#which is fine because the game already told a wonderful story

[riddlerosehearts]

and the manga does another extremely cool thing with riddle's overblot after his flashback ends!!

i wish i had the brain cells to properly analyze what i love about this. i think i just absoutely love the imagery of seeing baby riddle all alone surrounded by nothing but books as he talks about dreaming of eating sweets and playing outside, and then him in his overblot form still surrounded by the books but stumbling over them, getting trapped by them, like the innocent child that he once was being utterly lost and destroyed by the pressure he's under. and then the way that we see him reaching for not just any door, but the same door from alice in wonderland, it being the only light that remains. and the way that when he wakes up...

we get to see how the one who pulled him out of the darkness was trey, his childhood friend calling his name and gripping his hand. i mean, yes, trey calls his name in the game too, but actually seeing how the manga chose to portray this has got me so emotional what the fuck.

[violenteconomics]

as a prank, ace and epel start referring to their upperclassmen as members of their family rather than by name — when they're not actually talking to their upperclassmen, of course — just to see how long it will take them to notice. and after a while, the other freshmen start doing it, too.

ace is the first one to come up with this idea. he think it's a harmless little thing, a prank that'll cause plenty of mayhem but won't get him in any serious trouble. so he starts referring to cater and trey as his dad and mom respectively, and riddle as his uptight, no-nonsense older brother.

("one time i saw my brother try to put one of mom's tart into like a ziplock bag to save it for later, and when he took it out like two days afterwards, it fell apart immediately and he started bawling, ha ha! my dad got the whole thing on camera and shared it with me — i can show you if you want.")

he ropes epel in on the plan. epel is a little more hesitant, but seeing this as a way to get back at vil, even in a small way, he agrees to it. vil is now "ma" and rook is now "pa". people do start to wonder why he still uses he/him pronouns to refer to his supposed mother, but they decide not to question it too much.

("a few months ago, my pa told me a story about how one time my ma was trying to comb his hair, only for his comb to get stuck. so he got another comb to get the first one out, and that ended up getting stuck, too. five combs later, and peepaw had to rush him to the barber for an emergency haircut. it was pretty funny, but now i'm left wondering how pa even knew that story... hold on, i need to check my bathroom mirror for cameras, excuse me.")

surprisingly, deuce catches on pretty quickly, and he starts thinking maybe it's a new dorm policy. he doesn't know why, or why nobody else seems to be doing it, but ace seems pretty sure of himself, so he starts doing it, too, if a bit awkwardly.

("my brother always gets on my case for my bad grades. it's a little frustrating, but he only does it because he cares. my dad tutors me whenever he can, but he's not very good at studying, either. but whenever i do get good grades on my report card, my mom makes me egg tarts!")

yuu starts after they ask ace about it, and thinking it's a good prank, they decide to join in on a little mischief. so they start referring to all the teachers as their "dad". it makes people really confused, because they assume they only have one dad, two at most, but "dad" seems to change personalities every single time they talk about him.

("i was helping my dad do paperwork the other day, except we didn't get anything done and spent the entire evening playing solitaire and making dog puns."

"i was filling my dad's basketballs for him for his next game, whilst simultaneously helping him rework his pick-up lines that he's going to use on rsa's 'hot librarian' — his words, not mine. it was... a weird experience."

"i was feeding my dad's cat a couple of days ago, but i guess i fed him too much, because he's just a ball with limbs now. it's fine, though — it's not like my dad actually goes anywhere. too old for that, y'know?")

ortho is up next. idia's already ortho's brother, so he can't really do anything with that, but he really wants in on the average teenage experience of pranking your peers. so he starts referring to literally every upperclassmen he knows as his "brother". this is when everyone starts to realize that something's wrong, because some of things ortho says can not apply to idia in any reality.

("my brother is so talented! he's so good at talking to people, and making them sign contracts with him, and convincing them to invest in his restaurant... gosh, i wish i could be as good at communicating as him!")

jack is, unsurprisingly, very unamused when he figures out what the others are doing, but he doesn't try to stop them. but after a few weeks of exposure, and jack starts unconsciously doing it, too, which the others don't point out to him because they think it's absolutely hilarious.

("my brother didn't show up to morning practice, again, so my other brother and i went lookin' for him, and we ended up findin' him in a tree. obviously, my brother and i can't climb as well as my eldest bro can, so my brother just... threw a spelldrive disk at him. to get him out of the tree. and then we had to rush him to the infirmary because now he had a concussion. i don't... i don't know why he thought that would work.")

sebek is the last hold-over. not only is he unamused by this prank — and frankly very aghast when he realizes that jack has also been infected by it — but he's also really repressed and will do literally whatever it takes to not sully his image in the eyes of diasomnia. of course, with enough wear and tear, this doesn't last very long.

("ugh. my brother fell asleep on the road AGAIN! i swear, so many people have tripped over him, i'll be surprised if he hasn't broken any ribs yet.")

ace and epel think all of this is extremely funny, so they all keep trucking along with it with nobody noticing for a couple of weeks. it's all fine and dandy until the first-years are out on the town during the weekend, and deuce gets involved in a really bad carriage crash.

at the hospital, deuce starts deliriously asking for his older brother to take him home. but when the receptionist checks his familial records, they're really confused because deuce never even had a brother.

unfortunately, ace knows exactly who deuce is talking about, and awkwardly spends the next 30 minutes trying to get a hold of riddle over the phone.

the awkwardness doesn't end as riddle actually gets to the hospital, and the doctor smiles and says, "you must be mr spade's big brother."

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 7] First Ultrasound

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

On what you’re assuming is the start of the third month of your pregnancy, you finally manage to make an appointment for your first ultrasound. You debate if you want to tell Toji or not. Would he want to come? You’re not too sure if you’re being honest. He’s told you that he wants to be the best possible father for your child, but you don’t trust him. Given his track record, you can’t exactly trust him.

“I’m just here to drop off your money.” Toji can easily transfer money through the bank monthly, but he chooses to give it to you. Every two weeks he’s at your door with your money. You agreed to quit your second job and take his money; you still have your second job, but the nights that you know he’s coming, you take off. Toji invites himself in even if he’s just handing you an envelope. He never comes just to give you that.

“How’s work?” You ask, closing the door when he enters your apartment. You find it ironic that you talk more now than when you were married. He actually engages in conversation now, and he tries to talk to you as well, asking how you’re doing.

“Exhausting.” He answers. You can tell that he’s been working more lately, or at the very least he’s not getting proper sleep. There’s visible bags under his eyes, and he’s slowly letting himself go, at least he doesn’t give the proper care since he has a bit of a stubble; he’s also due for a haircut. “How about you? How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing okay… I’ve been dealing with a bit of morning sickness but nothing crazy.” You answer. You leave out any other of your symptoms. How your breasts are sore, you’re extremely tired (which can also be alluded back to your second job), how you’ve suddenly been having the weirdest cravings. Sure, you’re talking, but you don’t want him to know more than necessary. You try to change the topic since you don’t like having the spotlight on you, “How’s Megumi doing?”

“He’s doing fine… He has a baseball game next Thursday, if you want to come.” He informs you and you take a note of it. You’ll try to go since you have a soft spot for Megumi, but you’re not certain that you’ll make it. 

“I’ll try. Hope I’m doing better then.” You respond. He slowly nods in response, and he tries to think of something to talk about, but nothing comes to mind so he begins to walk to the door. He won’t try to waste both of your time. Before his hand wraps around the doorknob, you speak up,

“Toji…” He completely stops. Not a single breath comes from him until you speak again, “I know that you’re busy so, I’m just inviting you to be courteous… I have my first ultrasound tomorrow, if you want to join me.”

“What time?” He asks, and you tell him. At noon. He nods, and tells you, “I’ll come pick you up.”

He stands still for a moment, wondering what to do next. Wondering if you’re going to do something else. You stand in completely awkward silence for a minute before Toji realizes that nothing else will happen, so he walks out. He doesn’t say goodbye, although you don’t mind it because he never does.

Toji hasn’t been a man that’s usually punctual, so you’re surprised when he’s early. You might’ve told him that the appointment was earlier than it actually is so you wouldn’t be late, but there’s not much you can do when he’s right in front of you, thirty minutes before your appointment. The place isn’t even a twenty minute drive.

“Hi.” You awkwardly smile at him. You notice how he’s finally shaved the stubble, and you’re curious if he did so last night or this morning. “So… I might’ve– The appointment was pushed back to twelve thirty.”

“Oh– Okay.” He answers. You almost tell him the truth, but it might incite an argument so it’s best if you ignore it and tell a little white lie. He won’t question much, he never does, so you’re safe. “Did you eat something already? Do you want to grab something to eat?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite.” You respond, and he nods his head. He isn’t going to argue with you that you should eat something regardless, you’re pregnant and you have to keep yourself healthy for the baby– He isn’t your father nor your husband, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. And while Toji wishes he could say he was worried about this pregnancy, he simply isn’t. As fucked up it is to even think about it, he’s more worried about you than the child you carry.

“What do you want to do then? Do you just want to head out and wait?” He asks, and you nod your head in response, if you get lucky, your appointment will start earlier. You disappear out of his sight for a moment to grab your purse, but you’re back quickly. You exit the apartment and you begin to walk to his car. 

The car ride is silent, you don’t have much to talk about. You don’t sense him being as excited… Or excited at all about this so you’re quiet. You don’t pay him any mind. You’re over the moon at the thought of looking at your baby for the first time. You’re in disbelief that you’re about to become a mother. Finally.

You get to the place and check in. Waiting feels interminable as you sit next to Toji. He simply looks around, while you begin to play a game on your phone. Toji finds himself bored, and since he doesn’t have anything interesting to do, he chooses to try and talk to you. He clears his throat, and speaks up, “So how far along are you anyway?”

“Hm… I think, maybe three months along? I do have a bit of a bump.” You share, and Toji’s brows raise, he looks over at you, but your shirt is baggy which doesn’t let him really figure anything out. His eyes keep staring, and he finds himself frustrated at the fact he doesn’t know. If you lived with him he’d see your body better, and he’d notice every small change. At least that’s what he thinks. 

Your name is called and you stand up, following the woman to the ultrasound room. Toji follows behind, walking much slower, trying to see if he does notice a bit of a bump. The previous night you were wearing a tank top– He didn’t notice anything then. He isn’t all too observant anyway so maybe he missed it.

Toji watches as you lay down, and you begin to talk to the technician. He doesn’t pay much attention to what’s going on between you two. Until you finally lift up your shirt, and he does see a bit of a bump. It’s nothing that’s really noticeable but it’s there when you lift up your shirt, it’s definitely something he would’ve noticed if you lived together. 

You squeal as the cold gel is poured on your abdomen, and the transducer is then pressed on your skin. Your eyes then fall on the monitor, and an immediate smile comes to your lips. A little kidney bean. Your eyes well up with tears as the technician points out their little head.

“It’s just one baby, right?” Toji asks, and the technician assures him that it’s just one baby. It makes him breathe a sigh of relief. He notices you stick out your bottom lip, and he rolls his eyes. You seriously didn’t want twins, did you?

You look over at Toji, trying to see if there’s a bit of excitement behind his eyes when he looks at the ultrasound, and while it’s not clearly written on his face, you see a spark in his eyes as he looks at the monitor. He perks up when he hears the sound of the baby’s heartbeats. It’s in that moment that Toji realizes just how big this is–

He’s a father, he knows the birth of a baby is a big deal. Toji would give up his life for Megumi. But your pregnancy… The beginning of it didn’t excite him the way that his first wife’s did. Maybe it’s because he was set on not being a father again, or maybe it’s because you’re separated. Perhaps it’s because even though he wanted to use your pregnancy as a means for you to stay, you still left. He’s just focused on you and your relationship, not the fact that he’s actually becoming a father again. Doing it all over again.

He isn’t sure if he’s ready to do it all over again; but he feels the excitement slowly grow by looking at his baby and listening to their heartbeat. It’s nothing too crazy though.

When the technician finishes up, you’re handed a napkin to wipe off the gel. You do so, and you’re told to wait for the doctor. You’re smiling foolishly, thinking that you’re becoming a mother even though you had given up on that dream a while ago. Given that dream up for the man that’s waiting next to you.

“You seem really excited.” Toji comments when you’re left alone. He watches your hand go to your lower abdomen as you look up at him.

“I am. I can’t wait to meet my baby.” You answer. Toji chuckles, your excitement radiating and infectious. “Do you want a baby boy or a girl?”

“Hmm… A baby boy since I already know how to deal with boys. I have no idea how I’d raise a girl.” He responds. “How about you? Do you want a girl or a boy?”

