them and at the sound of Elsa's voice, muttering what sounded like near nonsense, Anna wrapped her arms tight around her sister's middle, drawing her near into an adoring, strong embrace.

"Shhh... Elsa, please don't talk," she mumbled against her, afraid to move out of self-pity for how poor condition her slender body was after the events which had taken place. "I'm going to pretend like it's still night, okay?" she purred, her thoughts already turning sickly over the idea that now, she'd have to face every emotion that last night had so fluidly aroused. There was no hiding now; not while she was still naked in her sister's arms.

Soon enough, she'd have to get up and put her clothes on, walk out the door and act as though none of this had happened. Anna had always been a particularly good actress-- forever talented at sliding into whichever role Elsa, Kristoff, her people required her to play. Though this was the first time she'd ever been truly frightened to conjure a facade-- she would be a liar-- not that she had never lied before, but this was something altogether different; it rivaled a sort of wickedness that she had yet to experience and truly, she didn't know whether or not she possessed enough talent to so expertly make pretend. It would take a certain degree of expertise to speak to her fiance as if she hadn't just spent hours in the arms of another-- her sister to be most precise. The idea alone was enough to send a shock of nausea into the pit of her and desperately, she clung to her sister, hoping that touch would be enough support for her to pretend as she would soon have to.

"Elsa," the redhead murmured weakly, pulling away from the other's chest enough to gaze up into her brilliant, blue eyes; Anna's expression turned somber as she pouted her lips, unsure as to whether or not her sister was also scared of what had transpired and of the act they'd have to play in keeping their tryst hidden. "I'm sorry-- I- I don't really know what got into me," she attempted to explain-- though honestly, she did know. She loved Elsa with every ounce of her being, loved her enough to have let last night happen without a second thought. Conveying that however, was coming with great difficulty and all she could manage was a pathetic gaze, her cheeks and ears flushed as she looked up at her sister.

Without much thought on the consequence, Anna shifted her body, closing what space lay between them with a kiss, soft and sweet, hesitant and languid as she moved her mouth against Elsa's own, hoping that it would be enough to prove, even a bit, of what she felt. "I love you," she confessed, words ringing with sincerity despite how vulnerable she was now, everything in the open as sunlight bathed them in its golden glow. "I want you to know-- I want you to know that I'm not sorry for last night. And I hope," a tightness formed in her throat, choking her as raw emotion began to well, decorating the corners of her pretty eyes with tears, "I hope you're not sorry either," she managed, and pecked Elsa's mouth again in conclusion.

Despite the frigid bite of winter’s chill, Arendelle slept peacefully on. Shopkeeper’s had fastened their doors, working men had long since retired home, children were laid to rest. Even drunkards who, during warmer months, could be heard hooting and hollering at this disagreeable hour, had stumbled to their beds, eager to escape the sharp, nipping wind of late December.

Families slept in blissful tranquility, protected from the cold by comfortable fires and the closeness of loved ones. Happy homes and happy people.

The serenity of the community was a wholesome matter and one which /should/ have elicited a wealth of joy and ease from the young queen. It /should/ have been enough to eradicate the nagging of her nervous mind and to fill her being with sense of joy and satisfaction. But rather than gratification for all that she had, worry, as stagnant and vile as pond water, wallowed villainously within the alcove of her chest.

There was an abundance of things to be grateful for; the unity of her kingdom only being a small fraction of that. Soon, she was to be married to the love of her life, Kristoff; a kind, silly, endearing man who was perhaps a bit too boyish in both demeanor and mindset. Despite any less favorable traits however, he treated her like the queen she was and treasured their relationship dearly.

She had plenty of friends now, both new and old, to spill any concerns and doubts to; all whom always seemed eager to listen to whatever plights the queen might be experiencing. Food was plentiful, spirits were high and all was as good and well as she could have dreamt it to be.

There was however, that damned nagging, reminding her that despite all of these blessings /something/ was amiss. The familiarity of this particular worry keenly forewarned her of the same concerns she harbored each time her sister was either in danger, or somehow troubled. It was a sixth sense of sorts; one that was strictly linked to the emotional tether between Elsa and herself.

A gap of time, admittedly larger than she’d have liked, had passed since they’d last spoken. It felt atypical and out of place. Their bond, or so she’d have herself believe, was unparalleled; the type of love and devotion only found in storybooks or fairytales. The sort of connection so very many dreamt of having, but so few were fortunate enough to experience.

