#which you guessed it lead to the aforementioned teaming up and me being stuck with the kid my mom now thinks is like my best friend or smt

[idontliketomatoesleavemealone]

My heart is beating so hard I’m so pissed about Everything rn

[autumnslance]

Tell me about Snowstorm!

WIP Ask Game:  Post the names of files in your WIP folder, regardless of how  non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title  that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell  them something about it! and then tag as many people as you like.

This is one I think I just need to admit where it ends, much as I like the beginning of the next morning (detailed in the excerpt below). That, or I need to find the point in the next morning. Perhaps it’s meant to be a 2 part story? Not sure.I wanted to get some explanations and arguments in here but that’s hard to write and dunno if it’s needed.

It also follows through on the idea of Thancred being a bit touch-starved, especially early in the HW patches before Antitower and the kick in the face he got there. In this case, it’s while he and Aeryn are still entirely platonic friends, though twinges of Feelings begin to get noticed around this time--and initially fought against, due to that “but we’re friends and colleagues” issue further complicated by the aforementioned kick in the face.

It’s a spiritual successor to “Sandstorm” which is about them getting stuck on the way to their first mission in Thanalan versus Ifrit together. "Snowstorm” is their first duo mission since Thancred’s rejoined the team in Coerthas and highlights some of the changes in each other separately and as a team, or is meant to anyway; it’s still a WIP for a reason!

Excerpt Below:

--

Morning came, though it was hard to tell. The wind still blew and the high windows were only a little lighter. Thancred blinked and looked around, momentarily confused as to where he was and who was draped over him.

Ah, right; the storm, the abandoned farmhouse, and his rather embarrassing nocturnal episode leading to being cradled like a babe. Speaking of.

At some point in the night positions had switched; he was on his back now, Aeryn using him as a pillow, arms and legs wrapped around him for warmth, her fine black hair in his face. Not the most unpleasant way to wake up, he had to admit.

Although he was uncomfortably aware that he just woken, he was only in his smalls from the waist down, and he knew exactly where her thigh was. She was still sound asleep, too. Godsdammit.

Also it was going to be cold as the Hell of Ice when they did finally move out of the little nest of blankets. So may as well stay put a little while longer and not at all examine any other reason why that seemed like a nice idea.

Thancred shut the mental door firmly there. Aeryn was a friend and colleague, and they’d both been through too much hell in recent moons. His time of isolation had affected his mind and physical reactions when he had been literally freezing and she had only done what was necessary to keep him in good health. Had their positions been reversed, he’d have done the same with no thought of anything but her safety.

Well, he may still have made a few jokes, just to make her scoff and smile and snark back the way she often did when he teased. He had truly missed that.

Aeryn stirred; not quite awake yet, but getting there, the warm weight of her against his side simply comfortable.

Thancred frowned and thought for a moment. How long had it been since he had touched, and been touched, by another person so intimately? Moons, certainly, even counting his brief tryst with Hilda on arriving in Ishgard. That had been...different, in every way, than this; more desperation than anything, sating an immediate need for skin-to-skin contact and even brief company that wasn’t insectoid.

All right then; how long since he had experienced an innocently friendly, intimate touch with no expectation of sexual reciprocation? He really couldn’t say. That seemed like it ought to be an issue, perhaps.

A sleepy, confused “mrf?” came from the direction of his chest.

Thancred looked down. “Good morning--I think.” The windows were still snow-covered.

Aeryn raised her head, blinking the sleep from her grey eyes. “Guess we didn’t freeze,” she mumbled, pushing away--then leaning back in, as that had let a rush of chilled air into their nest. “S’it me, or did it get colder?”

“Get the fire going again,” he said, prodding her. “Necessity, unfortunately, demands I rise.”

She made an adorably petulant whining noise even as she reluctantly got up, the air much colder once the blankets had fallen away and they were separated. 

“This is much too cold for my Thavnairian blood,” she sniffed as she poked at the banked fire, adding fuel and magic. She had been sure to turn completely away from him, he noted.

“You’re half-Coerthan,” Thancred replied as he got up, keeping a blanket around him as he checked his pants. They were cold and stiff, but dry; the rest could be fixed with wear. “Surely that affords you some acclimation.”

“I left when the place still had proper seasons,” she countered, reaching for their meager rations.

“Of course,” he replied dryly while tying his bandana back on; his left eye was already beginning to throb, especially when he happened to glance her way. “Be just a moment.” Pants back on--and another layer of socks added to his feet, since those had dried too--he left the main room for the even colder hall.

[solecize]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. the boy you meet in detention, felix, doesn’t see colours. you want to gift his eyes with the kaleidoscopes and the rainbows of your world. the palette of your love story is supposed to bring together a work of art, but calamity lies beneath the canvas. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. felix x reader 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. swearing 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 4.8k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. do i actually ever proofread anything that i write? also yes this is really late oops anyways i’d appreciate any and all feedback, comments, speculations, etc. i just wanna hear that u guys are actually enjoying this <3 pls and thank you

ORANGE. | PART II - “THE BEACH”

you lived that sweltering summer to the tune of jim morrison and the taste of ocean breeze kissing the tip of your tongue. those moments played back at the back of your mind like a film reel, the rainbows and glimmering lights of it all with felix. before that, though, a dark shadow loomed over and stood firmly in your way. the first challenge you were forced to tackle before embracing your newfound freedom, was tackling graduation. 

everyone hated graduation, save for their own few moments of spotlight, before they were rushed off the stage and reduced to trying to not doze off for the rest of the ceremony. it was an event for the parents of said graduate, rather that the newly finished student themselves. maybe that’s why some people made such a big deal out of prom, claiming it as “their night” and the “pinnacle of youth” or whatever other bullshit your classmates wanted to spew out in order to convince themselves that spending hundreds of dollars on one night was reasonable. obviously, you had skipped. that also meant that today really was a true goodbye to the last four years of pure lunacy. 

“don’t you want to take pictures with your friends?” your mom had asked, after you finished posing for what seemed like an hour for pictures at the front of the school. 

a myriad of graduates and their families teemed along the sidewalks and the parking lot and even just a few feet away from yourself at the entranceway. there were the mandatory pictures with the parents, maybe some with a favourite teacher, as kids held up their awards and flowers with stretched grins plastered upon their faces. you weren’t one of them, though you did get one decent award and a bouquet of forget me nots to show for it. 

you shrugged. “nah. it’s okay.” at that, your mom proceeded to shrug and was distracted momentarily by a fellow pta mom, as they engaged in conversation about the terrible speeches that they were forced to sit through.

the four or so people consisting of people you once considered your “group” were taking pictures in the other direction, doing the stupid jumping in the air pose, as one of their boyfriends was dragged into capturing the moment on someone’s hello kitty cased iphone. you rolled your eyes at the sight. they were crying, something about how they were going to be friends forever.

“what a bunch of saps.”

whirling around, the one thing that wasn’t forced that day was the bright smile tugging at the corners of your lips upon the sight of felix. the chances of finding him before the ceremony were slim, as you had overslept and were basically heaved and yanked and hauled into your parents’ minivan to make it to the graduation. when you finally met once again, your heart began to stumble and leap. 

even despite finding the entire occasion a snooze, you felt a little bad about sleeping right after you were handed your diploma. you missed felix crossing the stage and receiving his own. however, no such disappointment shone in his eyes, which were smiling at you.

you snorted in response. “tell me about it.”

giving him a once over, felix looked. ��. .good. you never saw him outside of school and thus, never saw him outside of the ugly polyester uniform that he had no intention of actually wearing properly. he’d abandoned his cap and gown at some point, just left in a grey button up and black slacks. his over the ear headphones still hung around his neck.

“congratulations,” felix said, shyly shoving his hands into his pockets.

you couldn’t help but smile wider. “same to you.”

the two of you had yet to cross paths again since that day in detention. it was almost as if he’d begun skipping class as much as you begun to do so towards the end of the year. maybe a little part of you tried looking for him—you weren’t going to ever admit that—when you poked your head inside the detention room some days hoping to see him or lingered around paradise ice cream a little too long. 

but, you didn’t see him. felix came and went as he pleased, like a ghost. nothing was haunting about that smile, though, as you melted a bit under the sun because of it. you’d never met someone so genuine. 

felix leaned against the wall, peering over at the crowd forming in the parking lot. “you’re not going to that beach party everyone’s talking about?”

he really did listen. you, on the other hand, had no idea about it. frankly, you didn’t care and felix caught onto that quickly with your silent, indifferent shrug.

“your mom?” he questioned and pointed towards her. it wasn’t hard to see the resemblance, as you took after her well.

you nodded in response. “where are your parents?”

“oh, they went back to work. always busy, they were only able to leave for a few hours.” that situation tugged at your heart slightly, trying to imagine what that would’ve been like for him. at least felix didn’t have to go through the mushy traditions. 

a stuffy dinner party was in the works for you later that evening, with your mother calling up just about every relative within two hours away to come and celebrate your milestone. you wanted no part in it, preferring to jump face first back into bed and waste the rest of the day away watching tiktoks. felix made a confused face when you mentioned that.

“i can see why you don’t feeling like celebrating,” felix said, glancing around the streamer decorated walls, trying not to feel tiny underneath the intimidating ‘congratulations graduates’ banner hanging from wall to wall. “when you’re stuck around this place for so long, you’re just relieved enough that you made it out of here.” 

you blinked at him and after a pause, let out a soft chuckle. he’d hit it right on the nail. you didn’t even realize that yourself. 

“honestly? i can’t stand being here for another second.” you sighed, trying to cool down the blood beginning to boil. your patience was ticking and it seemed like your mom wasn’t going to tear away from her conversation with the other ‘can i see your manager?’ pinterest-loving, wine-drinking moms. 

“so don’t.”

biting back a snort, it was obvious that felix was used to just not being somewhere if he didn’t feel like it. however, he had no idea that he sparked an imaginary lightbulb to shine above your head. your eyes darted over to your mother, as your confirmed her lost engagement in her conversation. she wasn’t going to budge anytime soon and that gave you an idea. 

felix noticed the flicker of change in your expression and raised an eyebrow. “what is it?”

a grin spread across your lips. “say, felix.” you dug into your mom’s purse, which she had abandoned for you to hold while she left to talk to the other mothers. it didn’t take long for you to find it and you giggled when you came in contact with the cold metal. with a swift pull, you dangled the keys to your mom’s minivan in the air. 

“uh, yeah?” he cocked his head slightly.

“you got your license?”

in retrospect, felix never actually answered the question. he only said that it’d “been a while” since he was behind the wheel, but that didn’t stop you from suddenly leading the way to the honda odyssey with scratched on the rear from your practice driving from when you began doing so. maybe you should’ve caught on that he either never had his license or was warning you of how fucking bad of a driver he was. but you didn’t feel like getting in the driver’s seat in favour of controlling the aux, so you gave him that responsibility.

“let’s go for a drive. you got nowhere else to be, right?” it was probably a little cruel to guess that felix was not invited to the aforementioned beach party, but you’d already spoken the words. 

felix gave a mirror of your indifferent shrug and you grinned wider. 