“I don’t have a preference, I just want a healthy baby. Boy or girl.” You reply, and Toji wonders if that’s how he should’ve responded. Would that have gotten him positive points with you? Did his response fuck everything up a little more?

The doctor walks in, and she tells you what you want to hear. The baby is healthy, and growing the way they should be. You’re around fourteen weeks along– Which means you’ll be due around December, and that you’re further along than what you assumed. Your baby wasn’t conceived the night that you told Toji you’d be leaving him.

You get your ultrasound pictures, and Toji takes two, even though he tries to act like he isn’t excited.

[oddballwriter]

Stories

Summary: You tell the boys varying stories about your childhood and upbringing where you got hurt, in a comedic sense.

Warnings: Mentions of getting injured or hurt but nothing too major other than the mention of getting the wind knocked out of them, busting their lip, and getting scapes on their body. All of this is put in the context of the reader recounting the stories to the boys and laughing at how dumb they were.  

Author’s Snip: Some of the stories that the reader says/are mentioned are made up but a few are actually real stuff that happened to me. I will not tell you which were made up for the story and which were true.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count:

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sergeant102105

You had, what the boys would call, an endless well of stories from when you were a kid.

Like the time you snuck in a bunch of bugs and put them in the lunch box of the kid that was picking on you during recess, knowing that he was terrified of bugs.

"It's fine. All his food was wrapped so it's not like any of it was contaminated. And he was a brat anyways.".

Or the time you straight up stood up a boy in the 7th grade who had asked you out to your school's winter break dance because you didn't like him and he wouldn't take no for an answer. You never even bought a ticket to the dance. To make it even funnier, you were moving over the winter break and changing schools as a result. So, you successfully ghosted him.

You even told them the time you skipped school on senior ditch day with your friends...

... you were all sophomores. And seemingly no one checked to see why neither of you were in your classes. Was that slightly concerning in hindsight? Yeah. But you all thought that you were soooo cool.

You seemingly had them all.

Even the story about how you got your first kiss was crazy. You played a weird game of truth-or-dare at a party where you had to have your eyes closed and let a random boy kiss you. You literally don't know who your first kiss was.

But the most insane ones was when it left a mark.

When Steven confessed to always wondering how you got the scar on your knee, he was not prepared for you to tell a story that sounded like a Jackass skit.

"Oh. It's actually really funny." you started out with.

"When me and my siblings were at the park down the street from our house we found an abandoned skateboard. We thought it would be fun to sit on it and ride it down a hill with pavement. I wanted to go first, so they let me. But neither of us were old enough to understand momentum and figured that when we got to the grass it would just stop," you explain. You could see that Steven already knew what was coming. But you continued.

"Here's the thing though, the thing that got me was actually the skateboard hitting a rock on the pavement that we didn't see from where we were. So I fell off and scraped the shit out of my knee on the way down." you reveal.

Steven had a clear cringing face from thinking about it.

"I was fine," you reassure him, "I had a bunch of scrapes on me and cried the whole way home but it was nothing rubbing alcohol and time couldn't fix," you say.

You also told Marc about the time you got the wind knocked out for the first time. Marc did ask, but he too wasn't ready for that story.

"I had a pair of rollerskates and this boy who lived in the neighborhood thought they were dumb and said that his bike was more practical. So I challenged him to a race from one end of the street to the other to settle it." you say. "I won," you add with a sense of pride. "But I made the mistake of turning around to taught him so I didn't see where I was going." you explain.

"So I crashed into a parked car and that's how it happened." you finish off with.

Marc looked at you in horror and gasped your name in concern.

"Don't worry I didn't break anything in my body or the car. I was wearing kneepads and a helmet. I just got the wind knocked out of me for a few seconds. I was able to get up and roll back." you wave off.

"Did you ever tell anyone?" Marc questions.

"No. My dad said that if I ever got hurt doing something stupid then he'd take them away." you say.

The only one amused by your stories was Jake who, according to him, got the lamer story behind a mark. The story of the dot on your bottom lip.

You set up the scenario, "I was five or something. My aunt was babysitting me and I wandered into my older cousin's room. He had one of those boxing dummies, the ones that topple and get right back up when you hit them.".

"Well, I was hitting it but I was so small that I couldn't really make it move. So I pushed it with my whole body. I had managed to get it to tilt a little and I was so excited that I got off of it. But I didn't back up enough so it hit me in the face and I busted my lip." you say and conclude.

Jake laughed and said, "I was half expecting you to have rough housed with your cousin and accidentally hit something when you first started.".

"We would but he'd obviously go easy on me." you mention and then have something cross your mind.

"I did get rug burn on my stomach one time as a kid because I was roughhousing with one of my siblings and they dragged me around on the carpet," you say.

Jake just laughed again and shook his head.

"What is it with you and just casually saying stuff like that?"

[mrsnancywheeler]

Time for smutty angst! (I have so much anxiety I’m so sorry if I’m bothering you)

‼️CW FOR LIKE HEAVEY DEGRADING AND JUST LIKE HUNGER GAMES ESC STUFF???

Don’t imagine the way Finnicks heart breaks as he’s forced to degrade, to hit, to choke, to pull his sweet girl while all the elite are watching. Don’t imagine all the things he’s forced to say…

“Fucking slut, you like being watched huh? Say hi to all the nice men…”

“Such a crybaby. Cryin’ cause it feels too good, yeah? Being fucked to tears”

“I’ll just leave you here, let these nice men take you. Bet you’d enjoy that, dirty bitch”

“needy whore, can’t get enough cock?”

A part of him breaks at every word. After each session he holds her, whispering praises, trying to undo all his words.

“I love you, Angle. You’re so beautiful…”

“Come here, it’s okay to cry…I’m here…shhh….”

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Tomorrow we can stay in bed all day, how does that sound? My sweet girl…”

Yet as much as he tries the words leave imprints on his soul. He can’t decide which is worse though, his hateful words or the way he’s forced to hit, punch, choke, abuse her. Anytime he looks over and sees a bruise, a scratch, a bite, a slash, anything done without the care she deserved he feels like he’s dying inside.

He remembers when he was forced to choke her, the next day he saw bruises on her neck in the shape of his hand. That damn near broke him.

-🌾anon

you're not bothering me at all, i literally get so excited when I see you in my ask box. I love answering all of these and talking about all the nuances of their relationship and the story

but I feel like finnick would spend every moment being so soft and delicate to make up for all of it, like saying she's his pretty girl and doing everything for her, he feels like he needs to endlessly make up for it because of all the terrible things they make him say

"being so loud, what a pathetic whore"

"crying like that just makes me want see more tears"

"don't try and hide you moans, everybody already knows your a needy slut, don't play innocent now"

how's he supposed to say that and know you're gonna lay on the bed wordlessly for at least an hour, staring at the ceiling, after it's all done? how could anyone expect him to say things like that to the sweet girl he moved heaven and hell for so she could stay alive?

when he's being told to choke harder and there's the outprints of his fingerprints on your neck or when he obeyed you and hit harder, leaving nasty bruises on your face, how was he supposed to live with himself? he wondered what the people in the district thought with no idea of what the Capitol was really like and no makeup artists to keep the bruises covered, they probably thought he was the devil incarnate. he probably deserved that, it's how he felt when he had to lay his hands on you like that.

even if you tell him constantly that it's not his fault, that you don't blame him it still makes him hate himself for going along with it. he wants death to embrace him when you lay there after and be softly tries to coax you enough so you'll let him clean you up. because you could spend hours staring at the wall and then there's only a slim amount of time before the mask is back on again. before his sweet girl is once again pretending everything is just fine, trying to protect him.

"it's okay, sweet girl, everyone's gone now. just you and me."

"I didn't mean any of it, you're so perfect, angel, I'm so sorry."

"I love you so much, angel, do you want to take a bath?"

"I can make you tea, sweet girl, and rest your favorite book to you, but you gotta get up. let me take care of you."

his words are so soft and whispered as he gently plays with your hair as if it will make up for all the harsh pulls. it's never less then half an hour, usually an hour, sometimes more of soft coaxing while your fade back into the real world. then he can take care of you

never for long though until you're starting to gain consciousness once again, the mask of bravery sliding back into place

"Finn, don't feel guilty, I know it's not your fault. Could never blame you."

"it'll go away, not as bad as last time."

"do you wanna go sailing when we get back home, take your mind off things?"

and your voice is quaint enough that he knows it's because you feel like it's a necessity to take care of him over yourself, who's still not ready. he knows you'd much rather recover by spending a day with him holding you in bed, but you'll refuse to let him unless you break. unless he softly reminds you that you're allowed too, makes you confront your unsteadiness until you're bawling. and he just wants to protect you because he feels like he's failed at it again and again.

but yeah I'm literally crying rn, this hurts

and disclaimer, I'm not in any way trying to romanticize this issue, I'm exploring the trauma of two fictional characters, my interpretation of finnick based off my series and his sweet girl, who's a character I created. It's fiction, it honestly helps me world build to think of all the small pieces not explicitly mentioned. if it's not for you, just scroll, I don't need to know about it, thank you.

[ilovetheriddler]

Denial of Infatuation.

(Arkham Games) Edward Nigma x F!Reader

(Declaimer: I don't condone or approve of the actions taken in this story. It is purely a work of fiction.)

Word Count: 837.

Contents: Very Suggestive content, Kissing, Obsessive Behavior, Intensely Possessive Behavior.

Edward found these thoughts he often had of you troublesome and quite annoying. The fact that he couldn't keep you out of his mind and it was starting to impact his work was pissing him off. What exactly made you so special? Why did you deserve such a huge part of his thoughts? He wasn't sure, and if there was one thing he hated more than his work being disturbed, it was him not being aware of something.

There were some nights were he found himself walking into your room during the middle of the night, simply so he could stare at you, watch you sleep and rack his brain trying to come up with an answer to these... feelings he had.

Ultimately, he came to a conclusion that overall satisfied his need to know. He concluded that these pesky feelings weren't anything like... love or infatuation, no, he was too important of a man to feel those pathetic things! It was obviously acknowledgment that you, as his assistant, were almost his equal, as close as anyone could come to being that is, and as a result he clearly felt a desire to treat you better than he treated everyone else, maybe even reward you for all your hard work.... he decided that perhaps some compliments were in order.

"... You look adequate today..."

"Huh? Um... Thanks, I guess?"

"The fragrance that your body is currently giving off is surprisingly pleasant..."

"... Do you mean the soap I use? I'm not really wearing any perfume right now, so...."

Needless to say, his attempts didn't often go too well. He was just so used to degrading people that he viewed as beneath him that he genuinely struggled to give decent compliments. He didn't need those to show you his... appreciation, though, maybe actions would assist him where words failed?

He started leaving you little metal flowers that he made out of scrap parts for his contraptions. His heart would beat rapidly in his chest whenever you'd find them. It was an annoying and unfamiliar feeling for him, but he slowly grew to like it.

So, of course, how else was he supposed to react when you told him that some guy asked you out on a date? How dare he! No one.... no one else deserved you, no one other than him. He couldn't allow this to happen, not on his watch. Some idiot wasn't going to just waltz in and lay claim to someone that Eddie viewed as His.

He got rid of the foolish man without any real difficulty. However, the fact that you kept getting asked on dates boiled his blood. So he kept disposing of any man who tried to win your heart, and every time you'd be in tears, wondering why those men always stood you up, and he'd take every chance to comfort you, which shocked you each time because of his usual behavior. But he'd wait, sooner or later you'd realize just how lucky you were to have earned his... interest.

"You know, you don't need those archaic Imbeciles! I mean... you already have a perfectly eligible bachelor right in front of you..."

"H-huh? What do you-"

"Me. Why don't you just put to rest all of these... foolish ideas of being with some boring, unintelligent, incompetent man, and be with me instead?"

"E-Eddie... I don't know... you're my technically my boss, wouldn't that be a bit weird?"

He stared at you in silence for a few moments before resting his hand on your cheek, caressing it surprisingly gentle.

"I promise you, My dear.... that it'd be perfectly fine... in fact, I'd make sure you were happy with me.... trust me..."

"Okay then.... I guess I could um... give it a try?"

You were then startled slightly by his lips suddenly crashing into yours, a desperate sense of need, passion, and repressed desires evident with how forceful and rough the kiss was, his tongue lightly ghosting over your bottom lip, almost demanding that you open your mouth for him. You're too dazed to really respond, though, which leads to him reaching up and yanking harshly on your hair, causing you to let out what sounded like a mixture between a gasp and a whine, he took this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, exploring it thoroughly, as if trying to map out everything. After what felt like quite a bit, he pulled away, wipping a bit of saliva off of his lips. His gaze met yours, a somewhat concerning glean in his eyes as he pulled you closer to him, his breath fanning your neck as he spoke.