Only a month’s time had transpired since they’d last spoken, but to Anna, it felt far longer. The lack of communication between Elsa and herself was both uncharacteristic and concerning. Despite several attempts of writing to her sister, all letters either had not reached her, or Elsa was ignoring her purposefully; the later of the two notions left Anna feeling anxious. Turning her sick with the idea that Elsa with might be angry at her; that or perhaps– perhaps she no longer wished to keep ties.

Distressed and uneasy, Anna paced the frost coated tiles in the garden, emerald eyes fixated on the ground beneath her small feet. Absentmindedly, she hugged Kristoff’s thick, furred coat tighter around her slender shoulders, and shivered as a gust of frigid air passed. How long she’d been there, mulling these thoughts over, she hadn’t a clue, though the small sore she’d worried into her lower lip would indicate that it had been quite some time.

It was most peculiar, the sense of desperation that weighted in her chest like poisonous lead. This longing was unlike anything she’d before experienced; a gnawing, foolish sort of pain that left her distracted and inattentive of daily trivialities (most of which concerning Kristoff). She yearned to see her sister once more; ached for her touch and the sense of stability that only Elsa brought about. Without her, everything else felt insignificant and meaningless.

Choking back a tightness in her throat, Anna looked up from the ground to instead gaze upon the trees, bare in their winter slumber. Distractedly, she wondered if, or when she might see her sister again.

A month was far too long.

[everygame]

TxK (PlayStation Vita)

Developed/Published by: Llamasoft Released: 11th February, 2014 Completed: 22nd December, 2016 Completion: Finished all 100 levels. Trophies / Achievements: n/a

Well, we’re well into 2017 and I’m polishing off my completions from 2016, because we had a late spurt of productivity in a year where I absolutely managed to not even vaguely hit any video game completion targets. But what is this, goodreads? Lets instead celebrate that I spent a nice chunk of the year playing Jeff Minter’s most-recent Tempest-me-do, which by virtue of being developed for PlayStation Vita made sure the system would be a) brilliant and b) die well before its time.

Well, wait, that’s not true for Tempest 2000 (Jaguar was shite) Tempest 3000 (Nuon lol) or Space Giraffe (the Xbox 360 survived) but I guess it’s true for the un-released Unity (GameCube wasn’t given a chance, honestly). So, you know, it’s really not like Minter is to blame for anything, other than obsessively making the same game over and over again.

I’ll say something here that doesn’t really help Minter’s case against Atari—who have scandalously cowed Minter into not releasing TxK on any systems where it could sell, you know, any copies at all via legal threats—but it is basically Tempest, the exact same way other games are “rogue-likes” (but not rogue-like-likes, those are too different, a ha ha.) The thing is, that if you go back and play the original Tempest, it’s great (and if you play it in the original form, eye-searingly gorgeous, there’s nothing like a true vector monitor) but it’s… old. And difficult. And… not honestly as exciting as you remember. But, if you’ve been playing Tempest since it came out, and you’ve thought about nothing but Tempest since it came out, and you’ve designed and developed like… six versions of Tempest, you are going to know how to make the the platonic ideal of Tempest. The Tempest that plays like you think Tempest does. The Tempest that’s exciting, responsive, with a flowing difficulty curve, well-designed enemies, and bangin’ choons.

TxK is pure. It doesn’t fuck about too hard with visualisers, or any of that nonsense—it’s just a straight forward Tempest-like that, genuinely, when you play it, you’d wonder why you’d want anything else. Plus it’s got what I consider Minter’s greatest innovation—the one most sadly not copied—where it saves your best high score and extra life total (extra lives considered more important) so you can always start from that point because having to iron-man games for a high score is bullshit. I mean obviously you still can if you want—there’s an achievement for it and everything, but if you’re me you can’t be arsed with that noise.

TxK is as good as classic arcade shooters get. I mean look at the shite Housemarque pump out! The craziest thing about TxK is that it doesn’t even feel “retro”—it feels utterly vital.

Will I ever play it again? It’s staying on the Vita, and joins games like Spelunky and Super Crate Box as something I can fire up if I want to play something quick. It’s likely to be rarer as it’s not as random, of course. Now, a Tempest-like-rogue-like-like, that would be talking…

Final Thought: Here’s one of my favourite tracks from the TxK soundtrack, too, which is available on Bandcamp if you fancy throwing some money at Llamasoft’s “Moosicians” who—amazingly—all came from the Llamasoft forums!