“you know how i feel already about those guys. drinking cheap beer around a campfire isn’t really my idea of ‘having the time of our lives,’ yeah?” he replied. 

you weren’t sure what exactly took over and possessed you to basically steal your mom’s minivan with somebody you barely knew. maybe it was because of that feeling, the carefree feeling that zipped and danced through your veins like a breeze the last time you hung out with felix. it was unlike anything else you’d ever felt before.

a hint of hesitance painted over his face. “um, so where are we going?”

“you go out often?” the question was blunt, but you couldn’t help but ask, considering the surprise he wore when you invited him out after detention.

felix smiled bashfully. “no.” that was all he said, as the two of you made your way over to the old odyssey. “will your mom be okay with this?”

“huh? oh, hell no.” yet, you still unlocked the car with a click and gave an under hand throw of the keys to him.

the wash of uncertainty lingered on felix’s expression, as you opened the door to the passenger’s seat. then, he met your eyes and something shifted within his muscles and energy. warmth formed at the eye contact, gifting him with confidence to proceed. 

time was ticking and you knew that the two of you had to back out of the parking lot as quickly as possible, in order to remain unseen and undetected by your mother. you reiterated this to felix and suddenly, you were wishing that you didn’t.

“watch out!” you hissed, as felix reversed and almost ran over a former member of the hockey team. the said male began cussing at the car, which only prompted felix to get out of the parking lot in even more of a hurry.

swivelling and swerving around some stray individuals and other cars like a madman, it was a wonder that the two of you made it out and onto the street in one piece. it felt as though your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach and was threatening to burst out of your throat. your breathing paused for the entire time. 

worse than a goddamned rollercoaster.

“oops?” was all felix had to say, as innocently as possible.

you allowed yourself to breathe, finally. the car was on the street and you were alive. hysteria bubbled at the back of your head and you began to giggle uncontrollably. felix looked over at your, eyebrows knitted together, before he, too, burst out into laughter. 

the car stopped at the first red light and you nodded at something in the distance. “straight ahead and then onto the highway.”

“where exactly am i going?” felix gave you a side eye, as you began fiddling with my phone. he glanced at it and raised an eyebrow, watching you scroll through your favourite early 2000s throwback playlist.

“take the exit for the beach.”

felix’s eyes nearly leapt out of his skull. “uh, are. . .are we gonna crash that party?”

you froze midway through your motions and began laughing once again, uncontrollably. but, felix didn’t react and you realized that he was being serious. you cleared your throat and paused.

“no,” you responded, in awe that he thought you were that rebellious. frankly, it wasn’t just that, but you were never going to carry those kind of guts. “screw that party. i know another cool spot on the beach, it’s kind of like my hideaway.”

and like that, felix shrugged and returned to his usual carefree demeanour. you thought about how much you dug that about him. then, you promptly shut that thought down because it came out of absolutely nowhere. plus, the two of you were still sitting in silence. not for long.

you turned on “ms jackson” by outkast and the two of you sung along to it. every. single. word. at some point, someone rolled down the windows and the wind began roaring in your ears and through your hair, but the only thing you could hear were your voice, straining to be heard at the top of your lungs. 

as the opening notes of “get ur freak on” began, you looked over to felix. the curiosity you felt must have been pronounced because he cocked an eyebrow at you. you continued staring at him.

“why are you here? you’re awfully trusting,” you chuckled, as you caught eye of the upcoming exit you were meant to take. 

he made the turn. “i’m bored. like you said, i don’t have anywhere else to go.” felix’s tone was light, but you felt bad about the comment. “plus, i’m the one behind the wheel. if anything, you’re the trusting one, putting me in this position.” you managed to snort at that.

“what, i’m not scary enough that i could be leading you to some crack house?”

felix smirked. “aren’t you the girl who volunteers before school hours to help the lunch ladies? the one who exclusively wore pink butterfly hair clips for two years straight? the one who wrote valentine cards for everyone in homeroom last year? the one with a pikachu—”

“okay, shut up. that doesn’t mean shit.” you scowled and he laughed at that. you didn’t realize that he noticed all of these little things about you, considering you’d barely spoken for four years straight and you tried to ignore the butterflies taking flight in your stomach as a result. 

he said, “senioritis really killed your soft side, huh?” 

“just a little,” you admitted. or maybe you were tired of being the good girl that everyone wanted you to be. something in you must’ve changed, like felix said, after ditching your long time friends and beginning to do things like skip class and warrant detentions. at this point, you were in way too deep and clearly, you no longer cared. high school was a chapter finished and you were perfectly okay with that.

the next song that drowned out your surroundings, just as the smell of sea salt filled your senses, was “we could be so good together” by the doors. the song was definitely not on this specific playlist as far as you knew, perhaps it was slipped in by accident when you were downloading your music. regardless, you kept it playing and you saw the way felix began drumming his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel.

“your influence, by the way,” you revealed and he smiled just a little brighter, if that was even possible. 

he said, “you remembered.” of course you remembered the way he lost himself in this band that day in detention on his stupid first generation ipod. how could you forget?

eventually, the beach emerged closer and closer in your line of sight. the traffic grew heavier, as the sound of trap music overcame the bluesy twangs of the doors. you rolled your eyes; the rest of the kids from your school had caught up.

“take the left here.”

“isn’t it a dead end?”

you shook your head no, they had long since expanded the street a few years ago. thankfully for you, the extended pedestrian way gave access to one of the best hidden gems in town. he didn’t argue and followed the direction.

felix turned up the music a little bit louder, even though you were now a little bit farther away from everyone else now. “i’d never thought i’d meet anyone as annoyed by everyone else at school until you.” 

“yeah—wait, turn onto this path there, don’t worry about the trees—aren’t we just quirky and different?” you snorted.

although it was still a path nonetheless, it was a little bit cramped for the heap that was your mom’s car. a wrinkle formed in between felix’s brows and you tried to relax the atmosphere by continuing to mindlessly sing to the music. he nervously hummed along. 

he blinked rapidly. "it looks like there’s no end. . .”

lush trees stood firmly on both sides of the path, dangling branches over in a wispy pose. sunlight weaved in and out of every open spot, creating a storm of sun on your surroundings. the taste of sea salt continued to dance in the air, though, dispelling any thought of suddenly finding yourself in a mystic forest. in the distance, underneath the voice of jim morrison, the sound of ocean waves commanded your ears. the car lurched up, tilting ever so slightly up to indicate the uphill drive. 

“why are you avoiding your parents?” felix asked out of nowhere, glancing at you and trying to not appear nervous at the path. 

“because today sucks. i don’t get the big deal.” you shrugged. “and honestly, i’m just a little bit overwhelmed.” your life had been moving in the fastlane for so long and upon the sudden closure, you ached for just a moment of relaxation. 

felix responded, with a thoughtful gaze to the distance. “yeah, i guess you’re right. same thing every year, just a new class of idiotic seniors forced out into the world on their own.”

eventually sunlight transformed from small dots leaking in from the weaves of branches and leafs into a full glaze from above. darkness disappeared and you were treated with a kiss of the bluest sky your eyes had ever laid eyes on. the tranquility came to an abrupt stop due to felix’s unpolished brake. he was in shock and that sacrificed your back because the two of you hurled forward in the sudden movement.

“sorry,” felix said, but neither of you chose to make a joke about his driving when this beautiful of a distraction presented itself in front of you.

the engine was killed and the music paused in one swift second. felix wanted to drink up his surroundings as much as he could. the two of you were perched on the top of a small hill, overlooking the rest of the beach from the height. even though you still remained on the same earth and balance as the people down there, it felt like you were far above. 

he managed to sputter out a low whistle. you grinned in response and hopped out of the car, trying your absolute best to refrain from stumbling in your heels. upon meeting the fresh air, you took a deep inhale.

“where the hell did you find out about this place?” felix looked around, eyes wide as he took in the view. 

you were not going to expose the fact that you were taken here the first time by a boy that wanted to hook up with you. he’d parked at the top of the hill, just as the two of you had just done moment before, hoping to get lucky before you swore at him and demanded that he brought you home. oh, freshman year. 

“i have my secrets,” you exchanged that embarrassing memory for what you hoped was a mysterious smile. “it really is beautiful, though, right? i feel like i’m on top of the world. the sky is clearer from up here and the ocean is, like, so goddamn blue. . .”

it was then when you remembered who you were with and your jaw snap shut after those words. 

he couldn’t know how blue the ocean was. felix probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for your sudden reaction, but he only shook his head with a smile at your sheepishness. “it’s okay. don’t be embarrassed, people forget.” a lie, you guessed, as he’d mentioned so few people knew about his sight.

a weight of gloom settled at the pit of your stomach, but you pushed the feeling aside. he trusted you with the knowledge of his condition and you forgot to consider it. you bit your lip, raining down on the apologies, to which he just waved off. 

the male kicked a loose stone off the hill, watching it fly across the air and rocked into the deep, icy waters. “it’s really is beautiful, anyway. thanks for bringing me here.” 

“actually, you did the driving,” you grinned. “but, this isn’t all. you still trust me?” 

felix looked at you with a questioning regard and you took that as an answer. you had to swallow some fear down and the next thing you did surprised even you. you held out your hand and after a beat, he took it and intertwined your fingers with his.

his hand was warm and molded with yours to perfection. his skin was soft and pillowy, as if they’d been waiting for you for years to grasp. upon the grip, your hands became one and you wished to the clouds that you’d never have to let go. you took a glimpse of felix’s expression and you wondered if he felt the same way, trying to read the small small forming on his face and the light tint of pink glowing on his ears. 

then, you remembered what the hell you were doing and snapped out of your daydream. he locked the car for you and you led him down the hill, just a few feet back from where you were parked. there, you tugged him towards the smallest of entryways in between two trees, having to duck underneath some branches and step over some bushes to get through.

the path from there was clear, as shades of creamy corn coloured sand roughened up against your shoes and you dared to not sink into the ground with each step. it was one, steep trail that led straight into the land below, with waves just about stirring up against the sand. there was not much room to walk and you had to walk in front of felix for the two of you to fit. 

“hold on,” you said, as you wiggled out of your already dirty graduation gown, which you realized you should have abandoned at the car. you left to to lay on the ground, losing interest in it. 

felix gave you a once over. “that’s a nice dress.” did he just check you out? 

when you woke up that morning, almost afternoon, you were ill prepared for the day ahead of you. you jumped into the quickest shower of your life and nearly broke your fingers trying to braid your hair in record time. there was no room for daydreaming about what you were going to wear and you figured that it was going to be hidden underneath your graduation gown, anyway, so you grabbed the first thing in your closet, which was a yawn of an orange bridesmaid dress from a past wedding. it was a boring, floor-length with a sweetheart neckline and a semi-modest slit running up the leg. you’d ripped off the hideous bow on your way down the stairs, after not bothering with any makeup and from there, was hauled into the old minivan because you were already late. 

“what?” you laughed. “i hate this dress. i put on the first thing i saw and unfortunately, it was this abomination.” you thought your tone dripped with hatred, but felix didn’t look convinced. 

you climbed up onto some large rocks that marked the end of the path and tried to keep your balance. felix helped you steady yourself, hand still grasped in his and the other holding you by the waist. at that point, you’d also kicked off your nude pumps in favour of actually being able to stand. 

felix helped himself up on the rock, following your motions, and hopped over the rocks with you. you grabbed a handful of the tangerine fabric and pulled it up, at least caring enough to make sure that it didn’t get wet. the two of you landed together, just before a darkened entrance into a cave. the entry was concealed from the main beach, far too tucked away at the corner at every angle and only visible from hopping over the rocks.