"Say that you love me, tell me that I'm the only man that deserves you!"

"Y-you're the only man that deserves me, Eddie...."

You let out a surprised yelp as he picked you up in his dirty, grease, sweat, and dirt covered arms, quickly carrying you towards his room. He clearly was hoping that tonight wouldn't just end at a kiss for him.

[fandoms-in-law]

The Birds Go By

Summary: Steve birdwatches as a hobby: Here's how that developed over time, and how the first time he told someone went.

Author's note: I'm tired, so I've not written much today, but that kinda fits the story too.

My idea for this fic: Birds (Ultimate Storytime Tour, Thomas Sanders) is a good song for giving Steve interests, add in birdwatching hikes and his interest in staying fit included too, plus I can definitely see him using it for time alone both from the jerks he was friends with and the Party making demands of him. Robin is the first to be told about it.

/\/

Everyone thought Steve Harrington had the perfect life. He knew it all through high school. His family had a lot of money and he never wondered if he’d have a car after getting his licence; it was already a guarantee, but it wasn’t perfect.

It was rules, expectations and creative punishments if he failed to meet them. Nothing could be done which would diminish the belief of the town that the Harrington’s had perfect lives, but enough within that could change to keep Steve stressed out too much to actually focus.

As a kid, he took to exploring the woods in an effort to escape those expectations. His father didn’t mind as long as the house was quiet and his mother assumed nothing could happen to him there. Besides, they viewed it as a way to use up his energy and prepare him for the sports he definitely had to join clubs and teams for.

Then he was actually made to join those teams, swimming and basketball at a minimum and hiking or exploring for hours at a time seemed like too much exercise to be doing on top of that. Instead he’d take out some homework each time and try to do that somewhere in the woods.

That was where he found the greatest thing about the woods: Birds. Listening to their song was fine, but seeing them, especially the small ones people took for granted hopping closer and closer was riveting. He didn’t want to study, just watch the birds around him.

As his parents started taking long business trips more and the popularity at school grew, Steve found different ways to bring bird watching into his life, just to feel as if he got something out of it all. Skull Rock might be known as a make out spot because of him, but before that it was a great spot to watch birds and even if his eyes couldn’t always look for them with a date there, he could usually still spot one or two. And sneakily drop some bird seed on the way out just to encourage more to visit.

If Nancy had accepted any dates outside at all, Steve probably would have told her, or at least tried pointing the birds out as they landed, but she preferred study dates or dinners so it never came up. He wondered, once, if maybe he should have realised she wasn’t as invested in the relationship because she never asked about his interests.

/\

“Why are you hurrying me home? Got some game you want to catch?” Robin asked, resisting as Steve tried to herd her out to his car.

“No. And before you ask, it’s not a date either, I just want a break.” He briefly explained, knowing she wouldn’t accept a one word answer.

Robin remained still, but did stand up, “And what does having a break mean to you? I thought chilling with a friend and a movie would be it.”

“Birdwatching.” He tensed, expecting some teasing for the admission.

She did laughed for a moment, but smiled at him, not as if she was teasing him. “Is that why some of the girls you dated complained that you just made them hike rather than taking them anywhere? You wanted to birdwatch and make out at the same time?”

“They never complained to me! I wouldn’t have done that if they’d said they didn’t want to!” He protested immediately, “But yeah. I wanted to relax even if I was expected to be a playboy.”

“Okay then. Let’s go.” Robin finally headed towards a door, but it wasn’t the front door. “Tell me about the birds, Dingus.”

[syoddeye]

feel free to ignore this one-

i have been a big fan of fanfiction for a while and recently got into cod. and ive noticed a lot of poetic writers tend to head down the noncon/ddne territory, and i guess it’s always a conflict for me?

cus it’s beautiful, but always so fucking sickening. nasty stuff for sure. and being one of my favorite authors, i guess im asking if you believe the writing is supposed to justify it? romaticize it- instead of condemning? maybe it slips past me but im always unsure if the writing is supposed to be seen as strictly art that divulges into the depths of a dark mind and a bad man- or it’s indulging in a fantasy.

im breaking from my comfortable shell from the ‘white picket fence happy ending cute tale’ fanfiction and actually really enjoying reading dark fics because good ones do such a wonderful job at toeing the ‘this is so beautiful but I feel like vomiting’ line- but in the back of my mind i wonder if it’s supposed to be read in a positive light- like the assaulter is…good?

im a bit new to it all which is why I guess there’s a shred of shame in it, because I don’t like the actions in ddne. they’re unsettling, gross (unfeminist? unsure) - but the writing is often times why i have to finish them because it’s jus so beautiful, pulls you in. your guts are all shriveled but your mind is wide awake and your mouth is wide open like you’re trying to swallow the poetry whole (not to be dramatic).

have you ever felt this? or am i jus like. vanilla.

hey friend, thanks for your patience on this.

i know you’ve already reached back out and i’m glad the links shared here helped. i’m gonna respond to both asks here because i don’t want to break your anonymity without your consent.

i’m also disabling reblogs. everything below this is my opinion and experiences. other folks will obviously feel differently. (if any of my smart and talented friends want to chime in or correct me, please do.)

first, i respect and appreciate your openness. you are kind and your thoughtfulness shines through both messages. feeling conflicted about complicated and difficult topics is normal. not to get all woo-ey off the bat, but we’re human beings. this is our first time planetside and all that. it’s important to cut yourself some slack. this post is generally how i see it:

“the human brain is weird. sex fantasies ≠ actual desires. if you ask yourself, “would i want to act out this thing in real life” and the answer is “fuck no,” then you’re fine. shipping is also not an indicator of what you would condone in real life. you are not secretly a monster. you are a human being. human beings are complicated.”

you ask: [do] you believe the writing is supposed to justify it? romanticize it- instead of condemning?

no, and this is where i think the posts i shared help. i do not believe dead dove or dark fic justifies sexual assault and rape, in the same way i do not believe games or horror films make people violent.

you also share:

“maybe it slips past me but im always unsure if the writing is supposed to be seen as strictly art that divulges into the depths of a dark mind and a bad man- or it’s indulging in a fantasy.” “in the back of my mind i wonder if it’s supposed to be read in a positive light”

this just tells me you’re engaging with fiction in a normal way. it’s normal to process how a story affects you. when reading fiction that depicts the disgusting, there’s a chance you feel disgusted. you remind me of how i felt when i first started reading dark fic. i had to unpack and grapple with years of being told any sexual fantasy that wasn’t heterosexual + monogamous + only explored after marriage was a one-way ticket to superhell and made me an awful person. surprise, it doesn't!

again, i’ll echo my first reply in case anyone needs to see it again: content warnings and tags aside, if readers hit an unexpected limit/boundary/landmine in a fic that they know will adversely impact or trigger them, they need to exit immediately. disengaging from fanfic is a reader’s responsibility. no one is forcing anyone to read fanfic, and no one should feel like they have to finish fanfic because it’s beautifully written, at the expense of their well-being. 

(to note, because i don’t want folks to think i’m ignoring it, but i’m not going to wade into what’s feminist or not when it comes to fiction. i think that’s a whole other discussion and i’m not in the headspace to engage.)

(another note, semi-related - something that continually frustrates me in the broader discussion of dead dove and dark fanfic is the pressure for victims to share personal information to justify their opinion, no matter where it falls. while i do share some stuff about my personal life, i do have limits. i’ve been asked point blank in my ask box and ao3 comments if i’ve ever been sexually assaulted, because some folks feel entitled to that information to ‘justify’ my writing about it. people can and will make their assumptions, but i will never divulge that info here, on tumblr.com, of all places. that’s a hard line for me.)

to your second message, i am sincerely happy that those links helped. it really boils down to ‘it doesn’t equal your actual desires’. you said it was a huge relief to see that, and it is! again! i felt a galaxy brain moment when i stopped hating myself for liking darkfic. reading/writing dark fic isn't an endorsement.

and and and not to sound like your grandpapa out on the porch, but now that i know your age—you are young. do not beat yourself up for learning or not knowing your limits just yet. i am in my 30s and learning shit about myself all the time. i’ll be 60 and having lightbulb moments reading fanfic.

okay. i think i’ve yapped enough. linking to early’s post again because it’s so, so good.

[simonalkenmayer]

There’s a small story I haven’t told, about when I first came to where I currently reside. If you’ve read some of my short stories about my life history, then this would follow directly after “The Suits”.

Back in those days, the place I currently live was almost entirely devoid of women who weren’t already married. It was a very manly man place of wild forests being logged, natives being colonized, and all sorts of hurdy guedy. A man by the name of Mercer began a transplant of women, who were to be educated and married off to the men of the area, so as to “civilize” the place.

After that plan was enacted, women began doing this in their own. And incentives galore existed, including reduced fares, housing, sheltering so forth. When I came up, I switched genders, because of this advantage. I had won myself a deed to some property here, in a poker game. I then pretended to be my own sister, sent to set up the stead and “marry myself off”.

So I came as a woman, and set myself up in a residence hall for young ladies. Why? Because of the proprietress, who kept a secure and tight ship for propped “gels”. I wanted that security, as there is no watchdog better than a large woman with a rolling pin looking out for virtue. My room was essentially Fort Knox. But I didn’t move around town as a woman! Heavens no. Such would be impossible, especially given the condition of the city, which was mud half the time and not set up for skirts.

I worked out of the lumber mill. Dressed as a man. I made friends with a batch of German and Austrian immigrants, because I could understand them. One in particular seemed very taken with me. Probably because he wasn’t much of a talker and I was mute. But then one day he turned up at the boarding house, and I realized he had figured me out, perhaps because he’d followed me home from the drinking hole we all frequented.

I suspected he’d come to the conclusion that I was a woman masquerading as a man to obtain employment. I suspected I’d have a difficult moment ahead.

One night he came to my window at the boarding house, after I’d just quitted the nightly meal. He was drunk as a skunk, and singing love songs at me. I knew the lady of the house would beat him stupider, so I dragged him inside. Then I noticed he was covered in blood. Apparently hed injured himself on the rough fence outside.

Imagine me, dressed in proper female dinner attire, bodily proppping a giant, German man against a wall, as he gibbers and bleeds at me. I shushed him, and told him he had made a terrible mistake. He said he hadn’t. That his life till then was a mistake. I was brave and wonderful and pretty in all the ways. I told him to stop talking rubbish. He realized he was bleeding and fell onto my bed. I say him up with some difficulty, as he extolled my many virtues. “How amazing,” he sang, “that you can push logs and look so fine.”

I offered to push him into the sea off the nearest cliff. He called me mysterious. It was a very lopsided conversation. I set about patching him up. Which led to the following events.

He, seated on the end of the bed, no shirt, facing away from the door. Me, kneeling in my gown, making plaintive noises. Of a sudden, there came a frantic cry and a bashing sound. In crashes the lady of the house, in her shift and pantaloons, her house dress open and flapping like the wings of a harpy. Her face was a red contortion as she smashed a hole into the wood. Jack Nichlson could have taken a lesson from her as she shrieked out a curse through the splinters.

She got the wrong impression from what she saw. It was an impression that unfortunately led to even more frantic mangling of the door. My gentleman caller hurled himself bodily through the window, chased by the very embodiment of Victorian internalized misogyny, screaming bloody murder. Literally.

I evicted myself. I went into the woods to my property and set up a cabin, where I lived to upset the logging and train operations. I went feral.

My man friend, later was injured in an accident, and died. It wasn’t until I spoke of this series of events with some of you, that I came to a different interpretation than I had all this time. I now believe that he actually thought I was a man, dressing as a woman to obtain housing. The things he said while intoxicated make far more sense if that was his assumption. I now realize I broke his heart in a different way than I’d even realized.

Perspective sometimes comes decades later. Sometimes you don’t even know your own past so well without the future.

I gain perspective like this almost constantly, and I realize more and more that I have never taken in all the information I could have. I’ve viewed the world you made through your lens. Silly thing to do, but how was I to know? It’s not as if I had the genius of Frankenstein’s creation to teach myself the truth of all things with a bible. No. Some of us had incompatibility with humanity altogether and couldn’t make sense of it without your biases.

I think about this often.

[kouchabu-archive]

Koisuru Scramble - Chapter 2

Writer: Nishioka Maiko Translation by: Sophie // Proofread by: Mirei

NOTE: I EXPLICITLY PROHIBIT USAGE OF ANY PART OF MY TRANSLATIONS ON ANYTHING THAT RELATES TO AI.

