#well ive beaten it before but i like to still play it sometimed

[sonknuxadow]

JASON GRIFFITH SONIC I MISS YOU SO BADDDDD

[heli0s-writes]

kiss each other clean

a/n: Another Pacific Rim crossover because it truly is the best. Reader/Steve/Bucky with a side of Clint/Nat. I am writing comic Clint bc I love him most. Everyone is hot and sad and potentially poly. I am assuming this because of Reasons. Prompt is panic attack, "if only we could hold on" 1.8k words.

moonchild masterlist

Circumventing the Apocalypse makes Atlases.

Clint jokes that your Jaeger—Atlas Ronin—must have sired every Ranger in the Dome. Her namesake, after all, is both a reminder of the weight you carry and the outcome if you’re too weak to lift. The world splitting in half. Monsters streaming out.

Many Rangers lift their weight with so much grace and poise they could be trying out for pageants.

Not you, though. You’re a real crapbag when it comes to keeping your cool. You say that if you’re ever graceful about someone’s knife to your throat, you might as well be eating it. You’ve never tried to be any other way because it keeps you fighting, keeps you alive.

So when Ronin touches back down in the hangar with so much damage that you can hear her joints screech, hear Clint gurgling blood in your head, you’re worse than ever.

The medical staff refuse it when you limp alongside the gurney. They want you in a bed, hooked up to an IV and not plodding after Clint—not threatening to amputate a doctor if they touch him wrong.

But you tell them to fuck off, bursting through the swinging doors of the ICU unit, barely another word out before Barnes is wrestling you back, Rogers on his other side with his brow scrunched.

“Quit it,” Barnes hisses. “You’re making a goddamn scene.”

“Did you see him?” You jerk against them, your shoulder threatening to dislocate. “He’s got brain damage— he seized!” You swipe at Barnes, knee Rogers the side, but they’ve had enough experience handling you that they just take it in silence.

You’re a terror, according to Bucky, but you’re the only one who can make any sense of Clint when he’s drifting. And when Atlas is in play, she’s so close to unstoppable, Pentecost would personally punch out a senator before they shut your Jaeger down.

They need you. And maybe you abuse that power too much as you thrash around again, take your teeth to Bucky’s shoulder. Sometimes when you return to the hangar you’re still too worked up, can’t quite figure out how to leave the fight behind.

It’s much worse when Clint’s been hurt because you defend him how Steve defends Bucky— but Steve’s got some sense out of the field and you can only see red after drops.

They’ve never tried to make you be otherwise, though. It’s easy to see that 6’4” Clint Barton—who can shoot with immaculate precision, who’s more clever than anyone gives him credit for—has been beaten down so badly by something that he walks with a perpetual slump, makes jokes at his own expense like it’s the only way people will find him deserving of their effort. If they can punch him, at least he’s useful.

Steve had to coach that out of Bucky. After the war, he was always shrinking himself, and it killed Steve to witness.

Clint’s harder to reach. You’re soft on him, hard on him, begged and pleaded and threatened him, but he’s mulish and self-loathing. And in the end, all you could do was hold on, drift alongside him, keep him going one step into the future at a time.

You slacken, the adrenaline ebbing away and leaving you a boneless mess. Your face is puffy, eyes hot and wet with tears, gasping for air and digging your nails into your fists.

Steve keeps propping you up, holding you tight by the waist and leading you down the hall. “Come on,” he urges, “that’s enough.”

They take you back to your room, give you water and space and stick to the walls. Bucky crosses his arms, frowning. “You got me good.” He touches his chin to his shoulder where the indents of your teeth still remain on the cotton shirt.

You cover your eyes, the light too bright, the room too much, and manage, “You were in my way.”

“What’s not in your way?”

You shoot Bucky a hateful look and he only rolls his eyes.

“Clint Barton’s not the only person in the world. And he’s not a kid, either. Give him more credit.”

Your chin trembles. “If he dies, he’ll get what he wants.” You glare, bitterly disclaiming, “We’re all gonna fucking die, but if he dies—”

“Stop,” Steve says firmly.

You look away.

You’re not a dog, but you’ve been trained to follow commands for longer than you’d like to admit. And for as much honor as carrying the world can get you, you’re still following orders one way or another.

If you’re the only one who can make a lick of sense out of Clint, Steve’s the only one who can pull you in when you’re spinning off course. Bucky’s the only one who can keep Steve grounded when he’s tearing through the Shatterdome on a warpath to dismantle the Corps one dignitary at a time.

And the strings animating all of you are Pentecost, who owns some part of everyone for better or for worse.

“Natasha will be there when he wakes up.” He raises one eyebrow as if asking you to really make him explain the situation anymore. “He’s more than fine.”

You begin to argue, but Steve cuts his eyes to yours and you resign to rest your elbows on your knees, leaned over in a pathetic lump at the edge of the bed.

You feel sick to your stomach, sick to your bones. You love Natasha for being able to complete the facet of Clint you can’t and don’t want to— and yet still— want to.

“If you could be,” you start, swallowing the same lump that forms in your throat every time, “enough—” and the hiccups that threaten—the gasping fit that always takes over, whites out your vision--

“Get rid of that,” Steve says.

You put your face in your hands. You can kill a primordial beast. You can tear it to shreds and this is the thing that takes you apart.

Steve understands your pain. He used to want to be enough. Used to want to be the only person Bucky ever needed because didn’t that just make perfect sense? They were each other’s brains. Past and present and future and why would Steve let anyone else mishandle Buck? Get too close to him, trigger him into self-immolation? Steve knew all of Bucky’s haunted foxholes, all of his deepest secrets. Anytime Bucky wanted or needed, he could excavate or ignore with Steve. Why entrust him to anyone else?

But Steve learned that asking why he wasn’t enough was as helpful as decrypting alien speech. There was no language for it that he understood. He just didn’t know. But others could do it, and others could pick up what he couldn’t. And in the end, if Bucky needed another shitshow to love more than himself because it’s just wired in him or something, Steve wasn’t going to keep him from that.

Steve felt lucky enough that Bucky could love one shitshow in the first place.

Bucky pats his thighs and you grudgingly crawl into him, wilting on his chest. And this is where everything slots into place, all the things Steve can’t do, all the things Bucky is naturally good at. He can be terse and serious, make his impact known in a couple of phrases, but Bucky could just open his arms and handle the rest.

The three of you quiet, settling in.

“Sorry,” you offer.

Bucky gives Steve a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Whatd’ya think Tasha’ll do when Barton tries to run outta the med bay? Punch him back down?”

Steve hums, “You got the wrong person.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “Guess that’s you, huh?”

You put your hand over his face in a weak slap.

“She’ll be peeling an apple,” Steve says, “And he’ll start getting squirrely.”

“And she’ll just point it at him.”

“That’s it.”

Bucky taps the top of your head. “Let’s go talk to her. You forget you like someone if you don’t see them for a while. You need to remember that you like Nat.”

“I do remember.” 

“Kissing her on the mouth when you’re drunk doesn’t count.”

Steve sighs from inside of his bones. It truly is astonishing how you and Clint can be the most effective killers inside of a Jaeger but take you out of one and you’re two college fratboys at best.

“Why do you think she chose Banner? I mean, Clint, you know? She could have picked Clint.”

Bucky touches your chin, tilts your face up to his, quiet and serious. “Do you think Natasha wants Clint in her head? Do you think it would be good for him? Would it be good for you to be in mine? Ask yourself honestly if it would be your first choice to be in mine.”

And Steve, more straightforwardly, “Do you want war?”

No, you don’t.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “You’re always right, whatever.”

Bucky wipes a dried tear from the corner of your eye, “Don’t forget it.”

-

Clint’s unconscious when you knock. As predicted, Natasha’s by his bed, reading a book with two apples neatly peeled and sliced.

“Hi,” she says, looking up, smiling sweet and small, and sly.

“Hi,” you reply, staring at your shoes, “Thanks for being here.”

“Mhm. Sit?”

You don’t know why you clam up around her. Clint would cut off his own hands if Natasha needed a new pair, and it’s a funny little thing, the way you’re all connected. Clint can’t seem to do anything but annoy Bucky, yet fixes his collar and starts calling everyone ‘sir’ if he hears Steve down the hall.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” you say dumbly.

“I know.” She smiles again and looks at you, really looks, her eyes big and bright and you get a little lost in them. “He woke up earlier and said he can’t die yet because he didn’t want you to be mad at him. Or you might die out of spite so you can kill him ‘extra dead’. His words.”

And sometimes you're not sure with her—if she says things because they’re true, or if she says them because they’re true enough, and what matters more is you just need to hear them.

She reaches out for your hand, squeezing it, and it takes just about everything for you not to burst into tears again. You can feel her relaxing, ready to let go, but you hold on, and she smiles again. That beautiful, otherworldly smile that almost reads your mind, and suddenly you understand why Clint would cut off his hands for her.

“Thanks,” you say.

Natasha offers you an apple, glancing to the door where Steve and Bucky stand. They're connected, too. In a way you're not, in a way only they know, but you don't seem to mind it anymore.

“Yeah,” she says, and this time you know she means it. “Anytime.”

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Going, Going, Gone (Spencer Reid x Reader) Chapter 5

Warnings: Mentions of death and injury/much angst

Word Count: 2k

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-Spencers POV-

His heart stopped. There she was. Right there, if only he could climb through the screen and grab her, shielding her from further harm. He was angry, she looked so small, from what he could make out on the screen you were tied to a bed, bound by chains, blood and wounds scattered in different shapes and sizes over your almost naked body.

Spencer heard a gasp from behind him, turning he noticed JJ staring at the screen seeing exactly what he was. He didn’t have time to deal with peoples feelings, he just needed to figure out where his girl was and quickly. Emily had joined him back at the laptop.

“Oh my god.” Her voice was full of panic and hate. Then her eyes went wide when she heard Rossi’s voice travelling up the attic stairs.

“Spencer, did you find anything yet.” Spence turned to look at the man and then back at the screen, angling his body so it was in front of Rossi’s line of sight. Emily was trying to get him to go back down stairs but he was having none of it, pushing passed her to get to the source of the commotion. Spencer couldn’t bare to listen to the angry cries of his colleague, the angry, broken cries of a father. He was too focused on taking in everything he could, trying to look passed your broken and beaten down, still breathing body, to figure out if there was anything to lead them to you.

Spencer hit a button on his mobile, a direct line to Garcia who was anxiously waiting for anything back at her cyber lab.

“Go boy wonder what have you got for me.” Penelope’s joking voice faltered when Spencer informed her of their findings. He sent the video clip of Y/N over to Penelope to analyse further. Her voice quivering as she promised Spencer she’d be found.

Spencer took a look at the screen again, noticing marks up the algae covered walls. They were water marks, which told you how high the water sometimes flooded inside the building. He let Garcia know so she could narrow her search to a building that would be underground near water and it took her mere seconds to come back with a location.

“It’s an old underground bunker, the Unsubs father was some kind of doomsday preparation nut, it’s next to the Teal River, i’ve sent the exact location to your phones.” The team were out the door in seconds, hoping and praying that this is where they would find you alive. They needed to find you alive.

“Were coming for you sweetheart just hold on, were coming.” In that moment Spencer did something he never did, he prayed.

-Un-Subs POV-

“It’s almost time. Almost time to get rid of the girl. She put up a bigger fight than I thought she would. A few more stab wounds and cuts aught to do the trick, let her die slowly in her cell, die slowly just like my girl did. They will pay, they will all pay.”

-Your POV-

You coughed. You could hear that your breathing was getting worse and it felt like the air was slowly being sucked out of you. You knew you didn’t have long left. You would have liked to cry, feel sorry for yourself, for the fact that you’d never have a future with Spence, never see your father again and never see the team you called family again, but you were too dehydrated and your body couldn’t even function enough to produce a single drop. You slumped against the sticky cold wall, dry blood smeared across your face and in your hair. Your leg was still bleeding but you’d managed to stop it slightly by using some dirty cloth from the mattress you were sitting on. An infected leg was better than bleeding out.

Your eyes closed and you thought about Spencer. How his mind would be working over time trying to piece together the clues and find you before you met your demise. You wanted to believe they would find you in time but your hope was slowly fading away with your consciousness.

You thought about your father and how he’d been in the BAU for so long, founded it with your godfather Gideon, how it was basically his whole life, as well as you. You hoped that when you were gone he’d be able to move on, that he wouldn’t hurt for too long and hopefully one day he’d re-marry, god knows he could use a strong woman in his life after your mum died.

You thought about your friends.. family at the BAU. Your best friend Luke Alvez who treated you more like a little sister, always taking you under his wing and giving you advice even when you didn’t need it. You hoped he’d stay at the BAU, that if you died, it wouldn’t effect him too much and he’d be able to get back to some kind of normal life. You wish there was a way to tell him he could have your baseball card collection, he’d always wanted it. You laughed a little, a sad laugh, already grieving for the people you were going to lose. Thinking about all the things you still wanted to do in life. They say that when you die you life flashes before your eyes, they were wrong. It’s before that, it plays through your head like a movie, going over all the things you’d never get to see.

In your mind you pictured what your wedding day would be like. Spencer would want a small wedding full of close family and friends and you’d agree. The perfect setting your fathers large back garden, flowers everywhere, surrounded by the people you love. The gentle exchanging of rings and the kiss he would give you that would still make your toes curl even when you were old and grey.

Children. You wanted at least 4. You wanted so many children with Spencer because you knew he’d make the most amazing father, even if he’d be scared they’d carry the gene for schizophrenia. They’d have his curly hair and your eye colour, his calmness and his smarts while they had your artistic nature and kindness. They’d love to stay with Grandpa, who would tell them all kinds of stories of his time in the FBI, obviously leaving out the heavy stuff. Your friends would come over and you’d always have big dinners and get togethers, BBQ’s in the summer, your lives full of life and laughter and there would always be him. Right by your side. Your Spencer. You’d grow old together, still love each other as hard as you do now. Until your last breath. You pictured going out like the scene in the notebook, old and in each others arms. The world would always be right, if you had your Spencer Reid.

You could feel your breathing slowing, the sound of heavy footsteps running down the echoing corridor. It was too late. You were sure the Un-sub was coming to finish you off once and for all, leave you somewhere for your family to find, another body in another case the BAU would eventually solve. But it was too late for you. The door swung open and your eyes closed. The pain was gone and so were the chances of seeing your Spence one last time.

-Spencers POV-

The SUV’s came to a screeching halt outside the bunker. There was a gravelled path that lead towards the doors that were hidden behind shrubs. It was one of those lucky by chance things, the team arrived and the Un-sub was outside, about to go into the bunker. While Prentiss and JJ read him his rights and stuck him in the back of the car, Spencer, Rossi and Luke threw open the metal doors and made their way inside cautiously. Spencer wanted to throw all caution to the wind. Guaranteed the two other men he was with wanted to as well. All they wanted to do was get their girl back. But sometimes looks could be deceiving and more danger could be lurking up ahead. In this case, there wasn’t.

Spencer ran down the long echoing corridor, medics behind him. The cells were empty apart from one.

“Y/N! Y/N! Can you hear me? Were here Darling just hold on okay, i’m here baby i’m here.” Spencers voice was full of panic as the three men used all their strength to open the tightly sealed bunker door. Spencer could faintly see through the porthole door, the grime and condensation obstructing his view slightly. You weren’t moving. He started to panic even more and when the door hissed and flung open it was if the world was moving in slow motion.

You were pale, eyes closed, dry blood across your practically naked body. Dirty cloth wrapped around your blood soaked thigh and cuts littered your body in all shapes and sizes. One of your hands was handcuffed to a railing next to the rusty spring covered bed and you looked smaller than you’d ever looked before. Spencer was on you in seconds. Luke had bolt cutters and had snipped the handcuff from the railing. Rossi was frozen in his spot, his daughter lifeless in front of him. Spencer lifted you carefully in his arms laying you on the ground.

“She has no pulse! She’s not breathing! She’s not breathing!” He started pumping your chest, 1,2,3,4…. check, no sign of breathing. He held your nose and blew into your mouth twice, Luke took over chest compressions as the paramedics set up the defibrillator. More Paramedics arrived, pushing the two FbI Agents away so they could work on you more thoroughly. Some tended to your still bleeding cute, needles attached to you for IV bags and then.

“Everyone clear!” The defibrillator sounded up. The shocking noise and the thud your body made against the cold floor seemed to echo all around. They shocked you a total of four times before they managed to get a weak pulse.

The ambulance ride wasn’t long, especially now that you had a police escort and most of the flashing lights in the city. You died and came back 3 times in the ambulance. Spencer hadn’t stopped crying since he found you bleeding and lifeless.

On arrival to the hospital you were instantly taken to surgery, some of the stab wounds too severe to be treated normally. The BAU occupied the waiting room, Rossi sat numbly staring at the floor, Spencer paced back and fourth, Luke kept on asking the Dr for updates every ten minutes and the rest of the team just waited for any news at all.

——————————————————————————————————

-Your POV-

You hadn’t remembered your cell being this bright. Maybe your captor had taken you outside. Maybe you hadn’t died in time to be spared of the cruel torture that was about to follow. What was that dreadful beeping sound? You blinked, your eyes taking their time to adjust to your surroundings. You were defiantly somewhere else and you started to panic, the beeping got louder and faster. You tried to sit up.

“Spencer! Spencer! Wake up she’s awake!” You couldn’t make out the voice clearly, it sounded like… your dad? But how? Were you dreaming. Maybe this was your body in its final stages playing a cruel trick on your subconscious.

You tried to talk, but your throat was dry and you were hit with a wave of pain. Someone pressed ice chips to your lips, slowly but surely you accepted them, the coolness coating your vocal cords.

“Please, please tell m-me this isn’t a d-dream.” A tear leaked from the corner of your eye and rolled down your cheek only to be kissed away by… your Spencer.

“Baby, it’s not a dream, I found you, we found you. You’re safe now and I’m never letting you go again.”

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Welp, There we go. The final chapter! I hope you liked this mini series! If you like Criminal minds or want me to write for anyone else.. maybe Luke Alvez... let me knowwww i'll consider it ;) Please Reblog/follow/like <3333

Tag List:

@waddles03

@nocturnalherb16

@reidscardigan

[astudyinfreewill]

hey this may be a stupid question, but it's already been a long time since ive read trk so i don't remember everything properly, so can you explain to me why exactly ganseys behavior in the book is seen as problematic??

hey! don’t worry, there are no stupid questions in my book. in fairness, it’s not about gansey’s behaviour in trk, it’s about his behaviour throughout the whole series. most of his problematic actions all come down to the same basic flaw: self-centeredness. for all that gansey is a generous and loving person, he can’t help but make everything about himself. he is driven by anxiety to define his place in the world beyond his privilege, yet he is blinded by that very same privilege - a bad combination, and one that leads him to show very little empathy for the people he loves.

like many teenagers, he’s looking for affirmation from his friends... but then resents them for not giving it, while failing to see that (most of) his friends are dealing with traumatic issues. when his friends reject his input - because it is not what they need or want at the moment - gansey always, always takes it personally. at no point does he try to ask himself, okay, if this isn’t what my friends need, then what do they need from me and how can i be a better friend? instead, he goes straight into self-pity mode, complaining that his friends reject his support and walk away from him. thing is... it’s not real support if it only makes him feel better and not them.

i don’t really have the time to write an extensive meta on all of the interactions where gansey’s lack of empathy comes into play, but here’s a list of just the most glaring ones in the series, in no particular order:

gansey consistently tries to pay for adam’s way and persuade him to move in with him, even though adam has told him multiple times that he is uncomfortable with it because independence is key to his sense of self as an abuse survivor. sometimes he does this even when he’s fully aware that it will start a fight. despite that, adam is usually the one apologizing, at least on page

notably in trb there’s a scene where gansey tries to get adam to move in with him, but when adam asks what’s going to happen if gansey leaves henrietta - is adam just supposed to drop out of aglionby and follow him? - gansey doesn’t reassure him that’s not gonna happen. he just says adam will have to start again at a new school. 

as i said above, this is not true support because it helps gansey feel better without inconveniencing him, but it is not what adam wants. if gansey wanted to support adam, he’d at least promise he would stay in henrietta for their final year of high school, instead of expecting adam to follow him around the world.

when adam rejects that offer and says he’ll stay in the trailer park, gansey takes it incredibly personally and his first response is to victim-blame adam for his abuse, saying things like: “you let your dad pound the shit out of you. you’re as bad as [your abusive mother]. you think you deserve it.” when adam still refuses to move in, and tells him, rightfully so, that gansey doesn’t know what it’s like for him, gansey follows that up with “don’t pretend you have anything to be proud of”. this is past mean and straight into cruel.

adam is the one who apologizes after this fight. let that sink in.

when thinking back on ronan’s suicide attempt, it is strongly implied in the text - and was made explicit in deleted scenes - that gansey appears to have taken ronan’s suicide attempt not just as a traumatic event, but as a slight against him, and is always vaguely guilt-trippy when it comes up (i.e. you promised me you wouldn’t get suicidal again)

gansey does illegal things on ronan’s behalf, multiple times, without ever wondering if this is what ronan wants, see: bribing school officials to keep ronan in school when ronan explicitly wants to drop out, because staying in school is what gansey thinks he should do. even if gansey’s heart was in the right place (i believe in staying in school), he is essentially involving ronan in illegal dealings against his will.

gansey is happy to share his search for glendower with the others, and delegate tasks to them (adam especially) as long as they do things his way. when adam acts against one of his decisions, gansey is absolutely unable to let that go. and while i understand that he is hurt by the breach of trust, because adam went behind his back, his language is telling: “i did tell him that we were to wait, right?”. you don’t “tell” your friends what they “are to do”. that’s not an equal relationship. 

this is also seen in the way gansey acts with ronan in more of a parental role, actively ordering him about. you know there is a problem when an outside character refers to ronan as “gansey’s dog” and neither gansey nor ronan disagree with this.

there’s the infamous hospital scene in trb, too, which has been excellently analysed in this meta post by @bleachersmp3 and @mericatblackwood, but i’ll say a few words about it anyway

in this scene, adam has just been beaten into losing his hearing. he has just come out of the hospital, bruised and traumatised, and has been told he will now have a permanent disability as a result of his abuse. he is now also homeless, because by pressing charges against his father to protect ronan, he has ensured his parents will kick him out for good. so he is forced to move into monmouth - something we have been told from the start of the book he absolutely did not want, because it was critical to his sense of self not to depend on gansey’s wealth. so, he’s bitter about it.

and okay, that’s not entirely fair, because it wasn’t gansey’s fault. but if your friend had just undergone such horrific trauma, surely you would be a little lenient, and understand they’re not being objective atm, right? well, not gansey. instead, gansey launches into a tirade at him: “what is your problem, adam? [...] is there something about my place that’s too repugnant for you? [...] I’m sick of tiptoeing around your principles!”

when adam snaps at him that he’s being condescending by using highbrow words (we can assume that this is a discussion they’ve had before, because adam tries to get gansey to use more everyday words multiple times in the book, especially when it’s clear that blue doesn’t understand something, so it’s something gansey already know adam finds condescending), gansey goes straight to victim-blaming again, this time with a classist twist thrown in: “i’m sorry your father never taught you the meaning of repugnant. he was too busy smashing your head against the wall of your trailer while you apologized for being alive.”

gansey does not apologize at any point after this fight. 

when adam sacrifices himself to cabeswater - which he does explicitly to stop whelk from murdering one of them and save gansey - gansey takes it as a slight against him, because it goes against what he told adam to do, and sadly asks adam “why? was i so awful?”, showing he has completely misunderstood adam’s reasons. adam tells him, and not for the last time: “it was never about you”.

it clearly doesn’t sink in bc they have the same discussion in the dream thieves, when gansey again asks him why did he go to cabeswater against his orders. he does this in an emotionally manipulative way, too - implying that ronan and blue both think badly of him while gansey has been defending him so adam owes him. adam again tries to tell him “it wasn’t about you”, which gansey refuses to believe, and reminds adam that the glendower search “belongs” to him. adam replies that if gansey wants adam’s help - which gansey relies upon frequently, as it seems like adam is assigned a very large share of research and coming up with ideas - he needs to treat him as an equal

after the fight, when adam has a mental breakdown due to the combination of stress, ptsd, and magically-induced hallucinations, and is found wandering along a highway, clearly dissociating and undergoing amnesia, gansey is still so bitter about their fight that he contemplates leaving him behind in dc, so that “adam will have to apologize for once” (for once???)

consider all this emphasis gansey puts on how much adam betrayed his trust; consider that gansey then spends nearly two books seeing blue behind adam’s back (starting in tdt, through bllb, and halfway through trk)

consider that despite the fact adam takes the reveal gracefully and thanks gansey for his honesty, when adam later in trk is honest with gansey about his feelings for ronan, gansey’s immediate reaction is to assume adam is using ronan as a sexuality experiment and warns him not to break ronan’s heart, because ronan is just so fragile and adam is just so cold

consider that the only basis gansey has for making this assumption is that “adam has hurt him (gansey) so many times before”, but never stops to think about his own responsibility in their disagreements, or whether he ever hurt adam 

as you can see, the vast majority of these are in the first two books, with the exception of the “shovel talk” in trk. i would like to say gansey grows over the series, but i think unfortunately it’s more to do with the fact that starting with bllb, the plot is split between gansey/blue and adam/ronan, so gansey just doesn’t get as many interactions with adam and ronan (he’s still bribing school officials on ronan’s behalf though, including selling monmouth which at the time is where ronan is also living). 

gansey isn’t a bad person, and doesn’t (always) mean badly. he does love his friends. unfortunately, his refusal to see things from anyone’s perspective but his own makes him a toxic friend on a great number of occasions.