“what colour is it?” 

the question was sudden and you gaped, as if you forgot how to speak. “huh?”

“your dress. what colour is it?” felix wasn’t even focused on the cave, his eyes still locked on you.

“it’s orange,” you told him. he nodded, his gaze not leaving, as if he were trying to memorize the sight. you frowned and put your free hand to his arm, beckoning him to continue following you. 

squeezing inside of the compact entryway, the two of you were introduced to the interior of the same golden sand that brushed against the waterline in a narrow opening at the very base of the cave. another gap was framed higher up, a bigger outlet that allowed most of the sunlight to stream in. 

“wow. just wow.” his hand squeezed yours just a little bit tighter, even there was no need to hold each other, now that you arrived at your destination.

you couldn’t help but notice the little things now. there were little fragments etched into the walls of different mineral colours, from the deep maroons and the slate greys and the rare navy blue. the small waves rushing in shone just a little bit differently depending on where you stood, just a little bit brighter or darker either way. even in the sand, there were bits of ivory for every handful of gold. they made the sight all the more gorgeous and felix couldn’t experience that. 

he noticed your sudden daze, staring off into the larger outlet and your mind miles away. that’s when you were hit with a wall of cold water, hand released from felix’s and your entire left side endured the splash. you gasped, whirling around to see him with an mischievous glint in his eyes. with the addition of a soaked arm sleeve.

“felix!” your jaw dropped and he responded with yet another splash. 

this escalated into a full on splashing match, until the two of you were completely soaked. your hair was dripping wet and felix’s sneakers were probably ruined. 

you also somehow also ended up tackling him to the ground.

that resulted in the unexpected position of being on top of him, as the two of you gasped to catch your breaths in between your hysterical bubbles of laughter. it took at least five minutes minimum before the two of you were able to inhale properly again. 

that didn’t mean you moved from your position, though. neither did he. felix wore a lazy smile and brushed a piece of wet hair out of your face.

“you ruined my dress. not so pretty now, huh?” you teased.

felix replied, “you said you hated it, i was just tryin’ to help you out.” he then paused for a moment, stumbling over his words. “plusimeantthatyoulookednice. notthedress.”

you weren’t sure if you were normal because you managed to actually understand his jumbled up words. you laughed off the blush heating up your cheeks and finally pulled yourself up, trying to hide it. sitting up, the two of you gazed up at the sky through the main gap in the wall. 

for the nth time that day, you decided to say “fuck it” and swallowed down your nerves. felix sat up, awkwardly running his hand through his grown out hair. he looked at you, seeing that it appeared as though you were struggling to say something.

“what’s wrong?”

you managed to choke it out. “can i kiss you?” some sort of monster, one that was definitely not you, had overcome your being because you were in shock that you actually just said that.

felix nodded without hesitation, which put you into even deeper of a shock. you didn’t even notice that you were already slowly leaning in and he, too, as he reached out to lightly touch your cheek as he did so. 

from a distance, the sound of music and laughter dallyed and with every passing second, a new wave of water rushed in. the smell of salt and summer lingered about. your orange dress was doused and at some point in the psudeo fight, your once tightly wound braids broke free into loose waves. none of it mattered when felix pressed his lips against yours. they were just as soft as his hands. 

[welllpthisishappening]

A Few Days Off for Christmas, Part Two

In which Killian Jones isn’t as retired as he originally claimed to be, cute kids continue to be cute, and home ownership is pondered against the backdrop of the world’s most competitive air hockey tournament. 

Or: Christmas at the Vankald brownstone

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Rating: f l u f f Word Count: 8.8 of all that aforementioned fluff AN: Hey, remember when I wrote a bunch of Christmas-themed Blue Line stores and then only posted one of them? Attempts to remedy that are currently being made, so we’ve got the Christmas after Killian retires and just before Chris is born, with almost too much fluff, peak!Vankald feelings, and Elsa accepting none of Killian’s nonsense. Plus kissing, I am who I am. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

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The door was going to fly off its hinges. 

One bump became two, evolving into several kicks before it turned into something astoundingly similar to a hip check and—“Oh my God,” Killian groaned, squeezing his eyes shut while also doing his best to melt into the mattress. Didn't work. 

He hadn’t really expected it to.  

“Your fault,” Emma mumbled, half into the pillow and partially into the mess of hair covering that same pillow. Her hair was everywhere. And she was smiling. Killian didn’t bother double checking 

Maybe smiled himself, actually. Despite whatever was happening on the other side of the door. None of the noises resembled an actual knock. Cracking open one eye, the ends of his mouth tilted up slowly and his hand moved before he even thought about it, reaching out to trace the curve of Emma’s stomach. 

Another noise. 

They were going to have to get out of bed eventually. 

Or the kids in the hallway would resort to drastic measures. 

“How’d you get to that conclusion, exactly?” Killian asked, twisting until he managed to lift his arm up in some unspoken attempt to get Emma closer to him. Getting out of bed could wait five minutes. Possibly six if they were feeling exceptionally greedy. 

It was Christmas Eve, after all. 

Something about the holiday, although that would also suggest the opposite of greed and probably something else about peace on Earth and goodwill amongst men, but the door was not going to stand up to much more of this and if Emma kept biting her lower lip like that Killian wasn’t sure he could be held accountable for his actions. Ten minutes more in bed, at least. 

“Your kid is checking the door, Cap,” Emma said, voice lacking any frustration, “how could this be anyone else’s fault?”

His heart jumped. 

Skipped a beat, and then defied several other biological rules, and none of that should surprise him anymore. Not when they were nearly six months removed from the third Stanley Cup, and the prospect of a full Jones line wasn’t all that intimidating. Even with the limited space in their apartment. They’d figure it out. Had to, really. And all of it was good. Perfect, honestly. Was nice in a way that deserved a far better adjective, because retirement hadn’t really stuck. 

Had rather quickly evolved, actually. Into director of player development for the New York Rangers, a job that came with a fancy office and polo shirts that made Emma’s eyes widen ever so slightly, although Killian wasn’t sure if he was supposed to notice that, and Matt came to practice with him. 

Regularly. 

That was now coming back to haunt Killian. 

And the structural integrity of his and Emma’s bedroom door. 

“Blame Scarlet,” Killian argued, “he’s ancient, so he’s got nothing better to do during practice than prove his worth to Matt. This is all his technique.” “Ah, well now I kind of feel like a jerk.” “No, no, he does not get your pity. The kid’s leading with his shoulder out there.” “Is that not how it’s supposed to work, then?” Making a noise in the back of his throat only served to hurt the back of Killian’s throat, Emma’s expression some sort of flashing neon sign that he was being effectively teased and—

She gasped. 

“Swan?” Far from parenting experts — and closer to apartment-hunting procrastinators than either one of them would like to admit — they had gone through this twice before, so Killian figured there was something to be said for confidence borne of experience, and he wasn’t really nervous at the hitch in Emma’s breath or the overall dexterity of her fingers when she yanked his hand forward. 

No noise on that kick, but it was definitely a kick and his heart must have evolved at some point. Beyond human emotion and into the stratosphere of family-based feelings and if Killian didn’t win the air hockey tournament, he was going to be very disappointed. 

Matt was yelling in the hallway now. 

“Took offense at the technique, I guess,” Emma laughed, “I think he’s trying to show off.” Killian exhaled. That was unexpected. He hadn’t realized he’d decided to hold his breath. Twelve extra minutes in bed, maybe. They were already late, might as well be very late. 

The door swung open. 

“Dad! Dad! Dad,” Matt yelled, leaping onto the edge of the bed and Emma barely moved her feet in time. Killian wasn’t so lucky. 

Groaning when an elbow somehow found its way into his calf, he squeezed his eyes shut again. “What did we talk about with the door, kid?” Killian asked, trying to shift his leg so Matt would realize he needed to move. 

No such luck. 

All he got was the dramatic sigh of a nine-year-old who appeared close to demanding Christmas-type attention, and Matt’s head hung over the side of the bed as several pillows fell on the floor. “I knocked—kind of.” Emma’s snicker was far too loud. 

Killian gaped at her, but that only got him a wider-than-usual smile, and several strands of hair that drifted dangerously close to her eyes when she propped herself up on her elbows. “Nuh uh, don’t look at me like that. It’s Christmas, and that’s my excuse for everything for at least the next seventy-two hours.” “So, the day after Christmas too?” “You heard me.” Killian’s grin threatened the muscles in his cheeks, nosing at the side of Emma’s cheek because he couldn’t get much closer with a kid draped over his stomach. Or while that kid was groaning quite so loud. 

“Gross, gross, gross,” Matt chanted, and the distinct lack of footsteps following him should have been their first clue. Killian was willing to blame Christmas for that too. 

And Will, just on principle. 

“Thanks for the commentary,” Emma grinned, “why were you checking the door?” “I wanted to talk to you guys.” “Did you just?”

“Yuh huh.” Killian’s eyes darted towards Emma’s. Not parenting experts, but at least passably observant and they really should have checked to see where Peggy was. “What about? And for future reference, checking is not the same as knocking. Who’s even teaching you to check like that because if it is actually Scarlet, then—” Matt shook his head. Ducking his gaze, the bedding was suddenly far more interesting than anything Killian could have asked, and Emma shrugged when he glanced up again. “Not Scarlet?” Another head shake. “What’s going on, kid ?” What felt like several hours passed, color rising in Matt’s cheeks — which wasn’t really fair, because watching his own reactions play out on his kid’s face seemed like some form of emotional torture for Killian, who was barely managing to temper his impatience. He rested his hand on Matt’s back. 

“At the Piers?” Killian pressed, only to get a noise that was far too familiar as well. Not quite an agreement, but not an argument either and he briefly wondered how the Vankalds ever dealt with him like this. He knew the answer before he asked—“Dylan, huh?” Shrugging couldn’t have been easy for Matt when Emma’s hand joined Killian’s on his back, but he made the effort all the same. It somehow ended with an elbow in Killian’s ribs. 

“I’s not a big deal,” Matt muttered. “I just—” “—Wanted to beat down our door?” Killian finished, fully prepared for the scowl he got and Emma’s inability to control the sound of her own reactions might have been one of his favorite things in the world. “He’s not going to be there. They went to visit Eric’s parents this year.”

At some point in the last nine years, it seemed the entire New York Rangers roster had collectively fallen into family mode, a decision that, while not entirely planned, left the lot of them with kids in the same age bracket. And Dylan Havfrue, at just eight months older than Matt, was ready-made for rivalry. Already impossibly tall for a nine-year-old, he was a penalty-minutes record waiting to happen and not nearly as fast as Matt. 

It wasn’t that Dylan and Matt didn’t get along. At least when they were off the ice. On the ice, they played the same position on the same team, competing for minutes and stats and, well, at the risk of losing any metaphorical Christmas points, Killian knew Matt was better. Than Dylan. 

And just about everyone else at Chelsea Piers. 

“Oh,” Matt said, head falling back onto Killian’s chest and for half a moment it felt like years before and they weren’t dealing with some kind of first-ever bully situation.

“You getting checked, kid? Is that what’s going on?”

