#I honestly don’t know if this qualifies as whump | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fangirlwriting-stories · 3 years

Text

Stay Alive (For Me)

Summary: Janus has never thought of being a private detective as something particularly dangerous beyond the case he’s working on, but when he gets a call from a serial killer he’s been tracking down who’s kidnapped Virgil, he might need to make some mental revisions to that assumption.

Virgil, meanwhile, is just trying not piss his kidnapper off.

Author’s Note: So, my dear friend @shadowling-guistical graduated college recently and needs to be celebrated for such an outstanding feat! So I wrote her an anxceit whump fic. Mishii, you are something else and I love you dearly. Enjoy!

Out of all the ways Virgil had expected to spend his two weeks alone while Patton and Logan were camping, getting kidnapped hadn’t been on the list. Honestly, his main expectation had been to spend most of it home alone and rewatching old horror movies. He hadn’t expected to wake up in complete darkness with a pounding headache, tied to a chair.

The last part had taken him longer to realize, because the pounding headache part had made it hard to assess his surroundings at first. But when he tried to shift and sit up, he was met with the realization that he was already seated, and also that he couldn’t move his arms or legs.

“Don’t try and struggle,” a voice said. “I won’t hurt you if you cooperate.”

“Oh, gee, thanks so much,” Virgil muttered, keeping his voice too quiet for the other person to hear because he wasn’t an idiot. “Who are you?”

“Nice try,” the voice said, and Virgil could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “But that’s not your concern. You’re just here until I get what I want.”

“I’m ransom then, awesome.” Virgil looked around, trying to find the source of the voice and trying to figure out if he had any memory of how he’d gotten here. He vaguely remembered going to bed last night… then waking up in the middle of the night to someone grabbing him. When they felt him stir they slammed his head into his headboard, which was probably why it was pounding.

Virgil’s gaze finally landed on a shape over in the shadows as his eyes continued to adjust.

“In a sense,” the man said, and didn’t say anything else.

“What, I don’t even get to know why I’m here?” Virgil asked. “That seems like a common courtesy I’m owed, doesn’t it?”

The man walked forwards a couple steps and slapped Virgil across the face. Virgil blinked in surprise. His cheek started to sting.

“I told you to cooperate,” the man hissed. “Listen next time.”

Virgil swallowed, and the man walked over and sat back down where he’d been before.

“How long am I going to be here?” Virgil asked weakly, trying to brace himself in case the man decided to come over and slap him again.

Luckily for that possibility, however, the man seemed more interested in pulling out his phone and dialing a number, which probably meant Virgil was about to get some information about what the hell was happening. Especially since, after it started ringing, the man put it on speaker and looked back at Virgil.

“You’re going to speak first,” he said. “Say anything about where you are and you’ll be moved.”

Virgil wasn’t stupid enough to snap back that he didn’t even know where he was. He imagined saying anything about being in a dark room with whoever the hell this was would qualify as that. He wasn’t sure what the hell to expect when the phone was picked up, but it certainly wasn’t what happened.

“Remus, if that’s you again I swear to god. I can and will get a new phone number—”

“Janus?”

There were a couple long seconds of silence.

“Virgil?”

Before Virgil could say anything else, the man across from him spoke up instead. “Hello, Janus. Lovely to hear from you again,” he said, like he hadn’t called Janus.

Janus was silent for another couple seconds. “Francis? What the hell are you playing at—”

Francis took the phone off speaker and put it to his ear before Janus could get any further along in that sentence. “Do you understand my point now? Keep quiet and no one gets hurt.”

Virgil’s throat went dry, as he started to realize how serious the situation he’d found himself in was.

“That option is not currently available,” Francis said to some response Janus gave, still sounding like a casual asshole. “We can debate further in the future based on your behavior for the next week. I’ll contact you again.”

Francis hung up the phone and set it to the side on something else, probably a table or another chair.

“You’re trying to use me to buy Janus’ silence?” Virgil asked, still a little bit in disbelief. “That’s a terrible idea.”

Francis stood up, walked across the room, and smacked Virgil across the face again. “What part of cooperate did you not understand?”

“Janus hates me, you idiot. We haven’t spoken in years. He’s not going to care what you do to me.”

This time a fist hit his cheek, and Virgil let out a cry of pain. “If you don’t stop talking back,” Francis said. “You’re not going to last the first week.”

Virgil bit his lip hard and kept his mouth shut, and after another moment Francis seemed satisfied, and walked over to sit down again. It didn’t make Virgil’s point wrong. It did make him screwed, if his only chance to get out of here was Janus caring about his well-being.

After another couple minutes, Francis walked around him to the other side of the room. Virgil heard what sounded like a door opening. Light spilled into the room as he did and illuminated a chair, a table, and nothing else.

“I’ll bring you food in a couple hours,” Francis said, then left, shutting the door behind him.

Virgil let out a shaky breath and leaned forward as much as he could. Holy shit. What the hell had he been dragged into?

…

Janus did not like waking up early. This wasn’t necessarily a large problem, because unless a case he was working on required him to wake up early for some reason, he could sleep as late as he wanted, which meant that most days, he wasn’t up until ten, or later depending on what he’d done the night before.

So needless to say, Janus wasn’t too thrilled about getting a phone call that woke him up at 5AM. He was less thrilled when he saw ‘Unknown Caller’ on the ID, which meant it was a 90% chance that Remus was calling him again.

Remus had been a client a few months ago. Janus had helped him find his brother, who had vanished one night without saying anything (except a note about how he needed to ‘find himself’). Remus had apparently gotten it into his head while they’d been figuring everything out that Janus was lonely. And apparently his persistence knew no bounds, because he hadn’t stopped calling Janus since, and always with an unknown number that Janus couldn’t just block.

He also knew Remus would keep calling until he answered, though, so Janus sat up and tried to shake himself awake enough to put his best angry voice on.

“Remus, if that’s you again I swear to god. I can and will get a new phone number—”

“Janus?”

It took Janus a couple seconds to process the voice, because he hadn’t heard it in so long, and frankly, he hadn’t thought he was going to hear it ever again.

“Virgil?”

Before Virgil could say anything else, a new, unfortunately also familiar voice spoke up. “Hello, Janus. Lovely to hear from you again.”

Janus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shove down the sudden panic that arose in his chest. “Francis? What the hell are you playing at—”

“Do you understand my point now?” Francis cut him off. “Keep quiet and no one gets hurt.”

Janus kept breathing, trying to move past the idea of Virgil alone with the man he’d suspected for a while now was a serial killer. Why had he thought it was a horrible idea to go to the cops with his evidence again? Well, because cops were garbage, but that wasn’t really the point right now.

“Let him go, Francis,” Janus said. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this. Let him go and leave him be.”

“That option is not currently available,” Francis said. “We can debate further in the future based on your behavior for the next week. I’ll contact you again.”

And with that, the fucker hung up.

Janus stared at the phone for another long moment, then jumped up from his bed and ran for the door. He wasn’t going to use his own phone to do this.

He ran across the hall and started banging on his neighbor’s apartment door. It took about a minute, but a very sleepy person answered.