This story is fully voiced in-game! You should read while listening to it~

Episode 8: After School Rumble!

< A lot of things have happened since then but… one day amidst their normal everyday life— >

Hajime: (Let’s see… Which one of these should I pick…)

(Don’t think of this as just a measly seat change! My beloved comfortable school life lies on this blind draw! Of course I’ll be fired up!)

Airi: He~y. Earth to Hajime~ There are still people waiting behind you, you know? You’re taking this wa~y too seriously.

Hajime: Ah, sorry sorry~ I just don’t know which ones will have good or bad placements, so I'm just at a loss on which one I should pick.

Airi: Well, I feel you~ I wish I’ll get a seat at the very back near the window. Perfect spot for an aftie nap!

Hajime: Aftie nap? Hold up, you’re not planning to live off my notes right before exams again, are you?

Airi: Teehee~ ☆

Hajime: Don’t give me that~ Take your notes properly at least, please.

Airi: Yes ma’am~ But anyway. Go, go! Just pick one already.

Hajime: I can sense an ominous result… Well, whatever.

Hm… Okay, let’s do this one!

Let’s see. Seat number 14…

Number 14… Number 14… Ah, it should be this one. Right beside me is…

Miki: ……

Hajime: (K-Kurose-kun?! Are you kidding me?! Why did I pick a seat beside him, of all places?! What to do… he looks like he’s in a really bad mood. This is awkward…)

……... [ Her gaze is darting all over the place. ]

Miki: ……...

Hajime: (Oh God. Our eyes just met.)

Miki: …… (Glares.)

Hajime: (Eeeek–?! H-He’s so scary! Do you really have to glare at me like that?!)

Miki: What? Quit staring.

Hajime: S-Sorry…

(Ugh. Do I really have to be seatmates with him, of all people?)

(I bumped into him twice the other day because I was so clumsy. I'm sure it left a bad impression on him. And I’m pretty sure he hates me.)

(But now that I remember it, I wasn’t able to properly apologize to him for that, right?)

(Being beside him is the perfect chance to do just that. I wonder if me being seatmates with him is some sort of divine help from God…)

Mm. Okay, let’s do this.

U-Um, Kurose-kun!

Miki: …What?

Hajime: (visibly flinches)

(No, no. Don’t be a coward, self!)

The other day, I… I was so clumsy that I ended up bumping into you twice, so I’m sorry for that. And well, I wasn’t able to properly apologize for that so it always bothered me…

…T-That’s all.

Miki: ……

Hajime: (I’m so ready to be told off but… this silence is so unnerving…)

Miki: Don’t mention it. I mean, I have my own share of carelessness too, so, my bad, I guess...

Hajime: Huh…?

(Um… Did I hear that right? Is he really apologizing..?)

Miki: …You didn't get hurt after that, right?

Hajime: (Uh… I’m not sure I follow but… did he really notice me?)

Nope! I’m all fine and dandy! I’m not that fragile.

Miki: Hm. Then that’s good.

Hajime: ...Hehe~

Hajime: (I thought Kurose-kun is a scary guy but… maybe he’s actually kinder than what he shows.)

-----

[ School bell rings. ]

Airi: Hajime~ Let’s go home together—

Oh, hold on. Why do you still have your notebook and pen case with you? Not going home yet?

Hajime: Ah, sorry. I’m gonna hit the library today so you can go ahead first.

Airi: Library?

Hajime: Yup. I thought I should get my part in the group work done and over with. It’s hard to do it without references, so I have to stop by there.

Airi: Oh, that thing~ I’m in charge of compiling everything in place, so I can't really do my part if everyone won't be there.

Welp, guess I should leave you to it. I’ll go ahead now~ Bye bye~

Hajime: Mhm. Bye bye!

-----

— And, there we go. That should be enough references.

Okay, let’s get this over with~

(Flipping through the material.)

(I wonder if this layout makes it more pleasing to the eyes… Or maybe this one?)

Hm…

Eiki: I think this one is better.

Hajime: Eh?

Eiki: ……... ♪

Hajime: N-Nakaouji-kun!

Eiki: Shh. We’re in the library. Look, the librarian is shooting us daggers.

Hajime: Ah, I’m sorry…

(whispering) And um, what brings you here?

Eiki: I saw you deep in your thoughts and contemplating quite hard, so I thought you’re stuck in making some sort of decision. Was I wrong?

Hajime: Well, um, you got that right, but… what I meant is what are you doing here?

Eiki: Oh. I was doing my own research for something when I saw you, Koino-san. And then I just thought I’d make myself comfortable and sit beside you.

I know I should’ve asked this before I just sat down, but… do you mind if I join you?

Hajime: .........

(Wait, wait, hold on! Be still, my heart!)

Eiki: Is that a no?

Hajime: Oh no! N-Not at all!

(But oh God I don’t think my heart is ready for this! The right side of my body feels completely frozen with him right beside it!)

Eiki: I’m glad to hear that. Well, I’ll continue making myself comfortable.

Oh? Your group picked this particular era to talk about? This seems like one of the eras that didn’t have that many major events, isn’t it?

Hajime: Is that right? Well, it was a unanimous decision between all of us, so I haven’t given much thought about it. But now, I’m realizing that I don’t know a thing about this era at all, so I’m kinda regretting just going with everyone’s flow.

I think we’re the only ones who chose something like this. I’m pretty sure the others picked more popular eras out there.

Eiki: Come to think of it, Miki said something about discussing the announcement of Edo’s end.

Hajime: Miki..? Are you referring to Kurose-kun? You guys are close?

Eiki: Yes. Well, we’ve been neighbors since we were children. I guess it’s more appropriate to call it being basically just stuck with each other because of that very fact. Ah, you spelled that one wrong.

Hajime: Oh, you’re right. Thanks for pointing that out. I see, so you guys are like that. It must be nice to have a childhood friend~ I wish I had something like that too~

How about you? Which era did you guys pick?

Eiki: We’ve chosen the Sengoku period. For some reason, the samurai freaks have gathered in our group. They’re all raring to map out the old Japan during wartime.

Hajime: Ahaha. Oh gosh, what’s up with that? But hey, it sounds really exciting.

Eiki: Doesn’t it? Even I am starting to look forward to it.

Hajime: Um…

Eiki: Hm?

Hajime: If it’s okay, can I ask for more of your advice on whether my work makes sense or not? Ah, but it’s okay if you can’t! I don’t mind!

Eiki: Fufu. You really didn’t have to be so formal about that. But to answer your question: sure, if you’ll have me.

Hajime: Thank you.

-----

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter // Translation Masterlist

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Joke's On You Part 22

When Fred Weasley carelessly bumps into you into the hallway, you decide to take him a notch down; not by berating him, but by showing him up at his own game of using your charm and intellect to get what you want. And it’s fine if the end result doesn’t leave everyone quite satisfied - in fact, that’s what you want…

[Fred Weasley x Reader.] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Non-Consent.] [Warning: Manipulation.] [Warning: Humiliation.] [Warning: Light Bondage.] [Warning: Slight Voyeurism/Exhibitionism.]

⍟ Click Here for Joke’s On You Home Page (All Chapter Links) ⍟

It was your favorite sight in the world – a scowling Fred surrounded by pink tea cups, floating, heart-shaped candles, tiny finger sandwiches, lacy napkins, and sitting directly under a singing cupid figurine, which shot a handful of white, pink, and red confetti right onto Fred. To know that underneath it all, Fred was wearing those ridiculous boxers – you could not stop laughing. You had no conversation with Fred whatsoever during the two hours you were there. All you did was laugh so hard that you accidentally blew whipped cream right into his face, spilled rose tea on his pants, and dropped the lacy napkin inside his shirt when you tried to clean up the mess you’d made.

On top of that, you called for more singing cupid figurines to be brought over, took one of the headbands with hearts bouncing on top of it and wore it, put another onto a scowling Fred, and paid to have a photograph taken. You flung your arms around Fred and squeezed him as hard as you could as you beamed at the camera. “Tch,” you heard Fred grumble, and then – snap! – the picture was taken. You also asked for a folding pane to be brought over and placed in front of your table. When Madam Puddifoot herself came over, said “Oooh,” and winked at you, you burst into laughter. Instead of using the folding pane as privacy to kiss behind, as other couples were doing, you only carried on laughing, eating the heart-shaped food (at one point, you rearranged the ‘X’ and ‘O’ cookies to imitate the final ‘tic tac toe’ board you and Fred had played, and you pointed at it and laughed brilliantly), singing songs about love and lovesickness, using your spoon to fling whipped cream and sprinkles at Fred, and just generally carrying about with all the merriment in the world. There was also a ‘lovers’ firewhiskey special, which you partook in. As you became slightly inebriated, you began to tug at your coat because you were too hot, and Fred stared at you anxiously, wondering if the hundredth tug was the tug that was going to be the end of your delicate coat and the beginning of your cavewoman nakedness.

Finally, though, the (‘horrid,’ Fred thought) night came to an end. You made to cheerily pay for the whole thing (“Wait here, Fred!” you said, as you stumbled towards the front of the shop), only to find that Fred had already paid for the night.

You stopped, stunned. “What…?”

“Yes, sweetie, the gentleman there has already paid for everything,” the employee told you, nodding at Fred.

You whipped your head around and looked at Fred. Fred, who had been looking over to make sure that his money had gone through, quickly ducked his head down when he saw you looking for him.

Oh… Oh Merlin, I didn’t realize – Oh Godric, I rang up quite a fee. I was just having fun. Of course I was going to pay for all of it. Otherwise, it’s all so stupid and… expensive. You slowly came back to the table.

Fred looked up. He expected to see you happy – only to see you looking slightly downcast, suddenly humble, and with slightly misty eyes. “What?” Fred said. “What the hell’s happened to make you so depressed all of a sudden? Did someone tell you Cupid’s not real? Huh? Who did it? I’ll beat them up.”

Be bright. Celebrate, don’t be sad, you reminded yourself. You came and sat on Fred’s lap. You gave him your best smile as you reached over and ruffled some confetti out of his hair. You kept your voice as light as possible as you told him, “Love you, Fred. Will you take me back?”

Fred breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank Merlin. I thought we’d never get out of here.”

You laughed. “All too fast if you ask me, honestly.”

Fred shook his head. He got up, putting his arms around you to keep him close to him as he stood up. “Let’s get going. Before Cupid puts another stupid piece of confetti in my eye.”

“Did you notice how Cupid was stationed right over your head?” you asked, walking towards the door with Fred.

“What d’you mean, did I notice?” Fred said indignantly, as he pushed the door open and the two of you stepped outside. “I was going blind from that stupid thing!”

“Well, I asked Madam Puddifoot especially to put him there,” you said, smiling.

“You little git,” Fred sighed, and he squeezed you rather hard in his arm.

You yelped, and made to step away, but Fred grabbed you around your waist and reeled you back to him. “No running off,” he said. “You’re going to freeze to death out here, wearing only that coat. Besides, I reckon you’ll run back to that cursed Madam Puddifoot’s and I’d rather die than go back in there again. You stay with me.”

“Okay,” you agreed warmly, snuggling up beside him. “Speaking of clothes – how’re you doing in your boxers?”

“Slowly dying in them,” Fred muttered gruffly. “But I’m guessing that’s exactly what you were hoping for, hellcat.”

“Excuse me,” you said, “I was hoping for your happiness.”

“You definitely were not.”

“Was too.”

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

Unbelievably, the two of you sincerely argued all the way back up to the castle.

By the time you got to your bedroom, you were both fully shouting at each other.

“I said it was for you to be happy about! It was my version of a joke, obviously!”

“That makes no sense! Why would heart-covered boxers make me feel happy? Huh!?”

“Because they add points to your cuteness!”

“Add points to my - ! What am I, a cartoon character?”

“With how ridiculous you are most of the time, you absolutely are!”

“Oh, I’m ridiculous? I’m ridiculous!”

“Yes, you are!”

“You are standing there, wearing nothing but a coat in the dead of winter, and I’m the ridiculous one?” “Fine! I’ll take my coat off! There!” You stripped your coat off and threw it to the floor.

Fred paused.

“Not ridiculous anymore!” you said loudly.

Fred’s voice changed, as he agreed, “No… You’re not.”

You hesitated. Fred looked you up and down. Suddenly, you felt rather shy. You pointed your finger at Fred. “You strip now. And let’s compare.”

“Were you cold out there?” Fred asked instead, nodding at how pink your legs were.