Matt shrugged again, burrowing closer to Killian like that would somehow make the conversation end. It wouldn’t — but the footsteps finally racing down the hall might, and they’d probably have to reconsider that whole parent of the year thing when it was obvious one of their kids was hopped on pre-Christmas sugar. 

Of the stolen variety. 

“Do not jump on this bed, Margaret,” Emma warned, but the smile was back and her voice was soft and Peggy barely slowed enough to flop onto the comforter with a soft thump. 

Frosting lined the corners of her mouth. 

“Why are you guys here?” she asked. “We have to go! We have to go! Aunt Anna said I could—” Pausing to take a deep breath, her shoulders heaved. “I could use her camera this year, and Kris is going to help and—” “—How many cookies, Margaret Jones?” “No cookies!” Scrunching her nose, Emma hummed in disbelief as she leaned forward. To wipe away the frosting. “Next time make sure you get rid of the evidence, huh? How’d you even find the cookies? They’re supposed to be on a shelf.” “Don’t look at me,” Killian balked when Emma stared accusingly at him. “They’re up there. They’ve been up there since last night.” “MD and I got them while you and Dad were asleep,” Peggy explained, as if staging a daring cookie rescue on Christmas Eve was to be expected. 

“Mar!” Pushing his hand into Killian’s stomach when he sat up, Matt’s groan echoed around the room .”You weren’t supposed to tell!”

“I was stuck! You ran away and I had to—” “—Wait, what?” Emma interrupted sharply. Neither kid noticed. 

Killian resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

Fifteen extra minutes in bed. Ten of which should be used to talk about the Dylan thing, and proper checking technique, and then three minutes solely for kissing Emma. They’d use the other two minutes to get the kids out of the room. 

Like responsible adults, and successful parents. 

“You were taking too long,” Matt said, “and I wanted to talk to Dad and—” “—I had to jump off the counter!” “Alright, alright, alright,” Killian snapped, voice rising on every repeat and both kids sat up straighter. Emma tried to turn her laugh into a noise that didn’t sound like a laugh and it absolutely didn’t work. “No more cookies. No more plans for cookies. No more leaping off the counter, Margaret. Understood?”

“Hockey voice,” Peggy whispered. Or, at least, tried. She glanced meaningfully at Matt, who just widened his eyes in response, lips ticking down and it all felt so painfully familiar and painfully family that any frustration Killian felt disappeared all too quickly. 

“Hockey captain voice,” Emma corrected softly, pressing a kiss to Peggy’s temple and grinning at her conspiratorially. 

“Swan,” Killian sighed. 

She shrugged. “I kind of want a cookie now.” “We know where they are,” Peggy said, rushing over the words like they weren’t an admission and they hadn’t just been talking about the great Christmas Eve cookie theft. “Yeah, I picked up on that. C’mon, lead me to the cookies, Peg, and then we should pack.” “I packed!” “I’ve heard that before. Last year, we got downtown with three t-shirts and no pants. We’re not doing that again, so—let’s go, feet on the floor.”

Peggy grumbled, but she didn’t argue and Killian tried not to smile too widely. At the scene in front of him, or the memory of last Christmas — two shirts with his number on them and another with a Team USA logo on the front, and Locksley emblazoned across the back. It had made Roland blush. 

“We’ll save you guys some cookies,” Emma promised, following Peggy out the door and Killian waited until he heard the squeak of glass sliding across the counter before he looked at Matt. Who hadn’t so much as blinked yet. 

“You want to talk now?” Killian asked, Matt making an eerily similar noise to the one he’d let out a few minutes earlier. “How come you didn’t say anything about Dylan?” “Wasn’t really a big deal.” “Sure, sure, you’re not supposed to check much at the Piers.” “I’m not the one checking.” “Yeah,” Killian said, tugging on the front of Matt’s shirt. More team-branded merch. That might have been all Matt owned. “He been doing it for long? “Since the start of the season.” “You tell Hopper?” Matt shook his head. “How come you didn’t tell us before, kid? And how come you’re pushing your sister on kitchen counters to steal cookies that we’re supposed to bring downtown?” “I didn’t push Mar on the counter. She got up there on her own. And it was her idea.” Killian narrowed his eyes, filing that particular bit of information away for a day when they weren’t, once again, behind schedule or coping with on-ice issues of a nine-year-old rec league. 

Matt played in more than one league. 

“Not an answer.” “I know,” Matt sighed. “I just...it’s stupid. He’s stupid.” “It’s not stupid if he’s breaking the rules,” Killian countered, and Ariel was going to be upset. Disappointed, too. Which, as everyone knew, was fundamentally worse. “He can’t check you. You guys are way too young for that.” “You tell all the guys at practice that they don’t need to back down from hits!” Taking a deep breath was impossible when his lungs were busy disintegrating in his chest, but Killian figured it also might have had something to do with the kid still sitting on his legs and Matt didn’t object when he hooked his chin over his shoulder. “They’re getting paid to get hit. Not quite there yet, Mattie.”. “He’s really good at checking,” Matt grumbled. “Better than me. Even Uncle Will thinks so.” “Uncle Will’s opinion on this isn’t important. And he shouldn’t be teaching you how to check either. You’ll end up in the box and then you can’t score goals.” “I guess.” “Them’s the facts, kids.” Matt considered that, body shifting with the force of his sigh and distinct inability to argue. Forty-seven thousand parental points, at least. Killian grinned at him. “You tell us stuff from now on, ok? No matter how stupid you think it is. That’s the gig, for me and Mom.” “And you didn’t really check guys.” “Because I wanted to score goals. Not sit in the box for two minutes.” “Scoring goals is cool.” Killian nodded, trying to regain feeling in his legs. “You know, maybe we could go somewhere that isn’t the Piers sometime and you could take some shots. No checking, just —practice.” “Practice?” “On our own.” “With you?” His stomach joined the fray, that time. Flipping and flying directly into the middle of his throat, which didn’t do much to help his breathing. Worth it. For the look on Matt’s face, which was somewhere in the realm of of overjoyed and that was appropriate on Christmas Eve and—

“When? Could we go during the break? Today? While Rol and Henry are home? You think Uncle Liam will skate? Did they bring skates? I told Lizzie she should bring skates.”

Plans spilled out of Matt, hardly any defined syllables, more half-shouted demands and Killian felt the smile spread across his face quickly and easily and immediately. And if he’d never really considered a family in some kind of chaotic, cookie-stealing, perfect way, then he’d definitely never considered a son who wanted to practice his forehand at every available opportunity. 

“Relax,” Killian laughed, a flash of dark hair in the hall as it dashed towards another room and a suitcase that likely had four shirts in it. 

“What about the day after tomorrow?”

Matt nearly trampled Killian in his effort to jump off the bed, a cry that almost sounded like yeah several times over, and he barely stopped before he collided with Emma. And the three cookies in her hand.  

“What did you do, Swan?” 

“With the cookies or—” Wrapping her arm around Matt, she pulled him against her side and he was far too busy announcing roster spots to express any sense of displeasure. The cookie she gave him likely helped too. “Rubes and I might have planned...something.” “As in?” “As in rented out that rink uptown for the day after Christmas because there’s a million and two people coming to the brownstone this year, and we’re going to need something to do after we try to kill each other in air hockey.” “This is a very violent family, we’re always threatening to kill each other.” “Or check,” Matt muttered. 

Emma kissed the top of his head.That got a reaction. “It’s also kind of nice. At least the air hockey. And Uncle Liam will totally have skates, so you can wreck him during faceoffs, Mattie.” Whatever noise he made at that wasn’t so much a human sound, as it was something that made Killian’s ears ring. Which he planned to use as an excuse. For walking forward, crowding into Emma’s space and kissing her. 

In a crashing, not-quite violent, but decidedly emotional sort of way. 

She pushed up on her toes. 

“I love you.” “Weird,” Emma said, but she also hadn’t moved her mouth away from his and that helped lessen any sense of insult. 

Killian hummed, bending his neck again with every intention to keep making out in the middle of the bedroom, and it wasn't how he initially planned to use his extra minutes, since it did involve far too much standing, but there was also kissing and he hadn’t noticed Matt leave. Only that Peggy was back. In surround sound. “We have to go! There are presents at V’s. Presents! And you guys not being gross.”

Clicking her tongue, Emma managed to stay pressed against Killian, even as she zipped up the backpack hanging off Peggy’s shoulder. “Take at least three jerseys out of your bag, Matthew David,” she added on a shout. 

Killian kissed her forehead. 

“But, I—” Matt objected, twisted around his doorframe. Emma widened her eyes. Killian assumed. He didn’t look. He was too busy narrowing his eyes. “Fine, fine, but Mar’s got to bring some socks.”

“Hat might not be a bad idea, either,” Killian added. “What about shirts for under the jerseys?” Silence. Of the resounding variety. 

“Figures,” Emma scoffed, ushering Peggy back and they were only half an hour behind schedule by the time the lock clicked behind them. Better than usual, really. 

The hat, despite assurances that it’s in my bag, I promise never made it to the brownstone —  forgotten in the desperation to get downtown for presents and eggnog and the force that had become Mr. and Mrs. Vankald grandparents. 

Adopting Roland and Henry into the fold was as natural as anything, the Locksley family welcomed with open arms after that initial Christmas spent on the living room floor. Especially once Regina started baking. And Leo Nolan was in the midst of a Christmas obsession to rival any kid on the planet, certain Santa preferred the cookies left in front of Vankald fireplace above any other offerings.  

Liam and Elsa’s twins, far removed from their own obsessions over cookies for Santa, had stepped into key air hockey roles — refereeing and commentating — while Lizzie Vankald-Jones developed a trash-talking talent that left all of them just a bit stunned. 

There were, always, enough baked goods to feed several small countries and enough Chinese food to feed a large army, and enough laughter that it echoed in Killian’s head long after they went back uptown. There weren’t enough rooms for them. 

The kids all camped out in the living room. 

And the front door swung open before Killian could adjust the bags in his hands. 

“Why are you lurking by the door, Banana?” “Waiting for my money.” “Excuse me?” “My money,” she repeated, while failing to elaborate any more and this bit they seemed to do every year had gotten old half a dozen Christmases ago. 

“They bet on when we’d get here,” Emma explained. Killian tugged Peggy towards his side so he didn’t do something he’d regret. Matt was trying to work into the brownstone already, mumbling about cookies. “How much, Anna?”

“Fifty bucks, super serious business.” “Sounds it.” Anna shrugged, leaning against the open door frame like it wasn’t December and starting to snow and the telltale smell of cinnamon wafted out onto the block. “Bah humbug, also you guys have never been on time for anything ever. I’m playing to tradition. But I should thank you, because all this was Scarlet’s idea, and he vastly underestimated you.”

“How so?” Emma asked, ignoring Killian’s huff of frustration. 

Peggy giggled. 

“Thought you’d be late, but only by like twenty minutes and—” “Hey, Banana,” Killian interrupted, and Anna’s eyebrows flew up her forehead when she heard the tone of his voice. She stood up a bit straighter. “In case you also hadn’t noticed, we’ve got some kids out here and Emma’s pregnant, so, uh if you could get out of the way, that’d be fantastic.” Crossing her arms with a huff, it almost looked like Anna was about to stomp her foot as well, and Emma rested her hand on Killian’s chest before he could start arguing. “Did Gina and Reese’s start baking yet? Because I think Killian could use some pie.” “Yeah, I think so,” Anna agreed, making a face at Killian and he hadn’t let go of Peggy yet. She grinned at the kids in front of her, holding out her hands expectantly and tugging them both inside. “You guys want some hot chocolate?” Bags were immediately dropped, forgotten on the steps, as soon as the words were out of Anna’s mouth, leaving Emma and Killian alone with her hand still flat against his jacket. “Maybe you should start checking something,” she suggested. 