“Janus?” Thomas murmured. “What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

“Can I borrow your phone?” Janus asked.

Thomas blinked at him a moment longer. “Why?”

“Mine is dead, sorry, I just really need to call my, uh, friend, I’m worried about him.”

Thomas blinked a little more, still not looking quite awake. “Okay, sure, just give me a second.” He turned around and shut the door, disappearing back inside. After far too long, he reappeared at the door, this time holding a phone.

“Thank you,” Janus said, snatching it from his hand before Thomas said anything. “I’ll bring it right back.” He walked across the hallway and went back into his own apartment.

He didn’t know Remus’ number since he always called with an unknown one, but he did know his brother’s.

Roman didn’t answer on the first call, because it was 5 in the morning and all reasonable people were sleeping. He answered when Janus called again.

“Hello?”

“Roman? It’s Janus.”

“Janus? What the hell do you—” Roman cut himself off with a yawn.

“Is your brother with you by some miracle?”

“No? It’s too early for this, Janus.”

“Can you give me his number?”

“Why?”

“Roman.”

“Okay, okay. Hang on, I gotta find it.” There was a long moment of silence as Roman was presumably going through his phone, and then he read out a number to Janus, who scribbled it down on the notepad he’d grabbed while Roman was doing that.

“Thanks, you can go back to sleep now,” Janus said, hanging up. He dialed the number he’d written down, and got a much more chipper answer on the first ring.

“Joe’s Whore House, you got the dough, we got the hoe.”

“Remus.”

“Janny!” Remus called, sounding thrilled. “Are you taking a page out of my book and calling me with unrecognizable numbers? And here I thought you didn’t want to be friends!”

“Remus, I need your help. You still have access to all of that illegal tracking stuff, right?”

“Hey, if the government uses it, how can it be illegal for me to—”

“Remus.”

Remus must have finally picked up on the seriousness in his tone, because he stopped. “Janus, is something wrong?”

“Yes. I need you to meet me somewhere we can talk in private but that won’t look shady. How often are you at the library?”

“Oh, I try to convince them to put all of my monster fucking books in the kids section at least once a week.”

“Great, meet me in the study room as soon as you can.”

“Sure thing!” Remus called, and hung up. Janus headed back out into the hallway and saw Thomas still standing there, rubbing at his eyes.

“Everything okay?” Thomas asked as Janus handed him his phone back.

“Yep, all good,” Janus lied, heading back across the hall to now pull some clothes on and get ready to head to the library. He grabbed his car keys on the way through the door, and headed to his room to get dressed. He did so quickly, and shoved the keys in his pocket, heading out towards his car.

He made it to the library about twice as quickly as he usually did, and headed towards the study room in the back of the library. Remus was already there, and since it was early enough that the library was barely open, he was the only one who was. He was sitting at a table near the back, in a place that would be hidden from any kind of cameras, and Janus was suddenly grateful that Remus was well-versed in this kind of thing.

“Hey,” Janus said, sitting down across from him. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” Remus said, sounding genuine. “What’s wrong?”

“Did I ever mention Virgil when we were looking for your brother?”

Remus shook his head.

“Okay, well, he was my boyfriend a couple years ago. We had a bad break up and falling out. But I’ve been tracking this guy Francis, and—” Janus looked around one more time and lowered his voice. “He apparently managed to track my history back that far and now he’s kidnapped Virgil.”

“Well, shit,” Remus said, leaning forward and lowering his voice too. “How long’s he had him?”

“I can’t imagine too long,” Janus said. “He called me just this morning. But he hit me with one of those ‘keep quiet and no one gets hurt’ things.”

“Ah, so you need me to do all your dirty work while you sit around on your hands,” Remus said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Janus grumbled. “Look, this guy isn’t Roman. He won’t know what to look for when you’re the one trying to find him, alright? He’d know what to look for with me, he’s clearly done his research. But I don’t think there’s much of a reason he’d be looking for you. You know, except for the fact that I might have accidentally given him your name.”

“What? Why the hell would you do that?”

“I thought it was you calling! You only ever call me with unknown numbers, you idiot.”

Remus groaned. “Okay. I’ll have to be careful, but I think I can still pull that off. Hang on, let me get you…” He reached over inside his bag and dug around for a minute, then pulled out what looked like an ancient android phone. “I’ll text you updates on that. Any time frame I need to worry about?”

“He said we’d negotiate again in a week depending on my behavior.” Janus put air quotes on the last word.

Remus wrinkled his nose. “Okay. Any chance I can be over at your house that day when he calls?”

“Yeah, I’ll text you the address,” Janus said, ignoring the instant objection at the idea of Remus knowing where he lived. This was for Virgil. It had to happen. “I’ll see you then?”

Remus stood. “Yep. I’ve got stuff to do now. Have fun stewing in panic for a week.”

“Gee, thanks,” Janus sighed, standing up too. He was getting breakfast out. He needed it right now.

…

Virgil didn’t stay tied in the chair forever. Eventually Francis untied him and let him walk around, though obviously he wasn’t allowed to leave the room, and it was locked anyway. Virgil didn’t have any real way to judge how time passed other than the three meals he got a day. He mostly spent his time trying and failing not to freak out. He had more than a couple panic attacks tucked back into a corner.

If this guy was willing to kidnap him and hurt him to keep Janus quiet, he had no reason to believe that he wouldn’t do worse. His life was in very real danger, and he also had no reason to believe anyone would know or care.

Logan and Patton would care, but they were still camping out in the middle of nowhere for another week and a half. Virgil hadn’t wanted to go because they were out in the country with no cell service, in nature with bugs and humidity. He was kind of wishing he’d gone now. Not that it would have meant this guy wouldn’t have been able to find him, necessarily, but Logan and Patton would at least know he was missing. In the current situation, they could come back to find that Virgil was fucking dead.

And then there was Janus. Virgil couldn’t imagine Janus had given him much thought after Francis had hung up the phone. Janus wasn’t going to care what happened to him. Virgil had months of fights that culminated in a break up to serve as proof of that. Janus had outright said he hated him multiple times. Not that Virgil hadn’t said the same thing back, but not being hated by Janus would have been a helpful little boost to getting out of this situation.

Virgil banged his head back against the wall, running over all of their fights again. He’d never hated Janus, not really. He’d just been so fucking angry. Why had he said he hated him? If he hadn’t done that, Janus might have at least been willing to try and help him, or call the cops, or something. But Virgil had seen his face when he’d finally packed up and left. Janus was probably at a bar celebrating right now. Francis was such a fucking idiot.

The door opened again, and the idiot himself walked across the room and shoved a sandwich and a cup of water at Virgil. Virgil took them both without a word, as he’d learned pretty quickly that was safer, and Francis left the way he came.

Virgil ate the sandwich and drank the water as fast as he could, as he’d also learned pretty quickly that if he didn’t do that, Francis came back in and took them both back. This way, after five minutes he just came and took the empty cup.

Virgil usually got up and walked around for a while after he ate, since it was when he had the most energy and it meant he wasn’t simply sitting in the same spot panicking all day. Sometimes he went over and laid on the two chairs and table he’d shoved against the wall as a makeshift bed and took a nap. There wasn’t much to do as a hostage. The monotony could almost be as bad as the panic sometimes.