“I was fine,” you retorted. “I was fine in my coat, and not ridiculous at all and – and - ” You blinked furiously and suddenly fell silent as Fred approached you. You swallowed hard, as Fred was standing very, very close to you, and he felt more imposing and yet more safe – more like home – than ever. Your voice broke, as you suddenly whispered, “Fred - ” but there was nothing more to be said, because Fred had gathered you all up in his arms and kissed you passionately, deeply, and lovingly.

Fred still threw you onto the bed as though you were a sack of potatoes, but once you were there, he made sure you were under the blankets the entire time. And when you’d stripped Fred down to his heart-shaped boxers, you whispered to him, “It’s a joke, Fred.”

“It’s a terrible joke,” Fred said, taking them off quickly.

“Oh…” You grabbed them from Fred before he could throw them away. You hesitated, then you put them on top of your head, wearing them like a hat. “What if I do this?” you asked.

Fred was still for a long moment. Then, he burst out laughing. He rolled off of you and fell backwards onto the bed and he laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach.

You sat up. “What?” you said, pushing the boxers up to keep them on your head. “You said it wasn’t funny, so I was trying to elevate the joke.”

Fred looked over at you. Seeing you still wearing them, he said, “Oh, Merlin, take those bloody boxers off!” He reached out and yanked them off of you.

“But they should be worn,” you protested, grabbing them back. “Fred, put them back on.”

“Why?” Fred groaned. “What’s the point?”

“Wear them, and I’ll show you,” you promised.

Fred let out the loudest, most exasperated sigh, but he put them back on.

Once he did, you came over and sat between his knees. Then, leaning forward, you put your hands on his hips and very slowly began to kiss the hearts on the boxers – every one. “Mm…” you breathed out softly, as you pressed your lips to the heart on Fred’s hip. “Mm, mm, mm…” You slowly moved down the pattern, until you were kissing the inside of his thigh. And as you made your way down, your hands slipped down and towards the center, sliding over his hips and tummy to…

Fred shivered slightly, when he felt you touch him through his boxers, while still kissing, ever so cutely, the hearts on the inside of his thigh.

You paused to look up at him. “Still hate these?” you whispered quietly.

Fred gazed down at you. You were completely naked, save for the cute little heart plug in your ass, which you were waving slightly in the air, as you made your way down Fred’s thighs… You leaned down and placed another kiss on a heart.

Fred murmured, “Guess – Guess they’re not all bad…”

You let your hands run up to the seam of the boxers. You started to very, very slowly pull them down, and as you did, you followed the seam down and laid hot, tender kisses on his bare stomach.

Fred breathed out. He was entirely unable to take his eyes off of you, and he felt himself falling into this extremely sensual atmosphere that you had somehow created with this silly pair of panties.

“I told you before,” you whispered, with your mouth now pressed once again to the boxers, so that Fred could feel your warm breath through the cloth and on his thigh. “The heart marks the spot where you’re supposed to be kissed and touched…”

Fred groaned softly, as you gently began to palm his cock through the boxers.

“Were you not listening to me?” you asked him softly.

“I – I was – yeah, baby, just like that,” Fred moaned.

“You were?”

“Yeah, o-of course.”

“Mm, I see,” you said, giggling a little as you saw Fred, slightly open-mouthed and with his eyes closed, nodding away in agreement with whatever you were saying. You decided to interrupt his complacency by pulling on the seam and then letting it go – twang.

“Hey!” Fred jolted a little as the seam snapped back against his hips.

You grinned at him. “You know why I got you these boxers, Fred?”

“Uh, there was a reason?” Fred said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at you quite skeptically.

You nodded. You primly pushed your hair back as you explained, “I never do things without a reason. You ought to know that by now.”

“Go on.”

“I have a pair of your boxers, Fred,” you said. “And I use them to cum sometimes.”

Fred’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Yeah…” You paused and looked at him. “That’s allowed, isn’t it? With you being my boyfriend and all?”

“‘Course it’s allowed,” Fred said. “But you do that?”

“Mhm.” You slid your hand down your tummy and between your legs and slowly stroked yourself as you murmured, “Sometimes, I sit in my bed by myself, late at night, and I think about you and I… I get so wet for you. Mm… I’m imaging you between my legs, thrusting all wildly. And I keep moaning, ‘More, more, more,’ and you know what, Fred? You give me it. You give me exactly what I want, what I need, and mm, baby, you’re right there when I cum – kissing me, still pounding into me, and then…”

Fred slowly sat up and, little by little, he came closer to you.

You reached out and gently slid you finger under his chin. Eyes glittering, you looked at him as you whispered, “I feel you slip down my body and right as I’ve cum for, you bury your head between my legs and you eat me out like you were starving for me.” You hesitated. “Were you, Fred? Were you starving for me? Did you want me that badly?”

Fred wasn’t quite conscious of it, but he was now leaning forward, and his head was nearly at your knees. You chose that moment to abruptly snap your legs shut. Sitting up and neatly crossing your legs to your side, you reverted back to a more business-like voice, as you revealed, “So, as a little thank you, and to make the trade-off fair, I got you this cute pair of boxers.” You smiled pleasantly at him. “See? I’m very thoughtful.”

Fred blinked. He suddenly realized how much he was leaning over. Quickly sitting back up, Fred pointed out, “Well, it explains why you got me the boxers, but it doesn’t explain why you got me boxers with goddamn hearts all over it.”

“But that’s even simpler,” you replied.

“How’s that?”

“I wanted them to remind you of me.” You smirked at Fred, but after a moment, you realized that you had unknowingly spoken the truth and let Fred see a bit of your anxious little heart. You suddenly frowned.

Fred hesitated. “Baby?”

“But you didn’t even want to wear them, and then you took them off so fast, and - ”

“Then you put them on your head like a clown,” Fred reminded you. He came over to you and poked you in your side. “Guess you really wanted me to think about you, huh?”

You put your hands on Fred’s knee and looked up at him, and your hair fell back over your shoulders. “Fred…”

“Hm?”

“You’re a dingus.” “What?”

Fred suddenly made to grab you by the waist, to bring you in close and make you look him in the eye, but you caught his hand and pinned it down onto the bed. Letting out a quiet sigh, you murmured, “I always have to spell things out for you…”

“You wouldn’t if you weren’t so weird,” Fred retorted. He made to catch one of your hands back, trying to pin you down on the bed just like you had done to him. But quicker than a cat, you pulled your hands away – and then proceeded to start padding your hands around on his thighs. As you did, you mumbled quietly, “Yet you always have to act like you have the high ground, when in reality, you’re a fool. That’s why I feel this… this intense urge to tie you up and spank you. It puts you in your place. You know, if you weren’t so damn prideful, you could admit to me that you like it, after all. I mean, you’re much more vanilla than I expected, yes, but every now and then, I think you like a little bit of spice in our sex life. I try to ease you into it, so it won’t cost you your illusory pride. I try to offer you some middle ground, something that operates more like a joke than as a proper humiliation technique, and if you’ve noticed, I’ve stayed entirely away from spanking. But then you still don’t get it, and what am I to do? When my boyfriend has absolutely no class and no consideration. Whenever I try to be nice, he simply makes me -”

Fed up, Fred grabbed your wrists and pulled you to him, forcing you to look up at him and nearly dragging you into his lap. “What in Merlin’s name are you going on about?”

In a surprise move, you leaned in quickly and kissed the tip of his nose. Then, you finished, “… Feel so silly.”

Fred’s nose wrinkled, as he felt entirely confused. “I make you feel silly?”

Still in the position where Fred was holding your wrists together, you said softly, “Tell me you’re an idiot and you don’t know how to appreciate your girlfriend’s gifts, and I’ll let you cum in all my holes tonight.”

Fred paused. A strange look came over his face. “This feels familiar.”

A sly smile crept onto your lips. “Does it?” You were looking at Fred expectantly, with merry eyes that signaled that you were just waiting for him to catch on.

“Yeah, haven’t we made some kind-of deal like this before?” Fred mused, rubbing his jaw with his hand. “You did something stupid and I - ”

Just then, you reached over to your beside drawer and pulled out a familiar pink ribbon.

“Not again,” Fred groaned.

“Stay still, sweetheart,” you said, as you neatly looped around his neck.

“How am I the one making you feel silly, when you’re bullying me with all this rubbish, huh?” Fred said, scowling heavily at you.

“It’s not rubbish when you look so cute,” you purred. You finished the pretty bow and patted his neck gently.

“Cute or not – ack!” Fred gasped, as, in contrast to your soft compliment, you abruptly grabbed the end of the ribbon and rather roughly pulled Fred down, making him lean down. You turned your head perfectly – and caught his lips in a kiss.

“There you go,” you said lovingly. “You look so pretty, Fred. And you sound so cute. You’re all I want, you know that, right? I’ve never, ever wanted anyone half as much as I want you.”

“Well – you – ah…” Flustered, Fred half-protested and half-moaned. He had to hold onto your shoulders to keep himself up. Knowing this, you gave the ribbon another playful yank – and he was down on your bed.

You pounced on him happily, all but ripped the heart boxers off of him, held up your finger and wagged it at him. “You didn’t say it, so you can only pick one of my holes to cum in tonight!” Your eyes sparkled as you warned him, “That means that if you cum in my mouth tonight, you won’t get my pussy at all.” With that, you slid yourself down his legs and, at long last, put your mouth on his cock. “Mm!” you moaned happily, and you slid your hands up and down his thighs and you locked his legs in-between yours as you eagerly pleasured his cock with your mouth.

“D-Damn y-you!” Fred huffed out, as he found himself both bewildered and strangely satisfied at the same time. Without realizing it, he put his hands over his face and groaned, “Gods, how?”

“How what?” you asked pleasantly, fisting his cock with your hand now while looking up at Fred.

“I don’t get it,” Fred said, speaking into his hands still.

“Can’t hear you, Fred,” you said, and then – “Mm, mmphf, mm, ah…” Your head bobbed up and down once more.

“Uhn!” Fred breathed out. His hips and thighs shivered, making you feel very proud of yourself. You wanted Fred to feel good – and it’d be even better if he felt so good that he simply lost his mind, you thought wickedly. In truth, it was that second thought that spurred you to suck his cock the way you did – sinfully, sucking on it like it was your favorite lollipop, until your cheeks hollowed out, then running your tongue all up and down the entire length of his handsome cock, and then taking it in your mouth and throat until you had to close your eyes and focus on breathing – and then, finally, when you were breathless yourself, you laid your head on this thigh and used your hand to pleasure him, running your smooth palm over the tip of his cock over and over again, while your fingers squeezed around him more pleasurably…

All the while that Fred lay shivering and moaning and reacting to your touch, with his cock growing harder and harder as he sank back into your mattress, that cute pink ribbon was still on his neck, accentuating how hard he was straining for breath – and it filled with all sorts of wonderful feelings to see that.

Let’s see just how long that ribbon can last without coming apart on Fred, you thought to yourself. Hmm… It was the sort-of challenge you liked because it was a self-challenge and because it meant you had an excuse to suck off your boyfriend for another half-hour… with intermittent reminders of, “One hole only, remember.”

Fred went through all the stages of pleasure, denial, and exhaustion in that hour. He blessed you, cursed you, begged for you, nearly kicked you in the face, yanked your hair (and then messily patted it down when you berated him for that), called you baby, followed by hellcat, and moaned, groaned, cursed, and whimpered before he fell into those low, pleading, and thoughtless whines that you loved most of all.

“Baby,” you cooed, soothingly running your hand up and down his stomach, “don’t you sound so sweet…” – and then glomp! You clamped your mouth back down on his cock and mouth-fucked him with fervor.

Fred couldn’t help it – he came. He groaned, “N-No…! I don’t wanna – Not yet – y-your pussy, b-baby – nngh!” as his cock throbbed feverishly.

You sighed and patted his hips as you said understandingly, “Oh, Freddie, it’s okay to admit defeat.”

Fred protested, “Not – yet!” only to immediately cum afterwards. “Fuck!” he gasped loudly, as he felt himself give in – an intense wave of tension wracked his body – he blanked out and jolted – and then, hot, white cum spurted into your mouth.

“Ah!” A pleased cry escaped your mouth and then you went totally silent as you hurriedly positioned yourself to take in all of Fred’s cum into your mouth. You underestimated Fred, though, and you finally had to gasp and let go and let Fred’s cum spurt all over your breasts as well. You moaned when you felt his warm cum drip onto your tummy and thighs. I’m covered in him, you thought, awed. Covered in his cum… Mmm, yes, feels so good… I want – I want more.