[wearecaptaingeorgiou]

Captain Georgiou January - February Day 3′s scheduled creation is by Al @dykekeit​. Thank you to Al for sharing this essay!

Here’s the thing: this story isn’t about me. I’m white and Jewish―not exactly lacking for representation in Star Trek, even if I am a lesbian―not with the ta’al itself coming from the Kol Nidre service, not with Benjamin Sisko’s character more closely resembling Moses than any other religious figure. How many times have I seen myself, loved myself, in Trek? I’ve taken heart in Leonard Nimoy’s Yiddish, in Jim Kirk’s Tarsus IV backstory, in Benjamin Sisko the reluctant prophet and in Kira Nerys, fighting for her traditions amidst pressure to assimilate or die.

And yet, the first time I saw the trailer for Discovery, I almost burst out crying hearing Michelle Yeoh’s voice—her accent, the way she pronounced Shenzhou, seeing her in the captain’s chair—because it felt so much like home.

Like I said, this story isn’t about me. This is a story about my sensei.

I still don’t know what name she was born with, growing up just outside of Hong Kong. When she arrived in the United States, there was no large Chinese community on the east coast in those days; she didn’t speak English, and no one around her spoke Cantonese. She was alone, totally alone. I still can’t fathom the sheer amount of chutzpah it took for her to stand her ground and carve out her place the way she did, but I know what it took: a skill for organization, a love of scheduling, a gift for disdainful silences, and an intense, rigid sense of etiquette. When you stand barely five feet tall, it’s all necessary.

Sensei loves gardening and darjeeling tea, and hates anything sweet to the point that I have gone out of my way to buy her chocolate above 70% grade dark. Oh, and did I mention? She loves Star Trek.

Sensei gravitates towards characters like Spock, like Data: immigrants, constant strangers among new and adopted cultures alike, repeatedly explaining their differences and saving face and proudly, wholly themselves, no matter if people understand them or not. They are characters who defy expectations and use every difference as a strength, no matter if it’s supposed to be a weakness. I wonder, sometimes, as she’s teaching me about the protective properties of jade bracelets and how the good Jewish delis she knew used to serve thinly sliced beef tongue for sandwiches, but not any more—were the stars visible in Hong Kong, growing up? Did she want to escape to the dark sky, to the other side of the world—anywhere?

How did I meet her? Well, when she was thirty-nine, my sensei took up kendo, the Japanese martial art of fencing, and almost twenty-five years later, she had reached fifth-dan (that’s fifth degree black belt!) Into her dojo I stumbled. Picture this: me, a clumsy, skinny Jewish lesbian, never worked out in my life, thought swords were kind of cool, walking into a dojo and finding a sixty-something Chinese woman who, though she barely came up to my chest, could kick the butts of every single much-younger six-foot-plus male student she had.

I guess it’s not surprising I stayed.

Over the next six years, my sensei taught me everything, and not just about kendo. In between correcting my wrist angles, my posture, my follow-through, my footwork, my uniform, my dojo etiquette, and anything else she could think of, there were moments of life coaching: how to focus, how to be disciplined in everything I do, how to help, how to put other people first. When I burst out crying during practice, she reminds me that the dojo is a safe place for emotions. She introduced me to Hong Kong-style diner food, showed me real dim sum and how to order and eat and share it properly, cultivated a lucky money plant for me to bring home and instructed me where to put it in my house for best feng shui, advised me to begin acupuncture for stress, told me to take more initiative when pouring tea for other visiting sensei. On the worst day of my life, I wanted her advice. Once, I managed to get a signed copy of Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club addressed to her personally. When I presented it to her and she learned I hadn’t read it, she turned around and gave it right back to me, insisting with a smile that I read it first so that we could talk about it together.

In the middle of all of it, a new Star Trek show, called Discovery, was announced, and soon, a new trailer dropped. The captain’s name was Philippa Georgiou, and she was played by Michelle Yeoh.

I did nearly burst out crying. It was Michelle Yeoh, but all I could see was Sensei, in command and speaking her accented English, proof of a past beyond a Starfleet that demanded “standard” English for assimilation.

Captain Georgiou was concerned with etiquette, both social and honor-bound: Starfleet doesn’t fire first. In the dojo, I am to bow respectfully, I am to shake hands and thank my opponent after every match, I do not hit just to hit or shy away in fear. The only way a kendo match works is with mutual communication; an opponent is not a faceless thing to be beaten so much as a partner to create opportunities. We may strike first, but we are not aggressors.

Captain Georgiou said: the best way to know yourself is to know others. Take care of those who are in your care. I still remember the time I watched a fellow dojo member rush across the tournament floor because someone had the wrong-colored tasuki to change it without a thought—because he had noticed a problem, therefore he must help. I sat there, frozen. I told Sensei this story later with absolute wonderment and shame and she just smiled, patted my hand, and shared some of her favorite raisin walnut bread with me. She knew the lesson had stuck. Other times, she has snapped at me for forgetting to hold a door open for other people, but—

Captain Georgiou: disciplined, teasing, dedicated, setting stars and valuing candor: your confidence is justified. My shock when Sensei first told a few of the other girls and I some dirty jokes late at night before that same tournament was only matched by how funny it was, and how it was immediately followed with a discussion of our weaknesses in shiai combat, and what our approach both physically and mentally would be for the tournament the following day.

I wonder, through fanfiction and fanart and discussion with others, what Philippa shared of the universe with those around her—with Michael, with Saru, with all those under her care.

I once told Sensei that reading The Joy Luck Club and trying to understand all the Chinese cultural nuances from an outside perspective was like looking through a waterfall, or trying to see through a beaded curtain—seeing outlines, but not being able to grasp details. She smiled, and nodded, and said, “yes.” What she meant was, of course I couldn’t, and no one would be able to explain every detail to me―not if I didn’t live it, but more importantly, not if I didn’t ask questions. When Captain Georgiou brought Michael Burnham to the bridge for the first time, she said, “This can be your new home, if you want it to be.” She asked for little but trust and mutual respect from a certain Vulcan-raised human who needed to re-integrate into an all-too-familiar but still foreign culture. The dojo is foreign, and it is my home, and I must always ask questions.

A human who had seen a life of loss, but still chose hope. A mentor who saw everything as a lesson, full of expectations both written and unwritten. And I, or Michael Burnham, watching her set a star.

Sensei: 谢谢, I love you, and I hope to see you in person soon.

Al

[itsthestutterforme]

Redeemed (Supernatural)

Redeemed Circuit 1/4

Y/N was previously tortured by Dean while he had the mark of cain. They thought she was a demon that worked for Abbadon. Turns out, she was just a human with an allergy to oil. A year later, Y/N was actually a prophet and the Winchester need her to find a way to trap Michael from the other world

Characters: Dean Winchester x POC!reader, Sam x reader, Castiel x reader

--

"Please, I'm telling you that truth!" Y/N begs as Dean scraped his ugly blade against her clavicle. Sharp stings littering her body and extends to every cut that he made. They speak of Abbadon and demons. At first she called them psychos and high off their asses if they wanted her to believe that demons were real. It wasn't until she saw Dean's eyes flicker black that fear struck her silent.

These cuts and oil burning have been going on for days, and at this point, she wanted to beg for death. "You're going to tell me where Abbadon is," "I don't know where or who Abbadon is, I swear."

Her throat scratches against itself of soreness from her long screams. She was barely able to keep her eyes opened. He grabs her face and pulls her inches away from his.

"You disgust me," he insults before leaving the room. She winced as he slams the door shut and tears pricked her eyes for the hundredth time. The door creaks up but she doesn't bother lifting her head.

Footsteps near her and hand touches her arm. She pulls away from his rough, calloused hands. "Wait a minute, these are- Dean!" "No, please, don't bring him back here." She pleads. "It's alright, honey, I'm so sorry I didn't catch this sooner."

"I'm starting to think she doesn't know anything, we should just kill her." Dean says, making her whimper lightly. "No, look. She's breaking out into hives. She's have an allergic reaction, she's not a demon." Sam says.

She looked up at Sam through swollen eyes as he pulls her wrists and ankles from their restraints. "I'll get the first aid kit," Dean says before leaving the room again. "I am so sorry." "No, let me.. leave me at the hospital." "At the severity of your wounds, you won't make it to the hospital," Sam explains. "I'll take my chances,"

"Listen, I'll.. how about I help you. He doesn't have to touch you." She shakes her head and pushes him away. "Take me to the hospital or let me die." That was the last thing she said before blacking out completely.

A constant beep of a monitor is the only thing she hears. Her eyes slowly peel open to see her brother, Y/B/N holding his face in his hands. He must of heard her sit up because his head shot up and met her eyes with his red, puffy ones. "Y/N? Oh my God," he stands from his chair and takes one of her hands into his.

"We've been looking for you everywhere. And everyone thought that you were.. I'm just glad you're okay." He wipes away his tears with the cuff of his sleeve. No words came to mind to say.

Ironic, really because her mind is blank but her body has plenty to say. Between the stitches, the IV and Dean's punches, getting ran over sounds like a dream right now.

**

Sam and Dean were tired of standing around waiting to find out when Castiel will find the new prophet that was called forth. They just came back from a hunt and settled down after taking their showers.

They need the prophet to translate the angel tablet they found in the other world.The world where Mary and Jack resided. Hopefully it will help defeat Michael who is definitely coming over here into this world. Castiel just came back from Heaven in search of the next prophet, and what do you know, it's Y/N.

Castiel sets the file down on the table in front of the Winchesters and they opened to see Y/N's picture. "Oh you've got to be kidding me," Dean says, running a hand over his face. "Wait, you know her?" "Yeah, she hates us." Sam says. "It doesn't matter, she has a duty as a prophet to provide what the Lord set out,"

"Believe me, she would rather jump off a bridge than help us." "I'll bring her here," "No!" Sam says, making Cas stop his movements. "Let me just. I'll pick her up. Just tell me where she is." "The last I sensed her, she was in Boise, Idaho," "Do you need any help?" "She won't go if you're there, Dean."

"I know, I just.." Dean trails off and his gazs falls to the floor. "Nevermind," he adds before walking off. "What happened between them?" Cas asks. Sam shakes his head and says, "You don't want to know,".

Sam packs a go bag and takes the Impala to get Y/N. He drives around bars and shops and finally found me walking out of the grocery store with brown, paper bags in my hand.

"Y/N," Sam says as he approaches her. She pulls her head out from under the car. When she sees Sam, her eyes widen and she pulls out her gun. She aims it at him and takes off the safety. "Whoa, whoa! I-I'm not here to hurt. I just need your help." She slightly lower her gun and look to the Impala for Dean.

"He's not here," he says and she puts the safety on before tucking it under her belt. "You okay?" Sam asks. She raised her index finger before reaching back into the car for a writing pad.

"Help for what?" She writes and showed him. "Did something happen to your voice?" "I made a vow," she writes. "Because of Dean?" he asks.

She didn't say anything but she pulls the writing pad closer to her chest. "Listen, there is something coming. Something bigger than all of us, an archangel. And he's coming here to lay waste to our world. We may have something to stop it but we can't read it without a prophet.

"I know. I've been having visions." She writes. He nods and she looks at him for a moment. Almost as if he read her mind, he says, "I will make sure that he leaves you alone." "He's your brother,"

"What we did was wrong, but this isn't about us. It's about the world." "I know," "So you'll help us?" She nods before writing, "I need to get my computer first,"

**

It's been weeks since she went to the bunker for the first time. Seeing Dean for the first time in years sent chills down her body. Everything that happened, everything that he did to her was still fresh in her mind.

She has nightmares every night and wake up. It took her months to make sure she didn't scream herself awake.

"I don't know, Dean." "Oh come on, I'm not going to do anything," Dean says. They think she plays music while have earphones on when she is translating the tablet on her computer. Well sometimes, she does.

Other times she just put it on to listen in their conversations. "You know how she acts when you even look at her too long," "We have to learn to work together, especially with Michael coming here,"

"What do you think she's doing? She didn't have to help us. She could have said screw you and left us to die. But she's pushing past things," "Sam, you're just going for a milk run. It's not that big of a deal. She'll be fine." Dean says.

The sound of the door opening and closing echoes through out the bunker. She hears Dean walks behind her and she could feel the hairs on her neck stand up.

"I know you can't hear me but, I have to say it. Words can't even begin to express how much guilt I have weighing on my chest. It's so heavy that I can't even breathe. I--" she stands up from the table and take off my earphones.

She locks eyes with him for the first time she got there. She shake her head and closed her computer before rushing into her room to lock the door behind her.

Why the hell do I feel bad for him? He's the one that made my life hell! He doesn't deserve my forgivness. She thinks to herself. She collapses on the bed and sigh when she heard her phone chiming.

She reaches over the bed and into the nightstand to look at who was it was. She clicked on her Y/B/N contact and opened a new message from him.

It was a man with glowing blue eyes mainly in the frame but in the very left top corner, she saw her brother beaten to a bloody pulp. The background seemed oddly familiar Fear shudders through her body and she could feel it starting to freeze over.

"DEAN!" She yells. That was the first time she spoke in two years. Heavy footsteps run towards her room and before she could stand to open the door, he kicks the door in.

She showed him the phone and his jaw clenches. "He has my brother," "He's already here. Did you find anything important on the tablet?" "Yeah, I'm practically finished. There's a scepter like weapon with angel grace in it. That's the only thing that kill him."

"Do you have no idea where it is?" "Not me, but your angel friend can," "Alright, pack a go bag and meet me in the garage in 10," She nods and pull open the drawers when Dean says, "And Y/N?"

"Yeah?" "We'll get him back." She doesn't say anything and continued to pack. They packed clothes and weapons before texting Sam her address to meet.

Within a couple hours, they arrived at her house and there was an eerie vibe about it. Dean wanted her to wait in the car until Sam got there but she couldn't wait while that son of a bitch was hurting her brother.

She ran inside and Dean followed her into went to the house. Blood was smeared all over the walls and windows. The house stenched of metal and rotting flesh. She found my brother with his skull cracked open in the kitchen.

She heart was barely able to take seeing him like that but when she saw her niece with bruises littering her neck, she lost it.

That son of a bitch strangled her to death. She must have been so scared. Y/N cradled her cold, limp body in her arms and smooth out her soft, curly hair. "I'm so sorry, honey." She stand up but her eyes don't leave the corpse. "I need a minute," "Whatever you need," he says before leaving the room.

Anger boils her blood and yells erupted from her chest. She rushed out of the room and kicked the couch forwards. She grabbed the lamp and throw it against the wall.

She picked up the nightstand and slamed it on the ground with a satisfying crack. She kicked the nightstand and into the corner and standing in front of the family portrait.

Her fist finds its way through the picture and she just kept punching and punching. She didn't care if the glass was piercing through the flesh of my hands.

Sam finally arrives at Y/N's house with Cas. "I'll check around the perimeter of the house," Cas says. Sam nods and asks, "Where's Y/N?" Right on cue, she yells out in anger.

"Y/N," Sam tries to walk into the house but Dean holds him back. "Give her a minute. She found the bodies of her brother and niece," Dean explains. Sam sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. "It's our fault," Sam says.

"I know. They would still be alive if she didn't help us," Dean says. "She's already been through enough," "He's gone. There's no trace of Michael." Cas says to them as he walks up the steps. "Damn it," Dean says.

Y/N is huddled in the corner with her bleeding hands. "Alright, Y/N, enough of this. There's only one thing left to do now." She stands up and walks out of the house. Their eyes fall to her hands and she noticed. "It's alright, don't worry about it." "We should at least cover it so it doesn't get infected." "I need to get this cleaned up," she says, motioning to the house.

"You don't have to do this alone, Y/N." "I'm used to it," she says, walking passed them and opening the garage. She pulls out a shovel and Sam gets in the way. "Y/N, please. Let us help," he explains.

"I know you feel guilty, but it's best if you leave. I'm not angry at you, I'm just tired of the people around me getting hurt." She looked from Sam to Dean and Dean steps closer to her.

"Well you're stuck with us. And we're all in." "Once I'm done here, I'm making sure Michael's head is on a pike. And I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Like I said, all in." Dean says. "Then start digging a pit at least a foot deep. We have to burn everything in that house." She says, handing them both a shovel.

"You've done this before?" Sam asks. "My brother did, and he told me in case something happened to him.." she trails off. "I'll get your hands cleaned up," Cas says, motioning to her hands. "Fine,"

[repentantsky]

5 Companies That Have Too Much Hype Around Them

Look, we all love our favorite games with a passion, and to an extent that’s fine, but when that passion becomes obsession and that obsession becomes forgetting our own moral compass for the sake of entertainment, it does feel like it’s gone too far. It’s one thing to love what a company releases, it’s completely another to ignore every problem they’ve ever had. Not all of the companies on this list have done horribly un-ethical things, but they’ve at least been anti-consumer, and the fact that people don’t question that enough has led to them sometimes, making horrible mistakes. I am RepentantSky, I love making lists that trash on things that are popular, and these are 5 companies, that have too much hype around them.

5. Nintendo

Already I can hear people getting angry, and in a way I get it. Nintendo is for many people the place where they either begin to play games, or the place they go to keep on playing them when everything else let’s them down, and of course, they put an end to the flipping video game crash of 1983, and no one else will ever be able to claim that from them. That’s all wonderful, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be critical of them. I’ve talked about a number of things they’ve done wrong before, so let me quickly run down the list of some of their anti-consumer practices. They, charge too much for remasters and ports, they don’t drop prices in games, they used to charge for fixing Joy-Cons and now completely deny it’s a problem for legal reasons, despite everyone pretty much having experienced drift, they haven’t been good at getting stock for their items in at least 20 years, and oh yeah, they sell all the content for a remake for $115 on the 3DS, the system and the fans that helped them get by while the Wii U was massively underperforming, all while handing owners of the, at the time, unproven Switch, free content. Nintendo has a tendency to still think like a toy company, and they even used that idea to present the Nintendo Entertainment System as a toy instead of a console when they first game to the West with it, but they aren’t a toy company, their a gaming company that also sells toys, just like everyone else. I get they’ve done amazing things, I own over 150 physical handheld games from them, and a ton of digital games besides, but when they start charging twice what they are worth for SD cards, while releasing games that absolutely won’t fit on the limited space of the Switch, and they simply don’t care when costumers complain, it’s time to at least question their motives.  

4. Bethesda

Boy I used to really rip on this company back when I posted lists on Facebook, but I haven’t done it in a while, so let’s do it again. Bethesda has absolutely spent at least the last 10 years lying to people, Todd Howard, has become famous for it, but I think I might have been the only person who wasn’t shocked when Fallout 76 was the disaster that it was. There were so many things wrong with that game, that I don’t even have time to go over every little thing, but lying, you know the thing that will get another company on this list very soon, was a big thing they did with the game. They promised at one point that they weren’t ever going to charge for items in the game that gave in-game benefits, and they did, allowing ammo and other items to be bought with real money for a time, they promised new, specialized servers if you paid for a yearly service that was way too expensive, and that wasn’t true because people found proof of things missing from what would have been a freshly made, private server, and there’s no excuse for that, games in early access do that correctly, and they aren’t, at least supposedly, even finished yet. I wish I could say that’s all they’ve done, but they also bullied an indie developer over their game Prey, a game they may have bullied the original developer for so they could get cheaper, but we’ll never know because they refused to comment on that when asked, they also refused to update their outdated game engine for years, which caused something they spent over a decade fixing, games releasing with glitches, some of them game breaking. Yet somehow, they have such a fan base that those who love their games will claim the glitches are just part of the charm. That kind of fierce loyalty led to Fallout 76, and even though we make jokes about it even now, the horse DLC from way back in the day, was an indication of everything they’ve done, including trying to charge for mods made for free, meant to be consumed for free, twice. Bethesda is a bad company and they do not care. 

3. Activision/Blizzard

You know one of the worst things Nintendo does that I didn’t really mention directly in the first entry, is limit the amount of time a product is available, instead of just letting it be there for consumption as long as it’s selling (that was what the toy company reference was about if it wasn’t clear). However, Activision/Blizzard are the Kings of doing this, as they not only limited things while they were in control of Destiny 2 to the point where you pretty much had to use real money to get everything, and never mind everything else they did to it, because we’d be here all day going through it all, but they also don’t support games as a service titles long enough for dedicated fans. Crash Team Racing Nitro fueled, is a prime example of this. People weren’t done with that game, and when fans thought for even a split second that an update was going to come to fix an issue, their hype (mine to) was so explosive, it was almost like we were getting a new game, but then nothing happened, because they didn’t care. A lot of companies that do yearly release titles as a service have this problem and nothing exemplified that more for Activision, than Skylanders, a series originally made off the back of Spyro, who didn’t even wait for a year to release new games, as technically between October 21st and November 20th of the year the first game came out, they released three of them, and I’m not even kidding. Two of them, were mobile games! You might have thought I was going to go after Call of Duty, for this, but that horse has been beaten to ground, somehow, more than Skylanders was. They also, for whatever reason, released each expansion on different generations console generations, at different months throughout Fall, like somehow the season of Fall, they needed a release every month, if not two, and so off they went. I didn’t even get into Blizzard, but all I need to say is “Blitzchung” and all the memories will likely come flooding back. There’s also the fact that in two separate years, after gaining massive profits, they dropped hundreds of employees, and hired more than they’d let go, but I guess that doesn’t really matter to some of you, because when they did it this year, with so little warning, most employees found out via the news articles about it, but we all made such a little stink this time around, it didn’t create any media buzz, so I guess that doesn’t matter, you’d all rather play flipping World of Warcraft, like better MMO’s don’t exist. 