Virgil tried to count the meals as day markers, but some days Francis definitely gave him one or two meals instead of three. Either way, the week had to be close to up by now, didn’t it? He couldn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but his anxiety was certainly deciding to treat it as a bad thing.

That worry tied with the monotony of being here meant that he couldn’t decide whether or not to be relieved when Francis came into the room with a cell phone out along with a meal.

“The same rules apply,” Francis said as he stood in front of Virgil as he ate. “If you say anything about where you are, we’re moving. But your boyfriend’s been good this week, so you get to be here while I make this call.”

Virgil wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Francis’ idea of Janus being ‘good’ was. He ate the last bite of sandwich and drank the last of his water, and Francis turned to the phone.

Virgil shifted on the chair he was sitting on so he could tuck his legs against his chest. The phone didn’t even get a chance to ring once before Janus picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Janus,” Francis said brightly. “It’s lovely to speak with you again.”

“The feeling is not mutual,” Janus snapped back. Virgil was surprised at the vitriol in his tone.

“Careful, Janus,” Francis said. “You’ve been doing so well. I’d hate for the situation to change because you can’t be polite.”

Janus didn’t say anything, and Virgil wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“I suppose you’ve been decent for the required amount of time, though,” Francis said. “So some kind of reward is in order.”

He handed the phone over to Virgil and nodded at him, which Virgil supposed was his cue to talk.

“Janus?” he said, and his voice came out rough and scratchy.

“Virgil?” Janus said, his voice dropping into concern immediately, which took Virgil by surprise. “Hey. Are you alright?”

“Well,” Virgil said. “I’ve been kidnapped.”

Janus gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I know. I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“You’re… sorry?” Virgil said slowly.

“Yeah. I’m sure Francis was just looking for ways to silence me, and you were the first thing he found. You shouldn’t have been involved at all. I’m sorry.”

Virgil didn’t know what to say. That made it sound like Janus was worried, or at least that he cared enough not to intentionally get Virgil killed.

…In retrospect, Virgil couldn’t think of many people who would do something like that. Maybe that was more the anxiety talking than anything else.

“Are you alright?” Janus asked again after what must have been too long of a pause.

“So far,” Virgil muttered. “I—”

“And that’s enough of that,” Francis said, snatching the phone from Virgil’s hands and taking the phone off speaker. Janus must have said something angry, though, because a second later Francis set the phone on his lap and put it on speaker again, then grabbed Virgil’s hair and yanked.

Virgil cried out, more in surprise than pain, and moved to try and yank Francis’ hands down. Unfortunately, Francis was much stronger than he was, and caught Virgil’s hands easily. He took him by the arms and slammed him back against the wall, which this time resulted in a cry that was more pain than surprise.

“Stop it!” Janus snapped from the phone that was sitting over on the ground. “Leave him alone!”

Virgil didn’t pay much attention to Francis’ reply, as he was more focused on him loosening his grip slightly as he turned back towards the phone. Virgil bit his lip hard to steel his nerve and slammed his knee up in between Francis’ legs. He didn’t stay long enough to hear Francis scream for too long, no matter how nice it would have been, because the second his hands let go of Virgil he was sprinting for the door.

It opened into a staircase, which Virgil started running up. He must have been in some kind of basement or something. He made it up the steps and into what looked like a mess of a house, and he took a couple seconds to locate what looked like the front door. He sprinted for it and yanked the door open, heart in his throat, and started running outside, which was about when he realized the flaw in all of this plan, being that he was in the middle of a thick set of woods.

Virgil’s breathing started to quicken. No, no, there wouldn’t be cell service in the middle of the woods. If he could hear… cars. That way.

Virgil started running, and made it almost to the treeline before the door slammed against a wall behind him.

“You little pest!”

Don’t look behind you, don’t look behind you, don’t look behind you—

The cars were getting louder in front of him. He was definitely going the right way. Virgil made it to the edge of the treeline and dove to the right. He had never been too good at running, but it wasn’t long before he realized that wasn’t his main problem. He hadn’t eaten enough that day. Virgil tried to push himself further, to stop himself from slowing down, but the road still sounded too far away, and the footsteps behind him were getting closer.

Virgil swung himself around a tree and heard a satisfying thunk behind him, and kept running. The road sounded close now, if he could just make it a little further… through those trees…

A hand on his arm. Virgil screamed and pulled, only for his feet to skid on the mud in front of him, and he realized that the sound he thought was cars was actually a stream.

“Road was the other way,” Francis growled, and Virgil managed to look up above him before Francis slammed his elbow down on his face.

…

“Hello? Virgil? Virgil!” Janus looked desperately over at Remus, who shrugged, looking just as nervous. After another long couple minutes, Janus hung up.

“What happened?” he asked, like Remus would have a different answer now that he could use words.

Sure enough, Remus said “I don’t know,” and started looking back at his laptop again. “I managed to track a signal down. I’m not sure what happened at the end there.”

“You know where they are?” Janus asked, leaning over to look at Remus’ laptop.

“Yeah. Not far out of town. Maybe a half hour drive.” Remus closed the laptop and stood. “I’ll head down there now. I’ll bring Roman.”

“I’ll come too,” Janus said, standing to follow Remus.

“No you won’t,” Remus said, spinning and putting a hand on Janus’ chest to stop him.

“What— Remus!”

“If something goes wrong, you need to be sitting here like a good little boy and keeping quiet,” Remus said, moving to put his equipment back in his bag. “I’ll keep in contact on your new terrible cell phone, or Roman will.”

“But—”

“Yeah, I know.” Remus turned and put his hands firmly on Janus’ shoulders. “I know. But it’s safer for Virgil if you’re here, alright? If this goes well, I’ll be back with him in a couple hours.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“I’ll keep you updated.” And with that, Remus slung his bag over his shoulder and headed out his door and towards his car.

Janus stood there for a moment trying to decide what the hell to do now. His brain wasn’t giving him any ideas, meaning after a second the answer turned out to be ‘pace anxiously back and forth across the floor.’ He pulled out the old phone every couple seconds in case Remus had tried to contact him and it hadn’t gone off for some reason.

But that hadn’t happened, of course, and Janus really just ended up pacing back and forth for half an hour.

Finally, however, the phone started ringing and lit up with Remus’ name, and Janus answered it instantly.

“That didn’t take long,” he said, despite how much it felt like the opposite. “Does that mean good news?”

“They’re gone.”

Janus’ blood ran cold. “What?”

“They’re gone. Whatever happened at the end of the call must have been him moving them both. I don’t know where they are.”

“What— okay, what now then? You still have the information you used the first time, right? We don’t have to wait for him to call again?”

“No, unless he ditched it entirely I should still be able to find him again. But it’s going to depend on how fast they’re moving, too. And if they go somewhere without phone service, it’ll be a lot harder.”

“What are you doing now, then?”

A muffled voice sounded that wasn’t Remus, and Remus yelled back that he was coming. “We’re going to look through the house to see if we can find any clues, and then hang out here until the signal stops moving or vanishes.”

Janus nodded. “Okay. What can I do?”