Meanwhile, Fred was groaning inside of his head, No, I wanted to – to last longer – Godric, how does she do this to me, every time? Damn it, damn it, damn it! But I can’t deny… how damn good it feels. She’s got such a pretty mouth, even if she does say things only a fucking demon would say – teasing me like that. Tch.

“Fred,” you called in a sing-songy voice – as if you hadn’t just dragged him into a state of begging for mercy and being nearly dead from overstimulation. “Earth to Fred!”

Fred, still panting quite heavily, managed to sit up.

“Look.” You stood up and gestured at yourself. “I’m covered in you, sweetheart.”

Fred stared at you.

You ran your hands down your sides and murmured, “Baby, you came so much. And…” You tapped your lips softly with your finger “…I swallowed a lot of it, too.”

You smiled at Fred. Fred stared at you, dazed.

You laughed. “Are you blushing, Freddie? Are you embarrassed by how much you came? You were so insistent that you wouldn’t cum until you were inside of me, but look at this.” You twirled in front of him, and the lamplight made your body, painted with Fred’s cum, glisten all over.

But as Fred stared at you, he noticed how, despite having his cum all over and despite having done all manner of things to him in the last half hour, you still looked perfectly put together I look like I got by hit by a truck because of her, and she looks like a fucking fairy still, Fred thought – and for reason, that thought both embarrassed and annoyed him. Fred grabbed your pink pillow and hid his face in it.

“Fred?” You came over to him and gently touched his shoulder.

“No,” Fred said peevishly, jerking himself away from you. “I said I wanted to cum in your pussy. And you were mean and didn’t let me.”

You giggled at this. “I was mean and didn’t let you?” you repeated, finding this oddly adorable and hilarious.

Fred kept his face in the pillow. He bleated out in a muffled voice, “How come you turn me into such a mess, huh?”

“I’m supposed to, I’m your girlfriend,” you reminded him. Wanting to see Fred’s face, you made a grab for the pillow, but Fred avoided you.

“Fred, come on!” You finally managed to grasp the pillow enough to pull it out of his arms. “There, now look at me, love.” 

Fred was grumpy, but he let you come closer. You peered into his face. His hair was a right mess; his face was a burning beacon of fire; and that stupid pink ribbon was still hanging on by a thread on his neck. You couldn’t help but giggle.

Fred pulled a face. “Not helping.”

“Sorry,” you said softly. You quickly hugged him across his shoulders and placed a tender kiss on his cheek. “You just look so handsome.”

Fred muttered, “I look a right mess. How do you turn me into such a mess, huh?”

You gave him a toothy grin. “It’s my specialty, as your alligator.” You pulled on Fred’s arm until it was around your shoulders. “As your angel.” You leaned into Fred, hugged him tightly, and sang cheerfully, “As your girlfriend.”

“And all right,” you admitted, “so tonight was a tiny bit of payback.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah?”

“You know,” you explained, “for when I was stuck up the tree because of the fireworks and you said that you would help me down – but only if I said that I was an idiot that didn’t know how to light fireworks. That always stuck with me, and when you mentioned Zonko’s the other day, it reminded me of that incident again.”

“So this was payback for that?”

“A teeny bit.”

Fred threw your arms off of him and shouted, “I knew it!”

“But most of it was just for your benefit, Fred!”

“Like hell it was!”

“It was! I swear. Especially after this evening. I mean, you were a perfect boyfriend tonight. I mean, I can’t believe you paid for Madam Puddifoot’s.”

Fred snorted loudly. “Trust me, I did not know how much money you were going to spend there.”

“I’ll pay you back,” you said earnestly.

Seeing that you were genuine, Fred softened. He quickly waved his hand at you and said, “No, don’t.”

“I really will! I’m happy to. I meant to,” you pressed.

Fred replied, almost too quickly, “I don’t want you to.”

You paused. In a small voice, you said, “I don’t mind.”

Fred sighed. “No, love, I really don’t want you to. I’m glad you had fun tonight. It’s… It’s your favorite holiday and all. I wanted you to enjoy yourself.”

Touched by how sweet Fred was being, you whispered softly, “Thank you.” You slowly came up to him and took his hand. Then, you suggested, “Then, how’s this? I’m going to wear that little leather skirt you like, and I’ll keep all my holes open for you all night. How does that sound?”

Fred blinked. “All your holes?”

You nodded.

Fred furrowed his brow, realizing that he was being given the advantage in negotiating. He said hurriedly, “And you’re gonna wear that skirt?”

“Yes.”

“And your plug?”

“Yes.”

“And – And you’re not going to edge me?”

You sighed sadly. “I won’t edge you.”

“And will you say that you’re mine?”

You paused.

Fred ducked his head and looked sincerely at you. “Will you?”

Seeing that he genuinely wanted this, you agreed, “‘Course.”

Brightening, Fred pulled you to him. Grasping your hand in his, he asked you, “Whose hand is this?”

You smiled. “My boyfriend, Fred’s.”

“And whose hips are these?” he asked, wrapping his other arm around you and sitting you down in his lap.

“Fred’s.”

“And whose – mmm (you both stopped for a kiss) – lips are these?”

“Fred’s,” you whispered.

“And whose tummy is this?”

You laughed when Fred tickled you.

“C’mon, say it.”

“Okay, okay. This is your tummy, Fred,” you said happily.

“That’s right. And… whose pussy is this?” Fred murmured in your ear, as he left his hand slip down your arm and your curves, sweep across your thigh, and press between your legs.

“Obviously, it’s yours, baby,” you murmured, and you fought the urge to moan as his warm hand made a home for itself between your legs.

“Mine to kiss?” he clarified, gently pressing his fingers against your pussy.

“Yes.”

“Mine to eat out?” He moved his fingers more quickly, massaging your clit and pressing down a little right over your pussyhole.

“Y-Yes. Ah…”

“Mine to fuck?” “Yes, baby – ah!” You gasped at the end as Fred pushed his finger inside of you as soon as you gave him consent.

Biting your ear a little, Fred whispered, “Mine to cum in?”

“Oh – Oh God, yes, please,” you huffed out. Grabbing his arm with both of your hands, you shivered all over Fred’s lap as he touched you.

Fred growled lowly. “Fuck, I can feel you getting wet, baby.”

“Ah…” you moaned softly. “Fred… Please, more.”

“And you get so soft,” Fred whispered adoringly. “Your pussy, your voice, your body - ” Fred slipped his other finger into your mouth and you sucked gently on it.

“Mm, you are an angel,” he praised you.

When you heard this, your heart fluttered in your chest. He called me an angel. My boyfriend called me an angel!

You closed your eyes, no longer afraid of letting Fred have you.

You’d always been afraid of relinquishing control – afraid that someone would see your mischievous side and judge you for being irresponsible and equally afraid that someone would see your softer side and think that you were weak or boring.

But Fred… Fred wasn’t like that at all. When you were being silly, he encouraged it and loved that you were having fun. When you were being soft, he gathered you all up and made you feel so very loved.

Sitting here in Fred’s lap, with him touching you and kissing you and praising you, something felt like it was healing inside of you.

Fred took his time with you that night, and you let him, and you enjoyed every moment of it – from him slowly and lovingly fingering you while having you in his lap, to his lying you down gently on the bed (finally!) to make love to you, to his fisting your hair and kissing your neck fervently and rewarding your aching cries with hard, deep thrusts, to his following you when you turned to sob into the pillow and fucking you from behind until your plug fell out – and then pushing it back in, making you cry out again, and continuing to fuck you until you were pressed up against your headboard and moaning endlessly against the cold, hard wood, and finally, pinning you down against the floor (you had absolutely no memory of when you’d gone off the bed) to cum as deep in your pussy as he could – and then thrusting gently into you until he finally softened.

At the end of it, when you were both lying there on the floor, panting heavily, you huffed out, “I’m – I’m glad you didn’t g-give in and say that you – you were an idiot, Fred.”

“What d’you mean?” Fred asked, sprawled out on the floor and breathing as though he’d run a marathon.

“You aren’t an idiot at all, and you do know how to appreciate my gifts,” you breathed out. “And you – you certainly – hah – you certainly did use all my holes tonight.” You tried to open your eyes – only to find the ceiling spinning above you. You quickly shut them again. You didn’t see how Fred looked over at you and how he took his time to take a mental picture of you, in that moment, in his mind.

After a moment, you called, “Fred…? Did you hear what I said?”

Just then, you gasped as Fred gently picked you up to set you down on the bed. “Yeah, I heard you, baby,” he said quietly.

You smiled at him. “Good.”

Fred reached out and brushed your hair back into place. It was finally messy after the rough fucking he’d given you today, and he thought you looked adorable. But he figured you’d appreciate it if he made it all neat for you again. Sure enough, you turned your head a little to kiss his palm. “My, my, could this be Freddie all grown up?” you wondered aloud. “Taking care of me and all? Not just during sex, but afterwards?”

Fred shrugged. “Reckon it’s only right, since you let me yank at your hair all throughout.”

“You are grabby,” you agreed. “Like a gnome.”

“Well, I’ve got to grab onto something while I’m wrecking you,” Fred replied matter-of-factly.

“Mm, agreed,” you said. “And now you know why I like a leash.” You paused, and then clarified, “On you.”

Fred sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know, you like thinking of me as your stupid little ‘puppy.’” He reached down and pulled the covers up over you. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t misunderstand you, hellcat.”

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Fred gazed at you. As you settled into bed and nuzzled the covers, your eyes began to slip shut.

Tiredly, you murmured, “Fred? Aren’t you gonna sleep with me?”

“I will,” he promised. “I just… I want to say something.”

“Hm…?” you mumbled out, trying your best to stay awake for him.

Something in Fred’s heart hurt – and he didn’t know why – as he confessed, “Have I ever told you… how much I love you?”

Your lips curved up into a sweet smile, and you tiredly held up your hand and pointed a finger in the air as you replied, “No, that’s the first time. Number one… I was waiting for you to… tell me…”

“Sorry I was late,” Fred said quietly. “You’re right. Sometimes it takes me longer than it should to catch on.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you murmured. “I… love you…” Your voice faded away as sleep overtook you. But just before you managed to fall asleep, you mumbled out, “Oh, Happy… Valentine’s… Told you it’s… a good… holiday…”

Fred watched you fall asleep before he got into bed next to you. Putting his arm around you and slipping his hand around yours, Fred whispered back, “Yeah, Happy Valentine’s, love.” Then, he closed his eyes and slowly fell asleep beside you.

[niobiumao3]

There's this weird idea that we must accept the story that is told in a show, a book, a movie, etc. I wonder sometimes where it came from, because historically this is very much not the case; myths were re-written and re-told constantly, books were re-printed with whole sections changed out. Even here in the modern era we have authors releasing 'unabridged' versions of their books, 'director's cuts' of movies.

Obviously if you as a fan only want to engage with the canon as presented that's your call and it's fine. But I think some people also feel like they have to and that's quite odd to me.

Star Wars is by no means the only example here but it's a good one because SW had a whole section of canon that Disney just straight up de-canonized--and note, Lucas never considered any of it canon either! He's point blank said he felt the Extended Universe (now Legends) of games, books, and comics was entirely separate from the films and TCW seasons he personally was involved in, effectively its own offshoot before Disney renamed it and separated themselves from it. So from that POV we already have three separate SW canons: Lucas, EU/Legends, and Disney. (And since a lot of content in Legends is contradictory we already have more than that!)

What I am saying is: there already IS no single official canon to follow, hasn't been since the first EU/Legends media was produced. This is hardly a surprise with a 48 year old story setting which has changed corporate hands and had licensing handed out to god and everyone, but people keep running around asserting 'but in canon this happened thus I am delulu for X'.

Which canon?

The concept of an 'AU' already has almost no meaning in Star Wars; there are almost a dozen 'official' alternate universes. Why is yours, as a fan, any less valid, any more 'delusional'? Because you didn't sign a contract with Lucasfilm or Disney? That's not totally a BAD thing seeing as how they don't seem inclined to properly pay their creators and have a tendency to kill/write off characters as soon as they've gotten their props for inclusiveness.

Don't concern yourself with canon compliance. Disney and Lucasfilm certainly aren't.

[miya-eulik]

Hi there. Here is the new chapter of my fanfiction. This time with a picture again and because I don't have enough to do...cough...I have...cough....I have decided to draw a deck of cards for this fanfiction. I'll post the cards when I don't have a picture for the chapter. I based the cards heavily on the cards shown in the fourth episode when Husk told his story. I thought it was fitting. I already have a relative idea of who will be on which card, but feel free to post your suggestions. Some of the characters I have planned for this haven't shown up yet or won't become important until later on in the story, so I can't promise I'll be able to account for everything. So, here's Angel's card. Of course, he's the queen of hearts:

Husk is the King of Diamonds, by the way, that's non-negotiable.