Killian sighed, but he couldn’t bring himself to hold onto any tension. He kissed the top of Emma’s head instead. Mrs. Vankald probably had extra hats. “Seasonally inappropriate.” “Proves my point, i think.” “Fifty bucks.” “Just means we’re the hottest ticket in town.” He widened his eyes at her, and almost-three kids later the smirk didn’t really accomplish anything except getting Emma to groan, but it had been a strange day and he probably should have expected her to kiss him in response. “Center ice,” Killian said, grinning against her mouth. 

“Not even clever.” “It’s a work in progress.” “Guess that means I’ll have to stick around. See how it all plays out.” “You think you’re very funny.” Shaking her head, Emma pulled away before they could start making out in a different location, which was probably for the best, but also a little disappointing and he didn’t realize the door was still open. 

“Hook,” Roland said, a note to his voice that made it clear it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get their attention. 

“God, don’t sneak up on us like that. How—Swan, stop that.” She didn’t. Hair brushed his cheek when she kept laughing, body shaking against Killian’s side and the flush of embarrassment on Roland’s face shouldn’t have felt like a victory. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know that Ruby won her bet.” “Jeez.” “What was that one, Rol?” Emma asked, twisting towards the teenager. “Also, can you take, at least, four of these bags before Killian has some kind of complete breakdown on the steps?” Roland chuckled, leaning forward to grab five bags in one hand. “Ruby bet David what you guys were doing on the steps and why Matt and Pegs ended up running into the kitchen without any parental supervision in sight. Their words, not mine.” “Jeez,” Killian repeated. “Where’s your dad and why isn’t he telling everyone to grow up?”

“He’s kind of busy.”

Nodding towards the foyer, Killian directed them inside as voices from several rooms made their way into the space and down the stairs that were, as always, covered in ivy and lights and the photos on the wall were different now. The draft night photo was still there, but there other ones too – Stanley Cup finals and second weddings and Roland in a red, white and blue uniform and, right in the middle, that very first Christmas when they’d all fallen asleep in the living room. 

That one hung in the apartment uptown too. 

“Was I right, Rol?” Ruby asked, walking into the foyer sporting a sweater that wasn’t just ugly, was somehow bordering on atrocious and covered in hockey pucks. 

“What are you wearing?” Emma countered. 

Ruby brushed her off, staring expectantly at Roland who shook his head. “I’m still on the kid side. I want no part of this.”

“Was the door still open?” “Ruby.”

She grinned — that slow, slightly intimidating look that had terrorized reporters for the better part of the last decade — and jumped towards Roland, slinging her arms around him and pressing a kiss against his cheek. “You’re a God-awful spy,” she said. “David and I should have taken your loyalty into account.” “Where is David?” Emma asked, glancing towards the living room. “Or Robin and Will, for that matter? Or Henry. He’s supposed to show me what he’s writing.” Rolling her eyes, Ruby leaned back against Roland’s side and he was still holding the bags. “You can put those down, mate,” Killian muttered, grinning when he dropped several tons of presents on the floor. 

“Oh, that’s why we had Rol out for surveillance,” Ruby answered. “All of those adults are sitting at the kitchen table with several different poster boards and, at least, one full cake, trying to bracket out this year’s air hockey competition.” Emma laughed immediately, but Killian wasn’t sure if it was because of the absurdity of the news or because of how he’d reacted to it. Gaping at Ruby, his eyes widened when he looked towards Roland for confirmation. Who shrugged. 

That’s probably where Matt got it from. 

“What the hell, Lucas?” Killian yelled. “They’re supposed to wait until we’re all here. There are rules!”

“This is not my fault,” Ruby argued, backing away from Killian like he’d lost his mind. Emma’s lips had all but disappeared behind her teeth. “This is your crazy, insanely competitive tradition. If you want to have a seat at the literal table, you guys should get here on time. And stop making out on the steps. But I will tell you that Liam has tried to get himself higher up the bracket at least six times. Robin’s the only voice of reason. You owe him, Cap.” “I’m obviously the top seed, I won last year, that’s how it works. That’s science.” “Is there science involved?” Emma asked, Roland dropping onto the bottom step with one arm wrapped around his waist while he threw his head back. Laughing. Loud enough to draw an audience. Matt slid across the wood floor — shoes forgotten somewhere between the foyer and the kitchen and back again — and Killian ducked down out of instinct, grabbing him around the waist and tugging him back up 

“Dad,” he yelled, tugging on Killian’s t-shirt like that would get him to move. “Dad, you’ve got to come to the kitchen. Uncle Liam and Uncle Will are trying to form….”

“Alliances,” David finished, slinging his arm around Emma’s shoulders as soon as he stepped into the foyer. He kissed the top of her hair, looking almost repentant. 

Killian wondered how many alliances he’d made so far. 

“Right, right, alliances,” Matt continued, “you have to come. You’re the top seed. You won last year and you have to be up top. We’ve got to go now, Dad!”

Matt twisted, a mix of energy and excitement and Christmas coming to a boiling point that demanded acknowledgement. He got it from Roland. As per usual.  “C’mon, Matt. Let’s go challenge Henry to...something.” Lifting his suddenly-empty hands, Killian wasn’t sure what to say to any of that, only aware of how abrasive Ruby’s cackle was. “At the risk of repeating myself, Cap, this is your weird, competitive thing. Although Liam really is trying to cheat, so you know, go in there and be morally upstanding, or whatever.”

“Isn’t that David’s schtick? Maybe El.” David clicked his tongue. “I’m not sure if I should be offended by that, or not.” “Nah, that was totally a compliment. Although you were making bets.”

“Oh, what the hell Ruby?” David groaned. “You weren’t supposed to ask them! Rol was supposed to look.” “Yeah, well, we forgot that Roland Locksley thinks Killian is some kind of hero. He wasn’t going to rat no matter what he saw.” “For the record,” David said, “I said you guys weren’t making out on the front steps with the door wide open, so, you know, take that into account. Although Elsa is probably the most moral.” “Not Reese’s?” Emma asked. She took a step back to Killian, sliding underneath his arm like there was a magnet in his side. “I mean, if we’re going to stage moral high ground competition, she’s got to be near the top.” “Is this conversation weird?” Ruby asked, sitting on one of the bags in the middle of the floor despite protests from Emma and Killian. “This conversation seems weird. Especially when Cap’s going to get screwed out of his top seed and anything Mary Margaret bakes is going to get devoured by the ridiculous number of kids in this house.”

As if on cue, a crash echoed from the general vicinity of the dining room and Mrs. Vankald shouted from the second floor, voice carrying as well as it had thirty years before. She leaned over the edge of the bannister, eyes falling on Killian’s immediately and he waved — like he was ten years old and just coming back from practice. 

“Tell Liam he can’t cheat this year,” she shouted. 

“I think you’re picking favorites, Mrs. V.” “I bought three things of creamer this year and Liam’s determination to circumvent the bracket rules means they’ve already been through one. I’m picking the Jones brother who isn’t going to ransack my refrigerator and well-organized food options.”

Killian scoffed, but Mrs. Vankald just tilted her head, staring at him with a fondness that, maybe, left him blushing in the middle of the foyer in front of pictures of his entire family. “We bought a new container of cinnamon for you, Emma,” she added. “If Liam’s even looked at that, I give you full permission to kick him out of the tournament.” “Wow,” Emma breathed. Ruby made a face, mouth tilted down as if kicking Liam out of an air hockey tournament was the worst insult a person could level against another human being. “I’ve never really felt this powerful.” “I trust you. You’ll use your power for good.”

“Maybe Mrs. V is the most moral,” Ruby suggested, but Killian shook his head quickly. 

“Nuh uh,” he objected. “She’s pulling all the strings up there. Who do you think demanded the referee last year?”

“Go claim your number one seed, Killian,” Mrs. Vankald said. She paused for a moment, pressing her lips together tightly and the air in the foyer seemed to shift noticeably, something important about to happen or, maybe, already happening and Emma shuffled closer. “And...uh, come talk to me before dinner.” “A little foreboding, I’ll be honest.”

“Fill out the bracket first.”

Saluting was another child-esque response, but Killian was almost positive he was getting shorter the longer he stood there and something crashed in the kitchen. Mrs. Vanaklad rolled her eyes. 

The crash, it turned out, was a makeshift hockey puck smacking into the baseboard of the dining room, leaving a sizable dent in its wake as the twins argued with Henry over what constituted as the blue line when there was a table and a dozen chairs in the way. 

And Killian wasn’t sure which took longer – figuring out those rules or keeping Peggy from climbing on top of the dining room table in an attempt to keep the game organized or attempting to figure out an air hockey bracket. 

It was definitely the bracket. 

“You can’t do this again, Liam,” Will sighed, perched on the edge of the counter. “I’m actually going to go insane if you do this again.” Liam muttered a string of curses under his breath and Killian’s head fell forward, colliding with Emma’s back. She was balanced on his leg, his arm around her waist and her fingers trailing over his hand, tracing over scars and up towards his wedding ring. It was almost enough to make him relax. Until Liam started complaining about seeding again and the whole process had to start over. 

“Why don’t we keep better records?” Robin asked, not for the first time. They were clearly stuck in a time warp. Of Christmas competition and a dwindling coffee creamer supply. “Can’t El do that? Isn’t that, like, her job?” “Do you know what a state senator does, Locksley?” Elsa asked. She’d collapsed onto Liam’s chair when he started pacing two brackets ago, resting her chin on the top of her pulled-up legs. 

“I’m assuming your tone that I don’t.”

“Ding ding ding.” “The problem,” Liam started,  and Killian didn’t even try to mask his groan. He knew where this was going. The same place it had been going for the last two hours. Absolutely nowhere. “Is that we…” “Have an uneven bracket,” the kitchen finished, and Liam paced louder. Somehow. 

“We just have to figure out who’s going to play-in.” “Liam if you say that one more time, I’m going to strangle you with tinsel,” Killian threatened. 

“That is oddly specific.” “Christmas spirit.” “That’s another Scrooge reference,” Emma shouted, twisting to knock her knuckles against his shoulder and Killian bit his lip tightly so he didn’t actually make any noise. They shouldn’t have kept flirting in the kitchen. While Liam freaked out about traditions and tinsel. “How come we didn’t bet on how many times you’d make Scrooge references?” “Because we’re adults, Swan,” Killian answered. 

Elsa scoffed. 

“Ok, if I offer myself up for a play-in game, would that help?” Robin asked, dragging the poster across the table and writing in his name before Liam could object. 

“Locksley’s going all dad mode,” Will muttered. “Put Mary Margaret in there too. She said she’d play-in to help because she’s a better person than all of us.” The kitchen hummed in agreement, and Robin finished half the bracket by the time Liam stopped pacing. Forty-five minutes, and only three more arguments later, the entire thing was full of mismatched handwriting in several different Sharpie colors. 

Liam taped it to the basement door. 