“You’re not going to like my answer.”

“Remus.”

“You need to stay there, Janny. He’s clearly able to know what you’re up to. If he’s pissed at Virgil for some reason and he sees you running, he’s just going to do something worse. You can help by staying there.”

He was right, and Janus knew it, but that didn’t make the idea any less horrendous sounding. “Let me use this phone to help you track them. I know what I’m doing too.”

“I don’t need help, Janus. Roman and I have got this.”

“I know you do, I just… Remus, I need something to do.”

Remus was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “Alright. But it would take you longer to track someone on that phone than it would me with my laptop. You can be in charge of travel routes. But it doesn’t matter where he is, you stay put, okay?”

“I know. You don’t have to tell me,” Janus snapped. Remus was still right, but he’d had too much stress over the past hour, and it had all built up to a point where he had to snap at someone. Hopefully Remus got that.

“Okay, just stay on the line if you’re going to be doing that.”

“I will,” Janus said, closing the phone app and opening the map. “Let me know when you know where they are.”

“Will do. Hey Janus?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to get him out, okay?”

“We better,” Janus muttered. He took a deep breath. “Thanks, Re.”

Remus must have put the phone on speaker, because a second later he heard Roman calling in the distance about things he was seeing.

Janus sat back down on his bed and listened, waiting for the moment that he could actually do something. Remus was right. They were going to get Virgil out, and it wasn’t going to take long now, dammit. He was going to make sure of it.

…

Virgil was shaken awake the next time that consciousness assaulted him. Consciousness didn’t feel like the only thing to have done so.

His entire body ached all over, especially his face. It felt like his nose was broken from where Francis had slammed his elbow into it. His legs ached from running so hard after not having enough food or movement for a week. His arms felt bruised from where Francis had grabbed him and slammed him into the wall, and from where he was still grabbing them now.

Virgil whimpered and tried to shift himself out of Francis’ arms, but his head was still fuzzy and Francis was able to hold on much more tightly.

“Good, you’re awake,” Francis said, like he hadn’t just shaken Virgil awake himself. Before Virgil could decide whether or not he wanted to spit something like that back, Francis lifted his leg up and slammed his foot down on Virgil’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Virgil wheezed and tried to catch his breath, but before that could happen, Francis picked him up bridal style and hoisted him high enough to drop him. Virgil landed hard on his elbow and heard something snap. Francis shoved a hand over his mouth to muffle his scream, pushing hard enough to bruise.

“Are you getting the picture yet?” he snapped. “If you ever try to run again—” He used his free hand to pick up Virgil’s broken elbow and slam it into the ground, then the wall next to them, then the ground again, over and over until Virgil had tears running down his face. He removed his hand from Virgil’s mouth. “Understand?”

“Please—” Virgil wheezed.

Francis pulled out something glinting and silver and dragged it down Virgil’s other arm. Virgil shrieked, and Francis shoved a hand over his mouth again to muffle it, still pushing to the point of more pain.

“It’s a yes or no question,” Francis growled. “You know what, don’t even speak, just nod or shake your head. If you try and run again I will do worse. Do you understand?”

Virgil nodded.

Francis pulled the knife out from Virgil’s arm and shoved him into the wall. Virgil’s elbow dragging along the ground did wonders for how much pain he was in.

“This didn’t have to be personal,” Francis said, still sounding furious. “It was meant to be a business transaction. If you’d simply behaved until I was sure of Janus’ silence long-term, I would have let you go unharmed.”

Virgil’s elbow was hurting more the longer it was pressed underneath him, and the arm that Francis had sliced open was starting to pulse and bleed, but he didn’t dare move either of them.

“But you had to go and run,” Francis said. “Really you have no one to blame for this but yourself.”

Or I could blame the guy who kidnapped me. Y’know, just a thought, Virgil almost said.

“I’ll be back in a few hours with your dinner,” Francis said. He started over towards a door down towards Virgil’s feet. “And you know what, if you move before then, I’ll break your other elbow.”

He opened and left through the door, slamming it after him, and Virgil let out a broken sob.

He didn’t move.

…

Remus tracked Francis to an old abandoned church about an hour away from the last location. Janus found him the quickest route there and then proceeded to go over and sit on his ass all over again. He couldn’t even stay on the line this time, because Roman and Remus had to “focus” or some bullshit like that.

He paced back and forth until his stomach growled and he realized he’d barely eaten all day. Janus went over to the pantry and pulled out a box of crackers. He grabbed an entire stack and put them on a plate, then grabbed the peanut butter and slathered a spoonful on his plate, then started jamming the crackers into the peanut butter to the point of breaking many of them in half.

“He’s going to be fine,” Janus tried to reassure himself. “Francis is dangerous, but Roman and Remus are two people. And they’re both extremely capable and all that shit. He’s going to be fine. He’ll be alive when they get there and they’ll take him to the hospital and he’ll make a full recovery and he’ll be fine and you’re not going to have to be responsible for his death or anything like that. That’s not going to happen for many reasons. Not the least of which being Virgil is not going to die.”

Janus buried his head in his hands and screamed, doing his best to muffle it with his hands.

Evidently he didn’t do such a great job of muffling it, though, because a couple seconds later a frantic set of knocks came on his door.

Janus’ brain apparently liked the idea of doing anything, so he jumped up and rushed over to the door. He opened it to find Thomas, looking very concerned.

“Are you alright?” he asked, sounding just as concerned as he looked. “I heard screaming, is something wrong?”

“Uh—” Janus tried to come up with a response to that, looking around for an excuse, but his eyes just ended up landing on the crushed crackers and peanut butter. As a result, Thomas’ eyes ended up there too, and he spoke again a second later.

“Hey,” he said, and Janus glanced back over. “Do you want to come back across to my apartment, and I can give you some of my leftover chicken noodle soup? You… kinda look like you need it.”

Janus swallowed. “Okay,” he said weakly. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Thomas smiled slightly, and Janus grabbed his key off the hook by the door before following Thomas across the hall.

Thomas got a tub of chicken noodle soup out from his fridge and put it in a bowl to heat up, and Janus sat down at the table and put his head in his hands, trying again to breathe.

“Oh my goodness, are you alright?” Thomas asked. “I mean, obviously not, just… do you want to talk about it?”

Janus looked up and shook his head. Not yet.

“Are you sure?”

Janus nodded.

“Okay,” Thomas said, looking unsure. The microwave went off, and Thomas took the soup out, stirred it, and put it back in for another minute.

“Why are you doing this exactly?” Janus asked as Thomas turned around. “You barely know me.”

Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know, you’ve always seemed nice, and… rather lonely, if I’m being honest.”

“You don’t need to be honest if you don’t feel like it,” Janus grumbled, leaning his chin on his hand. Yes, he didn’t have a ton of company over, but did Thomas really have to be so obvious about it?

Thomas cleared his throat awkwardly. “I just… you’ve seemed really tense lately and I wanted to make sure you’re alright. If you need a friend right now, you can talk to me.”

Janus winced. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” he said. “I’m starting to think it’s not exactly… safe, for me to have friends.”