Royal flush straight into your heart

Chapters: 22/???

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Cherri Bomb (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Fat Nuggets (Hazbin Hotel), Fat Nuggets & Husk (Hazbin Hotel)

Characters: Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Original Hazbin Hotel Character(s), Fat Nuggets (Hazbin Hotel), Cherri Bomb (Hazbin Hotel), Arackniss (Hazbin Hotel)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Pre-Cano, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Overlord Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Canon-typical swearing, casino - Freeform, Gambling, Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino Being a Jerk (Hazbin Hotel), Slow Burn, Power Dynamics, Demonic Contracts, Drug Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Self-Destructive Behavior, Miscommunication, Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Canon-Typical Violence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Italian Mafia, Arackniss is homophobic, Homophobia, but we condemn it strongly

Summery: Husk is an overlord with thousands of souls under his fine-cut claws and millions on his bank account, content with his life and his success. Angel Dust is a successful porn star pretending to be content with his life as well, despite his abusive boss who keeps a tight grip on his leash. The birth of Hazbin Hotel is still a long way in the future and so these two never should have crossed paths…until Valentino comes up with the stupid idea to bet Angel's soul in a pocker game, despite the latter's objections. In a game against Husk. Neither of them know yet how this new development will change both their lives and bring something unknown and wonderful into their lives. Love.

Chapter Summery: Now it's time for Angel to finally tell his story.

[mymainwastoocluttered]

Mad Father (Deuce Spade)

Thank you for 1000 followers! Hope you enjoy the Horror Event!

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

I was forgetting to tag you, I'm so sorry, ANYWAY, requested by the lovely @societyslostone

⚠️ WARNING: spoilers for Mad Father, if you don't know the full story of the game, I recommend you play/watch a gameplay of the latest version before reading this.

“I got you!”

Deuce pulls his girlfriend with all his might, Aya clutching his jacket in an attempt to pull both of them. (Y/N) tries to kick off whatever invisible force is pulling her foot, her nails digging on Deuce’s skin. They struggle for a few moments before whatever it is finally lets go and returns to the shadows of the mansion, and the older girl scrambles to get up and throw her arms around him, shaking like a leaf. Aya is no better behind him.

“Shh… it’s ok, I got you. You’re safe, we’re safe,” he tries to comfort her in a soft voice, rubbing her back. “Are you hurt?”

“My ankle hurts a bit, but other than that I’m fine,” she answers in between deep breaths.

She squeezes him one last time, he promptly answers, before letting go so she can give the little girl some attention. It’s adorable how Aya throws herself at (Y/N), and how the older girl hugs her and plays with her hair, cooing assurances so the girl won’t cry. In any other situation, Deuce would be daydreaming of their future together, married and with a kid that looks just like Aya—the girl could pass as a member of his family, after all, with her dark hair and blue eyes.

But right now, the three trapped inside this castle-like mansion with demons and ghouls wishing for their deaths is not a good situation to daydream of the future.

“We need to keep going,” (Y/N) takes the words from his mouth, giving the little girl one last pat on the head before putting her down.

“Right! We need to save Father!” Aya claps, giving them a brilliant smile as if what just happened is a normal occurrence, which probably is, since they had found her already running around the place all by herself.

All because of her precious Father.

Deuce wants to scoff, but he doesn’t want to upset the girl. (Y/N) had told him many things from her world, including the plots of some of her favorite games. He can’t remember all of it, but he remembers the gist of Mad Father: the killer father and his sick obsession with making his daughter into a human doll so she would never stop being beautiful that resulted in him experimenting on many many unfortunate souls. And all those souls then come back thanks to a curse by his late wife, Aya’s mother, all wishing for one thing only: the death of the mad doctor and the daughter who tries to save him.

Deuce wishes Aya would just stop trying to save her father and leave. She’s a bright girl, she surely would be alright, and Maria is still alive. More than that, now she has Deuce and (Y/N), and the Prefect of Ramshackle is certainly resourceful, while the boy is capable of carrying any task entrusted to him with tunnel vision. She would be fine.

But she refuses because she just loves her father so much despite fully knowing what he has done.

Deuce will never understand that.

He dislikes his father for leaving his mother to fend for herself while pregnant, he can’t imagine himself ever caring about a man who has tortured and murdered dozens—maybe hundreds—and enjoyed it.

“Her father is not the only problem,” comes the voice of his lover, and he doesn’t bother to wonder how she knows what he’s thinking. For someone without magic, she sure has some odd skills. “In fact, I’d say none of this would be happening if it weren’t for her mother.”

The boy looks at his girlfriend, but her eyes refuse to leave the girl, who’s now trying to talk with a mysterious raven. He holds her hand tightly and she holds his back just as tight, keeping her voice low as she tells him about Monika, Aya’s mother, her cult, her love for cruelty, her desire to see Aya turn into the monster her father is, and how Alfred, said father, was somehow the one who wished that Aya became a kind girl and turning her into a doll was the only way his unstable mind found after his wife tried to undo his attempts to teach the girl right from wrong.

“... so they’re both terrible.”

“Yes. They both love Aya deeply, but they’re both terribly twisted, and it shows in their love. That is the great tragedy of Mad Father.”

“... and Aya is like them…?”

The girl finally looks up to him, and he feels like he just swallowed rose thorns. Sorrow and despair grasp every nerve in his body and mangle it in their cold fingers until he can feel nothing but numbness.

“She’s not… exactly like them, but… in the future, she takes the idea of ‘sparing people of pain’ a bit too far…”

Another ball of rose thorns goes down his throat at the implications. Deuce feels nauseous, so much so that he actually stumbles, leaning his body on hers. Aya turns to look at them and he almost feels like screaming and cursing and begging her to stop before she can start, before she becomes a reaper to avoid becoming a monster. He gets it now, he understands it now, the horror of Mad Father, the horror of the Drevis family.

The inevitability of their madness.

He takes a deep breath and forces a smile, calling the girl. Aya practically skips her way to them, and the three leave hand in hand, with the little girl in the middle, like a little family walking around their big house and not two teens and a child trying not to die in a maze of insanity and demise.

Deuce can only hope that their presence in this mansion is not brief enough that she forgets what he plans on telling her.

[happybunny999]

A GODDESS IN GOTHEM ARKHAMVERSE VARIOUS X GODDESS READER fanfic PART 1

(Y/n as seen it all from what happened back in Arkham Asylum to now what is happening to Gotham after scarecrow had scared the people of Gotham to leave the city, could she be able to save them all from death)

Gotham was a night like no other after all the inmates from Gotham had broken out of Arkham Asylum and the death of the joker everything was fine for a few months but once scarecrow had drove the people of Gotham out with the help of this ‘Arkham knight’ Gotham has turned into a war zone how do I know this? Because I have seen it all from the beginning I was there when joker took over Gotham and when he died because what no one knows is that I’m not just a human but I’m also a goddess and I have been watching over the city of Gotham for a long time and only interfered when it’s too much for the so called ‘dark knight’ also called Bruce Wayne I aware of his past as well as many others in Gotham I have seen what has happen to them throughout there lives and it’s sad to see witch is why I came down to earth and stayed here in Gotham for a long time(throughout the 3 Arkham games I mean) and I know just what’s about to happen before it even starts but anyway back to the story

The city was in chaos, rouge’s caused destruction, the police were being overwhelmed, scarecrow and the Arkham Knight were causing fear to those who are left in the city, Batman being pulled into so many directions trying to stop as many villains as possible and you were watching it all happened soon you went of to help Batman with this problem as you roam the city helping as many people as possible and stopping a few criminals with your power while on your way to stop scarecrow from releasing the cloudburst you ran into no other then Batman fighting some criminals on the streets deciding to help him you use your divine power to slow down the now confused criminals who are wondering why are the now slow to attack giving Batman enough time to defeat them and knock them out and when it was done he appeared before you and demanded who you are so you told him who the were and at first he did not believe you but when you show him your god-like power by stopping a burning house near by with just a wipe of your hand he is convinced and ask you what are your motives and why were you here to which you answered honestly that you are here to stop scarecrow and also resurrect the joker and soon save ivy from her impending death and save him from death as well. Bruce immediately Question you about what did you mean by resurrecting the joker and ivy soon to be death and his demise too, to which you just say ’you will see at the end’ Bruce did not like that answer so he was about to question you further but you had already left to continue your quest to stop scarecrow so you head to ace chemicals to talk to him.

[ohmightydevviepuu]

imperfect boys. perfect ploys. (this is a song about tragedy) [2/6]

“My ‘story’ is that I left a fucked-up situation and it kind of fucked me up,” he’d said.  But it was the way he’d said it, like it hadn’t broken him.  Like it was just a fact. But Emma’s life was a story, too.  A fucked-up situation that had kind of fucked her up.  She wasn’t that kid anymore.  Confidence could be learned.  And maybe—maybe—she wasn’t broken, either. Not if she picked up the pieces.  Not if she told herself a new story.  About who she was.  About what she wanted.  Roots, family, friends, a sense of the familiar—these did not have to be fairy tales. “You owe it to yourself,” Mary Margaret said. “Happy endings always start with hope.”

–

S3 post-neverland canon divergence. 20k of no-curse renaissance.

read it on AO3

to @wistfulcynic and @thisonesatellite who sat with me while we daydreamed on a hilltop in cornwall on the summer-iest summer day england has ever seen. it took me eight months but i got there in the end.

thank you to @shireness-says for time and feedback and kindness to the IAS @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @idoltina @initiala @thejollyroger-writer @phiralovesloki for always giving me a cheer when i needed it

–

four. 'wouldn't you like to know?'

He watched her recitation with a kind of morbid fascination:  Mother, sheriff, bail bonds, True Love.  Savior.  Her parents hovered—eager, encouraging, and more than a bit alarming.  Regina was sullen and Killian stayed silent because he had already won the only battle he would win today; for now, at least there would be no magic.

Emma had agreed with him.

So had the prince.

Her parents’ eagerness, though, it rankled him in a way he could not quite pinpoint.  “If this is a game, that means you can win,” Snow White had said.  True enough, in its fashion, but Pan’s response to such a feat would merely be to change the rules.  Were they really so naive?  Whatever the Charmings had faced against the Evil Queen and even Cora was merely a prelude to what Pan could dish out and Killian was unfortunate enough to know this from experience.

A woman, a mother, the product of True Love, a savior.  But she’d left off the most salient bit.  Killian knew it and Pan would have, too.  It was probably why he’d sought her out in the forest and set this particular game in motion.

Emma Swan had the Look.

Which meant that would be the key to unlocking her map.  He wondered if Emma knew that yet.

Her parents certainly did not.  Pan was a bastard, but he wasn’t wrong, was he?  Here she was, surrounded by family, but still holding them aside.  

Killian followed them into the jungle anyway.  Followed her, really.  Emma had done him the courtesy of respecting his experience and he would return the favor and follow her lead, even as it took them deeper into the darkness.  Even as it took them into battle.  Sword-to-sword against Felix, he could only shout a single warning—“Watch out for their arrows!  They’re laced with dreamshade!”—as the game shifted, became deadly.  Bad form, indeed.

He saw the arrow out the corner of his eye and he was certain it had grazed the prince, but there was no time, not now, not for that, not with Emma frozen and the battle called off.  Killian chose to believe the prince when he pointed to the hole in his jacket because some things were not to be borne on this island full of nightmares and Emma still had a game to win.

Still, he took himself away from the camp for a few minutes.  Snow White and her daughter needed time for a decades-overdue chat and he needed a moment to get his head straight.  David said he was fine; he would be fine.  Emma was a survivor; she would break the spell on the map.  They would find the boy—Henry— 

“She’s done it!”

Killian ran.  Rather, he ran as much as he could with an armload of wood for the fire.  It was more of a hurried stride.  But he dumped the pile and presented himself.

“The map is working.  We know where Henry is.”  Emma held the map in her outstretched hand and in front of…him.  Like she trusted him.  Like the rules of their game had changed.  Like it was just that easy. 

“Um,” he said.  “We’re here at the southern tip of the isle.  In the middle of the Dark Jungle.  And Pan’s camp”—Killian pointed with his hook—“is due north.”

“That’s where he’s keeping Henry,” Emma said.

“So what are we waiting for?” Regina’s impatience was visible.  Palpable.  And she wasn’t wrong.  But rushing off would be foolish.

“Well,” he said, slowly.  “The terrain is not easy.  There will undoubtedly be some nasty impediments along the way.”