“You know,” Emma drawled, somehow still sitting on Killian’s leg, “I’m coming for your title.”

“That so? Care to place a wager on that?”

“I thought we were going to be grown up.” “I mean, no one has to know except us. Save face when you lose that way.” “Just diving right into the trash talk, huh?” “You’re the one who started it, love. The real question is…” “Oh my God,” she groaned, but her eyes were bright and he’d probably think about her smile for a questionable amount of time. “If you say, whether or not you’ll finish it, I’m going to punch you in the face.” Laughter flew out of him, any sense of competition forgotten in the rather desperate desire to make out with his wife again. “Maybe you should be teaching checking techniques.” Emma sneered, nails digging into Killian’s shoulder as she tried to stay balanced. On top of him. “Give me some credit, love. I’m not going to let you fall.”

Cliches and vaguely romantic double entendres were acceptable on Christmas Eve. Especially if it guaranteed that particular angle, Emma’s head tilted up and her teeth digging into her lower lip, and he couldn’t think when she did that. 

So. 

Kissing it was. Anything else was overrated. 

Although it did make it difficult to hear the pointed cough from the other side of the kitchen. 

Mr. Vankald rocked back on his heels when Killian finally looked up, amusement coloring his gaze even as the blush on Emma’s cheeks emitted a very specific kind of heat. “Super grown up,” she mumbled. 

“Be glad it wasn’t your brother,” Mr. Vankald reasoned. “Probably steal your number one seed.” “He hung the bracket up,” Killian argued. “That’s Christmas doctrine now. No more changes or the entire house will rise up in revolt.”

“Might keep things interesting.” “There’s a giant dent in the dining room wall and you’re still looking for interesting?” “Depends on how the next few minutes go. C’mon.” 

He walked away before either Killian or Emma could answer, leaving them sitting on one chair with matching looks of confusion on their face. “So, uh, we’re supposed to follow him, I guess?” Emma asked. 

Killian shook his head. “This has been the weirdest day.” “God bless us, every one.” “Something like that, for sure. Let’s go before someone else comes in.”

Mr. Vankald hadn’t waited for them – retreating to the dining room and the, now, multiple dents on the baseboards. Killian barely noticed them. He was more interested in the stack of papers sitting on the edge of the table, just a few inches away from the pile of plates and the almost questionable number of forks.

And whatever it was Mrs. Vankald was doing with her face. 

Like she was half a moment away from a waterfall of tears. If that was possible. It really had been a weird Christmas Eve. 

“What’s going on?” Killian asked cautiously, hooking his foot around one of the empty chairs and nudging Emma towards it. 

“Overprotective weirdo,” she mumbled. He grinned at her. 

“Mrs. V,” Killian continued, trying very hard not to tug on the back of his hair or grip Emma’s shoulder too tightly. “You want to expand on the mandate from before?”

She tilted her head in response, eyebrows lifted slightly and he wasn’t quite prepared for the force of her smile. 

Like he was seventeen and deciding to go to Minnesota. He told them he was going in the dining room. Or like he was seventeen and they’d found out he and Anna had snuck uptown on the one the weekend before. 

“Sit,” Mr. Vankald instructed, pointing at another chair next to Emma and they must have rented chairs. There were too many people in this family. “We’ve got approximately five minutes before Roland announces he’s hungry again.” “Is that the reason for the cloak and dagger?” “There’s neither cloak nor dagger,” Mrs. Vankald chastised, smile shaking ever so slightly when the tears finally fell to her cheeks. “Suggests this is bad.” “I feel like I’m about to get grounded.” 

“Did you get grounded a lot?” Emma asked, glancing over her shoulder and it absolutely would have been wrong to kiss her again. Although maybe Mrs. Vankald would stop crying then. 

Killian shook his head, smirk settling into place with practiced ease, and Emma rolled her eyes. She grabbed his hand. He’d appreciate that eventually. 

“Not grounded,” Mr. Vankald said suddenly and Killian snapped his head up. “We’re giving you the house.” Jaw dropping and shoulders sagging, Killian hadn’t really been holding his breath then either, but it had been a very weird day and his lungs were no longer functioning. Emma’s head moved on a swivel, eyes like saucers as she squeezed his fingers. His knuckles cracked. 

“Wait, what?”

“The house,” Mr. Vankald repeated, grinning and waving his hand through the air. 

“I don’t understand.” “What isn’t there to understand?” “Any of it?” Leaning forward, Mrs. Vankald pushed the pile of papers towards Killian’s free hand and he couldn’t actually make out the words on the page. His vision had gone glossy. 

And maybe he squeezed Emma’s hand that time. 

“But….” Emma started, licking her lips. “Why...we have an apartment.” Neither one of the Vankalds looked impressed. “And how many rooms does that apartment have?” Mr. Vankald challenged. “Also, we’re leaving.” Killian was glad he was sitting because his legs felt like he’d just skated sprints for the last several days. “What?” 

“Leaving. In a couple of months.” “I am….wait,” Killian sputtered, blinking again and staring at the doorway like a camera crew was going to appear and announce that this was all some practical joke. Or Liam was doing it to get in his head before air hockey. That would have made more sense. “You’re moving? From New York?” “Oh, no, no,” Mrs. Vankald said, “we couldn’t...not when you are…” “Super grandparents,” Emma finished, and Mrs. Vankald beamed. 

“Ok,” Killian said, trying to process everything that had happened since they’d walked into the brownstone. Maybe the kids would let him play hockey after dinner. He wanted to shoot at something. “So, let me get this straight. You’re moving out of the brownstone, but staying in New York and you’ve already decided this is all just going to be ours?” Mr. Vankald nodded, humming in the back of his throat. “See. Wasn't confusing, was it?” “You’re making jokes.” “Killian,” Emma whispered, staring at the papers in her hand. “It’s already done. This is...I mean I’m not a lawyer or a real estate agent or anything, but this is notarized.” She looked up at the Vankalds, eyes as glossy as his and Killian wished, not for the first time, that they could have these major life conversations on ice. He’d be able to keep his balance better that way. “When?” 

“When did we decide?” Emma nodded. “As soon as you brought Matthew home,” Mr. Vankald admitted. Killian wasn’t breathing. “And then when you told us you were expecting Christopher and Killian had retired, and it made sense. This is...we want you to have this.”

Mr. Vankald’s smile softened — like gifting the house Killian had grown up in wasn’t some kind of overwhelming type of decision. And on C hristmas Eve, no less. Killian tried to swallow down the bundle of nerves and emotion in the back of his throat, leaning towards Emma before he realized he’d shifted in his chair. She kept moving her fingers, alternating between squeezing his hand and swiping her thumb across the back of his palm, and her eyes hadn’t moved away from the deed sitting in front of them. 

“You’re sure?” Killian asked, voice scratchy and maybe he wasn’t seventeen and going to Minnesota. Maybe he was eight years old and terrified that the Vankalds were going to kick him out of the house. 

Neither one of them answered immediately, but then the floorboards creaked and Mrs. Vankald was next to him, one hand on his cheek and the other on his chest and she stared at him like he was hers in some kind of overwhelmingly emotional way. “There should be kids here and chaos and horsemen,” she whispered. “There should be yelling all the time and even more holes in the wall and maybe Mattie can learn how to properly check someone."

"See, scathing."

Mrs. Vankald scrunched her nose. "You should have that. Both of you. This is your home.”

Emma sniffled, lip between her teeth and head resting on Killian’s shoulder. “The Jones Line,” she muttered. “That’s what we’ve been calling it. You know with three of them.” “That’s perfect.” 

They put another hole in the dining room wall that night — Leo tripping over a hockey stick that somehow ended up propped against the table, and there had been crying and questions about concussions and no one knew how to administer medical assistance when Ariel wasn’t there. Which didn’t make much sense because she wasn’t actually a doctor. 

In the end, Leo opted to eat another egg roll. 

And then scored a goal when the quasi-hockey game resumed. Spread across several rooms and inching dangerously close to the Christmas tree, the game had taken on a life of its own, and Matt and Lizzie eventually had to be separated when they started arguing over the location of the penalty box. 

Mrs. Vankald handed out t-shirts when the game was called a draw, silencing the cries of half a dozen kids as soon as they were gifted brand-new team merch with their names on the back. Matt and Peggy each had a ‘C’ on their shoulder. 

“They tell you?” Elsa asked, knocking her hip against Killian’s where he was leaning against the wall. He nearly jumped a foot in the air. “Jeez, KJ, relax. This isn’t an interview.” “I am retired. I don’t do interviews anymore,.” 

“Please. You’re as retired as….something that makes sense.” “Coming up a little short of cliches, huh?” “I wasn’t looking for a cliche, just an example. Whatever, you’re deflecting. Did they tell you yet? Mom and Dad?” “How did you know?” “KJ.” Killian groaned, glancing back towards Emma. She was sitting on the corner of the couch, Matt in front of her and already tugging on his t-shirt, with Peggy’s head in her lap, eyelids fluttering and feet tucked underneath her. “Yeah,” he said, not sure why it felt like admitting to something. “Called us into the dining room like they wanted to discuss the end of the world and then just…” “Gave you the house.” “Yeah.” “Good.” He hadn’t been expecting that — and that might have been why he couldn't quite shake the nerves or the twist in his gut and why his eyes kept darting towards Emma and their kids, like he was trying to make sure this wasn’t some ridiculous dream he’d come up with a decade before. 

“Good?” Killian asked, and Elsa nodded. 

“Do you not think it is?” “Look who’s deflecting now.”

“No, I’m confused. You guys have to move again anyway. Might as well move here. Put some more holes in the wall.” “That is exactly what Mrs. V said.” “God,” Elsa sighed. “Don’t tell me that. It makes me feel old.” Killian grinned, slinging his arm over her shoulders and Emma met his gaze across the living room —  probably wondering why he kept staring at her like a lunatic. “Oh,” Elsa sighed, rapping her knuckles across the front of his shirt. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” “Merry Christmas.” “Does Emma know she’s married to a total idiot?” “Probably, at this point.” 

Elsa scoffed and the knuckles had taken a decidedly more aggressive approach. “I’m serious, KJ. How come you don’t think you should have the house?” “Get out of my head, witch.” “First of all, that’s rude. Second of all, you’ve been brooding and un-Christmas’y all night. Liam asked me what was wrong with you. He thought it had something to do with the bracket.” “He needs to stop with the bracket stuff,” Killian said, but Elsa narrowed her eyes and it felt exactly like being disciplined by Mrs. Vankald. He didn’t mention that. 

“Third of all,” she continued, “It’s not like we’d take it. All things considered.” “What are the things we’re considering?” Gritting her teeth, Elsa sighed with all the drama of someone who’d been keeping something secret for several months. “You have to promise not to react because I haven’t told Mom and Dad yet.” “Ok.” “The national seat is up for reelection next year.” 

Killian waited for the rest of it, the explanation that would, eventually, hit and when it, finally, did, he felt like he’d been checked over the boards. “Oh, shit,” he yelled, drawing the attention of the entire living room and several reproachful clicked tongues. Emma’s laugh still didn’t sound much like a cough. “Elsa Vankald-Jones takes on the world.” “At least Washington D.C.” “To start.” “You can’t vote, so your support doesn’t count, but I appreciate it,” Elsa smiled. “And this is yours, KJ. Has been forever. This city and this house and you should be here. Your kids should be here. Stop thinking otherwise.” Killian hummed, resting his chin on top of Elsa’s head until she cursed. Not in English She also didn’t move. And maybe that look Mrs. Vankald had given him before — that promise that this whole roster of a family that didn’t share a last name or much more than a ridiculous desire to make each other happy — was real. 