2. CD Projekt Red

I know this one comes off a little more fresh in the mind, and they technically only lied about one game, but man, what a series of lies it was. Also, let’s be honest, one major game, does not a great developer always make. CDPR’s previous two Witcher games did exactly what the author of the books thought they would, and that was almost nothing in terms of making a serious impact, and the reason is, they are kind of bad. They aren’t the worst games out there, but there is a good reason why The Witcher 1 and 2 haven’t been ported and/or remastered, despite how important they are to the story of Witcher 3, and that’s because they both suck. Cyperpunk 2077, was in a lot of ways, them just going back to being the developer they were before, the BIG ONE happened. They lied about nearly everything in regards to the game, including how the main platforms where consumers were going to buy it, were actually running well. I made those references to Witcher 1 and  2 for a reason, although if I’m being honest, they actually look better than Cyberpunk did on day 0, and that’s completely unacceptable. The budget for CDPR was basically nothing for Witcher 1 and 2 combined to what Cyberpunk got, but they were so focused on the PC versions because PC ran the game better, somehow (like maybe because they didn’t try with consoles) and they missed glitches that were so bad, the game felt like it was still in beta, if not alpha upon release. The fact that they’ve only released eleven games in twenty-three years, and only two of them didn’t have The Witcher on them, should have told us all we need to know, and yet the game, even after returns, which was another massive screw-job that led to Cyberpunk being removed from the PlayStation store, still sold Sixteen million units, all because of hype, and because apparently, some people don’t care if they’re lied to. Do you want to know what the other game they released is besides a Witcher title? It was flipping Saints Row 2, a fun game, but also one that’s too goofy for it’s own good, and yet suddenly makes Cyberpunk’s release, make sense, because it was all a massive joke, and a parody of good, well running, open world games. CDPR needs to seriously do something, anything different, and never release a game in this poor of a state ever again.

1. Ubisoft

I put Ubisoft at number one for a damn good reason, and that reason is, that everyone seems to hate the company, but loves their games, and I don’t know why. They haven’t been the overall worst company on this list, although they are pretty bad, but the major problem they have, and have had for at least a decade is that none of their games have any identity, they are literally all the same game, with different coats of paint. Sure, an occasional gem sneaks through like Assassin’s Creed IV, but all of the rest of their games have the same visual style (although ACII does seem to be the base for which they create their art let’s be honest), the shooting mechanics they have in all the games that have guns, all feel exactly the same, which is something even Call of Duty manages to avoid most years (guess I took a shot at them anyways) and yet somehow, someway, I keep seeing people getting excited for their releases, and it doesn’t make any sense. Sure, they throw a celebrity actor in from time to time, and the artistic style they use does look pretty cool, but everything is always the same with them, every single time, no matter what it is, and they still keep making money. It doesn’t really make sense either, because a lot of developers do make games that are very similar feeling, see the Life is Strange team or much as well all loved them, Telltale Games, but at least those titles told extremely interesting stories, and developed their mechanics at least a little, which is something most companies do just on principal, but not Ubisoft. They throw out a few Tom Clancy games every time they talk about what their releasing, the Trials and AC games are still mostly a yearly experience, and I’ll say it again, their entire list of releases since at least 2013, the year the previous generation kicked off, have pretty much all been the same. It would be nice if they made more games like Child of Light, but despite the fact that their games will likely never be as popular as Call of Duty, they keep churning out same-y shooters hoping that one day, maybe just one day, they’ll create their own CoD, and it’s just not gonna happen. The saddest part of all is that when they announce something different, something fans have wanted for years, we get The Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time Remake, which was literally delayed because fans said they wouldn’t buy it unless some actual effort was put into making it, why is this company so popular that it can keep doing this, someone please explain it to me. 

And that’s my list, can you think of any other companies that are too hyped? Let me know in the notes below, hit me up with a follow if you like my content, and give me a reblog, I’d really appreciate it. Have a wonderful life!  

[brooklynislandgirl]

4. What is your oddest turn on? 7. Would you play strip poker? 13. Is there anything sexual that most people consider "normal" that you'd consider out of your comfort zone?

A Little Light/A Little Dark || -

IV. What is your oddest turn on?

It comes as no surprise that Eric finally asks her. It isn't like she hasn't noticed that he's been...well. He's shown interest in her in that way for a while now and Beth knows she comes across as sometimes entirely absent, sometimes cryptic in returning the varied forms of affection offered to her.

And that feeling rises in her belly, the one that makes her a little queasy with anxiousness because she doesn't really know the answer. And that turns into her pulse throbbing throughout her body and raising armies of shame to lay siege to her cheeks. "I...ah." Starts...and stops. Starts again. "I don' really...know...for sure. Like...I can look a' someone ~boy or girl~ an' I know dey attractive or not, by cultural standard. Like you...tall, at'letic build, dark auburn hair, blue eyes, face lookin' like a talented sculptor's mastah-work...I'd put money on da fact dat ya got people comin' an' goin' all day dat...well. Have a distinct lust for ya. An' I can see ya, I know ya handsome...but...it's not..." She wipes dry the plate he just washed, and half shrugs. The movement is inwardly turned. A critical statement about herself, and not him. "I'm not sure I'm really capable of havin' d'ose desire, ya know? Not back in kid time, not now. An' da few times I...ah... uhm... try self....love... it wasn' any kind of person in my mind, or any specific t'ing. Jus'...like... feelings. Love an' trust...and comfort, da kine ya get from like ya bes' friend. An' even den...no kine really happen." The queasy feeling doesn't go away, but it does completely impair her ability to look Eric in the eye, because she's afraid to see what's there. ~*~

VII. Would you play strip poker?

Rain lashes the Irish coast making it too dangerous to take him out onto the water, and that is something they both recognise since the storm had blown in the night before. However, the hotel suite has a cozy sitting area and a fire which burns cheerfully, keeping the gloom and the damp at bay. Beth had managed to half drowse herself with the flames and the tea readily available, and almost didn't catch Eric's voice in the stillness. When the words do manage to trickle in and she parses the hearing mishaps to make sense of it, she manages a small laugh, and slants a half-lidded teasing gaze toward him.

"Mistah Brandon, how forward of ya," she says between winsome giggles. "I have, an' would do so again. But only if ya a brave man an' not afraid t' get beaten by one small wahine." Many people would say Beth has an exceptionally lucky streak when it comes to games of chance, particularly with cards. If she were to tell the truth, it's simply a matter of statistics and counting, and math has always been her strong suit. ~*~

XIII. Is there anything sexual that most people consider "normal" that you'd consider out of your comfort zone? In hindsight, maybe Beth shouldn't have ignored the postings about private beaches, though in her own defense, she hadn't realised that's what they said until she and Eric had crossed over to the Dark Side. And by that, Beth means... until they came across the other couple. It was clear by the amount of visible flesh that could be seen that it was in fact a couple, who on their stretch of sandy heaven, had felt like being intimate. Unfortunately that intimacy involved the man's bits being all up in the girl's quite spectacular cleavage, and there was fervent evidence of their passions. Which immediately set Beth to blushing. Then turning. Then taking Eric's hand and running back the way they came. She could not say how long or far they'd gone until she collapses against one of the wooden legs of the pier they'd come from, breathlessly panting and trying to laugh and trying to not be so mortified and so many other things. She still holds onto his arm and has to lean forward to slow her breath enough to get even the few words she can out. "Is....is dat....a...uh....da kine? Like...do people...actually..." She can't though. She can't imagine saying it aloud even as she tries to scrub the mental image out of her head. And she's fairly sure she knows how bodies are supposed to go together. Maybe she's a little embarrassed that she doesn't have enough breast tissue to even make such a thing possible without considerable effort. "Have you...evah...I mean..." She lets go of him and collapses down on the sand beneath. "Like...really?"

[danwhobrowses]

Why ‘The Karate Kid Part II’ Deserves More Respect

So guess what film I finished watching today? Of course, the Karate Kid franchise is considered iconic mainly for its first entry; Wax on Wax off, Skeleton fights, Sweep the Leg and the Crane Kick all cemented its legacy that allowed Cobra Kai to also be such a success. But imagine my shock when the approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes for Part II is 45% - 21% lower than the Jaden Smith ‘The Karate Kung Fu Kid’ version (and Part III is scored 15%, which is also super harsh but hard to debate outside of the magnificence of Terry Silver). Originally this was just gonna be a general post of how much I enjoyed retreading Part II, but upon seeing that score I had to give it my ‘Deserves More Respect’ posts.

It is an off-chance, but if you haven’t watched this film there will be spoilers within, I encourage you to watch it before reading, and maybe watch it again if you have so it’s fresh in the mind

Let’s start with a controversial point shall we? There are several parts where Part II is actually better than the original. Now I know! There’s a lot about the original which is iconic, but nostalgia does blind you to other shortcomings and while it’s easy to sell the first part because of its mystique, a sequel has the added pressure of rising above and developing on old and new themes set by the predecessor. The Premise In case you decided against refreshing your memory. Karate Kid Part II starts with a recap of Part I, a bit of content that was meant to be Part I’s final scene (in the script, not for filming) and then a timeskip. Ali with an i is gone - brutally dumping Daniel for some Football Player before Senior Prom and after crashing his car, Daniel’s mother is in Fresno for work and Miyagi has received a letter from his home Okinawa in news of his father’s fading health. The stage is set for Daniel and the audience to learn more about the iconic Mr. Miyagi and the life he left behind. Okay, so there is bad in this film Part II deserves respect, but it’s not perfect. It definitely gets messy near the end with Daniel’s antagonist Chozen, he mainly took beats from Johnny Lawrence in physically confronting Daniel when he could with a bunch of no-named goons and he fought pretty similarly to Johnny in catch counters and leg strikes. The opening recap did take a lot of time too, while the ending remained somewhat abrupt having just beaten up Chozen to embrace Kumiko (who had a delayed recovery after being punched once). While not bad, a fair amount of retreaded content felt like downgrades of the original; Chozen and Sato lacked the charisma of Johnny and Kreese, the crane kick was far more impressive than the drum technique and the Tournament setting was grander than the O-Bon festival. But, there are Iconic Moments in this film too Part I may have the Crane Kick and the Skeletons and the Training and Sweep the Leg. But people may forget that Part II had awesome moments too.

Like Daniel chopping through 6 Sheets of Ice! If that isn’t one hell of a power play I don’t know what is. It is a moment genuinely impressive in and outside of the 80s cheese universe of Karate Kid, and it gets referenced in Season 2 of Cobra Kai.

Also referenced in Season 2 is Miyagi vs Kreese. While this is the intended ending for Part I, it certainly acted better at the start of Part II, especially given that is foreshadows the situation Daniel finds himself in at the end of the movie. This moment is equally iconic as it completely encapsulates the character of both senseis - Kreese the confident brute brought to a sniveling mouse when size and power failed him and Miyagi the cool-headed and vastly more intelligent fighter still with the cheeky prankster lightness to him as he honks the scared shitless Kreese on the nose. Perfect.

While I did want to cite the Tea Ceremony as well I think the more iconic moment for Part II had to be Miyagi chopping the log during the storm. The storm itself is a very well-done scene which unmasks several characters in the face of adversity. True tension, worry and stakes are sold as the village are in danger of the cruel whims of nature, an act which is all too real for Sato when the house he’s in collapses on him in the calm before his scheduled deathmatch with Miyagi. Not only is this again some great foreshadowing by the rule of three (Daniel asking if Miyagi can chop a log like Sato is doing with a banner and then Miyagi and Sato meeting and seeing Sato fail to chop a log) it proves a pivotal point where Sato turns from aggrieved antagonist to repenting ally. A great show of power and friendship as Miyagi metaphorically breaks the rift between their friendship that weighs Sato down. Okay, we hear you, but how is it better? I do have to preface that I do still love Part I, I have to because in pointing out where Part II is better I have to pick at Part I’s faults. While the ending is messy Part II definitely has much better pacing, until the skeletons scene Part I doesn’t really pick up because it has to set up, Part II while it does recap doesn’t need to worry about it. Giving Miyagi the main plot was definitely Part II’s strongest suit. Part I profited from Miyagi being the ‘mysterious old teacher’ but learning a lot more about his humanity and history was engrossing and it allowed positive development for Miyagi and Daniel, especially their bond as a surrogate father and son when Daniel personally goes out of his way to support Miyagi on a very personal matter. The main characters maintain their charm as well, still a lovely array of life lessons in Part II more than just finding balance, Miyagi teaches Daniel through words and action on taking time to breathe, to refocus when imbalanced, to forgive rather than to harbour hate, mercy, selflessness and humbleness

“never put passion before principle. Even if win, you lose.” - Mr. Miyagi

The scenes involving Miyagi and his father were some of the most deep and emotive of the series up until Cobra Kai, some still haven’t been topped such as Miyagi’s dad’s first words to his son or when Daniel talked about when his father died.  And say what you will about Chozen, he does have a lot of Johnny vibes but a lot of the character we believed was Johnny due to nostalgia goggles was more fitting of Chozen’s manner. The story did a great job in making sure Chozen was always an asshole, at times Johnny did at least display honour and grace but Chozen was always sore about stuff and quick to claim dishonour even when he was in the wrong. Contrary to Johnny it’s more about his family than it is about a girl, which allowed a lot more freedom in the plot. Whether you felt Elizabeth Shue’s Ali with an i was prettier than Tamlyn Tomita’s Kumiko is up to personal preference, but the messy-haired Kumiko definitely had a slightly improved presence in Part II than Ali did, with actual focus on her own feelings outside of attraction to Daniel, her ambition to become a dancer directly linking to the O-Bon Festival - which in turn related to the Drum technique - as well as the delicately beautiful Tea Ceremony scene and actually contributing to the final fight (granted Ali wouldn’t be allowed to). Also Daniel didn’t try to eat her face which is a general improvement to the romantic subplot, extra applause has to go to Tomita here too because this was legitimately her first role - Shue had her second so that’s impressive too - and both women had good careers going forward. The increased stakes definitely worked in the favour of Part II as well, as sequel culture is forced to do, but by moving to Okinawa (actually filmed in Hawaii) we opened the door to better suit Miyagi’s world while keeping Daniel the fish out of water. I can’t speak too much for appropriation because there is still kinda some ‘white saviour’ undertones but I didn’t feel like Japan was treated negatively in this light, its culture of the O-Bon Festival and the Tea Ceremony was treated with the utmost respect and explained without pandering, the flute music had definitely stepped up its game for the soundtrack as did the imagery. Can also appreciate that Daniel does go for the Crane kick when fighting Chozen but is parried. Added hat tip has to go to costuming too. A lot of costumes would have to have distinct Kamon such as Sato’s twin fish and Miyagi’s bonsai on a lot of their clothing

Between Sato and Miyagi the colours of their clothes often code their emotions towards each other, with Sato usually in grey and Miyagi in white or cream, when Sato and Miyagi prepare for death they are in black and when Sato wants forgiveness he moves to a lighter shade. While Part I also used black and white to differ Johnny and Daniel, Part II put Chozen and Daniel in the more Japanese-themed Red and Blue. While both men wear red, blue and whites at time, Chozen’s clothes almost devolve from the white he debuts in as his darker side comes out before flat out embracing yellow after his chance to prove his honour in the storm is refused (and he’s in white then), while Daniel often moves to Red or red tones even in his blue shirt. Kumiko also moves from white to blue, sometimes even purple, in set up to the final fight to have the primary colours stand out in the colourful crowd of the O-Bon festival, but even in the blue Kumiko had red to pair her connection with Daniel. Also her Yukata at the festival is just stunning, the Great Wave off Kanagawa print is a nice touch.

Anything else we should know? It might not be much else about the film itself I can tell you, but I do appreciate something I’m starting to call ‘The Rocky Connection’ when it comes to Karate Kid. Like Part I’s ‘You’re the Best (Around)’ was shortlisted for Rocky III, Part II’s song ‘Glory of Love’ was shortlisted for Rocky IV’s theme, losing to ‘Hearts on Fire’, Bill Conti also chose to score this film instead of Rocky IV. I like to pair this with Daniel’s Rocky-esque character, he has that same kind of swagger but a lot more naive and childlike. Martin Kove also gets a nod because those bleeding hands were legit, he had an accident on-set and the footage was kept for the final cut. Tamlyn Tomita wasn’t the only film debut for Part II, B.D. Wong of...well, several famous roles including but not limited to Shang in the animated Mulan, Dr. Wu in the Jurassic Park franchise, Hugo Strange in Gotham and many more, also had his debut here in a minor speaking role when he’s handing out flyers for the dance party to Kumiko and Daniel before the Ice Chopping Scene. So, why does it deserve respect A film that adds to a beloved character in a respectful fashion without having really any god awful moments does not deserve a 4.5/10 rating. It may not have as emphatic an ending or as great a villain but it has a captivating plot and a good pace, better stakes and much more emotionally driven and responsive scenes. A lot of effort and dedication went into this film to explore new dimensions of the main characters in a fashion which was enjoyable and at times heartwarming. And characters are given human moments, even Miyagi confesses himself not to be perfect and it keeps each character grounded. Even to this day parts of Part II are remembered fondly rather than the campness that Part III had outside of Terry Silver and his magnificent ponytail, the fondness also continues to reflect in Cobra Kai with homages and fan theories of Daniel going to Okinawa again and even re-encountering Chozen. Not to mention it grossed $113m on a $13m budget and got nominated for a Best Original Song Oscar (losing to Top Gun) Part II was a good and enjoyable film which deserves far more credit than to be rated this low, for that it deserves respect.

[tuellertrails]

We’re 3 weeks into our hike so far, here are a few things I have learned

- Wake up EARLY in the desert. Because it will get hotter than hell and you will die of heatstroke if you hike in the heat of the day.

- Take your shoes (foot prisons) off at every opportunity. Your feet will thank you

- The higher you go in elevation, the harder the hiking is, the less hot it becomes and the more beautiful the scenery is. The desert has its own kind of beauty, but being in an alpine environment with lots of trees and the smell of sun warmed pine needles is my favorite place to be (besides a comfortable bed watching TV and eating snacks, of course). We’ve had several days of hiking where we’ve done over 5k feet of elevation, and I find that I am particularly prone to swearing and exhaustion on those days 😂. But the incredible views do make up for it somewhat! It’s all part of the experience.

- Ibuprofen (Vitamin I) and Benadryl are a hikers best friend.

- Pack out fresh food whenever you can. Vegetables and fruit have never tasted so good.

- Kindness is EVERYWHERE. We’ve received food, cold drinks, rides, camp chairs to sit in and many other kindnesses from trail angels, other hikers, family members and random people. Everything is appreciated.

Speaking of kindness, we spent several hours one day waiting out the heat of the day in a small hut next to the wind farm made for hot, suffering PCT hikers, with a cooler of cold water for us to enjoy. It was 95* even in the shade 🥵. We did not leave early enough that day, but it gave me the chance to wait out the heat and look at my phone 😂.

Here’s some highlights/points of interest from the last 100+ miles

- We heard a great story from Trail Angel who gave us a ride out of Julian, who heard it from a different hiker that she gave a ride to. So the hiker was hiking down the trail (early on, around mile 15) when he hears a voice say "hello". He looks down and sees a guy laying in the bushes in a sleeping bag with mud on his face. "Oh, uh... hello" the hiker says. The man responds "Would you like to be blessed with magic sand?" And holds up a pile of sand in his hand. The guy wasn't sure if this dude was on drugs, was going to throw the sand in his face or what, and he's contemplating how to side step this very weird man when the dude stands up and reveals that he is completely naked and says "You should really use mud. It makes the best sunscreen". Glad that it wasn’t me, poor guy.

- We went through a small town in Warner Springs who had a gas station and some picnic tables, so basically a hiker haven. We spent a couple of hours eating gas station food, and I gave another hiker a shot in the butt 😂. Nursing skills always coming in handy out here. Landon consistently says that the gas station hot dog was one of the highlights of the trail.

- My feet are MUCH better than they were. Getting inserts and some foot compression socks were a game changer for me. I now can walk many more miles without having to stop so often to roll out the golf balls on my feet. Despite this, hiking is still hard and we still find new soreness, aches and pains every day. But I do think that we are toughening up and able to do more miles than we did the first week. My blisters are mostly hardened now, and we have done as many as 18 miles in a day at this point.

- Water can be very scarce, and you have to plan out your water carries very carefully. One water source in this last stretch was a big water tank a few hundred feet from “Mikes Place”. Mikes Place is near the trail and has a big water cistern for hikers to go and get water, but they also let hikers camp and party there and sometimes feed them. There were some comments on Guthooks (the hiking navigation app we use) about how Mikes Place was kind of sketchy and borderline sexist, but we went down there with our hiker friends Sarah and Clyde, hoping for some food. Mikes place was interesting to say the least. It was a run down one story house that looked rather shabbily built, with a blanket as a wall in one section. It’s in a few acres of property, and there are all sorts of random things in front of the house. An assortment of stools and chairs, some lawn games like croquet and darts, a fire pit, a few coolers, and then even more random things like a sword stuck in a stone (a replica like in the movie). There was also an old painted car on one end, a shabby outdoor kitchen with a pizza oven and a greasy grill and lots of bowls and plates and utensils, and lots of other items spread out across the property. It seemed a little hoarder-y to us. They had Johnny cash playing in the background which kind of fit the vibe of the place. There were a few hikers there eating already, and a more stout gentleman wearing a t shirt, shorts and flip flops whose name was Scott. He said that there was no food left but that we could cook our own if we wanted, and we were like "ummm, sure?" 
So he brought out the ingredients for breakfast burritos and we got to cracking eggs and slicing veggies and fired up the very greasy outdoor grill, and within about 15 minutes we were eating breakfast burritos. Scott was a little weird. He would pop in and out of where we were cooking and then disappear again, I guess he was nice enough but he just gave off a bit of a weird vibe. Apparently Mike lives in San Diego and Scott is a caretaker of his place for now, along with another guy named Spirit who we met a little later as we ate. He was a older guy, with long white hair in a ponytail and beard, wearing a dirty green zip hoodie with what looked to be a hand painted "VVR" on it, jeans and chacos. He chatted with us briefly, he is a hiker who has hiked the John Muir Trail every year since 2014 and then decided to go work at VVR, a resort in the Sierras, after visiting it so many times. He said he was headed up there in a few weeks. Anyways, we are our burritos, washed our plates, said thank you and left to go filter water from the tank up above, leaving some money in the donation box as a thank you. The food was good but I definitely wouldn't have felt comfortable being there by myself, Mike’s Place was a little...dirt baggy, but I’m glad I got to experience it all the same. Apparently Scott is hiking now, and showed up at the campground in Idyllwild a few days later, drunk as a skunk and vomited all over 😂.