Thomas stared at him for a moment. “Not safe?” he asked in bewilderment. “Why wouldn’t it be safe?”

Before Janus could answer, the microwave went off, and Thomas turned to pull the soup out. He stirred it again and walked over to hand it to Janus.

“Thanks,” Janus said quietly, and blew on a spoonful before taking a bite. “This is good,” he said in surprise.

“Yeah, well don’t expect anything else out of me, that’s like the one thing I know how to make,” Thomas said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Janus laughed a little. “I’m a pretty good cook under normal circumstances,” he said. “Don’t judge me by my cracker mauling in there.”

Thomas laughed back. “It looked like you went to war with them,” he said.

“They had it coming,” Janus said, taking another spoonful of soup. “They know what they did.”

Thomas laughed again, and Janus pretended not to smile as he focused on the soup. Before he could eat too much of it though, the phone in pocket rang, and Janus switched directions entirely, snatching it out and answering it before it finished ringing once. “Remus?”

“I caught a dickwad!” Remus called happily.

“Is Virgil okay?” Janus asked, heart racing.

“Roman’s looking for him. I get to watch Francy-pie sleep until the cops get here. I think I’m gonna need you to call them though, I don’t want to take my focus off of this guy.”

“Yeah. Keep me updated.”

“I will,” Remus said, and hung up. Janus’ entire body sagged forward as all the tension rushed out of him at once.

“Are you alright?” Thomas asked, sounding concerned again.

Janus nodded. “I’ve got to call the cops now. You still want to know what happened?”

Thomas nodded.

“Alright, pay attention,” Janus said, and pulled out his other phone.

…

Virgil had to fight not to shrink in on himself when the door slammed open again. He braced himself for whatever Francis was going to do this time, because it definitely hadn’t been long enough that he was bringing dinner.

But to his surprise, when he looked over towards the door, he saw someone who wasn’t Francis. And instead of storming angrily towards him, he moved over and crouched down. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Who are you?” Virgil asked.

“My name’s Roman. I’m a friend of Janus. My brother and I came here to get you out.”

“Where’s Francis?”

“Remus is holding him upstairs. He or Janus should have called the cops at this point. Are you hurt?”

Virgil nodded. “I think my elbow is broken,” he muttered, finally shifting so he wasn’t lying on it anymore. “And my nose. And he stabbed me in the arm.” He lifted the one he meant and winced at the sting when he moved it. Roman pulled out his phone and shined a flashlight on it, and Virgil squinted his eyes against the sudden light. After a moment he opened them again and looked around. It seemed like he was in another basement.

“It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding anymore,” Roman said. “Did it feel like it was bleeding too badly before?”

“I mean, I don’t think I got lightheaded or anything,” Virgil muttered.

“Okay, I don’t have much of an idea what that means,” Roman said. “You’re definitely going to need to go to a hospital anyway. Can you stand?”

“I think so,” Virgil said, taking Roman’s offered hand with his non-broken elbow. He still ached all over, but he felt like he could walk okay. He still used the railing to get up the steps.

They both exited the basement into what looked like an old church that thankfully didn’t look old or in danger of collapse, despite looking abandoned. Francis was unconscious over by the doors and being sat on by someone who looked exactly like Roman, which was more than a little unexpected.

“I guess that’s one way to restrain someone,” Virgil muttered.

The person glanced up and grinned. “You must be Virgey! Hi, I’m Remus! I’ve heard a ton about you. I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of knocking your captor unconscious.”

“And it seems now that the danger is over, so is your capacity for being able to take things seriously,” Roman muttered.

“I’ve been serious for way too long, Ro-bro. I needed a break. Hey, Virgey. If you want to come punch this guy in the face, I’ll tell the cops it was necessary to knock him out.”

Virgil walked over and kicked Francis’ nose, and heard a satisfying crack that sounded similar to his own. Francis shifted like he was going to wake up, and Virgil kicked him again.

Remus was grinning when he glanced back over. “I’m gonna like you, aren’t I?” he said.

“Remus, have you called Janus yet?” Roman asked, crossing his arms and seeming very done with his brother’s antics.

“On it!” Remus called, pulling out a phone and hitting a couple buttons before passing the phone to Virgil. “You want first dibs?”

Virgil winced slightly when moving his left arm, but it was better than trying to grab the phone with his broken elbow. Roman walked over to talk to Remus, and Virgil moved to sit on one of the pews. He put the phone up to his ear just as someone who was very distinctly not Janus answered it. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi?” Virgil said.

“Who is this?” the person who was not Janus asked.

“Uh… who is this?”

“I’m Thomas. If you’re trying to talk to Janus, he’s on the phone with the police.”

“Oh. Uh, I’m Virgil.”

“Oh! You’re the person he was worried about!” Thomas called, and there came a sudden call from Janus in the background.

There were shuffling sounds, and a couple seconds later, Virgil caught the tail end of Janus’ sentence. “—and once they turn there, it’s like five minutes to the church,” he said. “Virgil?” His voice cleared up, and it sounded like he was speaking into the phone now.

“Hey, Janus,” Virgil said, trying not to sound as exhausted as he felt.

“Hey,” Janus said, and Virgil realized that maybe it would be okay, because Janus sounded just as exhausted. “Are you alright?”

Virgil tried to come up with some way to believably lie for half a second before giving up. “No.”

Janus let out a shaky breath that Virgil could hear over the phone. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this, Virgil. I didn’t mean for— well. I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d care,” Virgil said quietly.

There was a moment of dead silence on the other end of the phone. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Virgil muttered, feeling kind of silly now. “I mean, it might have partly been how freaked out I was, I just… I don’t know.”

“You thought I wasn’t going to care if you got kidnapped because we had a bad break up?”

“It was like, a really bad break up,” Virgil muttered.

Janus gave a short disbelieving laugh. “Of course I cared, you moron,” he said, and Virgil took a moment to take in how absolutely wrecked Janus sounded. He probably really did, huh?

“Oh,” Virgil said, and his voice did not crack there, that would be so stupid. “Okay.”

“Are you okay?” Janus asked again, and he sounded like he was crying now.

Virgil sniffed. “Not really,” he said, and then they were both crying, and Virgil pulled his knees up to his chest and cradled the phone with his good arm like it was something precious, and cried with Janus over the phone.

Someone on the other end said something quietly in the background.

“Okay,” Janus said, and Virgil heard him sniff. “Virgil, the police will be there soon, okay? They’re bringing an ambulance to take you to the hospital if you need to.”

Virgil nodded, then remembered Janus couldn't see him. “I do,” he confirmed. He managed to avoid sniffing again.

Janus didn’t manage the same. “Alright,” he said. “Do you want me to stay on the line?”

“Uh-huh,” Virgil said, and so Janus did. Neither of them said much until Virgil heard more talking coming from over by Roman and Remus, and looked over to see police stopping by Remus and people who looked like emergency services coming over to help him.

Virgil gave them the name of a hospital covered by his insurance, and then followed them towards the ambulance. He gave Janus the name and address of the hospital they’d be going to, and then Janus said he’d meet him there and hung up. Virgil gave the phone back to Remus as he passed him.