God bless us, every one. 

Or something. 

The kids fell asleep wearing matching t-shirts with the Christmas tree still on, and it only took a few minutes and several glasses of spiked eggnog to get the presents downstairs. 

And Emma was already in bed when he got to his room, pillows kicked on the floor.

“Are the stockings all hung?”  

“At least laid by the chimney with a relative amount of care.” Her eyebrows moved, lips twitching slightly and Killian tried to keep his hand out of his hair. It didn’t work. Appeared to be a trend that day. “You know, it’d be easier to get to the Piers from here,” she said. “More space. You really could teach Mattie how to check.” “I thought we weren’t encouraging the checking.” “Ah, yeah, but then he totally dominated whatever game they were playing and maybe he should have several thousand square feet to fine-tune that. Plus, you know, Ruby mentioned something.” Killian dropped onto the edge of the bed —  knocking off a few more pillows in the process – and Emma scrunched her nose. “Between you, El and the Vankalds, I feel like I’m on the wrong end of all the secrets.” “More like late-breaking news.” “Enlighten me.” “Ariel texted Ruby about whatever Dylan is doing with Mattie and she’s super upset and she thinks you’re going to be pissed after the break because she’s not monitoring her nine-year-old enforcer on skates.”

“I’m not pissed,” Killian promised, ignoring Emma’s immediate scoff. “I’m not, Swan. I just…” “Killian Jones, defender of his kids.” “Exactly that.” “Ruby was mad enough for everyone involved anyway, even Mattie, and I think he was just upset that he couldn’t score twenty times a game when he was worried about getting hit.” “At this point I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he did score twenty goals a game,” Killian muttered. Maybe he’d had more than one glass of spiked eggnog. 

“It’s because he’s trying to be you.”

Twisting wasn’t easy when he was laying on his back — or when Emma’s fingers were in his hair, but he was nothing if not stubborn and there was another joke about magnets to be made. When his hand rested on her stomach again. 

Emma smiled at him. 

“Don’t talk to me about whatever sentiment that entails. I’m super pregnant and it’s Christmas and we’ve been given several thousand square feet of house.” “Super pregnant, huh?” Emma waved her hand, pointing at her stomach and Killian flipped over – head somehow finding its way onto he legs. She didn’t stop moving her fingers through his hair. “At least now we know where Peggy gets it,” she added softly, tapping her thumb on his temple. 

“Are you suggesting she’s inherited an innate desire to have her hair played with?” “Are you?” “Possibly,” Killian admitted, reaching up to tug Emma’s hand back down. He wrapped his fingers around hers, glancing up to make sure she was still smiling before pressing a kiss underneath her wedding ring. “What do you think, Swan?” “About?” “Several thousand feet of check’able living space.” “Overwhelmed, a little,” she admitted, “but not in the way you’re thinking.” “How am I thinking of it, exactly?” “You know Scarlet asked if, and I’m quoting here, Cap is doing that thing with his face because he’s mad about having to face Mary Margaret in the first round of the tournament.” “Jeez,” Killian groaned, hand moving towards her stomach out of instinct. He was met, immediately, with a kick. “Hey, kid,” he mumbled, smiling despite the nerves and the worry and there was a lot of square footage. Room for a whole Jones Line. 

“He’s been doing somersaults all night.” “You think that’s a sign?” “About being able to do somersaults in all the space of a downtown brownstone?” Emma laughed, and Killian’s eyes darted back up towards hers. There were tear tracks on her cheeks, but she didn’t look as worried about the ridiculous amount of family gifting they’d been on the receiving end that afternoon. “Kind of,” she said. “And you already said we.” “That’s true. You didn’t answer my question though.” “I’m not worried about some Vankald family overload or even what happens next Christmas when we inevitably have to order the Chinese food. I am…” 

She trailed off and the sigh was more of an exhale, eyes falling on the pile of pillows and the edge of the bed and it felt symmetrical to be back in that room — where it had started and sustained a desperate middle and watched Emma Swan tell Killian Jones she loved him for the very first time on Christmas Eve. 

“You are…” Killian prompted, grinning when Emma glared. 

“It’s not something I ever thought I could have,” she said quickly, stumbling over the words and refusing to meet his gaze and it was like he’d been pulled into the mattress or maybe through the floor and Killian sat up before his mind had processed the idea of moving. “A house and a hockey line and you...trying to make out all over the place.” Killian barked out a laugh, leaning forward and kissing her — again. His lips slanted over hers, one hand pressed into her hair as he tried to tug her towards him or touch every single inch of her and he could live for the rest of time without ever quite getting over how much he loved Emma Swan right back. 

On Christmas Eve, or any other day. 

“That’s because I;m super attracted to you,” Killian said, and it was the most honest string of words he’d come up with all day. “It’s a struggle not to make out with you all the time.” “Mattie would never forgive us.” “He’d cope.” “I love you a ridiculous amount you giant, vaguely attractive weirdo.” “Vaguely attractive? You wound me, Swan.” “Ah, well, I will admit that becoming a homeowner adds to your overall attractiveness.”

Kissing her again was the only reasonable response —  brushing his lips across her face and down her neck and over her shoulder and she probably would have actually punched him if he tried to kiss her stomach, but he was on some other level of overjoyed and Killian was willing to live on the edge, as it were. 

“El told me I deserve this,” Killian muttered, pressing the words against Emma’s t-shirt. “But at the risk of being a sentimental asshole, I think you do too, love.” “Team Jones,” Emma whispered, tugging on the collar of his t-shirt so he moved back up, falling asleep wrapped up together. 

Until several kids tried to check the door the next morning. 

[a-mellowtea]

The Greatest Kingdom | RWBY Volume 7 Chapter 1 Review

Now that my hype has died down a respectable amount, I think I’m clear-headed enough to express my thoughts on the RWBY Volume 7 premiere. I’m going to hold off on posting this until it’s publicly available and everyone comfortably knows what I’m on about, so by the time of reading, this’ll be a week-or-so old.

Going into Volume 7, I have to say, I was extremely excited. Volume 6 was a little bittersweet for me: a solid mix of things I liked and didn’t, where one didn’t really overshadow or completely take away from the other. The hiatus between Volumes 6 and 7 was also particularly exhausting, on both a mental and emotional level, and while that may sound over-dramatic, I’m sure many can attest to how much of a drag it all was. 

However, Volume 7 set us up somewhere I’ve been aching to see more of for a while: since Volume 2, if I’m honest. That being, of course, the Kingdom of Atlas and its defunct partner, Mantle. There’s so much rich potential for story in Atlas and, as “The Greatest Kingdom” revealed, CRWBY was set to dive right in, to some fairly pleasant results.

We open the Chapter with a shot panning down through the night sky, with our typical emphasis on the shattered moon. This is the first Volume, though, wherein we are aware of its true nature: how it got to be that way and, appropriately, the raised stakes now quite literally looming over our heroes’ heads. There is something more immediate to attend to, however, revealed as the shot finishes moving: the Atlesian air fleet.

I’m not certain if this was mentioned anywhere too openly, but Volume 7 Chapter 1 was originally intended to be the finale of Volume 6. I seem to recall Neath Oum, the voice of Ren, making comment on how an important moment was shifted because of this change (which we’ll get to in a bit). Point being, the Volume picks up exactly where Volume 6 left off, with the heroes’ stolen air ship, Manta 5-1, being welcomed home by an Atlesian officer. It doesn’t feel all that much like the premieres of the past; simply a continuation, though I’m hesitant to label that as a good or bad thing.

“But we are here,” Jaune then insists to the group. “We got the lamp to Atlas, so I guess we land and get some answers.” It’s obviously not going to be that simple -- wouldn’t be very interesting if it was -- but that’s something that stuck out to me. The heroes, this little hiccup aside, have accomplished the majority of their mission. They made it to Atlas, which was as far as they presumably intended to go (Yang, V6Ch6: “We can’t stop until the lamp is safe”). They’re our heroes, of course, so something will keep them going, but I am interested to see exactly what does push them to continue a fight they now feel is rather pointless. James has a line in the trailer about how “until now, I believed it was impossible to truly turn the tide against Salem”. I do wonder what that could be, and moreover, whether or not our heroes will inform him of everything they learned in Volume 6.

Back in the Chapter, Weiss warns that if they land in a stolen air ship, there’s no way they’ll be heard out or get a chance to speak with Ironwood. Now, I promise this is the only time I’ll mention further gripes with Volume 6 but honestly: you couldn’t’ve realized that sooner? That should’ve been the first thing on their minds when they decided to take such a risky course of action: is this really going to get us where we need to go when we know that the Kingdom of Atlas has closed its borders? It doesn’t matter that the air fleet is deployed aggressively; they should have accounted for the fact that they wouldn’t just be able to waltz right up Atlas. Yet somehow they seem to have forgotten about that until this rather convenient -- or inconvenient -- moment.

After Weiss perks up and remembers she can contact her sister, we get our first look at Mantle proper, and it’s wonderful. Literally down-to-earth, the dirty streets and brown-grey color palette intermixed with neon signage gives it something of a dystopian feel that is incredibly unique. Here, we get our first look at General James Ironwood since Volume 4 (discounting the Volume 7 trailer), and the presentation is telling. On an enormous neon holographic display, looming over the city of Mantle, and though his words are a promise of safety, he makes them at a distance. I doubt this is intended as screaming ‘dictator’, but merely showing a divide; one that is certainly not good. Yang and Ruby share a remark that he looks tired and Qrow wonders worriedly what he’s been doing (a year is kindly added to my life every time Qrow calls him “James”, and yes I will die in this rarepair hell). Indeed it seems that, in the month and a bit since Weiss left, things have taken a steep turn for the worse, with constant Atlesian patrols and surveillance drones in the streets. It’s certainly looking bleak, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love this set-up. The shot with the children lobbing a pebble at a drone, then hiding from it, in particular does a good job solidifying that this has become a norm, but an unwelcome one.

Weiss continues to insist that Winter can help them, but our first look at the eldest Schnee sibling begs to differ. It appears as though she’s upholding the military law placed over Mantle, and this seems to shock Weiss a good deal. With that off the table, Maria interjects that she knows someone who can help them.

Now would probably be a good moment for a quick aside to mention how wonderful of a job Jason Liebrecht does as the new voice of Qrow. The difference is noticeable, but I found it wasn’t enough to completely throw me off: at least, not for long. It’ll take some getting used to, but the character is no different, and Jason’s performance is solid.

Our heroes head out into the streets of Mantle, and we get a bit of light exposition from Maria about the Kingdom on the walk, after Yang continues to be everyone’s favorite brash blonde and kick subtlety out into the middle of the street where it is summarily smashed by a truck. I don’t have much to say about the encounter with Rupert the Drunk other than it felt perfectly in-place for what we know of Atlas and Mantle, and that Maria’s right: these kids have no concept of keeping a low profile when it counts. Not that I can blame Weiss; I honestly probably would have done the same. Although, given that we do see Rupert’s blue-beanie’d friend in the trailer, and how the shot pans back to show Winter, I’m willing to make a bet that this particular man will let someone in Mantle know the lost ex-Schnee heiress is back.