- We’re 10% done with the trail! Which really puts into perspective how long this hike actually is 😂. We had heard that our trail legs would start to come in after 3 weeks, but both Landon and I agree that we’re still quite sore and wake up with different aches and pains every day. We are definitely running a major calorie deficit at this point, burning upwards of 4K calories per day, burning much more than we are eating. This is ok with us, as we could both lose 30 Lbs or more and still be in a healthy weight range! Our friend Jamie, who hiked the trail years ago with her husband, says that we are losing our “town fat”. But we both agree that our clothes are feeling a bit looser than they were before. Who knew that 3 weeks of near continuous intense exercise would do that? We are slowly getting more fit, so hopefully those trail legs will come in soon here in the next few weeks.

- Remember the girl I talked about in our last post a few weeks ago, who woke up our friend at 5 AM and told him that she had no pants? Well, he came across her again a few days ago. She was topless, sitting in a stream in her underwear, playing a ukelele. And much to his chagrin, she remembered him! 😂 Not exactly a meet cute.

- Though there are definitely some eccentric people out here, 95% of the hikers and people we meet are wonderful. We have met the most incredible people as we hike, and are grateful to have made some good friends. They say that trauma bonds you, and all of the hikers have similar trauma out on trail 😂. We all know how hard this is, how beautiful, and have experienced first hand the heavy packs we carry after filling up our food and water, and the different aches and pains that accompany hiking day after day. Ive seen some pretty gnarly feet 🦶among the hikers out here, covered in blisters and cuts, with blackened toenails and foot fungus. Our feet are constantly getting beaten up! I’m glad to know that it isn’t just us experiencing the aches and pains. Ive always been a bit of a social butterfly, and after a year of isolation due to the Covid pandemic, the extrovert in me is absolutely loving the social aspect of our hike.

We will be getting off trail for four days this next weekend to go to a family wedding and sadly, a funeral as well. We were saddened to hear that Landon’s Grandfather has passed away, after suffering from Alzheimer’s for many years in the last years of his life. I never knew him before the Alzheimer’s had affected him, but I was told that he was smart as a whip, very funny, and a great story teller. Landon has fond memories of his grandfather, going on family trips and hearing his many stories. Even after the disease progression, Arlin was a very sweet and gentle man who was happy to give you a hug and listen to you talk, even if he didn’t quite remember who you were. We feel very lucky to have been able to spend some time with him and with Landon’s Grandmother the week before the trail, and he will be greatly missed by all. We are looking forward to getting off trail for a few days to reunite with our family to both celebrate and mourn together.

Thanks to everyone for the love and support in our PCT journey so far, this has been the most incredible experience of our lives so far and we’re grateful for every second, no matter how tough, of this great adventure.

- The Tueller’s

[litwitlady]

whoever is filthy, let him be filthy still (4/6)

Read on AO3. - A chapter ahead over there.

Warnings: mentions of murder and childhood abuse

iv. Max

‘And Max. He’s your brother? You were found together?’

Michael nods but frowns. ‘We’re brothers in theory, I guess.’ 

‘In theory? Explain that.’ Dr. Sampson hands him a cup of coffee and settles back into her seat. 

He shrugs. ‘He and Isobel were adopted together. I got thrown into the system. Once I returned to Roswell, we struggled - I struggled.’ He clears his throat and takes a sip of the coffee. ‘He can be a condescending dick. And as de facto leader, he pisses me off - a lot.’

‘Have you ever been close?’ Dr. Sampson has a voice that lures things from you - ugly truths that you never made a conscious decision to admit. To yourself or anyone else. Michael decides it’s her superpower. 

‘Once. Back in high school. Before all the lies.’

She smiles warmly, trying to soothe the answers loose. ‘I know you two aren’t blood related, Michael. And that your relationship is often strained. But do you still think of him as your brother?’

‘Only sometimes.’

***

Michael doesn’t immediately go to Max. He drags his feet for a couple of weeks and is happy to continue doing so, but Isobel has other ideas. She begins orchestrating reasons for family meetings - their doppelganger problem, Liz and Max’s emotional crisis, her desire to cook some new recipe. 

None of her plans work. Michael too stubborn and Max too oblivious. It’s not until Max unexpectedly climbs down into Michael’s bunker that avoidance is no longer possible. And he comes at the worst moment. Michael is already fuming - his newest calculations providing nothing but bad news. No matter how many simulations he runs. It’s frustrating, but not nearly as frustrating as when he’d run into Alex and Forrest that morning. At the Crashdown having breakfast, hands touching across the table. This time they had noticed him and he honestly wishes they hadn't.

‘Not in the mood, Maxwell.’ He doesn’t bother looking up from his worktable.

Max ignores him and slides a stool over, sitting far enough away that Michael can’t reach him. Already playing defense to Michael’s anger. ‘You’re never going to be in the mood for this, so sit down and listen.’

Michael laughs, bitter and sarcastic. ‘Fuck you, Max.’

‘I don’t want to be the leader of this anymore.’ He motions vaguely around the bunker.

That certainly grabs Michael’s attention. ‘Come to handover your letter of resignation?’ He sits down on his own stool and smirks at Max. ‘Because I accept. Long live Queen Isobel.’

‘Not Isobel, Michael. You.’ He’s looking at Michael through those big, brown puppy dog eyes - full of sincerity. Not a single hint of humor anywhere on his face.

Michael laughs anyway. ‘I don’t have time for this, Max. Go brood somewhere else.’ 

Max stays quiet but he doesn’t move. He watches Michael work for a long time. It frustrates Michael because it’s always been one of his favorite strategies. Wait him out until he crumbles - which Michael always does because Max can be a patient motherfucker once he digs his heels in and decides to be an asshole.

The air around them thickens and when Max clears his throat, Michael comes the tiniest bit unhinged.

‘Alright, fuck! Say what you came to say. I’ll listen.’ He only half means it, but Max seems satisfied enough. 

‘Sheriff Valenti confessed something to me a few months back. Something I’ve kept from you and Isobel.’ He stares down at his hands and grimaces. ‘I didn’t know how to tell you or what any of it meant or even who I was anymore. And that was wrong. I’ve been wrong about a lot of things, Michael. Especially with you.’

Michael rolls his eyes at Max’s melodramatics. ‘Spare me the contrition, Max. Just spit it out already. I have work to do.’ 

‘It wasn’t you in the group home who was drawing all over the walls. It was me.’ Their eyes meet over the table and a heated silence falls around them. Michael blinks slowly, not comprehending what he’s just heard. ‘I was the deranged, damaged kid. And I think I’ve known that all along.’ He shakes his head and breaks eye contact, staring back down at his hands.

More silence. Several moments stretching long between them. Finally, Max sighs. ‘Say something.’ Emotion straining his voice. Eyes welling with tears.

Michael continues to glare at Max. Not believing he has the audacity to cry. He tries to stand but it’s like he’s glued in place. And instead of his normal white hot rage, a calm coolness washes over him. Pooling in the bottom of his belly. Michael knows that feeling is hate. Pure, icy hatred. He’s not unfamiliar with the feeling - Jesse Manes, Kyle Valenti, Flint Manes, Noah Bracken. Sometimes the list seems endless.

‘Explain it better, Max. Make it make sense.’ Every word pushed through teeth clenched so tight he’s worried they’ll break.

The tension surges between them, the temperature palpably rising in the windowless bunker. Michael’s not sure he’ll hear anything Max says - not with the ferocious pounding in his head. Blood pumping through his veins like icy sludge.

‘All my nightmares as a kid - the times Isobel literally had to mind-walk me so I’d calm down. My obsession with the symbol - the way I’d doodle it over and over again in every notebook I ever owned. And then the tattoo.’ His voice cracks, high-pitched and frantic. ‘Now, with all that devil talk? Michael, I couldn’t have survived what you survived. I’d have killed more than some random pervert in the desert.’

Michael stalks towards him, fists raised. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better? I was kicked around - slapped, beaten, burned. And that’s all supposed to be okay because you were safe? From yourself?’ A strangled noise rises from Michael’s throat. ‘I was never loved, Max. Not ever. Not once. All so you could be protected and loved, held tight by the perfect fucking family?’ 

He takes several steps forward, fisting the collar of Max’s jacket. The urge to wrap his hands around his brother’s throat throbbing in his fingers.

Max grips Michael’s wrists softly. ‘And yet, you are the most loving of the three of us. Of anyone I’ve ever met. And no that’s not fair, but it’s the goddamn truth.’ He pounds his fist on the table and Michael flinches, dropping his hands away and stepping back. Watching as Max’s tears finally crawl down his cheeks. ‘You’ve always had the most control - ever since we were kids.’ He throws his hands up in submission. ‘You’re not the murderer, Michael. I am. It always had to be this way.’

A manic sort of laughter overwhelms Michael. He can barely believe what he’s just heard. And by someone meant to love him. He turns his back to Max and moves as far away as he can. The rage inside him festering into something almost sentient. He closes his eyes and counts backwards from twenty - inhaling and exhaling around every number. Like Dr. Sampson had suggested whenever his anger tries to get the best of him. 

Michael can choose to take back control. To let it all go. Even if the other person doesn’t deserve such kindness.

And it works, mostly. Some of his tension drains away and the weight on his chest subsides enough for him to breathe again. He’s still angry - still furious. But it’s a low, simmering heat now - not the numbing white hatred that had consumed him earlier. His head is spinning with this sudden rewrite of his life and there’s only one person he wants to talk to right now. And that person is certainly not Max Evans.

Michael slowly turns around and shakes his head at Max. ‘I need time. Maybe a lot of time.’ He needs Alex. ‘I miss my brother. I’ve missed my brother for a long time now. But the truth is, Max? I don’t recognize you anymore.’

Max nods. ‘I get that. And for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.’ He starts to walk away but stops with one foot on the ladder. ‘I won’t tell Isobel yet. To keep her out of your hair for a while. However long it takes for you to process all this.’

‘I’ll tell her when I’m ready, Max. You don’t have to keep making all the decisions and putting in all the work. We can’t be a family until we’re all on equal footing.’ He moves towards Max. Not necessarily because he wants to - because he doesn’t. Not right now, anyway. But he knows that some future version of himself will want this. That Max needs this and Isobel. Maybe even Liz. So, he wraps his arms around Max, quick and tight. One sharp clap on the back. ‘Maybe take a trip to California.’ He pulls back. ‘I hear it’s nice this time of year.’

Michael returns to his calculations and Max leaves, already planning the best route to California in his head.

[kamilah-the-bloodqueen]

Mafia (Part III/ I’m indecisive)

Notes: Since everyone’s bored, or at least I’m bored I’m going to put this out today too. I merged chapters III and IV into one because I felt they were too short. I Mmmm thinking maybe 8 chapters? It definitely will max out at 10. I’m so shocked at the responses this series got, as I’m not a huge fan of AUs

Pairing: Kamilah x MC (Amy Johnson)

Tags: @mrskamilxh @supersphynxsworld (if you want a tag comment or message)

Warnings: Violence, Language. (This is definitely a violent fic and I have struggled with finding the violent/peaceful medium)

Part I Part II

Kamilah locked herself in the other room, where she could keep an eye on Amy. She watched Amy sit there, nodding her head, lip syncing the words to modern pop songs and unfamiliar european songs. Kamilah felt her heart speed up again, she hastily pulled out her laptop and began typing.

Why does my heart speed up when I look at someone?

“Ugh. Pathetic. I need to shoot something.” Kamilah huffed and drew her handgun, she stepped out of the door and fired a bullet near Amy’s head, causing her to jolt up. Kamilah laughed as Amy shook her head, she shot Kamilah a cold glance and gave her the finger.

“You missed.” Amy smirked, “I thought the legendary Mafia arm dealer never missed.” She finished as she made finger guns. She winced as she shifted her hands, the cuffs and rope leaving burns from all her moving. “Or maybe we ‘missed’ that on the briefing files.” Amy snorted.

“I wasn’t aiming for you, dumbass.” Kamilah holstered her gun, she gripped Amy’s wrists causing her to squeal in pain. “Don’t test me, it will cost you your life.” she threatened, hoping Amy would take her seriously.

“I’ve already lost my life, I know I’m going to die here and at your hands, Mrs.Sayeed, but I don’t fear death.” Amy held her gaze, she felt confident and in the midst of this, at peace.

“You should.” Kamilah gave Amy a sly grin, attempting to play with her fears. “What are you afraid of? You should tell me now, I’ll find out one way or another.”

“I’m not afraid of death, or getting beaten up. I knew this risk coming after you, I’m not stupid.” Amy huffed in frustration, Kamilah’s grip on her arms loosening. “My fears are something you could never understand, you heartless arms dealer.” Kamilah looked hurt for a fleeting moment, before hardening her gaze.

“Enlighten me then.” Kamilah let go of Amy’s wrists, crossing her arms and perching herself on the chair nearby.

“Heartbreak. You see, arms dealer, physical pain it heals in a few days or weeks, maybe months if it’s really bad. A broken wrist heals in about six weeks, if you do what you’re supposed to do. Heartbreak? That shit can hurt for years, you may think you’ve healed but then you’ll see them on Instagram or you’ll hear their name. In those moments you realize you haven’t healed. Maybe I’m wrong, I know my wrist still hurts sometimes, but heartbreak is an unparalleled pain for people with hearts.” Amy let out a sigh, grimacing as she gazed at her wrist burns.

“That seems to be your fault, if you open up yourself like that. It’s a waste of time.” Kamilah sighed, crossing her legs. She sat forward to remove her blazer, her white blouse elegantly buttoned and her hidden knife compartment became visible.

“Anyways, bitch, that’s what I fear.” Amy smiled, satisfaction written across her face. She relaxed in the chair, the handcuffs rattling against the cold metal.

“I see. Well, if there is anyone you love, we’ll make sure they’re dead.” Kamilah leaned forward, meeting Amy’s eyes, waiting for her to reply with a snarky comment.

“And what if I say I’m in love with you?” Amy smirked, Kamilah nearly choked. She lunged forward and pulled Amy by her shirt out of the chair.

“Don’t play games with me, detective. Don’t test me. You may not fear death but I can assure you there are worse fates.” Kamilah growled, her grip tightening. Amy’s feet barely reached the ground, she pushed herself forward, kneeing Kamilah in the abdomen. Amy stood up quickly, huffing, searching for something to use against Kamilah. She grabbed the chair and hoisted it above her head, bringing it down to hit Kamilah. Kamilah rolled out of the chair's impact, she drew her knife from her belt and lunged at Amy.

It was a chase like cat and mouse, Kamilah circled Amy whose only option it was to dodge and duck. Kamilah swung her knife towards Amy, as she rolled towards the door to dodge the blade. She fiddled with the handle while Kamilah recovered from her miss, Amy whined realizing the door had to be locked. Amy turned around as Kamilah tackled her to the ground, pinning her arms above her head with one hand. Kamilah pointed the knife at her throat.

“Hm. I guess I could get used to this.” Amy tilted her head back, exposing her neckline, “but since you won’t I’ll make it easy for you to kill me now.” Kamilah drew her knife back, infuriated by Amy’s incompetence, she hoisted her up, forcing her against the wall.

She forced Amy into the other room, disregarding the mess of papers and black market transactions. With one arm she locked the door, ensuring Amy didn’t see the passcode and tossed her onto the floor.

“If you weren’t such a bitch I’d compliment your combat.” Kamilah huffed as she reached for a set of handcuffs. They looked more sophisticated than any handcuffs the police or FBI had. Amy sighed, accepting that fate and turning herself to make it easy for Kamilah to put them on.

“I don’t trust this.” Kamilah grabbed her by the shoulder and turned Amy around. Amy looked at Kamilah and back down at her fucked up wrists. “Oh. I see.” Kamilah reached out to touch the mutilated, rubbed skin and Amy winced.

“Don’t pretend you have a heart now, just put on the cuffs and move on.” Amy rolled her eyes, placing her wrists out again.

Kamilah took the handcuffs back, Amy shooting her a look between ‘what the fuck’ and ‘are you serious’ which caused Kamilah to panic a little. Amy took the chance and just sprawled herself across the cold floor, her shirt rising up to reveal the skin of her abdomen. Kamilah bit her tongue at the sight.

“Oof. That’s a cold fucking floor.” Amy sat up, dusting herself off. “So you’re not going to like, do hostage things with your hostage?” She tilted her head like a pug.

“If you give me a reason to, I will,” Kamilah let out a sigh, “ I have a proposition...”

“Mrs.Sayeed. We have a problem with an arson deal in the underground. We’re going to need you to come with us this time.” A male voice rang out, Kamilah sighed in frustration. Amy smirked, letting out a soft laugh.

“There is nobody to babysit your hostage ass,” Kamilah pinched her nose, “you’ll have to come with us.”

Amy laughed, clasping her thighs for support. Kamilah crossed her arms in annoyance, letting out a cough to show her annoyance.

“You’re going to have to come with us.” Kamilah grabbed her arm, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Oh, I have no objections to going to this arms deal. Wouldn’t be my first time.” Amy fiddled with her shirt, for the first time after capture, she truly looked vulnerable.

“You’re going to pose as a new recruit, we are going to give you a fake gun,” Kamilah turned to her and drew her gun, “and if you try to pull anything, and I mean anything you’re dead.”

“Yeah I got it. Death, Death, Death. God, I forgot exactly how dull living Mafia members are.” Amy rolled her eyes.

“You’re going to need to change out of that shit, we don’t dress like detectives during deals.” Kamilah gestured for Amy to walk ahead, not allowing Amy to be behind her. Kamilah unlocked the panel and drew her gun, holding it against Amy’s back. They walked up the stairs to a less dull, dark space into what resembled a normal room.

Kamilah locked the door again, Amy went and sat on a chair. Kamilah strided across the room, opening an old fashioned chest with an all black suit inside.

“Change.” Kamilah tossed the suit to Amy, who examined it carefully.

“First of all, this is a two-thousand dollar suit. Secondly you’re here, I barely know you and you’ve threatened to kill me multiple times. You think I’m going to change with you right there?” Amy placed the suit next to her.

“Remember where you are.” Kamilah gestured to her holster.

“Right.” Amy let out a defeated sigh, turning herself so her back faced Kamilah. She took off her shirt, her back was red from their scuffle beforehand. Kamilah looked away, trying not to glance at the muscles of her back. Amy shed her jeans, her long tanned legs glistening in the light. She slipped into the suit, tightening the gun belt across her hips.

“I’m done.” Amy turned herself around, Kamilah lost her breath for a moment. She handed Amy the replicated handgun, shooting her a firm warning glance.

“Don’t worry, if I behave I’ll learn how these work so when the FBI comes for you we’ll know all the Mafia’s secrets.” Amy winked but she felt a pit in her stomach, as if she wanted to take those words back. Kamilah closed her eyes, for some reason those words stung, but she brushed it off. She pushed Amy towards the door, they walked down the hallway and rendezvoused with 5 brutal looking men.Three carried assault rifles, AK-47’s to be exact, one of them carried a sniper rifle and the last one carried what appeared to be every possible weapon he could have.

“What a sweet little thing-” A man with black hair reached out to grip Amy’s hips, as she slapped him hard across the face. He dropped the assault rifle on the ground, he rushed to pick it up and pointed it at Amy.

“Keep your distance or I’ll make you regret it.” Amy growled, narrowing her gaze and exerting her dominance to the men. They laughed and looked to Kamilah for direction, she nodded towards the door as they formed a circle around the both of them. They loaded themselves into a large black jeep, Amy examined it, before they shoved her into the backseat.

Bulletproof material, obvious. Any weak spots? Erm tires? Probably, but they could be heavy duty tires.

Amy was seated in the back with Kamilah who kept her eyes closed. Amy, against her conscience, admired Kamilahs defined features.

God, who’s eyelashes look like that. Oof that jawline is pretty hot, too bad she wants to kill you.

Amy’s eyes trailed over Kamilah’s blouse, the curves of her collarbone illuminated in the occasional light of passing stoplights.

God imagine kissing that neck, Christ Amy you’re on a mission get your head out of the gutter. Now is not the time to be horny on main!

Amy fiddled with her hands for the remainder of the drive, her heart had never beaten faster. She hoped when the FBI came for her they wouldn’t blow the whole jeep with her inside.

“We’re here. Eyes up.” The man with the sniper rifle exited the car, climbing a ladder and taking position on a nearby rooftop. “If you guys need an escape I’ll be here. I’ll make sure nobody follows or finds you guys.”

Kamilah exited the car first, her composure calm and relaxed. The men climbed out after her, they gestured for Amy to get out of the car. The man with black hair reached out his hand for her, but she just jumped down out of the jeep, ignoring his gesture. Kamilah let out a laugh before proceeding forward into an abandoned subway entrance.

“Charles, cover our six. Trail behind enough to hit if we need it but keep out of sight unless we need you.” Kamilah gestured to the man who was dressed like a human arsenal. He nodded and fell back, disappearing into the dark of the subway. Amy felt a chill down her back, she wasn’t scared but this was far from anything she ever had to do before.

After about 13 minutes of walking they arrived at an abandoned subway stop, where seven unruly men waited. They wore bandanas and face masks, their guns covered in flashy diamonds and gold paint.

“Sayeed.”

“DeRose.”

“Do you have the money? You know we aren’t a charity.” He gestured towards a medium sized box.

Kamilah reached into her blazer and drew out what had to be at least ten-thousand in cash. Amy sucked in her breath, trying not to say anything that could get her shot. Kamilah handed the man the cash, he ran his fingers through it, sniffed it and then pushed the box towards Kamilah.

“Who’s this?” He walked up to Amy, “An offering?”

“No. A hostage. My hostage.” Kamilah moved between the man and Amy, her back pressed against Amy’s chest.

“Ah,” the man smiled, “are you sure she’s just a hostage Kamilah? I thought you never left survivors?” He smirked before commanding his men to move. Kamilah rolled her eyes, and as he walked away, stuck her middle finger up.

The exit out of the subway ran smoothly, they entered the vehicle, taking a different direction than the way they came.

“Where?” Amy whispered to Kamilah, who opened her eyes and leaned towards Amy’s ear.

“Mafia remember? We move bases, that old base is definitely compromised.” Kamilah winked, and Amy felt her stomach drop.

That was one of three locations we knew of, chances are we’re going to a base the FBI doesn’t know of. There’s no way I can call for backup. I’m just going to have to play Mafia and deal with this, until I can find an escape.

[theshinobiway]

Hey there! Ive always wondered how the members of team Gai would react to being tickled? Who's the most ticklish and who would be most likely to tickle back? I love your blog and writings so much, keep it up!

Anon, I was cracking up at this request and trying so hard to make it through when I was writing it. There were a lot of times where I had to pause, take a laugh break, then try to get back to it. I got a little ridiculous with it, but I figured this is what you were looking for anyway.

Also, thank you so much for the kind words! It really means a lot!! Thanks as always for contributing to the blog!

Headcanons: Tickling / Being Tickled by Team Gai

Might Gai

Tickling

Ø  Uh, what? You want to tickle who?