“We should prepare,” David agreed.  “We only made it out of our last encounter because Pan let us.”

Killian looked at Emma and thought that it was rather because Emma had understood her answer, face-to-face with the Lost Boys.  He held the evidence in his hand; either way, she was energized.  Ready to take it on and start all over.

“We need to stop playing his game and make him play ours,” she said, determined.

“And if I disagree?” Regina asked.

“Go ahead, but I think you know our best chance is together.”  The certainty in her answer made him smile.

“Excellent show of patience, love,” he said, the endearment slipping out as the group dispersed.  “That is how you defeat a nasty little boy.”  

“I hope so,” she said.  

He offered her his flask, considering.  

“Is rum your solution to everything?”  But she was smiling as she said it, and took a sip.

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” he said.  It was certainly easier not to think too hard—or too much—and certainly preferable to share it with Emma Swan than to drink it alone. “So just who are you, Swan?”

It was a question for himself as much as it was for her, he realized.  Woman, mother, sheriff, savior?

 Survivor.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said, handing him the flask.

“Perhaps I would,” he said, yet another uncomfortable truth and compounded by the fact that Emma Swan could tell when he was lying.  Which he wasn’t.

Her body went rigid, her eyes wide.  Killian watched her walk away and set his sights on building the fire.  Grateful for the task, and grateful for the rest.  The others needed to sleep.  He needed a break.  Time.  Time to keep an eye on the prince and check for signs of poison.  

Time to think.

They needed an ally.  Someone who knew the island.  They needed to get to the boy.  He watched the others settle themselves, heard the sighs and the shifts and the snores of slumber.   When they woke, he decided, and he had an opportunity, he would tell them about Tink.  They would try the map first, of course.  Emma had paid the price of the magic and they should see where it led them.  Another log, and another glance toward the surrounding woods for signs of Emma’s return. That’s when he heard the voices.

Pan would be displeased, Killian thought.  He would be—unkind.  So Killian stayed.  He sat by the fire and left the rum flask next to him as he waited.  Silent, staring.  He did it because he was curious and because he wanted her to see that she was not the only one chased through the night by the cries, by the demon.  He heard the rustling as she returned.  The rustling, and nothing else, as she sat down next to him—near, but not close—and said nothing.

Neither did he.  This, he thought, was enough.

five. do you believe in fairies?

“Son of a bitch,” Emma growled.  “How is it behind us?”  She turned toward him.  Him.

“You got us lost,” Regina said.  Her fingers flexed.  

Killian swung the lantern around.  “No.  No she didn’t.”  He was so tired.  “It’s the camp—Pan is moving it.”

“If Pan keeps moving the camp—how are we going to find it?  How are we going to find Henry?”  Again Emma’s eyes found his.  “This whole trek has been for nothing?”

“I told you walking was idiotic,” Regina snapped.  “We can use magic—“

“Pan will have shields against magic, I fear,” Killian said, his temper frayed to the breaking point.  “Such an attempt would end in your death—and, more importantly, mine.  Which is why we are walking.”  He said the words slowly, as if to a small child.

“Well then?” Regina gestured expectantly.  “What’s your idea?  How are we going to find it?”

He was never going to get a better opening.  “By using someone he trusts,” Killian said.  “A fairy who lived here when I was about.  She might still be on the island, and she would know how to get us in.  She might even”—happy thought, indeed—“she might even have some pixie dust left.  We could fly in.”

“You mean fairy dust.”

“No,” the prince said.  “Pixie dust.  It’s stronger, like nuclear fairy dust.”

Whatever that meant, it seemed to convince Emma.  “Wait.  A fairy?  Tinker Bell?”

“You know her?”  That would make all of this easier, to be sure— 

“Every kid in the world knows her.”

—ah.  So she was just another story, like the rest of them.  Perms and whatnot.  But Killian thought that—if she was still here—Tink might be persuaded.  It was in her nature—all of those nights they had lain together, to ward off the darkness—the way she had helped him keep an eye on Baelfire.  Smuggling food, bringing back information.  What mattered was that Emma took hold of the idea and led them back onto the trail.

They had not spoken of their shared hours by the fire but he heard the hitch in Emma’s  breath when Regina called him her ‘boyfriend’.  

‘Boyfriend.’  

A strange word for a man who had not been a boy for hundreds of years; however, if it meant that she was inclined to take his counsel and leave him for a torch-bearer he would gladly accept the title.

And when Regina said, “Mark my words, this Tinker Bell will not help us,” she sounded so completely certain and all Killian could do was wonder what Regina had done to Tink and marvel at the vagaries of time and magic. When had Tink come to the island?  He didn’t remember. He couldn’t—not when every night was the same, over and over.  Not unlike the Curse, perhaps, only he was painfully aware of each passing second. The sameness. The horror. 

The feeling of being forever stuck in the worst version of oneself until it was the only reality.

But here and now, Killian followed Emma with his torch.  

A light in the darkness, at least until his temper finally gave way, until Prince-bloody-Charming tripped over himself one time too many, panting as he tried and failed to catch his breath. As if this island had not already left him bleeding—every moment, every breath, every step he’d taken since he’d agreed to take Emma Swan to save her son.

Killian had him up against a wall before he had even realized he was moving.  “I saw what happened to you.”  He grabbed at David’s shirt as if he did not already know what he would see.  

Dreamshade.

Bloody, bollocking—

The spread of the poison, inky black and unmistakable, pointed straight toward the prince’s heart.  “I’m sorry, mate,” Killian said, and was surprised by how much he meant it.

six. the cocunut

It was the way she looked at him.  Taking him in from his boots to his brows as she handed him the coconut.  “Consider it an alternative to the rum,” Emma said.  “If you can open it.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “Of course,” he said.  He had a smile of his own in spite of everything as he waited—a beat, and then another.

“Please?”

“If the lady insists,” he said with a flourish, piercing into the rind and handing it back to her.  She took it, took a sip.  Moved to sit down and turned back to look at him, and there was that expression again.  Expectation and invitation.

If the lady insists.

He threw his coat over the log for a backrest and watched her get comfortable.  She said nothing else.  Neither did he.  They watched the camp quiet and waited, waited for the whispers from Regina and from Tink to die down, to fade away.

“What do you think Regina did to her?” Emma asked.

Killian laughed, a sound that startled him.  Loud and full and dimming out, however briefly, the cries in the night.  She smiled—a small smile, a cautious smile—as she took another sip from the fruit.  It was when he looked away, his eyes sweeping the camp, that he heard the grunt of pain as Prince Charming shifted in his sleep.  “You were brilliant today,” Killian said, meaning it.  Inviting Tink to be a part of something—Emma Swan’s true superpower.  

He had been a fool to ignore it.  To turn his back on it.  And she shared it with him anyway, offering protection from the cries of the Lost and the aches of past pain.  Tink had seen it, of course.  The way she had looked at him—and at Emma—and then back at Killian.  Not an invitation.  A recognition.  She’d smiled.  

“Thank you,” Emma said.  They were quiet together for a long time after that, their tiny fire a feeble bulwark against the darkness of the nights and of his thoughts.

If only it helped.

As the others stirred, rising from their attempts at slumber, David’s face was pale and drawn.  There was a tremor as he stood.  Noble David.  Suffering David.

Dying David.

“Pointy sticks equals death.”  Well, Dave, good riddance.

There was, however, a more immediate issue.  Tink was painfully accurate in her assessment regarding their escape plan.  Pretty words from Prince Charming—“this family always finds a way”—would not secure their return passage no matter how loudly enough he shouted.  He could not will the words into truth with the power of his belief.

Emma seemed to agree.

“Tink’s right,” Emma said.  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, you never break in somewhere unless you know the way out.”

The lesson this island—Pan—had taught all of them, and he had taught to Bae.  He watched her as she said it.  Her eyes.  “She just lost Neal,” Snow White had said. 

They both had.

“So no one’s ever left this island without Pan’s permission?”

Neal.  Neal had gotten off this island.  

He looked at Emma.  “One man.  Her partner in crime—Neal.”  Killian lit the lantern and turned to go without another word.  He had not moved three paces before Emma fell into step behind him.

It wasn’t a long walk, as best he could reckon.  Tink had told him where the cave was; he knew where he was going.  Tink had helped Bae to find it in the first place, after he’d left the Jolly Roger.  After Killian had left him to Pan’s mercies.

Not a long walk but too long for Killian’s state of mind, and not fast enough for Prince-bloody-Charming.  The man shouldered him out of the way as they pulled the hidden entrance open, panting and gasping with every movement.

“How much longer do you think you can keep up this charade?”

“Why do you care?”

He didn’t.  He didn’t.

“Hook!”  Emma’s voice broke through.  Killian turned.  He followed the sound into the cave, reaching into his pocket for his flint.  “What is this—oh.  Neal—he lived here?”

“Aye.”  He put down the flint and glared at the prince, who was smugly snapping shut the lid of his lighting device.  “Bae spent some time in Neverland as a boy.  This was—his home.”  The light from the wall torch flared and Killian needed to catch his breath.  He’d passed along bits and bobs to Tink, intending them for Bae:  Chalk and other things an inventive lad could use for tools and writing implements and the like.  But she had never told him about the cave walls full of drawings—full of stories—the wheel of the Jolly Roger scraped into the rocks of Neverland.  “Anything important?” he asked, turning away from the drawings.

“I didn’t know he liked drawing,” Emma said.  She was quiet as her eyes and her torch scanned the walls. 

“He got it from his mother,” Killian whispered.  

“Oh.”  Emma swallowed.  “So—you knew him pretty well?”

“We spent some time together.”  Their eyes met, but she was the one who looked away.  “Alright, Swan?”

“Yeah.”  She sniffed.  “Yeah, it’s like you said—just a bunch of pictures.  What’s over there?”  

“Plates, bowls—things he must have made for himself while he was here.”  Snow White stood up. She held a small, round object.  “And a tiny…colander?”

He figured it out the same time Emma did, reaching for the snuff to put out the wall light as the prince pulled out his lighting device.  The wick of the tiny candle glowed until Emma covered it and gasped.  It was breathtaking. 

It was a map.

But the longer he looked at the map, the more something became clear—it was not a depiction of the stars and asterisms native to Neverland.  It was a jumble, the stars grouped in patterns that were almost, but not quite, depictions of the asterisms native to Neverland.

Bae had loved to study the night sky, and he was an apt pupil.  Unfortunately, celestial navigation was not all that he had learned during his time on the Jolly Roger.

The map was encoded.

And that meant—

“The only person who can read this map is—“

“Dead,” Emma finished.  “The only person who can read this map is dead.”

Killian watched her run out of the cave.  Watched her parents follow her.  The candlelit star map twinkled above him for another minute before he blew the candle out and left.  The sounds enveloped him:  The rush of air, the roaring in his ears.  Snow White and Prince Charming, arguing.

Killian scrubbed his hand down his face and turned to re-enter the cave.  He wasn’t looking.  He wasn’t seeing, or else he would have side-stepped.  Gone another way.  Anything else, because the look on her face when he saw Emma Swan crying was bloody murder.  Nothing for it but to follow her back in, determined as she was to find something new among the drawings.  Something they could use—something that would help.  Something that wasn’t a reckoning of the time that did not exist on this island, not anymore, but back then when there had still been daylight—

“Neal stopped counting,” she said, looking at him.  The tears weren’t dry, not yet, but they were the two that had known Bae and they were the two who knew what the marks meant.  “He lost hope, and he stopped counting, and that’s exactly what Pan said would happen to Henry—“

“We’re gonna rescue him,” the prince said.

“Henry doesn’t know that,” Emma snapped.  “We need to get him a message.  We need to start being clever.”

Snow was the one who spoke up, moving out of the cave without waiting for them to follow.  Without waiting for Killian and Emma to catch her up.  Just long enough for Killian to say, “I too know what feels like.  To lose hope.”

It was the most honest he had been in too many years to count but when she looked at him all she said was, “I’m not in the mood.”  She pushed him away, walking deliberately around him and leaving him alone and surrounded by the evidence of one of his biggest mistakes and biggest regrets.

Or—not exactly alone.  Because there was David, waiting.  Watching.

If the prince wanted to die, that was his choice, wasn’t it?

Nothing Killian could do about it.  Emma would lose a parent either way—maybe two, for he had a suspicion that Snow White would not leave her Charming even if the cost of that was Emma.  She would be orphaned all over again. 

Prince-bloody-Charming.  Who understood nothing and yet was so sure he was right. 

Noble.  Determined.  Stubborn.  Principled.

And such an easy mark.

Yet another way the prince was so very like Liam.