Someone gave him a shock blanket when they got to the ambulance, and Roman seemed to have followed them over and got in the ambulance with them, which Virgil was grateful for. He didn’t know Roman that well, but it was better than being there with a bunch of strangers.

“The police shouldn’t have many questions for you, since they have Francis,” Roman said. “But they might end up having some, is that okay?”

“Not right away,” Virgil said instantly. “Maybe tomorrow?”

Roman nodded. “I’ll make sure to let someone know.”

“Thanks,” Virgil said, wincing and gasping in pain as someone started looking at his elbow.

“Sorry,” one of the nurses said. “I’ll be as careful as I can, okay?”

Virgil nodded at him, and he was more gentle after that. A different nurse looking at his nose seemed to finish doing so a second later.

“It doesn’t need to be reset,” she said. “It’s just going to have to heal overtime, okay?”

Virgil nodded.

Someone must have finished something they needed too, because the doors were shut and they started pulling away. Roman texted Remus to let him know where they were, and then they headed towards the hospital.

Virgil wasn’t injured in any way that they’d need to keep him overnight for, so by the time Janus arrived, apparently having been driven by Thomas, they were mostly done with everything that needed to happen.

That didn’t mean that Virgil wasn’t grateful to see him, though. Janus crossed the room and started anxiously looking him over as if Virgil didn’t have several nurses and a doctor already doing that.

Virgil’s right elbow was now in a sling, his left arm was bandaged and someone had put tape on his nose for what felt like no real reason, but was definitely super important or something. It wasn’t long after Janus and someone who must have been Thomas came in that Virgil was done being looked over and given the freedom to go, and Janus instantly moved in where they’d been.

“Hey,” he said, raising his hands up to about the height of Virgil’s shoulders and looking like he wanted nothing more than to hold him close. Luckily for him, Virgil wanted something similar, and stepped into Janus’ open arms.

Janus gave a sigh of relief and wrapped his arms gently around him, being mindful of both of his arms.

“Hey,” Virgil said back. “How’ve you been?”

Janus laughed, sounding bitter and maybe a little hysterical. “How do you think, you moron?”

“Mmm,” Virgil mumbled, laying his head on Janus’ shoulder and breathing in a smell that wasn’t hospital sterilization. “Drive me home?”

“Of course,” Janus murmured back.

“Nope, I’m driving you both home,” said a new voice, and Virgil glanced over to see this Thomas person. “You both look like a mess.”

“Ugh, fine,” Janus groaned. “Virgil, if I may introduce you to the world’s most persistent neighbor.”

“We’ve had like two conversations!” Thomas exclaimed, and Virgil laughed a little, which felt good.

He headed down towards Thomas’ car, and said goodbye to Roman and Remus, who’d followed the ambulance, at the door. He got the phone numbers of both of them scribbled on a piece of paper in case he wanted to talk. Virgil wasn’t opposed to the idea. They both seemed cool.

He climbed into the backseat and used his slightly-less-fucked-up arm to pull Janus in after him, ignoring the pain shooting through it, because he wanted to be hugged the whole way back and Janus was just as good at them as he remembered.

Virgil wrote his address on the phone number paper and handed it to Thomas so he could drive him home, and they ended up at the apartment building much quicker than Virgil would have liked.

“Here,” Thomas said, adding his own phone number to the paper. “You can call me if you ever want some chicken noodle soup.”

Virgil didn’t really understand, but he smiled weakly anyway. “Thanks.” He regretfully pulled himself out of Janus’ arms and shoved the paper in his pocket, then stepped out of the car.

He looked up at the building. He’d have to go all the way up to his apartment alone.

“Here,” Janus said suddenly, hopping out after him. “Let me walk you in.”

Virgil’s chest loosened at the thought. “Okay,” he said quietly, and led them both inside. They made it up to the third floor, and Virgil headed down towards apartment 3C, Janus following him.

He half expected the apartment to be a mess when he walked in, but everything was exactly how he’d left it, down to the car keys on the door and the dirty dishes in the sink.

He made it to his kitchen table before collapsing into one of the chairs. Janus hesitantly stopped at the one across from him before Virgil made some vague gesture that he hoped Janus would take as ‘sit down.’ He did.

“Holy fuck,” Virgil said, burying his head in his hands. Or, hand. One of them was still in a sling due to his broken elbow.

“Yeah,” Janus agreed quietly.

“What did you do?” Virgil asked. “How did you find me?”

Janus explained how he knew Remus and Roman, and how Remus had the same tracking abilities he did, but that he couldn’t use due to Francis watching him. Virgil listened and nodded along, with a question forming as he did so.

“Janus,” he said when he finished. “That makes it sound like the reason Francis went after me is because you haven’t made any friends since we broke up.”

“Hey, I have friends! I have… Thomas.”

“The Thomas who earlier said that you’ve had two conversations?”

“Shut up.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Janus, seriously? You haven’t made any friends in literal years?”

“Yes, because clearly that would be such a great idea, given everything that just happened,” Janus said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, hell no. You are not using this as another excuse to isolate yourself.”

“Fine. I have plenty of other excuses.”

“Janus.”

Janus didn’t say anything. Fine. Virgil could play the long game. It’s not like he was about to let Janus slide effortlessly out of his life again.

“Well, you probably want some rest,” Janus said after another moment, standing. And to Virgil’s surprise, he didn’t have to fake the spike of panic that hit him in the slightest.

“Janus!” he exclaimed, desperately, using his slightly-less-fucked-up arm to push himself up. He winced and sat back down, realizing he still probably shouldn’t have done that. Janus looked back at him, making half of a movement to come closer but not going through with it.

Virgil swallowed. “Stay?” he said quietly. He looked away. “Please.”

After a pause, he saw Janus sit back down out of the corner of his eye. “Alright,” he said. “Let me text Thomas.”

Virgil nodded, and sat back down too. He was quiet until Janus set his phone aside and looked back at him again. “Do you want me to make you something to eat?” he asked.

“I can do it,” Virgil said instantly, before looking down at his arms and realizing that no, he probably couldn’t.

“I’ll make you some grilled cheese,” Janus said. “Sound good?”

“Yeah, okay,” Virgil muttered. “I think I’m gonna go, like. Shower. And get changed.”

“Okay. I’ll try to have it done by the time you get back out here.”

“Thanks,” Virgil said, and he headed back towards his bedroom.

…

Janus didn’t go home the next day. Turns out having one badly broken elbow and one arm that had been stabbed and hurt a little every time you moved it made it kind of hard to do things yourself. Virgil kind of despised the idea of needing help at all, but… it was Janus. So it wasn’t so bad.

Janus went with him to talk to the police the next day, and Roman and Remus showed up too, since they’d been the ones to get him out. All four of them were questioned, and Virgil didn’t love learning the fact that Francis was an actual serial killer. He did enjoy learning that he was behind bars for now and was almost certainly going to end up in jail after his trial too.

They all went out to eat after that just to bring a positive end to the day, and Thomas met up with them there. All in all, it could have been worse. Virgil was not looking forward to the trial, but everyone had already told him they would be there to help.