Ø  Son, this man has ten inches of steel. No, not there—well, of course there but that’s not what we’re talking about—I meant he has ten inches of steel in the form of muscle that covers his entire body. You think this man can feel a tickle?

Ø  He’ll play along, though. If he notices you trying to tickle him, he’ll act like he is. Poorly. He doesn’t want to discourage you from trying because he thinks it’s adorable—S/o or not.

Ø  You’ve tried everything, from getting the jump on him to using a variety of tools. Nothing. Gai just looks at you with confusion.

Ø  You try with backup one day (probably in the form of his team plus Naruto) who are too morbidly curious to pass up on the chance to figure it out for themselves. Neji and Tenten justify it by saying it might be to their advantage to learn one of their Sensei’s weaknesses.

Ø  You manage to capture him and try every method you possibly can. Naruto makes clones and tries every spot he can. Lee flails around. Neji attempts a modified version of 8 Trigrams. Tenten uses any object she can think of. All end in abject failure, no matter what you do. (Why does this play out like a Rock Lee Spinoff Skit? Hire me already, VIZ.)

Ø  Hold on, you try his feet. He’s wincing, he’s squirming, this might be it! He’s opening his mouth and he…!

Ø  Sneezes. Are you kidding me.

Ø  However, the minute Gai gets drunk, he’s ticklish everywhere. It scares the crap out of you because it’s so unexpected.

Ø  His laughter wakes the dead. It’s not even subtle, he’s screaming. Scream-laughing. The village hates you now. Stop tickling him before Tobirama Senju rouses from Konoha graveyard himself and kicks your ass for disturbing his death.

Ø  Drunk Gai is ticklish everywhere. You could poke him and he’ll collapse, wheezing.

Ø  NO ONE IS EVEN TOUCHING GAI AND HE’S LAUGHING.

Ø  “The Wind! It’s tickles!! It will be my undoing!”

Ø  “Fuck’s sake, Gai.” – Kakashi Hatake

Being Tickled

Ø  You can tell he find the idea of tickling entertaining. The only way you get tickled by Gai as a non-s/o is if it’s part of a joke routine.

Ø  He’ll do it in public too, so you might have to physically fight him for embarrassing you.

Ø  He’ll probably launch a surprise attack during a training routine, or if you’re too sluggish during a training session he’ll attack you to liven you up. Gai’s methods are always unorthodox anyway, there’s nothing abnormal here.

Ø  Try to launch a counter-attack and realize that God is dead. Since Gai isn’t ticklish, he’ll stare at you in confusion before lightening up. “Oh! It seems your energy has returned once more! Now, time to unlock the full potential!”

Ø  Uh. What.

Ø  OH HELL NOW HE’S GOING AT IT. RIP you sad soul, your first mistake was laughing. Now he thinks it’s a valid way to wind you up for exercise.

Ø  A relationship with Gai involved regular tickle fights. It actually becomes a regular occurrence. Gai’s relationship is lighthearted. He’s the kind of s/o that you’re best friends with (move over Kakashi) and that doesn’t get upset pretty much ever.

Ø  Gai memorizes where you’re ticklish and sometimes will tickle you as a greeting to get the jump on you. He thinks it’s hilarious no matter how much you (playfully) throw fists at him to complain. Now he can’t even resist.

Ø  He always stops when he realizes you need a break. He’s pretty good at noticing when a sweet, funny moment can easily turn into not-so-fun. He doesn’t let the mood get ruined.

Ø  His tickling also comes with incessant teasing. Oh, and cheek kisses. Lots of cheek and face kisses all over while he goes for your weak spots.

Rock Lee

Tickling

Ø  Lee is ticklish everywhere. The repetitive motion of tickling is what does it for him, he has a weakness for it. But gosh, is it so hard to tickle him.

Ø  He squirms around like no other. Limbs fly in every direction. His face turns red with laughter and he can’t hold still. You almost feel bad because he gives you puppy-eyes when you try.

Ø  Those puppy-eyes guilt you into stopping every time.

Ø  He pretty much can only manage to say “Nononono” and maybe your name if it’s not too long.

Ø  Lee can take a lot of punishment tickling. He doesn’t have any hard feelings about it either, he’s mostly just bewildered by what just happened.

Ø  He might suggest regular tickling as part of a training routine to up his endurance. Okay, cool, so you try multiple times. Does it actually increase his endurance? No, but you get more of cute, giggling Lee, so it’s worth it. (HIRE ME VIZ.)

Ø  Getting tickled by his s/o is something that warms Lee’s heart. It reminds him just how much he can be himself around you and how easygoing your relationship is. He doesn’t mind any jumps on him (unless it causes an accident, then he’s just concerned for your safety first.) and welcomes the notion that your relationship can be full of little everyday surprises—big or small.

Ø  Once or twice, he holds his breath and kisses you to make you stop. God Lee is just so sweet. Of course you stop, but now Lee’s giggling because he’s kissing you. It’s a win-win.

Ø  Occasionally he’ll pout if you launch a full-on tickle attack while he was doing something, but he’s just joking. Give him more kisses and you’ll see that right away.

Being Tickled

Ø  Lee will probably only try to tickle his s/o, unless someone convinces him—FOR SOME REASON—that so-and-so needs to be tickled as part of a…whatever, training, mission, bar mitzvah, funeral, look. Lee is not a hard boy to convince.

Ø  At first he… doesn’t really know how to tickle? You’re laughing because he looks so ridiculous doing it. He literally just wiggles his fingers a bunch and hopes it does something. He’s so easily tickled he doesn’t understand just how it works.

Ø  Wh—WHO TAUGHT LEE TO TICKLE!? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!

Ø  When Lee learns how to tickle, he’s the master. Once he tried it on Neji. Both of them agreed that doesn’t count as an official victory in Lee’s favor. Only because it wasn’t really a ‘match.’

Ø  He is the Beautiful Blue tickle monster Beast of Konoha. None can withstand his fury.

Ø  It’s canon that he has tickled at least one of his opponents to victory.

Ø  As an s/o, tickling can be a regular occurrence with Lee. He loves getting the jump on you and hearing your laugh. He will literally do anything to make you laugh.

Ø  If you hate tickling, he’ll honestly be kinda miffed about it because he thinks it’s a cute couple thing to do. He’ll let you do it to him still, though.

Ø  Lee nuzzles you before, after, and sometimes during a tickle attack. He’ll giggle along with you because he thinks that your laughter is infectious. If you’re seriously trying to pry his arms away, he’ll let you.

Ø  Once or twice he’ll blow raspberries on you if you both are really in a goofy mood. It makes his heart flutter when you can’t hold back your laughter.

Ø  It doesn’t matter if you’re newly dating, long-term, or married: Little moments like this don’t die off with Lee.

Ø  Lee will pass the habit of tickling to your children (if you have any.) He’ll even teach them to attack you, thinking it’s adorable when you get caught off guard. Of course, the only valid response is to team up with your kid(s) to get back at Lee.

Ø  God you all have such a fluffy dynamic. It’s the envy of Konoha.

Tenten

Tickling

Ø  Do you want to die? This is how you die.

Ø  Needless to say, trying to tickle someone with an entire army of weapons saddled on their hip at all times isn’t for the faint of heart.

Ø  Tenten isn’t as ticklish as her teammates. But she is very ticklish on her lower stomach and her feet.

Ø  There are three ways this can go: You’re her s/o and don’t go too hard at it the first time you attempt, you’re her s/o and launch a full scale tickle attack, or you’re not her s/o and you simply try at all, (maybe with help)

Ø  You can tease her about being ticklish, but she’ll pout about it. It’ll be really cute when she does.

Ø  If you’re her s/o and blow raspberries on her stomach, she’ll giggle. Then you die.

Ø  She doesn’t even like your breath anywhere near her stomach. It’s that bad. Even during more intimate moments, she prefers if you just skip her stomach entirely.

Ø  Catching Tenten in a serious tickle attack is asking for it. Even if you can pull it off, she’ll have broken up with you at least three times during the attack. Give her lots of love after until she comes around.

Ø  Now, Tenten appreciates a good prank. More than the other members of the Konoha 12. She doesn’t always like being pranked, but that’s the name of the game. Prank wars are a regular occurrence with her in a relationship. If this falls in with that, she’s more forgiving.

Ø  She has the cutest giggle. Part of her is trying to be furious with you, but she actually enjoys being tickled a little. She thinks it’s a really cute way to be playful with your s/o.

Ø  If you’re not her s/o and you tickle her: You’re getting beaten, strung up, and left to hang in one of Konoha’s many training grounds. You had better hope someone finds you, because she isn’t coming back for you. Same goes for anyone that tried to help you in the attack.

Ø  Three days later, you (and your accomplices) have acknowledged that the weapons mistress of Konoha should probably be the next Hokage.

Being Tickled

Ø  Tenten does not forget the time you got the jump on her and has plotted her revenge accordingly.

Ø  She gets creative. Really creative. She stalks you for a few days, mapping out your patterns, taking note of all of your habits. She has your entire day down pat before launching a counterattack.

Ø  You sit down for lunch one day, then the next moment you wake up in an unknown location.

Ø  “Did you drug me?” “DID YOU TICKLE ME?!”

Ø  We will not speak of the horrors that occur over the next twelve hours.

Ø  You never tickle anyone ever again after that incident. And every time you so much as see a feather or someone makes a tickling motion with their hands, you may or may not have flashbacks.

Ø  With her s/o? What are you talking about? This is the privilege of being her S/O. Non-romantic parties get left in the woods.

Ø  If it was part of a prank, then given Tenten’s extremely playful nature, tickling can be a regular-not-as extreme occurrence.

Ø  You can get away with cute moments of tickling her now and then if you don’t go for those spots. Her sides aren’t nearly as ticklish, but they’re enough to make her giggle. You’ll get loads of cute moments laying in bed, joking with each other, and the occasional tickle to punctuate a joke aimed at one another. Those are the best moments.

Neji Hyuga

Tickling

Ø  DO YOU WANT TO DIE? BECAUSE IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU WANT TO DIE

Ø  Okay first off, hats off to you if you can catch the man with 360 degree vision unawares enough to launch a tickle attack. Because that’s the only way you’re going to get close enough.

Ø  Neji is calm, often stoic, and proper. That being said, his self-control is through the roof. If he catches you, even for a split second, he can “turn off” his tickle response. The only way to successfully do it is to make contact and initiate your attack without him realizing what is happening until it’s too late.

Ø  Neji’s sides are extremely ticklish if you catch him. He practically drops to the floor on contact. You’ll never hear him laugh so hard, it’ll be a sight to see. If you’re relentless, he’ll have tears in his eyes and he’ll try to shove you off, but he won’t have the strength to do it. He’ll squirm around a lot, though.

Ø  His laugh is so cute? Neji never bursts out laughing hard, ever. His face is so flushed and, despite the fact it’s an automatic response, the smile won’t come off his face, even for a few moments after the tickle attack. He’ll be gasping for air and begging for you to stop, but he can’t really take in air to get the full words out.

Ø  He’s also ticklish behind the knees, but there’s a high chance he’ll knee you in the face—probably intentionally—if you try.

Ø  If you’re his s/o he’ll be super peeved and you’ll get the silent treatment for many days after, but you have a higher likelihood of forgiveness. If you’re not, your existence will conclude in less than 24 hours.

Ø  If you’re his s/o he will never admit in a million years he found your ‘attack’ so stinking cute, even if it annoyed the living hell out of him. He has a certain weakness for the little cute things couples can do, but man does it destroy his image.

Ø  If you’re not his s/o, your day ends either in the hospital or the morgue. If you had accomplices, such as Naruto or Lee (or both) and tried to sneak up on him, he has no problem sending three bodies to the same place. Which one? Depends on how merciful he feels that day.

Being Tickled

Ø  It’s hard to imagine Neji as the kind to tickle someone, and for good reason: he might do it once in his entire life.

Ø  The only way he’s going to do it is if you’re his s/o and you’ve launched a surprise attack before. He’ll have been giving you the silent treatment for a few days, still visibly annoyed you tried something so ridiculous and humiliating on him, but then he gets an idea: revenge, and a taste of your own medicine.

Ø  He’s calculating about it too. You’ll have just gotten home and you’ll say hello, fully expecting that he’ll give you a courteous nod and nothing more (like he has been for the last few days.) But he’ll actually say hello and hold his arm out, gesturing you to cuddle on the couch while he’s reading. Of course, after a few days of silence, the invitation is all so tempting.

Ø  You poor soul.

Ø  The minute you sit down with him, you know something’s off. You don’t get a chance to react. Now you’re in his lap and in a death grip, and Neji whispers something along the lines of “You’ve made a poor decision, haven’t you?”

Ø  Neji attacks every single ticklish spot you have in a flash. His hands move so fast it’s almost simultaneous. No matter how hard you wriggle, you can’t get away. He avoids every single thrash. The tickling only ends on his terms.

Ø  It occurs to you between gasps of air and laughter that he wasn’t giving you the silent treatment: He was plotting revenge. Oh shit

Ø  He doesn’t stop until you’re about to pass out from oxygen deprivation from laughing so hard. Mercy isn’t a word to him. There are no safe words. You chose your fate.

Ø  Bruh, why did you launch a physical attack on someone who can shut off all 361 tenketsu in a split second?

Ø  Once the debt is paid, the situation falls into the past. You have two options: turn this into an all-out war (…why would you?!) or resolve to let this be a lesson to you.

Ø  In the future if you get any more mischievous ideas involving him and he can tell, Neji will definitely brush his hand over your ticklish spot and give you the look as a warning. The cold shiver that runs down your back when he does helps you reconsider.

Ø  You’ve reconsidered. You’re not doing it.

[jcmorgenstern]

@superohclair oh god okay please know these are all just incoherent ramblings so like, idk, please feel free to add on or ignore me if im just wildly off base but this is a bad summary of what ive been thinking about and also my first titans/batman meta?? (also, hi!)

okay so for the disclaimer round: I am not an actual cultural studies major, nor do I have an extensive background in looking at the police/military industrial complex in media. also my comics knowledge is pretty shaky and im a big noob(I recently got into titans, and before that was pretty ignorant of the dceu besides batman) so I’ll kind of focus in on the show and stuff im more familiar with and apologize in advance?. basically im just a semi-educated idiot with Opinions, anyone with more knowledge/expertise please jump in! this is literally just the bullshit I spat out incoherently off the top of my head. did i mention im a comics noob? because im a comics noob.

so on a general level, I think we can all agree that batman as a cultural force is somewhat on the conservative side, if not simply due to its age and commercial positioning in American culture. there are a lot of challenges and nuances to that and it’s definitely expanding and changing as DC tries to position itself in the way that will...make the most money, but all you have to do is take a gander through the different iterations of the stories in the comics and it’ll smack you in the fucking face. like compare the first iteration of Jason keeping kids out of drugs to the titans version and you’ve got to at least chuckle. at the end of the day, this is a story about a (white male) billionaire who fights crime.

to be fair, I’d argue the romanticization of the police isn’t as aggressive as it could be—they are most often presented as corrupt and incompetent. However, considering the main cop characters depicted like Jim Gordon, the guys in Gotham (it’s been a while since I saw it, sorry) are often the romanticized “good few” (and often or almost always white cis/het men), that’s on pretty shaky ground. I don’t have the background in the comics strong enough to make specific arguments, so I’ll cede the point to someone who does and disagrees, but having recently watched a show that deals excellently with police incompetence, racism, and brutality (7 Seconds on Netflix), I feel at the very least something is deeply missing. like, analysis of race wrt police brutality in any aspect at all whatsoever.

I think it can be compellingly read that batman does heavily play into the military/police industrial complex due to its takes on violence—just play the Arkham games for more than an hour and you’ll know what I mean. to be a little less vague, even though batman as a franchise valorizes “psychiatric treatment” and “nonviolence,” the entire game seems pretty aware it characterizes treatment as a madhouse and nonviolence as breaking someone’s back or neck magically without killing them because you’re a “good guy.” while it is definitely subversive that the franchise even considers these elements at all, they don’t always do a fantastic job living up to them.

and then when you consider the fetishization of tools of violence both in canon and in the fandom, it gets worse. same with prisons—if anything it dehumanizes people in prisons even more than like, cop shows in general, which is pretty impressive(ly bad). like there’s just no nuance afforded and arkham is generally glamorized. the fact that one of the inmates is a crocodile assassin, I will admit, does not help. im not really sure how to mitigate that when, again, one of the inmates is a crocodile assassin, but I think my point still stands. fuck you, killer croc. (im just kidding unfuck him or whatever)

not to take this on a Jason Todd tangent but I was thinking about it this afternoon and again when thinking about that cop scene again and in many ways he does serve as a challenge to both batman’s ideology as well as the ideology of the franchise in general. his depiction is always a bit of a sticking point and it’s always fascinating to me to see how any given adaptation handles it. like Jason’s “”street”” origin has become inseparable from his characterization as an angry, brash, violent kid, and that in itself reflects a whole host of cultural stereotypes that I might argue occasionally/often dip into racialized tropes (like just imagine if he wasn’t white, ok). red hood (a play on robin hood and the outlaws, as I just realized...today) is in my exposure/experience mostly depicted as a villain, but he challenges batman’s no-kill philosophy both on an ethical and practical level. every time the joker escapes he kills a whole score more of innocent people, let alone the other rogues—is it truly ethical to let him live or avoid killing him for the cost of one life and let others die?

moreover, batman’s ““blind”” faith in the justice system (prisons, publicly-funded asylum prisons, courts) is conveniently elided—the story usually ends when he drops bad guy of the day off at arkham or ties up the bad guys and lets the police come etc etc. part of this is obviously bc car chases are more cinematic than dry court procedurals, but there is an alternate universe where bruce wayne never becomes batman and instead advocates for the arkham warden to be replaced with someone competent and the system overhauled, or in programs encouraging a more diverse and educated police force, or even into social welfare programs. (I am vaguely aware this is sometimes/often part of canon, but I don’t think it’s fair to say it’s the main focus. and again, I get it’s not nearly as cinematic).

overall, I think the most frustrating thing about the batman franchise or at least what I’ve seen or read of it is that while it does attempt to deal with corruption and injustice at all levels of the criminal justice system/government, it does so either by treating it as “just how life is” or having Dick or Jim Gordon or whoever the fuckjust wipe it out by “eliminating the dirty cops,” completely ignoring the non-fantasy ways these problems are dealt with in real life. it just isn’t realistic. instead of putting restrictions on police violence or educating cops on how to use their weapons or putting work into eradicating the culture of racism and prejudice or god basically anything it’s just all cinematized into the “good few” triumphing over the bad...somehow. its always unsatisfying and ultimately feels like lip service to me, personally.

this also dovetails with the very frustrating way mental health/”insanity” or “madness” is dealt with in canon, very typical of mainstream fiction. like for example:“madness is like gravity, all it takes is a little push.” yikes, if by ‘push’ you mean significant life stressors, genetic load, and environemntal influences,  then sure. challenge any dudebro joker fanboy to explain exactly what combination of DSM disorders the joker has to explain his “””insanity””” and see what happens. (these are, in fact, my plans for this Friday evening. im a hit at parties).

anyway I do really want to wax poetic about that cop scene in 1x06 so im gonna do just that! honestly when I first saw that I immediately sat up like I’d sat on a fucking tack, my cultural studies senses were tingling. the whole “fuck batman” ethos of the show had already been interesting to me, esp in s1, when bruce was basically standing in for the baby boomers and dick being our millennial/GenX hero. I do think dick was explicitly intended to appeal to a millennial audience and embody the millennial ethos. By that logic, the tension between dick and Jason immediately struck me as allegorical (Jason constantly commenting on dick being old, outdated, using slang dick doesn’t understand and generally being full of youthful obnoxious fistbumping energy).

Even if subconsciously on the part of the writers, jason’s over-aggressive energy can be read as a commentary on genZ—seen by mainstream millennial/GenX audiences as taking things too far. Like, the cops in 1x06 could have been Nick Zucco’s hired men or idk pretty much anyone, yet they explicitly chose cops and even had Jason explain why he deliberately went after them for being cops so dick (cop) could judge him for it. his rationale? he was beaten up by cops on the street, so he’s returning the favor. he doesn’t have the focused “righteous” rage of batman or dick/nightwing towards valid targets, he just has rage at the world and specifically the system—framed here as unacceptable or fanatical. as if like, dressing up like a bat and punching people at night is, um, totally normal and uncontroversial.

on a slightly wider scope, the show seems to internally struggle with its own progressive ethos—on the one hand, they hire the wildly talented chellah man, but on the other hand they will likely kill him off soon. or they cast anna diop, drawing wrath from the loudly racist underbelly of fandom, but sideline her. perhaps it’s a genuine struggle, perhaps they simply don’t want to alienate the bigots in the fanbase, but the issue of cops stuck out to me when I was watching as an social issue where they explicitly came down on one side over the other. jason’s characterization is, I admit and appreciate, still nuanced, but I’d argue that’s literally just bc he’s a white guy and a fan favorite. cast an actor of color as Jason and see how fast fandom and the writer’s room turns on him.

anyway i don’t really have the place to speak about what an explicitly nonwhite!cop!dick grayson would look like, but I do think it would be a fascinating and exciting place to start in exploring and correcting the kind of vague and nebulous complaints i raise above. (edit: i should have made more clear, i mean in the show, which hasn’t dealt with dick’s heritage afaik). also, there’s something to be said about the cop vs detective thing but I don’t really have the brain juice or expertise to say it? anyway if you got this far i hope it was at least interesting and again pls jump in id love to hear other people’s takes!!

tldr i took two (2) cultural studies classes and have Opinions

[placesthatchangedpeople]

Testimony about Vista RTC in Utah

Hi, my name is Paloma, and I am a survivor of Vista RTC located in Magna Utah. I am writing this now as a 23 year old, married with a child, and expecting another one next month. The life I lead today is uncomplicated, but that was not always the case. I was a “troubled teen” and had started drugs- my parents sent me to wilderness and Vista RTC as a way for me to get help. Only help is not what I got. The moment I was forcibly put on a plane by a company called “Crisis Interventions”, my life was changed forever. Here I am all these years later , just so fucked up over what happened to me. There’s so much that went on I can’t even begin to tell it all today but I will outline some of the abuse I endured.

I was not allowed to speak for weeks and weeks at a time. This is a punishment called RO (also known as re orientation) where you are not allowed to speak with any of the other kids. If you get caught talking to the other kids, they will also be put on RO. Being a young teenager and not being able to speak for weeks on end would drive me crazy. It was the worst thing they could do- take away your voice. I fought for a long time , tried to engage in small acts of defiance, but after not being allowed to speak for about 3 months I gave up and submitted. You should see my journals and how fucked up they are. I literally prayed for anyone to come save me but no one did.

if you try and leave they will strip you down, put you in bright pink scrubs and put you on something called “10 foot” it means you have to be 10 feet away from all the other kids at all times, no speaking and no eye contact. If you are caught looking at a 10 foot you will be dropped to RO. You can speak with your fingers only (1 I believe is bathroom , 2 is emergency, and I forgot what 3 is) oh and a staff member has to be within arms length of you at all times, to watch you shit, shower , dress, everything- for weeks , sometimes even months. My mind blanks out about some parts of vista. Another punishment they use is isolation rooms. I never recall being put into isolation but weirdly enough I have letters from staff reminiscing about how when I tried to leave and was put in the isolation rooms. It was in my graduation letter where this was mentioned- as if this would have been a fond memory or something. I remember the staff member made a joke like “all the fun times we had while you were in isolation” but honestly so much happened that I tried to block out I’m honestly not surprised.

the way they abuse you the most is with therapy. They make you have 2 hour groups every day. These are INTENSE groups where they force you to feel sad or ashamed about things you don’t feel sad/ashamed about. They make you recount your sexual traumas even if you aren’t ready. They literally force you to cry about situations you aren’t sad about. If your not “beleiveable” enough , they have the group rip you to shreds and say they “aren’t connecting”. If people “aren’t connecting” then you can’t go up levels which extends your stay. I tried fighting and being my authentic self for a while until I realized I would literally never go home unless I played their game. You literally have to go into group and give an Oscar award winning performance, tears , snot the whole nine- about something you literally don’t even feel that way about. I would be “crying” reliving all these sexual traumas that happened to me that I really felt different emotions about , but be forced to only be sad and cry. I would literally be so focused on whether I was believed or not that I got nothing out of the “therapy” whatsoever , except for more trauma.