And then we’re introduced to Pietro. He is wonderful. Please protect.

The scene itself plays out as fairly lighthearted, until Yang and Blake bring the topic back around to the situation in Mantle. From there, we hear what we were basically expecting: James is scared (”paranoid”, as Pietro corrects), and it seems like our heroes aren’t the only ones having a hard time figuring out who to trust. I’d be hard pressed to believe that, given the Volume’s opening and the circumstances, the Queen virus from Volumes 2 and 3 is completely out of the picture. As it was so succinctly put by a fellow Redditor: this Volume is going to break this man.

Weiss steps up to ask about the Council and Winter, but it’s quickly sidetracked by Pietro recognizing her, and then Yang by the arm that he, presumably, built for her. The revelation that Pietro knows Team RWBY isn’t given much time to sink in before the alarms out in the street begin to blare and it becomes time for the premiere’s obligatory -- but honestly, very well done -- fight scene.

And now I will make my own obligatory aside to praise the music. The guitar piece in this fight is not done by Jeff Williams, as many probably expected, but is rather Alex Abraham’s work. I’ve seen a good handful of people I mentioned this to be surprised that he even plays guitar, and yes; yes, he does. And he kicks ass at it, if that wasn’t obvious enough.

While I saw the fight scene a handful of times before the Chapter premiered, thanks to RTX and again about three days before hand when it was released through Entertainment Weekly, I’m still incredibly impressed by it on a technical level. It’s a fight scene mostly for the sake of having a fight scene, but it looks damn good. Qrow, Oscar and Ruby’s sections stood out to me the most as having some solid choreography and camera work.

And then in a somewhat jarring shift in tone (will this show ever decide if the Grimm are a threat or not? Will power levels ever not give us a headache? Find out... sometime! Hopefully!), we get the aforementioned big moment: Penny, our resident robotic ray of sunshine, is alive and well!

And... kinda honestly makes our heroes look like jobbers? I say that fondly, and with a good deal of chuckling, because I do recall that Monty (or perhaps it was one of the boys?) mentioned Miles and Kerry were fairly averse to having a character use lasers specifically because of how powerful they are. In any case, it makes for a spectacular entrance, and I do especially love Penny’s graceful little flair of a pirouette up to the moon before she lands.

I will say perhaps my one gripe with this episode isn’t Penny’s return, but Ruby and the others’ reaction to it. It doesn’t break the episode, but allowing for comedy over what should have honestly been a very emotional moment for our lead didn’t sit right with me, personally. It’s treated as though this was almost expected, or at least a possibility they knew about in-universe, not a “holy crap, we saw her get torn to shreds”. Just because the audience expects it doesn’t mean the characters would, and I think I was simply expecting more from it. Then again, this is only Chapter 1, so we’ll see where they go with it.

After Penny blasts off to go save another quadrant of the city (she is now its official protector, after all), and Maria is brilliantly oblivious, RNJRWBY and QO are, in an unsurprising turn of events, apprehended by Ace Ops (ASOPS, Atlesian Special OPerativeS, would make a lick more sense, but ah well). I’m a bit concerned about the big ensemble this Volume, but I love the no-shits-given Chad vibes off their leader, Clover. It seems as though his Semblance, or character inspiration at least, is good luck (spinning a horseshoe, wearing a rabbit’s foot and has a clover as his emblem), and I cannot wait for him to have some dynamic with Qrow.

And Clover summarily lists off how many rules they’ve violated in the city in the span of about 10 minutes. Maria: hums, nods, fucks off. Basically one big “welp, he’s got ya there kids”. Bless her snarky soul; I hope this isn’t the last time we see her.

And, yes, thank you very much: these are the consequences I was hoping for. It’s likely to just get them where they need to go -- we wouldn’t have a Volume if they were in jail for all of it -- but they did still break the law and that’s that as far as Atlas’ forces were ever going to be concerned. I’m contented with something surface-level on that front.

We end the Chapter with our heroes arrested, in the back of a transport, and looking like they’re reevaluating their life choices. Cue the new OP!

Briefly: visuals of the new intro are solid, the staff of Creation being behind Monty’s name is really damn clever, “Trust Love” is a wonderful pop-y theme, Penny’s a cinnamon roll, someone please save James from all this bullshit.

Overall, a strong continuation off the previous Volume, but again I’d be hesitant to say it felt like a “proper” premiere. It’s very different from the feeling of previous ones, which can be chalked up to the fact that it wasn’t supposed to be a premiere but a finale, so ultimately I cannot fault it for coming out like neither. It was a good introduction to Mantle, the dynamic of the lower Kingdom, and left me in anticipation of what’s to come, which is such a refreshing feeling.

I’m hopeful and excited for the rest of the Volume. Let’s see where this roller coaster ride takes us.

[awisekrakens]

okay, all right, I got some Emotions to get out because they’re starting to fester, honestly I thought I’d dealt with a good chunk of them years ago, but I guess not

under a cut because it’ll be Long and also very Why Does This Keep Happening to Me, which is not something I indulge in much because it leads to a spiral 9/10 times

I quit my job about a week ago, is the gist of it, but the Why Me is because they were threatening to demote me and because this is the second time this has happened to me.

so back in september when I was promoted, it was with the understanding with my immediate boss (who had more power at the time, he was effectively demoted too, it’s almost like there’s a pattern of behavior here) that I could only work three shifts a week because I’m Severely Clinically Depressed and can only work that often if I’d like to live in small piles of my own filth rather than active rotting mountains. it wasn’t enthusiastically accepted, but it was accepted, and it stood fine for four months.

in the interim, first boss was effectively demoted (was store manager, then became a Superlead, so like an Extra Special Shift Manager; moved from salaried to hourly and Yes It Was A Pay Cut) and understandably stopped giving a shit, so he was eventually fired and replaced by actually promoting from within. I like her, it was a good choice, but the whole thing still sucked.

the entire chain (11+ stores) also moved from doing schedules at the store level to having One Centralized Schedule Person, a move that none of us liked because we’d rather talk in person to a person we know about why our schedules need to be that way instead of Some Person We Send Emails To. I’m far from the only neurodivergent person who was working at my tiny forgotten store, much less the entire company, so it was like, fuck, now what do we do. the company, btw, proudly markets itself as Accepting of All Diversities and Mainly Here For The Medical Patients, Although We Like Recreational Users Too.

aside: the lady hired is married to one of the Powers That Be, a PTB who is by all accounts a pretty cool dude, but I have sincere doubts that Scheduling Lady was in any way qualified to be Scheduling Lady for Over 100 People and strongly suspect nepotism, since I don’t believe she was working for the company previously to becoming Scheduling Lady.

I quickly started feeling resistance from Scheduling Lady, mostly from sheer overwhelmed-ness of going from 0 to Handling the Schedule for 100+ people, but also because I wouldn’t cover shifts because of the aforementioned depression reasons. this is partly because the store I was at was So Goddamned Tiny that anyone unable to work a shift triggered a minor catastrophe that was generally solved by A) granting overtime or B) shuttling someone over from another store.

then the new year happens.

I notice that, for the second week of january, I’m scheduled for only two shifts instead of my usual three. they’re both shift manager shifts, which will become important later. I feel something niggling in the back of my brain, but because this is the first instance of this, I put it aside and send an email to Scheduling Lady asking to be restored to my regular three.

about 4-5 days later, I get a response from her amounting roughly to no, and that shift managers are expected to work four shifts/week. apparently the email’s been chilling in her drafts. (this is a paraphrase, I have a screenshot of said email on my phone)

at this place in the story, here’s a reminder that I’d been a shift manager for four months at this point, and that for those four months, at least two of which were during her tenure, my usual three shifts had been completely fine.

at this point I enter a depressive episode, because I feel like I’m being punished for something that was Completely Fine. I marinate in it for approximately three days, during which I receive my schedule for the week after -- I’ve been given two non-manager shifts, which feels like a Big, Hearty Fuck-You -- until the day of the store meeting, before which I tearfully ask my immediate supervisor (the Extra Special Shift Manager) and the regional manager responsible for my store if I’m being demoted.

Regional Manager doesn’t immediately say no.

Regional Manager instead says -- very nicely, he’s also a pretty cool dude, he’s one of the people who originally trained me when I first got hired Which Only Makes This Worse -- he instead repeats the thing about how shift managers are expected by the company to work four shifts/week.

I fully start crying at this point and am handed a box of tissues. 

I tell them that I’m clinically depressed and can only work three shifts, as I’ve been doing.

I’m then asked if I’d like to step down, citing the story of a coworker who decided he was too stressed to be a store manager, back when that was still a thing, and stepped down two levels to budtender, which is entry-level and the level I’d been promoted beyond four months previously. 

I say that’s cool for him, but I want to continue to be a shift manager, and I’m not going to be forced downwards, because almost this exact thing has happened to be before, only I was stupid enough to go back.

[it’s a long story, but it’s from back when I was an assistant swim coach (some of you may have known me then, I don’t remember because my memories from around then are shitty and full of holes because depression!). tldr, at the end of the summer I was paid maybe half what someone with half of my coaching experience was paid and wanted to be there so badly the next summer that I returned as a volunteer, only to quit halfway through because an entirely new coaching staff had been hired in the interim and now there was no place for me to do anything and I couldn’t take it anymore. I was the youngest, but had been there the longest.]

I just took a break to sob into my hand. I have really not dealt with that betrayal at all.

back to 2018.

Regional Manager looks like he hadn’t thought of it that way, says he wants to keep me on and move me to the store that will be opening -- eventually -- much nearer to my place. says he can’t promise anything, but he’ll bring it up on Monday (this was Thursday) at the PTB meeting and see what he can do.

I go outside to cry on Husband, who has stuck around after dropping me off because he’s a genius and knew this would probably happen. he’s reminded me that I can quit a couple of times at this point, which we are very finacially able to do, but we’re kind of. saving up to buy a house. so that guilt is fun.

I dry my face off and go back inside to work my closing shift.

over the weekend, the depressive episode deepens. I keep cycling back to things like “it was fine for four months”, “why does this matter”, “why is this the hill they want to die on”, “if they want me to take four shifts why was I moved down to two”, and the old standby “do they all secretly hate me”, helped along by the fact that I HAD TO START THE CONVERSATION. no email, no nothing from Regional Manager. I had to notice on my own through how I was being scheduled.

by Monday, things have gotten so bad in the brain case that I’m sporting a brand new set of stress acne and do my best not to curl up into a ball whenever the thought of the store crosses my mind.

Regional Manager pulls it off in the meeting, and says I can come back to the way things were before. I take a day to compose my reply, but encouraged by Husband, I quit because “the stress surrounding this whole affair has negatively affected my health” because it has. I’m still crying as I write this, btw. still have painful stress acne.

now I’m dealing with lingering guilt and stress and depressive episodes and super fun job-hunting stress which is my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE THING IN THE WHOLE WORLD and everything’s flipped so hard that I actually miss it there.

this, this is why I went back to the swim team.

I fucking hate everything.

I call out sick twice in six months, don’t cover shifts because of a medical reason, have exactly zero discipline marks on my record, and this is how I leave.

fuck everything.