A week passed, and Janus was still at his house. They settled into a routine, of Janus kind of helping Virgil manage to exist again, and Virgil begrudgingly accepting that help. The nightmares didn’t really surprise him. Janus started sleeping in his bed with him after the first two nights, not that either of them were going to mention that. His left arm healed fairly quickly, since his wound was shallow and had stopped bleeding even without any kind of effort on his part. That meant that after a couple days, he could do most one-handed tasks without pain. It would take a while before he could do two handed tasks again.

Virgil hadn’t exactly forgotten about Patton and Logan, but he’d had other things on his mind, and they were out of cell service anyway, meaning they ended up going on a back burner as Virgil tried to figure everything else out. On the day when they were supposed to come back, and his phone lit up with Patton’s name, Virgil instantly grabbed Janus’ hand and squeezed from where they were watching a movie together on the couch.

Janus squeezed back as Virgil answered the phone.

“Hey, Virge!” Patton called brightly. “We just got back into cell service, finally. How did your two weeks of being alone and watching horror movies go?”

Virgil winced. “Uh, yeah,” he said shakily. “Fun story, Pat.”

“What’s a fun story? Are you alright, Virgil? You sound kind of shaken up.”

“Can you… can you just come here, Patton? You and Logan? I need to tell you guys something.”

“Oh, right now? We were kind of looking forward to getting home, kiddo—”

“Please.”

Patton must have picked up on the tone of his voice, because he didn’t say anything for a minute. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Are you okay, Virgil?”

“I’m… not really. No.”

“Oh, goodness. We’ll be right there, kiddo.”

“Okay,” Virgil said, and hung up before he started crying or something stupid like that.

Janus squeezed his hand again, and Virgil turned and tucked himself under his arm. Janus wrapped his arm gently around his shoulder, and they both sat in silence for a long moment.

“Want to talk?” Janus said quietly.

Virgil shook his head. “Patton and Logan are coming over. Friends. They were camping.”

“Okay.”

Patton and Logan got there a couple hours later, and both were immediately concerned when they noticed Virgil’s injuries.

Their concern did not lessen when Virgil told them what had happened. When he finished, Patton instantly moved to hug him, and Logan climbed up and laid a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, which was basically a bear hug coming from Logan.

“Oh, Virgil,” Patton whispered, squeezing Virgil gently. “Oh kiddo, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry that happened.”

Virgil squeezed him back as tightly as he could manage with one arm.

“Likewise,” Logan said, and Virgil could hear the emotion just under his voice. “Please… please let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

Virgil nodded, and Janus shifted away slightly so Logan could sit down next to him. Virgil pulled Logan a little closer, and the three of them ended up curled into a pile together on the couch, and not moving for a long while. By the end of it at least, he felt a little better.

…

Janus liked to think he was pretty good at pulling away from people at this point. He was the one who’d made the final call to leave Virgil, and packed up his things and said that was that. He’d told Remus that friendship wasn’t something that he did, he’d shot down anyone who tried to thank him for his services after they were done. Pulling away from Virgil the second time and bringing this all full circle had to be about the easiest thing to do.

So when Patton and Logan started helping Virgil out more, and staying nights sometimes, Janus started making his visits to Virgil fewer and farther between. It didn’t matter how much it hurt. He was not going to endanger Virgil a second time.

What he didn’t expect was for Virgil to catch on. Janus was very good at being subtle, he expected that to work with Virgil too.

On the last time he planned to stop by Virgil’s, he brought with him some of Thomas’ chicken noodle soup, since Virgil seemed to like it and Thomas was working that day and couldn’t come by himself.

But the second he opened the door, Virgil grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to the couch, barely giving Janus time to stop and put the soup on the table.

Virgil sat them both down on the couch and looked him square in the eye.

“So,” Virgil said, as Janus was trying to get his bearings. “This is not happening.”

Janus blinked, and raised an eyebrow. “What’s not happening?”

“This. You’re pulling away from everyone again. You are not going to isolate yourself because you feel guilty, or worried, or whatever.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Janus said, trying to hide the shock he felt at Virgil just coming out and saying it. He hadn’t even realized Virgil had noticed.

“Don’t bullshit me. That’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re pulling away from me, and Remus and Thomas too, by the way.”

“I’m not—” Janus started.

“Don’t bullshit me, Janus.”

Janus glared away. “I’m not going to endanger you all again. Look at what happened last time.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. So you got me kidnapped. Big deal.”

Janus gaped at him. “It is a big— Virgil, you still have a broken elbow. You have nightmares that aren’t going to go away for a long time. You’re going to have to process this. It is a big deal.”

Virgil looked away, and Janus knew he was right. “Yeah, okay, fine. It’s a big deal. But you can’t isolate yourself because someone you care about got hurt.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t let you, moron.”

Janus scowled. “That’s not your decision.”

“The fuck it isn’t! I’m the one who got kidnapped!”

“You don’t need me, Virgil. You have Patton and Logan to help with household stuff—”

“Yeah, but they don’t know how I like my clothes organized.”

“And they can stay here and help with your nightmares—”

“They’re easier to keep away when you’re here.”

“And Roman and Remus can help you deal with everything that happened with Francis—”

“They don’t give hugs like you do.”

“And Thomas can make you the chicken noodle soup you like.”

“That’s the only thing he knows how to cook.”

“You don’t need me specifically.”

“I want you though.”

Janus didn’t have a retort to that. Virgil seemed to get that he wouldn’t, because he just continued to look at him for a while like he was waiting.

“…Why?” Janus said finally.

Then, it was Virgil’s turn to be awkward. He looked down and fiddled with the strings of his hoodie. “I’m sorry I said I hate you, you know.”

“What?”

“Back then. I’m sorry I said it. I didn’t really mean it.”

“I… I didn’t either,” Janus said. “But what are you—”

Virgil leaned up and kissed him.

Janus started in surprise, enough that their lips disconnected, but before Virgil could apologize or start regretting that, Janus reached for his shoulders, being careful with his right, and pulled him back in. He felt Virgil smile into the kiss, and wrap his good arm around Janus’ back, pulling him closer in and moving his broken elbow out of the way.

After another moment, Virgil pulled away again and looked up at Janus. “Stay?” he whispered. “Please? I want you to stay.”

Well. Janus would have to be a monster to say no to that.

“Alright,” he whispered, and Virgil smiled and pulled him back in.

They’d have a talk about things later, about a way to make it work this time, about Janus needing to talk to Remus and Thomas, and stop avoiding friendships with Roman, Patton, and Logan. About whether or not Janus was going to keep staying in Virgil’s apartment, only to keep away the nightmares of course.

But for now, Janus relished in the feeling of having Virgil here with him again, of him being safe, and wanting him to stay.

He decided that this time, he just might.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders #anxceit #kidnapping #whump #remus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #my fic

132 notes · View notes

stark-tony · 3 years

Text

today is my 22nd birthday so i’m celebrating by reccing 22 of my favorite fics and giving my general thoughts about them.

atla

i'm still here by owedbetter (77.7, T, zutara) "You see me."And somehow, that makes all the difference.

thoughts: One of the first zutara fics i ever read and it’s still one of my absolute favorites. The characterization of all of the characters is superb and the gradual development of zuko and katara’s relationship is amazing.

such selfish prayers by andromeda3116 (47.6k, T, zutara) Katara's ambition, so long set aside for the good of others, breaks free and sets fire to her soul. Or, Katara has a vision of her canon future, casts it aside, and becomes a world-changing politician instead.

thoughts: while this fic is a zutara fic, the majority of this fic is centered on katara and her helping rebuild the world after the war and it does an astounding job of portraying just that. and honestly this probably has my favorite characterization of katara i’ve ever read in a fic.