They train the group of girls to be like a pack of dogs, constantly berating the newer people and constantly telling other girls they “aren’t connecting” in group. This is called “holding others accountable” and it gives you extra brownie points and is necessary if you ever want to walk out that door. The girls will snitch on you for the most minute things just so they can get moved to the next level. I remember after FINALLY making it to a higher level, being dropped to RO because a girl snitched on me for sharing a spoon with my friend. We were eating a banana (separate ones) and using a spoon to put peanut butter on said banana. I was dropped to RO and not allowed to speak for weeks because of that. I’m guessing that because they were super Mormon that they think sharing utensils is like lesbianism or something- I really don’t know. They had a ton of these rules and everything we did was regulated down to the minutes we could shower.

They made us feel ashamed and terrible about ourselves at all time. I was not allowed to see my parents for months at a time. All out phone called were monitored and if we started asking for help they would hang up. (Like we literally had someone next to us while we got our phone call there to listen and hang up if you said anything negative) you had to stay in character during calls if you ever wanted to go home. -I once wrote a letter starting each line with a different capital letter so that when you read it it would read “AYUDA ME” down the side of the paper (my mom and I speak Spanish) this letter was confiscated and thrown away (all mail is read before it’s sent out)

these little ass girls were getting strip searched and literally made to cough and squat any time they came back from a pass. Literally little ass girls forced to strip for adults - how fucking horrifying. It’s like they were preparing us for prison.

I actually got out and went straight to IV drugs. I used this experience to fuel my self destruction for a long time. I actually spent about a year in jail altogether right after vista , and let me tell you- jail was HEAVEN compared to Vista. At least they didn’t abuse us with therapy and make us keep some fucking ridiculous character all day.

Anyways that’s all I’m going to write for now as it’s getting late, I will write more later and encourage anyone who has been to Vista to share their experiences. Even writing this I feel like a weight is coming off my shoulders. I still die inside every time I think of being sent here - even all these years later.

Edited to add- We also went by a point system and were graded for each thing me did such as “20 minute snack” “one hour school” “15 minute morning chore” “bed made”. Literally every aspect of our life was graded and we were constantly docked points and given zeros for the most minute things. The thing worth the most points was group therapy (yes we were graded on fucking therapy) so if you didn’t preform well enough or cry hard enough about someone random then you would get a 0. If you didn’t score high enough at the end of the week you would be dropped to RO, then the next week if your points were high enough you could get off RO. This was a big threat and reason a lot of us stayed submissive. RO sucked and meant you weren’t going home for a long time so you had to try and be perfect at all times. If you lost one of these point sheets you were immediately dropped (to RO) for a person with ADD this was a constant problem for me and I was dropped multiple times for it.

I would also like to add that every person that ran was tackled and severely restrained (possible beaten but I’m not sure) you would hear the screams from outside the doors of the girls being caught. Harrowing screams, like they were being killed. To this day I don’t know if they were being hurt or if they were just so fucking upset they were being dragged back.

My roommate got out of Vista and immediately shot herself in the head (and lived) most people from Vista got much much worse and have a hard time taking about it. I did too, and honestly this thread is the most I’ve ever shared.

[courtorderedcake]

An Enchanted Forest AU where the dark one was never released into the world in a vessel, thus causing a massive shift in timelines. The ogre wars have ravaged kingdoms, untold destruction spanning continents, rulers displaced. Even as the wars sputter to ash, the safest place to be is at sea, and that’s not very safe at all - as Emma and Killian find out, fates intertwined against all odds.

Rated: E/X - heavy content : warnings of assault, rape, noncon, just everything, I feel like the rating says enough. It’s something.

I have been sick, so enjoy a two-fer week. Here’s number two!

WARNING:  This chapter contains sex that has kink elements some might not be comfortable with. 

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Read on Ao3 HERE .

Chapter IV: Seafoam

I have seafoam in my veins, I understand the language of waves.

-Jean Cocteau

A storm chased The Jolly Roger into the town that was situated before the ruins of the Enchanted Forest. As thunder and lightning shook the skies overhead, more ships fled the monstrous gale that stirred the sea into waves that were towering like mountains. Storms made him anxious now, a phantom ache where his hand had been even as almost a year had past since he made the brace that supported his hook, and since his surname had been lost under a namesake of the same appendage.

He hated the looks of pity people gave him now, but relished the fear that replaced it when the sharp point of his hook caught the light. There were very few people who treated him the same as before, or didn’t stare, but they were far and few between. His crew and Captain Swan’s crew were among those few.

Letting the rain pelt him, Killian watched from the Jolly’s deck, a spyglass in hand, as his crew buggered off to do whatever was left to do in the pitiful town. On the horizon, her sails black and gold even against the gray of the clouds, The Gilded Wing breezed in to anchor. Killian smiled, even if he wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was the many memories of her captain warm underneath him or splayed on top of him, as he repaid a debt owed in one of the few ways he could; stomping over to her in heated rages or her appearing in his quarters to yell at him, until she moaned his name instead. At most, they’d seen each other several times in a month, a freak snowstorm stranding them for a week in Arendelle, royalty running amuck to pickpocket - or so he’d heard told when he returned from Swan’s quarters in the mornings, lighter in some ways himself.

The last time he saw Swan, she’d been furious about a misunderstanding with a vendor they had both dealt with that had caused her trade to fall through, while his own trade filled the vendor’s need as agreed. He hated the vendor, a slimy git who stained the not so sterling reputation of Camelot further with his greased palms. Swan had dragged him out to the middle of nowhere, damning his name as she divested him of clothing in a field of flowers, his hook digging into the soft ground.

He wasn’t intending to be where she was, and she swore the same; the utter ridiculousness of it making them waste panted air in laughter, pulling away from the other to bask in the high of their trysts.

The wind shifted suddenly, changing directions without warning. His coat fluttered, and he took a breath of the storm air.

Things were changing.

Emma and her crew limped The Wing into the harbor, barely making it through the turbulent water and screeching winds. Even with a simple charm to keep rain off of her deck, the wind whipped and howled around the barrier.

David gave an audible sigh of relief from holding the ropes while Snow smiled at him. Emma rolled her eyes; there was literally no reason to hide that they were together any longer, but David insisted. Snow had told Emma as much one afternoon as they lounged on the huge four poster bed she’d bought for the Captain’s quarters. “He wants to keep me safe I guess. Thinks if it got out, they’d exploit us, use us against each other as a weakness.” She gave a pointed look at Emma. “Try to use our emotions to manipulate us, possibly without us even being aware.”

“That sounds awful.” Emma took a large bite of a cinnamon pastry, swallowing loudly. “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with all that.”

Snow huffed a sigh, rolling over and standing, leaving Emma blinking in confusion.

Surveying the harbor, she smiled at the assembled crews she saw between the wary merchant vessels and a passenger sloop gathered there: Maelstrom, The Jolly Roger, The Jammed Pearl, The Curse of McGullan, and Red Hamsa all sat in various depths.

Emma's eyes were immediately drawn to The Jolly, catching a glimpse of Hook, his coat flapping in the wind and his hair being tossed as rain swept across the water.

David grunted beside her, nodding at The Jolly. “He's here. Of course he is.”

“So are four other ships. Hopefully, we won't see much of each other, and this storm clears quickly. Especially since the Maelstrom is here- I'd rather not deal with their crew if possible. “

“You make friends everywhere we go,” David smirked.

“It's a gift. Truly.”

“There's someone here I want you to meet, Em, speaking of friends.”

“You have friends? And here I've been lying to people for years!” Emma mock exclaimed.

“Shut up.” He picked at a bit of wood, a nervous tic that made Emma anxious. “He's a shopkeeper; nice, quiet, strong. I think you'd like him.”

“But who will I bring on our double date?” Emma teased.

“Go say hello. He works at Elm Leaf Market. He’s where I get those cuts of meat you like. Apparently, he hunts everything himself.”

“I really don't know how I feel about taking your sloppy seconds, but if you insist -”

“Emma.” David grasped her arm, pulling her to look at him. “This life doesn't have to be forever. You don't have to settle for-”

“I am well aware, David,” Emma wrenched her arm away from him. “I have never settled for less than I deserve, and I don't ever intend to. I like this life.”

David grunted, opening his mouth as if to say something, then closed it with a grimace, staring past her through the rain. Following his gaze, she could see the empty deck of The Jolly Roger, beaten by the same rain that battered her barrier charm.

“Just remember, Em,” David sighed. “You deserve to be happy. You've fought hard, and you don't have to settle for less.” He walked to the lower deck where Snow had been watching the exchange. He stood beside her without saying anything until she rested her head against his chest.

A pink dress was laid out for Emma on her bed, as Snow tightened a full corset around her waist. Emma would sigh with annoyance if she could; the tight garment was practically cutting off her circulation.

“Why am I wearing this again?” Emma groaned.

“Because,” Snow smiled, fussing with her hair, and letting it fall in soft curls. “It makes you look amazing. Especially your -” Snow gestured to Emma’s chest, giggling.

Emma had to admit, the corset worked wonders. Rubbing on lavender, lotus, sweet pea, and orange oil, and slipping on the pink dress in its thin satin, they surveyed her reflection in the polished copper mirror. With her hair pulled out of its usual snarled style and brushed to soften it, and the smallest touches from a pot of rouge, it was a complete transformation.

“Emma, you look -”

“Oh,” Emma smiled, wolfishly. “I know.”

Walking off her ship towards the market, Emma saw Scarlet, one of the members of Hook’s crew, do a double take while flirting with a flower seller. That was enough to seal her opinion on how well Snow and her had done.

The Elm Leaf Market was really all that was left of the village, a sort of smushed catch all of sundries, a butcher shop, a blacksmith, a greenery, apothecary, and anything else a booth could hold. It was always busy with the bedraggled survivors who lived on the outskirts of ogre country, buying supplies in bulk or spending time drinking away memories of what was.

Emma felt like a ghost as she waded through the slow crowd, watching as people sometimes parted around her in shock, her blush colored gown standing out in the sea of gray and brown cloaks. She'd worn a shawl and her dress clung slightly, but she'd missed most of the rain as it blew back to sea.

Graham was easy enough to find, and even easier (she had to admit) on the eyes. Shaggy brown hair, large kind eyes, broad shoulders and a soft brogue that stuttered a hello when she bent across his counter, giving him a view of her cleavage.

“Would you like to get a drink tonight? My brother seems to think we'd get along splendidly.” Emma purred, playing with a small wooden figurine of a stag, and looking up at him through her lashes.

He gulped.

“Um… sure, I … Shouldn't... Shouldn't I have asked you?”

She motioned him closer, whispering in his ear softly, feeling forward as the man practically melted.

“I'm not exactly one for propriety. See you tonight.”

She gave him a saucy wink, and headed back out of the market.

Things were changing. The air was electric, still misting rain that made her dress cling under a quick shielding spell. Hugging her shawl closer, she was briefly focused elsewhere when she ran into someone’s shoulder, tripping forward.

 Will Scarlet had come back breathless, pulling Killian aside in his excited state, even more so than usual. He whispered low, his voice practically shaking with energy.

“Will, if this is about liquor sales -”

“No, no, Captain -” Will wore a huge grin. “Have you seen Captain Swan today?”

“Briefly, when The Wing sailed in. Wait, why?” Ice water froze his veins for a moment, unsettling him. “Is she alright?”

Will quirked an eyebrow and gave a half smile. “Oh, she's fine. Just fine. I would make a point to say hello to her today if I were you.”

“Scarlet, I don't like riddles. What's going on with her?”

“I told you, nothing.” The skinny man shrugged, his smile growing. “And if there was, why would you care?”

Killian blinked, slowly. “I don’t. I owe her a debt. That's all.”

“Sure. I'd hurry, she was moving quickly.”

Killian blinked again, and nodded slightly. “This better be good, Scarlet.”

Walking down the dirt path towards the market and letting the rain pelt him, he kept an eye out for her gold hair, windswept and slightly wild. He'd shed his coat to spare it from the rain, wearing just a pair of breeches and a black vest. Reaching the market he was immediately annoyed with Scarlet. Emma wasn't there. An older woman haggled for potatoes. A man sold eggs, ducklings, and chicks. A shop keep and maiden flirted over a counter. A child begged for coin. He turned to go back to the Jolly, and to give Scarlet a severe tongue lashing.

Then he heard her laugh. Turning, he squinted through the rain as it quieted. Emma. She glowed, her hair soft, skin peaches and cream, lips a soft rose color and good Gods above, below, and maybe in the middle her breasts -

His lungs actually hurt when he found breath again. Scarlet was getting a brick of bouillon for this. He stood stupidly, watching her cast a quick spell as she came towards him. He let himself drift into a thought of her just kissing him on the cheek as they walked by the water watching the storm, her laying against his chest in that dress as they pulled a blanket around them, staying warm in the rain -

She ran into him.

“Oh, sorry. Usually people walk you know -” She looked up at him, her eyes rimmed in kohl, and her grimace turned into a frown. “Oh, it's you. God, didn't the Navy teach you how to walk or close your stupid mouth? You're going to catch flies.” Emma reached her hand to his chin, closing his mouth. “There.” She gave him a small pat on the cheek and walked past.

Killian turned to watch her, before shaking his head and walking briskly to catch up with her.

“Swan.” He swallowed thickly, trying to still his nerves, “Would you like to, uh,” he scratched behind his ear. “I owe you an ale, or rum, or whatever you would like to drink and I-”

“I have a date tonight,” she shrugged. “If you want to send it over to us, feel free, but Graham and I may be busy.”

She turned and walked away from him and for the first time, Killian felt a strange emotion well up in his chest. No matter how hard he tried to push it down, it rose again and again like a snake, striking him with fits of rage- and something else he refused to examine.

Graham. He hated the name instantly.

Pacing in his cabin that evening, he finally decided to make his way to the only tavern in the shithole ruined town he was stuck in. Throwing on his coat, he gave orders to Smee and made his way into town. Most of the place was in ruins or abandoned, casting an eerie silence that was only broken by the echoes from the tavern. He walked into the shoddy building and sat at the bar. The Adder’s Bite was as full as the lonely place could be. He spotted Swan right away with the halfwit, his hands low on her waist as they danced to the directions of a fiddle player.

When the fiddler told them to grab their partner, the moron fumbled. Killian gripped the table as his knuckles went white, ready to bash his head in, until Swan laughed at his slip up. They continued on and the second time Graham lifted her with ease. Killian asked for a glass carafe, and began to pour himself a heavy glass to parch his throat, immediately pouring another.

Watching them together, Swan’s neck long and pale as she threw back her head and laughed, Killian felt a heavy desire that actually hurt. His face was hot, and he could feel his pulse thump heavily as he watched her hands, those clever fingers, thread with Graham’s as he spun her. Killian stood, throwing back his drink, and made his way towards them. “May I cut in, mate?” he said lowly, and Emma glowered at him. “We’re busy Hook. My dance card is full,” she hissed, and the man blinked slowly at Killian, looking back at Emma. “The woman said we’re busy,” he said in an accented voice, one from the Northern Isles. “So I guess we’re busy. Better luck next time,” he shrugged.

Killian seethed under a wolfish grin. “I insist.” He pushed the man aside and took a struggling Emma out on the dance floor. The man sat down, arms crossed as his shaggy brown hair flopped over his eyes. He looked pathetic.

“Let go of me, you ass! Graham and I were fine before you -”

“Before I what? Showed you how to pick a partner who knows what they’re doing?” A fiddle player picked up with the accordion as other dancers took the floor with them. Emma resisted again for a moment, before she allowed herself to be spun back into his chest, his hook pressing against the small of her back. She huffed, but a smile had crept up into her features, and he spun them again. “You ruin everything, you know. You’re lucky you are a good dancer.”

He smirked, casting a glance back at Graham, who was now approaching them. He gripped Emma’s waist tighter, the same flare of that heat in his chest sparking a need to be possessive of her. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, how stunned he was not only now but every time he saw her. Instead he let himself guide her in a gentle sway.

“You're not bad yourself, Swan.” He murmured, and underneath he hoped she could hear what he couldn't say. He could just kiss her and hope for the best, or if she just heard the words he wanted to say, she might press her lips against his -

She didn't. She let go of Killian, returning to Graham’s arms instead. Killian returned to his table and watched a bit longer as she laughed at Graham’s clumsiness. He swirled drink after drink, a new glass replacing every one finished without an order, watching as her face lit in a way she had never shown towards him. He swallowed another several fingers of rum in a gulp.

What they had was good. It was fine, his brain screamed, trying to interject logic over his drunkenness and jealousy. He blinked, staring at the amber in his glass that had begun to spin. Jealousy? He wanted to fuck, to ruin, to bruise pale skin and lips, not dance or light her face with that beautiful laugh of hers that made his ears heat -

He shook it off, his head spinning. Fucking hells, he was drunk. A little voice he pretended not to hear rustled in his mind, whispering that he wanted more; wanted to be in this ‘Graham's’ stead; wanted to press gentle kisses on her temples as they twirled for hours to fiddle song. It sounded like Liam’s quiet candor, wounding him, and he pushed it down with force.

He swallowed another glass, impatiently waiting the minute until another appeared. Graham stumbled again and Killian had to resist every drunken instinct screaming for him to break the man's legs for stepping on his Swan’s pretty feet. It was a bloody waltz. What sodding wanker of a man couldn't do a three step - He blinked, processing his thoughts slowly. His Swan? He knocked back another drink, savoring the burn down his throat.

They sat, and he grinned when Emma's hands rubbed her feet delicately. The grin vanished quickly, though, when her wincing brought Graham's dolt hands to stroke her calves, eliciting a quiet moan from that pretty mouth. When the other man kissed her, Killian stared into his glass, trying to understand why his heart thumped loudly, his skin heated, and his muscles tensed at the thought of that worthless fucking oaf touching her. Why him? He’d skin the man alive for his useless hide for thinking he was worthy.

That stupid voice spoke to him again, Liam’s annoying older brother voice full of pity and life weary experience:

You know why you feel this way.

He swallowed another drink and stood, plopping down at another table.

“You idiots want to make some quick coin?”

 When he woke up, Killian’s head pounded like he'd smashed it against shore stones and he had a mighty need for water and a hearty meal. He'd drank far too much last night, been out of control, and now even opening his eyes to the bright light of wherever the hell he was became a challenge.

Flesh stirred near his abdomen, while on the other side of him someone breathed steadily. As his brain pulled itself from its drunken haze, he registered that he was in a large bed with at least three other bodies, all very nude. Creaking his eyes open, he recognized the linens and ceiling. Cora’s Place.

Killian closed his eyes and lifted his hand to the bridge of his nose. Sorting through memories, he tried to remember what happened last night. He'd gone from dancing with Emma to a blank. Shaky pieces of memory came back to him and he groaned.

He'd gone to sit with some rough lads, asking for a favor owed. Watching Emma and Graham part with a kiss, and the blokes approach Graham in an alley. Staggering back into the shadows and into Cora’s Place. Picking three blondes and being led to a room, where he promptly stripped nude and…

He'd fallen asleep.

He felt the soft touch of a hand graze his cock, and the whisper of a raspy, low, voice.

“I know our time is up, but since you haven't been serviced…” A woman pressed her wet mouth onto the side of his semi erect member, licking circles.

Killian sighed, and tried to enjoy the sensation, but it was wrong. Her mouth was too wet and too rough, her teeth catching occasionally. He pushed her off and the two other women woke as he stood.

“Was it not pleasurable, sir?” The woman looked at him with wide eyes. The other two women stared at them groggily.

“No. Yes. I mean -” he started to dress, looking for his discarded clothes.

“It’s alright. We're not her. Happens more often than you menfolk want to admit,” one of the women on the bed said sleepily. “We’re poor substitutes for the real thing.”

Killian blinked, pausing from shrugging on his shirt over his hook. He stared at the blonde woman who had spoken, lying in bed. Her blonde curls framed a heart shaped face and deep brown eyes.

“We're not Emma.”

He bristled, tensing. “How do you, why did -”

“Ya talk in ya sleep, mate,” said the other dozing woman, pale platinum hair a tangled mess. “Musta ‘ad Emma on ya mind. We ‘eard ya mumble it a dozen times.”

He blanched. Pulling the rest of his clothing together, he went to leave, throwing on his shoes, his anger and embarrassment rising. He rushed out, long overcoat thrown on in haste, and heard one of the women call after him.

“We will never tell anyone. We never do.”

Bursting through the door into the burning sunlight, Killian stumbled through the back alleys of ruined homes and narrow side streets between abandoned shops that he usually took to get to his ship. His head throbbed, and his mood had gone sour with the whores’ accusations.

When he tripped over a vagrant lying in a narrow corridor, he pulled the man up by his collar. Graham's bloody and barely conscious face greeted him.

“Shit,” Killian hissed, as Graham whimpered and blocked his face. “What, you didn't even fight back? What a worthless, spineless, wet scrap of a dog -”

Graham laughed at that, and Killian put the idiot down. He obviously had a brain injury.

“I can't fight back.” Graham said, spitting blood.

“What? What kind of man can't fight -”

“It's complicated.”

“Well, good luck to you and your complications. I have enough of my own.” Killian turned to walk away.

Graham curled himself into a ball, his back facing Killian.

“Oh bloody hell mate,” Killian gave an exasperated sigh. A dagger stuck out of the man's back. “You bloody idiot, you've been stabbed -”

“I know, but you're not supposed to take it out because it will bleed more, and it's not silver-”

“You damned fool, you have to take it out at some point!” Killian wiped his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was far too hungover for this; the consequences of his actions back to bite him immediately.

Graham shook, and Killian recognized the oncoming stage of shock about to set into the man's beaten body.

Giving a long sigh, Killian helped the man up and limped him to the Jolly. Laying him in the sick bay, he let Smee tend to him and stitch him up. He gave the man a heavy dosing of rum before sitting to watch.

“Can you cook better than you fight?” Smee asked, sewing up a nasty gash.

Graham nodded, wincing and whimpering even after several shots of rum. “Aye, yea, I can cook.”

“Ship needs a cook. You'll pay the Cap’n back for saving you by cooking.”

Graham's face was sheer panic, before he put on an air of indifference. Killian noted there might be more to the idiot after all.

“Is there, or do you have, a strong brig or cell?” he asked calmly. “I'll need it every so often.”

Smee squinted, but Killian spoke up. “That's fine. We haven't had a lycanthrope aboard before.”

Graham’s face went pale, staring at Killian with fear. Smee only scratched his head through his knit cap, muttering the word.

“Forget you heard that word, and get out.” Killian pointed at Smee, waving him out. There was an uneasy beat of silence. “You can go back to the market if you like, shopkeep. If you have a pack, or kin, which I don’t think you do. Courting a human is bold.”

A hard glint behind Graham’s eyes revealed the predator underneath if just for a moment. Killian picked his thumb with his hook, smirking.

“I didn’t… She came on to me. I’d be an idiot to say no. What is this anyway, some jealous attack on me?” Killian’s jaw set at the idea of himself being jealous. This was for Emma’s safety, and was a clear drunken mistake. Before Killian could retort, Graham let out a growled laugh, looking at his hands. “You did me a favor though, I guess. You’re right. I haven’t anyone there. I thought Emma could cure me if we got close enough, or could take me across the sea to a pack who’d take me. Her brother and her have a weak scent of werewolf on them.”

Killian blinked, and then laughed. “I assure you, Swan isn’t. Bite and Bark without all the fur, very much so. No offense mate.” Graham looked mollified, and frowned. “I’ll go with you. I’ll let you know when I need to be locked -” Killian held up his hand to stop the man. “You can have shore leave. We took a she-wolf to Glowerhaven, and were late to arrive. I’d rather not sustain that much damage to my ship again, if possible.” Killian winced at the memory of deep grooves of claw marks that had splintered the floorboards.

“Fine with me. It’s also easier to bring meat back that way, then I don’t need a cow on board.” Graham shrugged. “When do we leave?”

“Now.” Killian said with a shrug. “You really thought Emma could cure you?”

“Well, I thought she might be sympathetic to my cause, associating with someone like me and being able to use magic. I thought maybe she might even let me mark her if -”

“Mark her?” Killian looked up with narrowed eyes, jaw clenching tight. “You mean change her into…” “If she consented, yes, so we could have a pack bond.”

Killian’s rage was back in full force, a sudden explosion that he couldn’t quell. His hands were on Graham’s collar, snarling at the injured man. “Don’t ever consider that thought again. Stay away from her or I will smelt a silver chain so long it will wrap around you twice, and throw you into the ocean.”

Graham’s eyes were wide, and Killian unclenched his fingers, backing away. “As soon as your able, go clean the galley until it’s not only spotless, but it shines. I don’t want to see your face until it’s done.” Killian hissed, and left the small room. Stalking out into fresh air, he breathed out a ragged breath, signalling the order to ship out.

 Emma wasn’t surprised that Graham disappeared. She didn’t bother telling David, knowing he’d demand an excuse from the butcher, which would just make things worse. She didn’t need a reason as to why he had decided to up and go; a reason only made things worse and identified one of her “qualities” that made her undesirable to someone. Emma didn’t want one identified when there were so many she knew herself.

It didn’t matter why he left. He did, he didn’t leave a note, and he obviously wasn’t interested. What was done was done. She had better things to do. Belle had been studying movements of currents and winds over shipping routes as a pet project, noting where ships seemed to go down with only natural events. Based on her conjecture, she had shown Emma a map of where she suspected a large amount of treasure may have been pushed by currents. They had been heading there before the bad weather had hit, unwilling to be in treacherous waters as a storm pummeled them.

They sailed back, making good time. The weather was beautiful, and the water almost as blue as the sky in places, the crew lounging about the deck. Belle called down to her when they were a day or so away from their destination, pointing to a familiar shape appearing on the horizon. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” Emma heard her brother groan. “Emma, you didn’t -”

“Of course I didn’t say anything to him. I don’t advertise my plans, especially when they involve us being fed.” She glared at David, and he glared back. Belle hopped down from the rigging, looking embarrassed.

“It um, it might be my fault,” Belle looked down at her feet, holding a book and her spyglass against her back. “I uh… Will came to see me before we left, said I hadn’t been at the bar and he wondered how I was doing. I showed him some of my calculations and we talked. I didn’t think anything of it.”

David threw up his hands, exasperated. “Great! Another one.” Snow shot him a dangerous look, and went to Belle’s side. “It’s not her fault, David.” Snow patted Belle sympathetically on the shoulder, and all eyes looked to Emma as they approached. Emma rolled her eyes. “Emma, it’s not -”

“I know it’s not Belle’s fault. Belle, it isn’t. We’ll just… I’ll just… We’ll ignore him. We’ll get what we came here for, and he can leave well enough alone.” Emma ran her hands through her hair, pinning it back away from her face. “Let’s get swimming. Shall we?”

After a break, the crew came back and took position, uncaring as the Jolly Roger slunk into a clearer view. Emma dove into the water holding the chain in hand, the first one in the water. Waiting for her crew, she opened the bottle of potion she held, letting the content swirl around her. Ruby came next, as Emma felt the shock of water in her lungs. It wasn’t comfortable, but she wasn’t dead. Ruby opened hers, grimacing as gills appeared and she took a breath of the sea water. David and Snow came together, Snow the first to try to speak, croaking something ridiculous before clapping hands over her mouth. Ruby grinned, and Emma simply shook her head as they swam down.

Belle had been right. Searching through the water with a simple light spell, they found ship after broken ship on the reef, aptly named ‘The Reef of Broken Hulls’. The current had swept lighter goods into a small valley on the seafloor, while heavier casks remained unbroken and crates that were intact. Attaching the chains to boxes, Ruby gave a signal to The Wing, and slowly they were pulled up.

The work slowed down as the large pieces were pulled up, so the crew now had to scavenge the smaller pieces for anything left. Emma floated lazily picking through wreckage and admiring the algae covered figureheads. Looking back towards The Wing, she noticed the shadow of The Jolly Roger a ways off. Squinting, she did a quick push off of a piece of wreckage, spotting an unrecognized form sorting through what was left.

She swam closer, peeking around the broken stern of a ship. Blinking, she let out a croaking guffaw at the sight in front of her. A large shimmering bubble floated around the heads of Hook, Will, and a man she didn’t immediately recognize. Emma had seen the spell but had chosen against it in favor of being able to swim more naturally, sight unobscured.

Gathering her finds, she made her way closer. Hook glanced up at her, his face strangely magnified and skewed like a warped mirror. He pointed, and Will and the other man looked her way. Graham’s face looked back at her from one of the iridescent globes. So, he’d left to join the Jolly. Ironic that he’d left to get away, only to potentially see her more often.

Ruby swam by Emma’s line of sight with her back towards her, body tense. Emma sunk down to her level and touched Ruby’s shoulder, surprised when her friend turned with her teeth bared. Relaxing slightly, she made a motion towards the three, where Graham stared straight at them. Emma pulled at Ruby’s arm, but she made no motion to move, caught in some sort of strange staring war. Emma gave her a pinch, and she shook out of the trance, smiling apologetically. They swam towards The Wing, but Emma noticed with concern her friend looking back over her shoulder with a strange look of anxious curiosity.

Pulling themselves on the deck, they took the antidote that waited for them, Emma enjoying the feeling of rightness that came from breathing air again.

“Ruby, the hell was -” Emma began, pushing wet hair out of her face.

“He’s like me.”

“Wait. What?” Emma watched as Ruby wrung her hair, chewing on her lip. “He’s…?”

“You can say it, Emma. He’s a werewolf, like me. Not taking a potion or anything either. Super weird smelling him underwater, sorry about that. The wolf thought he might be a threat because he smelled…” Ruby’s cheeks colored, and she shook her head. “Anyway. Don’t worry about it, we just had a moment between us. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh. Ruby, you can talk to me if -”

“It’s nothing,” Ruby hissed, and Emma backed off.

Walking over to survey their finds, she glanced over at The Jolly bobbing gently on the sea. Belle had seethed all day over her mistake, angry Will had used her. Their on and off talks had never led to betrayal, and Belle was not one who actively sought out anyone’s company. The fact she’d let Will in, and he’d done this - Emma felt the flare of anger in her own chest.

It was a comfort to Emma that at least Belle got to see this to fruition. She’d excitedly surveyed their finds, marveling over jewels, coins of countries lost to the ages, beautiful pendants, and casks of who knew what. She’d be busy for weeks studying the trading logos.

“Are we able to set sail?” Emma called to David. At his nod, they lifted anchor, Emma calling the crew to deck to discuss how they’d like to split their finds. Emma turned back, surprised to see Ruby at Belle’s side. Both had picked out a few pieces already, Belle choosing a beautiful citrine ring and Ruby choosing her namesake in a pair of earbobs. They both stared out at the Jolly as it faded away into the distance. Emma retired below deck, letting the others go over the spoils.

 The next months dragged with one disaster after another, to the point of Emma wondering if they had somehow invoked a curse or angered some lesser known deity. The first sign of trouble had been a strange and tense encounter with the older captain of The Red Hamsa, Omar. He’d given her a warning, speaking low outside of the inn at the lesser known outpost in Northern Camelot. They made moonshine that could scrape off barnacles without the touch of a finger, but a drink was a drink.

“Lie low, little bird. There’s talk of danger for you. A gathering of captains that will meet, led by Blackbeard.” His voice was like feet dragging over gravel, the long water pipe in his lips mixing smoke with the salt and pepper of his beard. “The Hook has been asked to join, as was I. I refused the offer; I was tired of these games long before any of you were sailing. Watch who your friends are.”

He blew smoke, the form of a butterfly appearing in the herbal scented wisps. It fluttered a few paces before dissolving, following his form as he hobbled away. Emma believed in many superstitions as they related to the sea and magic, but she tried to not put stock into portents of doom. It was wasteful. A purposeful look at anything could identify some symbolism within. However, the butterfly was a renowned symbol, just like the ship its maker commanded. A Hamsa was a ward for the evil eye, the hand of the Old Gods that could bring peace or war. A butterfly under the same sky they molded meant change, usually with force.

Emma turned on her heel, ready to get back aboard her ship and leave as soon as possible, but Ruby was in the woods and who knew how drunk anyone else was. She hissed a string of expletives.

“How is it there’s a whole bloody ocean but I still end up in the same waters as you?” Emma tensed, the low, wry chuckle a comfort and curse. Hook stepped out of the shadows where he’d been leaning, looking amused with himself.

“Maybe if you stopped following our ship, or poaching our finds -”

“A pirate’s life, finder’s keepers love.” There was a new ring on one of his fingers and she glared at it, knowing she’d seen its ilk in their coffers. The vulture. His hook shone in the light from the thin windows.

“You are a child.” He caught her as she pushed past him, pressing her against the wooden wall of the inn with his arms on either side of her body. His breath didn’t reek of the moonshine here, but she could smell rum, spices, and anise. “I don’t have time for this, what do you want?” Emma dropped her voice to a whisper, hiding the way her breath hitched when he leaned in closer.

“I owe you an apology,” Hook whispered in turn. The space between them was fractional, Emma could feel his breath on her cheek, his eyes serious.

“You owe me several. We can arrange an appointment if you’d like them organized.” Ignoring her attempt to push past him, Emma let out an annoyed huff.

“I’m sorry about Graham.” Hook looked away from her, a flash of guilt colored in that disarming blue.

“Why are you sorry? Because you took him to sea? Don’t be. Ruby was happy to go with us; she said that the packs in what’s left of the Enchanted Forest are constantly fighting among themselves or getting killed by ogres. You probably did him a favor.” Emma shrugged, and he opened his mouth to say something more until her fingers met his lips to stop him. “Ruby and him can run all night, she mentioned something about him when you poached our loot.”

“Can you let that go if I say I’m sorry? I was hoping you’d come stomping over and…” His eyes were back on her own, one eyebrow raised as he licked his lips.

“You’re an insufferable idiot. A fool.” Emma threw up her hands, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“You look lovely tonight, Swan.” Her mouth flew open to retort his insult, but stayed as a round shocked ‘oh’ as she absorbed the compliment instead. Hook’s lips pressed against her own, no hunger but a heavy heat instead. It had been some time since they had laid together, a fire starting low in her stomach as she raised a leg for him to grasp, teeth grazing his lips. His fingers bruised her thigh, and she heard him curse, pulling away with his eyes closed.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he asked through heavy breaths. She must have looked at him incredulously, because he ran a hand through his hair embarrassed. “I mean, down by the shoreline, or up by the wood? What are you doing?”

Emma rested a hand against his forehead. At his look of confusion, she pulled her hand away. “You don’t have a fever. I’m just confused as to why we would ever go for a walk together. Unless it’s to one of our cabins or to the inn, I don’t -”

He pulled away completely, nodding. “Sorry, love. I’m not myself tonight. Maybe I do have a fever.”

“We can go if you want, I guess. I just...” She reached a hand forward, not understanding the strange reaction he was having. “We don’t really -”

“No, it’s alright Swan. Have a good night.” Hook backed away with a slight bow, heading inside to cheers from who she assumed was his own crew.

Emma returned to The Wing, laying on her bed listening to the waves and the beginning calls of gulls. She heard the soft footfalls of people returning, and then felt the press of someone sitting on the edge of her bed. Looking up, Emma saw a fully disheveled Ruby who was grinning with her eyes bright. Ruby pulled a twig from her hair and flicked it at Emma.

“Oh. Well,” Emma sighed, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Don’t you look smitten.”

“Emma.” Ruby whined, scooting closer.

“Alright. Tell me about it.” Emma turned to face Ruby, as the woman gushed about running with the other wolf. There weren’t any other pack claims here, just them and running free as far as their legs could carry them. Ruby tried to explain things about instincts and how they communicated, but when she couldn’t, Emma got the gist.

“What a cosmic joke,” Emma murmured. Ruby patted her shoulder sympathetically.

“Sometimes I think you like to be by him. Hook, I mean. Not that I mind anymore. They can follow us every full moon as far as I’m concerned.”

“No. They can’t.” Emma shot her a sharp look, and Ruby sighed leaving her alone in her room.

 Another few months dragged by, and Emma purposely tried to avoid crossing The Jolly with mixed results. Then, she purposely sought them out as she felt danger looming on her horizon. They’d been spending time down in the Far South, her skin tanned and hair a bright gold from the sun. The look on Hook’s face when she approached didn’t calm her nerves; his eyes were dark over the steel tankard of whatever he was drinking. He set it aside, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

“What have I done now, Swan.” He made a motion with his hook for her to sit down.

Emma obliged, and swallowed hard. Squeezing her eyes shut for the embarrassment of what was coming next, she set aside her pride.

“I need a favor.” It dropped from her lips, and Emma hated herself for it. Before he could retort with innuendo, she continued. “I want you to get me into this ‘Circle Meeting’. I seem to be barred.”

He laughed, and shook his head, returning to his drink.

“I need to be in there. I belong in there, and that’s the very reason I’m being barred, besides not having a cock -”

“Lucky that.” Hook smirked at her, leaning back with his legs wide. He sat the empty tankard down and waved for another.

“Is there anyone there that will appeal to reason?” Emma looked at him, watching carefully for a reaction as he shrugged noncommittally.

“I don’t know why you care, Swan. It’s bollocks. The damn thing won’t matter in a few months time when someone breaks the treatise and we all go about our ways again.” He leveled a gaze at her, head cocked, the same careful look as her own mirrored back. Emma tried to keep her face impassive. If she, Omar, and David were right, and they’d created this treatise just to send The Wing’s crew to the bottom of the sea, Hook might be her only ally in this. That was if he could be trusted, and could convince anyone to do anything other than run her through. The only thing she knew about him was the same thing she knew about herself; their interests came first.

“I don’t… I don’t want the trouble. We leave well enough alone, except for running into you somehow, and even then I try to avoid you. I’ve been doing a damn good job of it, too.” Emma sat forward, a hand pushing back her hair as she chewed her lip. “Things have escalated recently. Gotten worse. We’ve been barred from Redwater Sanctuary.”

Hook’s eyebrow shot up and the easy smirk he’d been wearing faded. There was a flash of something akin to concern in his eyes, and it made her skin prickle with hatred. Concern was a prelude to pity. Of all the terrible gifts that could be bestowed, Emma wanted pity less than death. She wanted his pity least of all.

“Oh.” He looked at her, and she saw it there in the flash of his eyes, a flicker of his worry, pity and caring about the situation unfolding. She was sure he was concerned only because of how it could hurt him; she’d been over generous lately with letting him scavenge, and she was one of the few pirates he could easily trade with if he needed something. Emma had felt the same when she’d procured the salve for him when he lay burning of fever.

“I want to make sure I’m not a target.” Her eyes drifted to the floorboards, following the patterns there to avoid seeing Hook’s face.

“Swan, I can’t get you into that meeting. You know I can’t, they’ll kill us both,” he whispered lowly. Emma shot a quick glance at him and he was leaning forward, his hand extended to her as if to touch her shoulder. She sat back, pulling away. “If you need help, or information -”

“I don’t.” The ice in her voice as she snapped had him blinking. “I asked you for help with this, and you could not oblige. I wouldn’t risk it again.” She stood, turning away.

“Swan!” She heard him call after her, felt his fingers brush her own as her feet carried her away from him again. She could hear the pity echoing even in his calls.

 The meeting with the Circle was called a fortnight later, in Corona. The bustling country was an easy central port that boasted fair weather and good ale. It was also renowned for its seedy underbelly that the royal guard overlooked as long as no harm came to its citizens. At first, Killian was under the impression that they’d be visiting the Fuzzy Duckling, a well known bar for thugs and vandals of the area. However, after a brawl that left several crews light handed due to a misunderstanding about a ceramic unicorn, pirates had been disavowed and sent to the city.

They had found home in a bar near their boats, amusingly named The Goat Testicles. They’d even constructed a sort of makeshift room for meetings, so thankful for the business. Apparently, selling a beer called Goat’s Piss hadn’t brought locals banging on their doors, regardless of its fragrant citrus flavoring.

He was only half listening to the treatise being drawn up between the captains, knowing full well that they'd break it within days if not hours, when warm hands stroked the innards of his thighs softly. At first, he thought he'd imagined it, but the quick tug on the laces and a gentle scrape of nails down the dark trail to his cock proved it was all too real. He was too surprised to make a noise until a wet hand gripped him with firm strokes, his cock jumping to attention in the stranger's hands, as he let out a small sigh.

He knew who it was before the flash of blonde locks swinging forward gave her away. Ever resourceful, Swan had not only made it into the meeting, but she'd also made sure she got her mention. Hell, she'd make sure, as always, that she'd stay two steps ahead of any threat by hiding in the mouth of the beast.

"And territorial wise, I want the waters near Agrabah. It's quite a ways to trade through the desert from port, you lot cutting our coffers afterwards is nastiness, even for pirates." A younger newcomer with ruddy ginger hair was speaking, twirling a coin in his heavily tattooed hand. The idiot had given away a large weakness to abuse. Walking goods through a barren desert was already risky, but advertising it to this group? He'd be dead within the fortnight, another part of the turnover this table saw. Another crew lost to their captain’s folly.

Swan swirled her tongue and he let out a grunted aye along with the other men, leaning back with his good hand gripping the table. He bucked into her mouth and was rewarded with her teeth scraping gently against him as she ran a finger along the seam of his sack.

Hook hissed lowly. Swan’s bloody fucking mouth could unravel him with ease; just like this, or on his mouth, neck, or body. Sometimes with just words. He wanted to grip her hair, fucking her mouth while she moaned on his cock, begging for him to give her a taste. He wanted to watch her swallow his seed, to let it burn down her throat. He imagined her fingers deep inside her tight quim, riding her hand in poor imitation of the cock she sucked greedily. He wanted to bite her hard enough to leave violet blooms on pale flesh; to leave firm handprints on soft globes, making it hard for her to sit. He was getting close, and the pace she set her strokes at was brutal, his breathing becoming shallow.

Blackbeard's grumble brought him back to the duality of the situation at hand.

"Alright lads, that's all fin' and good - Now what about that bitch out makin' a mockery of us? I don’ mind a lass on the crew if she were of that persuasion of breeches and pulling 'er own whores, but this cunt and her crew-"

“She leaves well enough alone, but Hera and Zeus forbid that you ever try to steal her treasures or go after that crew of hers,” said a paunchy man with too many rings as he stroked his waxed beard and chewed his pipe. El Pantera, a captain from one of the smaller Island Kingdoms.

Another man spoke up, older and covered in pustules. Hook recognized him as Captain Scabbard, a rotted old rat that ran a skeleton crew on a ship that stunk of turned milk. "No woman should be on a ship t'begin with." He spat a dark yellow wad onto the floor. "Tis bad luck, I say; tis only to shit on the Gods."

Emma was distracted now, bobbing in slow strokes and listening intently, keeping Hook on the edge of his pleasure. He could feel himself seeping precum as she lapped at his slit, and the urge to slam her mouth down on his cock to the hilt was growing overwhelming. His toes curled in his boots.

"What do you suppose we do about her then? She can return my fire three fold, fights like a she demon, and sails off to naught be found until she wants to be." Another young captain whom he had dubbed Babyface shrugged. He'd inherited the position after Captain Durham had died under Navy fire a few months back. He was manipulative behind his innocence, yet cunning enough to have avoided or dissipated several mutinies.

Swan swallowed him all the way to his base like she had read his mind, cheeks hollowed, trying to kill him. The table looked at him expectantly as he let out a strangled grunt. He swallowed thickly, and spoke slowly, with purposeful enunciation.

"She's not a threat, surely, for any of you to be so afraid as to suggest we take care of her?"

The table around him gave scoffs of indignation. Swan rewarded him with a tight squeeze of her mouth and swirl of her tongue that had him closing his eyes and carding his hand through his hair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, opened his eyes, and hoped he could explain his behavior away with the excuse of a headache. Emma edged him away from the brink again and he growled lowly. The headache excuse was partially true, it would just be a different head he’d be referring to.

"Aye. I'm sayin' we should put out the word that she's got gold on 'er 'ead - not only at sea, but in taverns and ports as well." Blackbeard held Hook in a steady gaze, the challenge clear behind his eyes. "I'm saying that she deserves to see her crew swing in the wind before joinin' them."

He felt her bristle and her movements came in firm, fast strokes now. Anger pooled in his belly along with the tight coil in his spine that was growing white hot. He could feel that both the meeting and her torture were coming to an end, and he was grateful for it.

"She deserves to be at this table, mate. Fearsome pirates such as yourselves, scared over the woman you claim is not fit for the seas like she's some porcelain princess, when I left her ship many a time limping away lucky to have my hide." With his voice raising, she hummed and he shifted his legs to open himself wider. What looked like angered fidgeting to everyone else was actually small snaps of his hips as he got closer to his peak. A flush rose in his cheeks as he held back moans of pleasure.

"We all know about the many times that you've left her cabin, Captain." Scabbard smirked at him, his voice oily.

He came down her throat with a low and measured grunt, betraying how good it felt to spill himself against her tongue. The next time they saw each other, he would repay her for this, leaving her cabin again. He took a deep breath and let himself smile in relief, or to their eyes, amusement.

"All to keep my coffers full, I assure you. I'd trade with you dogs, but you're all bite, no bark, no treasures to speak of other than your cowardice."

The table erupted, and he adjusted himself back into his trousers. He leaned back in his chair, and shook his head at the unnoticed whooshing sound of her disappearing, the gray smoke of her magic joining the heavy layer already in the room. Blackbeard was the only one who seemed to notice, eyes narrowing. Killian hid the deep unease that creeped into his stomach. 

“You’d behoov’n yer self to show yer elders some respect boy,” Scabbard spat in Hook’s direction.

Another older pirate with ashy blonde hair in matted dreads, Captain Uly from the frozen seas, spoke up. “Here here! Some of us haff bean sailink before even you young man vere vinkle in your Vahdder’s eyes!”

The ruddy ginger laughed like a donkey’s bray. He looked at Scabbard. “When have you ever shown anyone, including your own dear mum, respect you foul git?” He laughed again, reaching for his mead.

Scabbard leaned forward as quick as a snake and slammed his dagger into the ruddy ginger’s extended hand. He shrieked, looking down at the blade now oozing red, as Scabbard gave the handle a twist and pulled it back out, wiping the blade on his dirty coat. “Men get respect. Boys ‘n doxies ‘n slores get none. All women are slores, sommin’ get paid are bit smarter, not by much. That Swan, well. She’s a slore pretendin’ to be a man.” Satisfied after checking the dagger for blood, Scabbard sheathed it and sat. “Dat’d be the worst kind, ‘n my book.”

Blackbeard shouted and slammed his fist on the table, and Killian gritted his teeth to keep from cutting Scabbard in twain. “We’ll deal with her another time.” He scowled at Killian, who raised a cheeky smirk instead. “For now, let’s plan how a raid would go, and what signals we’d use.” The raid planned was pretty simple. Enemies of the Circle would be scouted and after making sure the biggest number of ships could pursue as a fleet, they’d surround the poor ship in a horseshoe shape with all guns firing. Depending on the ship, loot would be divided, but the loss of an enemy would be even greater, the threat erased for all.

Killian could feel the pit settling in his stomach as they discussed battle tactics for a ship of certain size, with so many guns and so many crew members, possibly fortified with magic.

A ship that sounded very much like The Gilded Wing.

 The Gilded Wing had left long before the others left the harbor to go their separate ways, the other ships falling behind the Jolly as he raced to catch up to Swan. He didn’t care about the Circle or its archaic bullshit and drawn territory lines. The only point that stood out was the target on Emma’s back. This repaid the favor he owed, wiping the slate clean.

Emma in her stubbornness met him on the Jolly’s deck as they approached, The Gilded Wing only a hundred meters away.

“I’m here to give you a warning, Swan,” he said lowly, walking to where she’d appeared in her usual cloud of gray.

“This looks like quite the warning.” Emma jutted her chin up, and stepped toward him. “Did they not tell you, or are you really trying to be that oblivious? It doesn’t suit you Hook.”

“Emma, take your ship and run,” he whispered, and she shook her head at him. “Please -”

A few more steps, and she was an arms length away, anger clearly written across her face. She winced slightly, and the air around them heated unnaturally, her hands glowing. He took a step back, eyes wide.

“You know what the worst part of this is, for me?” Swan murmured into the breeze. “You think I’m this stupid, and I was for trusting you, but I’m not otherwise. You meted down a death sentence on us to save yourself Killian, you selfish -”

“I did no such thing! I’m here to give you a bloody warning because they want you dead; the Jolly is faster -”

She flicked her hand, and a half ring of ships appeared around the Jolly, arranged like a horseshoe around The Gilded Wing. The ripple of shock that went across his face and through the crew brought a confused look to her face.

“You didn’t know.”

Killian felt his brain trying to process, trying to understand what was happening in front of him. Blackbeard had mentioned a powder that made ships disappear, charms placed on sails to make them faster, a paltry excuse given when they needled him about hating magic. Here, they sat bobbing in the water as Emma glared, shouts echoing off hulls as the members of The Wing realized they were revealed. They had her ship surrounded, and Killian could hear the voices of men yelling their readiness to destroy Emma’s home, her pride and joy. Killian’s dread rose into his throat.

Noise erupted, fire blazing as smoke began to waft from the gunwales and swing guns, explosions behind her as smoke lit with every blast. Emma stepped away and drew her scimitar, looking at him with no expression, unmoved by the cacophony. A fire lit on the deck of the ship that sat at the end of the far left side of the horseshoe shape, a huge purple plume of smoke rising. Men shouted, the attack sudden and brutal as forms flew through the smoke, slashing. Even from his vantage, Killian could see more ships falling to strange attacks as The Gilded Wing in front of his ship shimmered like a mirage over the water, the heavy balls of iron falling through the glamor.

The right side of the horseshoe of ships let out a shuddering screech like metal grinding together, and then a boom exploded across the water, men in dinghies fleeing from The Gilded Wing’s onslaught, pouring onto The Jolly as the ships around his steamed, burned, bubbled, and sparked with strange substances. Emma had outwitted them all, a clever ruse straight from the devil himself. Distract the enemy, and attack from both sides like a candle burning on both ends. No doubt a portion of her crew ran along each side they had attacked to meet in the middle after picking over any finds.

The Gilded Wing, the true ship, not its imposter, flanked any who tried to retreat as it fired furiously. Killian shook his head trying to take it in, Emma still standing before him with an implacable stare, ash and ember flying behind her -

“Captain!” The shout from Will wrenched him from his immobility, and Emma used the distraction to disappear. Pulling her cutlass and running through the smoke, Emma avoided Killian’s men, setting a brutal pace through those climbing aboard, but he wrenched her back away from them. She raised her blade to him, flying at him and attacking fiercely without any holding back, unseeing rage and vitriol. Killian was off guard when she disarmed him, cutlass clattering across the deck, but she hesitated just a moment; long enough for Killian to knock her sword away to bring the point of his hook up.

“Do it then. I’m ready." Her eyes blazed like the color of the sky during a hurricane, ferociously churning fire in the pinpricks. She held her chin up and let the point of his hook bite her neck. He briefly wondered why she didn't use magic on him, but the adrenaline coursing through him didn't leave much time for thought. His breath came out in rasped pants, and her skin gleamed with sweat where soot had not settled.

He pushed against her neck a little harder, watching a small dribble of red slip down the pale flesh as it felt like the battle around them slowed. He remembered being in this same position, her blade against his throat while Liam yelled his name. Swan had no Liam, no fierce protector in command or paving the way. She had herself, her crew, her wit, and her magic - that always had to be enough.

She closed her eyes, and her face relaxed, for a moment he thought he was bewitched; her face when contented was angelic, ready for a peace her life never brought. He could make no movement. When no pain came, she opened her eyes again. The fury was gone, replaced by a profound sadness that rattled him. His hook, stable in every battle since his hand was taken by an unworthy Naval toad, trembled. She looked up at him with a sad half smile and he felt like they'd been locked like this for hours instead of seconds, maybe minutes at most.

"Do it, Killian. Please. Let it end." It was a pleaded whisper. He thought it was imagined, this entire moment a dream in which he was lost, but she kissed the curved and bloodied metal, closing her eyes again.

The honesty of her words scared him, and placed him in his own private torment. This creature, this woman. He could no more kill her here than he could raise her to the Heavens and call her the sun.

A shot reverberated and the moment was broken, Swan stumbling backwards holding her side. Red bloomed under her leather belts.

Scabbard’s blackened hands held a pistol, smoke still rising as he threw it aside. "You and that accursed whore of yours can have each other ten different ways in Davy Jones' locker, Hook." Drawing another pistol from a stained coat, he cocked it and aimed it at Hook’s chest. Hook roared, charging, and let Scabbard's round burn through the top of his shoulder blade. He dug his hook deep into Scabbard’s neck, enjoying the gurgling of the man's death rattle.

Looking back, Swan was gone, and this battle was clearly marked for the winners. Swan's ship was already flying through the waters, heading to the new worlds of the East as charted, the Circle’s ships well plundered by her split crew, but not completely picked over.

Blackbeard had limped away, Scabbard’s, Pantera’s, Babyface’s (he'd learned the boy's name was Oliver), and two more of the Circle’s ships floated without their captains, without their loot, and without most of their crew. Hook himself had suffered a grazed shoulder, a few serious wounds crew wise, and two hands down, taken by a sliding cannon. The Gilded Wing had made her point very clear - they didn't need the Circle.

The Jolly Roger’s crew took stock of what was left, hauling a massive prize away (not as good as Swan's, no doubt), and with minimal wear on the Jolly's timbers.

The men celebrated in port a few days later, and Hook purchased a bottle of rum for himself, watching their revelry. Pouring a fourth glass, he threw it back before taking the bottle through winding cobbled paths and down to his quarters, listening only to the sounds of waves breaking against his ship.

Laying in his bunk, he let the rum, the echo of her voice, and the superimposed image of green eyes burning into his take him away somewhere. Hopefully, somewhere he could forget the ache in his chest.

“Killian. Please. Let it end.”

 Emma moved through the market, silks flashing by, spices and meat cooking in the air, the sparkle of jewelry and well polished fruits on display. She could feel him following after her, the smirk on his face meeting her around corners as they weaved through the plaza pretending to ignore each other.

She slipped down an alleyway, listened to hear his steady footfalls, and when she could tell he was close, turned down another alley. He spoke steadily.

"Swan, just where are you leading me?"

She didn't answer. Emma liked to keep him on his toes, or on the hook as it were. She picked up the pace, moving to get as far ahead as she could. Here, deep in the city streets where it became a labyrinth of dead ends and multi-leveled corridors, she wouldn’t have to track back far. Ducking into a beaded curtain, she opened an ornately studded door.

The room was low lit with plush pillows, satin throws, candles, and more - everything she'd asked for.

The girl that had been sent stared at her before curtsying, and Emma examined her. She was beautiful, darker skin and braided hair, her own age, painted in gold and wearing a sheer outfit that shimmered in the light. Her eyes were dark, kohled, and lined with more gold.

"I'm Shari," she said with a low rasp of a voice.

"Hush then. He'll be here soon," Emma said in a quiet whisper. "You'll address him as Jones, and me as Captain Swan. I'll give you directions as we go."

The woman nodded. His footfalls grew closer.

Killian called for her softly, and she stepped out into the alley, sun slanting through cloth and wood layered high on the sandstone buildings. His hand rested on the hilt of his cutlass, body tensed, until he took in the way she moved her hips as she walked toward him. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Captain Hook.” She tilted her chin up, smiling. “I do believe I owe you a debt of gratitude for our… amicable split of the Circle’s forfeited assets.”

"You're in a giving mood, love?" His smile was all teeth.

"I'm not your love." She tugged on his sleeve, pulling him towards the doorway, letting him get close enough to almost feel the touch of her lips before backing away further.

Killian grew too impatient at the doorway, grinding himself into her and ghosting his lips across her exposed collarbone. She let out the smallest noise, between a sigh and a gasp, which had his pants feeling more confining by the second. Her mouth met his, and soon they were kissing passionately, his leg between hers, rocking her against his leathers in those sheer fabric pants the locals favored.

Emma pushed against him, deepening the kiss, and forced him backwards into the beautiful room. She pulled away, her body melting into deeply patterned silks that partitioned the room into sections. He ducked under one to be pulled through another, her body flush against his, her top discarded. He groaned at her exposed breasts, filling his palm with one as he began kneading. His hook shredded the waistband of the gauzy bottoms, exposing a short set of silken undergarments.

He ran a finger along the middle of the undergarment, and they both let out noises, hers a whimper and his a low growl of appreciation. She was so wet already. Another shove from her through a draped wall, and he was falling backwards onto plush cushions that smelled of honey and spice, Emma draping herself over him to kiss his breath away again.

Killian flipped her, licking down her clavicle and shredding more of the sheer garment along her waist, nipping where he exposed. He drifted his hand downwards, eager to feel her again, as a glint flashed in her eyes. She scooted back, away from his probing hand. He was reaching for her when she snapped a manacle cuff on his wrist. He snarled, but then she was on top of him, kissing him roughly, tongue practically pushing thought out of his brain. Another hand came from somewhere and snapped a modified manacle on his hook. He blinked as Emma pulled away, and a woman joined her.

“Thank you, Shari. Raise him so he will be standing on the balls of his feet.”

“Yes, Captain Swan.” The woman whom he did not recognize walked to a tapestry on the wall, pulling it aside to reveal a hand crank. Following with his eyes, he realized it was connected to a pulley system that attached to the ceiling above him. He tried to move, but the slack was already tightening on the heavy chain.

He rose up, and Emma smiled softly at him.

“Don’t be mad at me for this, because I asked around a bit. Apparently, when you got a little too deep in the drink, you told Smee some privately held fantasies. A little bit of drink in him, a little bit of a truth potion I was experimenting with… well, he gave me an idea of this gift.” Her smile grew radiant as she waved her hand. He looked to see his clothes were neatly folded off to the side, leaving him bare.

“Swan, let me down, and I swear I won’t-”

Warm fingers covered in a slick substance rubbed against his cock, and he swallowed his words thickly. The dark eyed woman placed thick floor pillows on all sides of his feet wordlessly and soon, Emma was almost the same height as him, smiling at him with her head cocked.

“I must say though, I was hardly surprised to hear your fantasies. They aren’t shameful. I wish you hadn’t felt the need to hide them away in brothels.” She stroked a long line of the slick fluid, what he now realized must be oil, from the base of his cock, over his hip, and to his ass. “Most men, when truly in tune with themselves, like a consensual bit of play in the rear.”

He began to struggle and felt his ears reddening.

“Swan, I don’t know where you heard this bit, but I swear to you. Let me out of these bloody chains, or I’ll run my hook through that pretty neck of yours -”

“What was it you told me? Ah yes. Take a leap of faith.” She kissed a path down his back, hot breath hitting his ass, causing his cock to twitch. “I know when you’re lying, Killian. So tell me truthfully. Do you want this? Would you like me to explore this with you? I know it’s not just ass play. I’d be taking full control, you’d be at my mercy. Tell me what you want.”

Warm, oiled fingers massaged his ass, gently stroking over his entrance. He swallowed thickly.

“Swan, I…” Her fingers pressed harder, and he rutted against the air in front of his cock. “Yes, alright, yes. Why the bloody fuck not, Emma, please, I-” A finger curled inside of him, and he felt his length go rigid.

Emma waved the woman to kneel in front of him. She slowly began to stretch him, adding fingers slowly, thrusting in and out. He rocked back on her hand, head lolling in delight at just how good it felt. Her hands were soft, fingers long and delicate, hitting spots in he hadn’t felt in years. He groaned when she took her hand away.

Emma whispered something he could not discern, and he felt the skin under his thighs twinge, his body reacting. Breath hitched in his lungs as it felt like something coiled up his legs and against his bobbing member. Velvet lined rope or silken scarves, maybe? No, it drew under his skin, stroking what felt like every nerve and then some.

Magic.

He hissed. He could feel Emma’s concentration, magic flowing from her to him, but then the sensation was over. He felt her movements against his oiled ass, and turned to her. She kissed him, softly this time, tenderly even. He heard a sound similar to his brace being taken off.

"Emma, I -" he didn't finish the thought as she pushed into him.

The catch of a hard member or its ilk in him, slowly burning through his body, had every nerve firing with pleasure. He could only let out a moan, Emma’s hand massaging the curve of his ass as she pushed further. He was dead and this was paradise; he was alive and his back was arching into Emma’s warm body.

Fully seated, she licked his ear lobe and started moving in small thrusts.

"Captain Swan, his cock is weeping. May I?"

Emma grunted and thrust with a jerk. He let out a groan of pure euphoria.

"You may rub yourself on him until you feel his begging is real. After that, it’s up to you how you please him, as long as it brings him close to release."

Killian whimpered.

Heat embraced his cock suddenly, and the slide of wet, delicious friction had him babbling words that he hoped were close to begging. He felt Emma’s light touches, her nips against the back of his neck, and the steady grind of her hips against his ass. Coupled with the woman in front of them, rubbing wet, glorious heat against his length and sucking marks onto his collarbone had him achingly aroused, and he tried to buck forward into the woman’s core.

“Captain Swan, he is trying to take control,” the dark eyed woman said, bending to lap at his slit. He threw his head back as Emma harshly snapped into him.

“I’ll tell you how he likes to be sucked, then. It’s too bad he can’t behave.” From behind him, he felt Emma kick his legs open wide.

“Yes, Captain Swan.” He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. He needed to be in control, to fuck one of them, and he rattled the chains that held his hand and hook. If he could get the mechanism to click -

“Take him fully into your mouth.”

Heat enveloped his cock, tight, and he felt every thought escape with his gasp of breath. Emma was moving in a different rhythm now, faster, as she gave commands.

“Swirl your tongue, harder on the underside.”

“Make sure to put pressure on the vein, see? Listen to the noise he makes, Shari. Poor thing.”

“Hollow your cheeks and suck.”

He was coming undone at the seams, pressure building at the base of his spine, each command and snap into his ass bringing him closer.

“Emma, please, I’m so close.” He felt his cock throbbing, his hips bucking forward. Emma kissed up his neck, and their mouths met. He could feel his balls drawing up, every sensation like a lightning rod. He was so close, so fucking close. Emma smiled against his lips, and with agonizing realization atop overwhelming pleasure, he realized he hadn’t burst in the kneeling woman’s mouth. His eyes widened, and Emma laughed, nipping at his lips. Her magic, damnable fucking magic, held him on the edge of -

“Moan on his cock.”

He let out a scream, the vibration of the woman’s mouth making his toes curl. He writhed, and tried desperately to get his hook undone from the chain again.

“Swan, you infernal witch! Gods, I need to fuck you, I need to come, let me out of this!” He struggled again and she kissed him tenderly on his shoulder blade, smiling mischievously up at him while keeping up her pace.

“I love when you’re like this you know,” she murmured into his skin. “You so rarely let go of control. Happy to take and plunder, but on your terms. Never allowing someone else the chance. Do you know how frustrating that is?” She licked a long trail up his neck, ending in sucking on his earlobe. He struggled again, his body screaming its needs to him, every hair raised. Emma shifted, and he felt for a moment like he couldn’t breathe.

The heat left his cock, with an audible pop. He felt some of the haze in his head clear, and he felt Emma’s device leave him. He shuddered at the sudden emptiness. He could hear both women whispering, and he took a moment to try to bring his body back to the earth. Taking in a lungful of air, he expelled it quickly when he felt a warm palm smack his ass. Looking back, he saw the dark eyed woman, Shari, her gold painted skin pressing against his back. She smiled serenely.

“I’m going to take over for Captain Swan, Jones.” He felt the press of a device, slightly larger than the first, against him. “Captain Swan says this one is enchanted, so take some breaths, OK?”

Killian felt the heat immediately, the easing push into him almost but not quite like a real cock. His eyes fluttered closed, feeling every inch of the sensation, his need to come back with a vengeance. He could feel his ass tightening, his muscles taut and tense, sparks shooting behind his eyelids. Warm hands cupped his face, and he opened his eyes through the haze of ecstasy.

He looked wrecked, and it brought Emma nothing but delight. His eyes were blown wide, and every thrust Shari made had his toes curling and small keening noises leaving his mouth. All Emma could do was kiss him softly, and slowly sink on top of him, one thigh lazily resting against his side, while she kept the other leg planted for balance on a pile of pillows.

When she started to move against him, she could feel the throbbing pulse with every thrust. He let out harsh breaths sometimes coupled with nonsensical half words, occasionally paired with a moan of her name. Watching him lose the careful articulation and eloquence he used with ease brought a rush of heat to her core. Killian felt her own pleasure beginning to bloom from his erratic movements, frantic grinding shifts of his hips to try and distract from his struggles against the chain.

“Are you ready for your real treat, my sweet Sailor?” Emma whispered against the stubble of his cheek. She ran fingers through his hair, watching his face flutter through the pure delight and slight pain of her magic, letting him rise higher and higher with no ceiling. She let out a moan and her nails clawed at his back when he answered with a buck, lazily grinning. She snapped her fingers.

He felt the woman behind him moan, and a second later clamped his eyes shut as the feeling spread. The damn thing inside him was moving, shaking quickly like the earth settling after thunder. Vibration hit that damn sweet spot in his ass that ached from slow thrusts, now a hot pinprick that had him screaming, desperate to feel release.

 Coupled with Emma riding him, now seeking her own pleasure and undoubtedly feeling whatever sensation she’d given him and the hired woman, he was beyond bliss. Nothing had felt this incredible before, his body nothing but pure feeling. Shari pressed against him, nails digging into his shoulders with a warm gush of wetness against the back of his thighs as she gave in.

Emma pushed herself up, now able to wrap both legs around him with the other woman pulling away. He heard the chain being lowered and his feet hit the floor; his immediate reaction was to thrust up, up into her. His eyes shot open, meeting hers.

“Please, please, Emma, please -” With the grind of their hips and his feet planted, it allowed him to fill her so perfectly. He needed to fill her and her body tightened, pulling him -

“I’m coming, oh fuck, Killian, I love it when you beg. I want to hear you -” Her moan ripped through him, wet and tight ripples that tore him into pieces.

“Let me come, Emma. Please, fucking please, Swan.” Keening, the whine was broken by his groan.

Emma bit down on his collarbone, sending him reeling. Every synapse fired deliriously, and when her body clenched on his again and she went limp against his chest, he felt her magic wane in time with her flutters as finally the grip on him stopped. A single thrust and he was undone.

Killian came with a guttural moan, rapturous pleasure coursing through him, lasting for what felt like minutes as he bathed her walls. As he spent the last bit of himself, he realized it was quite possibly the most intense orgasm of his life. His breath came out in ragged pants, and he was sure if it wasn’t, it still had shaved years off his existence.

“That was…” he whispered, slowly and with effort.

“A reward.” She pulled away from him, and waved her hand. The chains fell away, and he stumbled forward onto his knees. The room was still lined with large floor pillows, which he promptly rolled onto, laying on his back to catch his breath. Before he knew it, sleep overtook him.

A short time later, a warm washcloth against his thighs startled him, and he looked down to see the gold painted woman, Shari, softly cleaning his thighs.

“Swan…?” he mumbled, shocked at how low and hoarse his voice sounded.

“I’m sorry, my good sir. She paid me, and said I was to take care of anything else you needed. I can give you a massage if you like, after cleaning you. I can also offer you pistachio cake and honeyed fruit. Or, we can have another round of the pleasures.”

He stayed quiet as she continued her gentle ministrations, contemplating his next move.

“Would you tell me where she went? Do you know?”

“I don’t, sir. Only that she paid me very well, and left quickly.” Her brown eyes met his and she sighed, dropping the rag in the steaming water. “She told me not to say, but she headed in the direction of the Western port.”

He got up quickly on unsteady legs, tugging clothes on in a blur. “Thank you. Here -” He tossed a small purse of coin at her. “For your trouble.”

 He was gone before she could thank him. She opened the bag and counted the silver and gold coins inside it.

The female captain had been right. Give the man a direction, and he’d pay for her words as well, even if they were silver lies. Shari had no idea where the blonde woman had gone; most likely South from her hasty exit towards the market. Men were such fools when enchanted by beautiful women.

Pity. This one was a fool that was also lost in love with one. Shari took her coin and retired for the evening. She wouldn’t need to work for weeks now, and the female captain had left her enchanted play things. She would be amiss if she didn’t spend her time trying them.