Southern Lights by colourwhirled (501.8k, M, zutara) A world where the Avatar has disappeared from memory. Where Sozin’s Conquest was successful. Where the unsteady order of the empire is threatened as members of the royal family are picked off one by one and lines are slowly drawn in the sand.One last chance for peace forces an unlikely alliance between a homesick waterbender, a carefree Air Nomad, a runaway Earth Kingdom heiress, and the fire lord's inscrutable son. Together they must learn to shed old enmities and become the balance they seek to restore to the world.OR:The avatar has four heads.x[[Chapter 4: "And always, his eyes, cautiously watching her. Even when he thinks she isn’t looking. It drives her mad"]]

thoughts: when i say i was unable to put this fic down i genuinely mean that. like i’m pretty sure i was hooked from the very first chapter and i never looked back.

bnha

stickers and stars by aloneintherain (1.9k, G, gen) “Aizawa, are you sure I’m the best person for this job? There are a lot more qualified people on campus. People who have been teachers for years, and—”As All Might spoke, Midoriya Izuku crawled the length of the couch, ducked under All Might’s arm, and made himself comfortable on his lap. All Might’s hands rose into the air, as though unsure of what to with his arms now that he had a toddler curled against his stomach like a cat seeking the warmth of its owner.“Um,” All Might said.

thoughts: is it not enough to say ‘baby deku’ and leave it at that?

Butterfly by aconstantstateofbladerunner (198.8k, T, gen) The first over-night trip off campus since the training camp was supposed to be a fun break from more intense work back home. But between a bleak introduction to chaos theory, a chilly reception from the locals, and the looming threat of a villain attack, Izuku has too much on his mind to properly enjoy the fresh air. But those worries are a light breeze compared to the hurricane that accompanies what he finds on the outskirts of town.Or rather, what finds him.

thoughts: it’s incredibly well written and the horror aspect is so good. also the dad might in it is top tier.

villain eradication plan 5C: let them attack budding heroes mothers, wait appropriate time for mother to defeat them (3.4k, G, toshinko) Targetting the civilian families of hero students should be cakewalk. Pity they decided to go with Inko first.Or the one where Inko accidentally defeats the League of Villains.

thoughts: this fic is basically inko accidentally being a badass and it’s as hilarious and awesome as it sounds

see it all in bloom by aloneintherain (57.2k, T, tododeku, kiribaku, momojirou, bullying) Midoriya looked over the occupants of the room with butter soft eyes. “We should do this again. Seeing everyone in one place … it’s like we’re back in school again.”Todoroki said, “It feels like a family reunion.”(Social media fic, counting down the five months to Class 1-A's ten year reunion.)

thoughts: this series deals with social media + the lives of class 1a after they become pro heroes and it is amazing.

remember from here on in by aloneintherain (8.1k, G, gen) Aizawa glances from All Might to Midoriya quickly. It sounds impossible—he’s never heard of a quirk that can be handed down like a family heirloom—but at the same time, it makes perfect sense. Midoriya’s inability to use his quirk at the start of the year. The strange, familial relationship between All Might and Midoriya. The slow malnourishment of All Might’s body, like his power was being siphoned away.“You’re …” Aizawa begins.“I’m All Might’s successor.” Midoriya’s proud but shaky voice rings clearly down the empty corridor.Aizawa finds out about One for All.

thoughts: this fic deals with one for all being revealed to aizawa + midoriya getting more quirks and it is amazing

could i but teach the hundredth part by terra_incognita (5.2k, G, gen) Ito Matsu knows three things about her neighbor, Mr. Yagi: he's very skinny, he's very kind, and he has enough children to overthrow the Japanese government.Or:All Might is retired, but his former students keep coming up with reasons to visit.

thoughts: this fic is so lovely and i adore it so much

mcu

the talk by parkrstark (3.1k, pepperony) “Wait, man, what’re you doin’?” Rhodey asked, leaning forward.“Giving the kid his talk before he goes off to college.” Duh.Rhodey blinked. “At 3am when you’re probably too drunk to even spell your name, months before he actually has to leave?”“Yeah.”Rhodey blinked again. “Okay.”

thoughts: this fic is absolutely hilarious and poor peter is suffering throughout all of it

call you home by Madelinedear (19k, G, pepperony) sometimes family is who you're born with.and sometimes family is a spider boy, a rich not-dad, and a kickass aunt.(or; tony, may, and peter find a place in each other's lives)

thoughts: to me, this fic is the tony may co-parenting fic. like i honestly don’t think that anything can ever top it

I Never Lived 'Til I Lived In Your Light by losingmymindtonight (38.4k, T, pepperony, character death) As the world shifts to make space for Morgan Stark, everyone around her shifts, too. (As it turns out, this also includes Peter Parker's sleep schedule.)

thoughts: this fic is both fluffy goodness and heartwrenching angst and it handles both beautifully.

Lazarus, come forth by iron_spider (47.9k, T, pepperony) Tony's mind is a chaotic mess but he remembers the moment—remembers his death, remembers the red hot pain and Peter screaming, Rhodey rushing to his side. How he knew he’d never see Pepper again—but they’d fixed it. They’d fixed the world, erased the lost time, set things right—and the kid was back. The kid was crying, the kid hated him for doing what he did, but he was back. He was alive.Tony Stark was dead. But now he’s breathing again, trying to think, gasping, hands tracing the box surrounding him, covering him, suffocating him.He’s in a coffin. He’s under the ground. He’s under the fucking ground.(Tony Stark dies defeating Thanos. But then he comes back to life. He has to find out how, why, and how to live again. And how to deal with the changes in the people he's coming back to.)

thoughts: although this fic was written and finished pre-endgame but to me this fic is the fix-it fic for film.

Identity Saga by KitCat992 (400.7k, T, pepperony) An organically developed, platonic slow-burn of Avengers-fam dynamic with a heavy hand of Irondad & Spiderson. Throw in an overdose of whump, a couple of cunning villains and a big-bad hiding in the shadows, and you got yourself this hot mess.

thoughts: i just love the avengers dynamic in this series and the whump is medically accurate which is amazing.

college applications: the biggest meme by sagemb (3.3k, T, pepperony) Tony covered his face with both hands and screamed very gently. “Can I just bribe the school to let Peter in?"

thoughts: this series is absolutely hilarious and i love it

The Changeling + Armistice Series by Annerb (586.6k, M, hinny, rape) Ginny is sorted into Slytherin. It takes her seven years to figure out why.

thoughts: this fic is absolutely golden and i adore it so so much. the characters are so well written and the worldbuilding in this fic is fantastic and it actually has an original aspect of hogwarts (aka the parlor) that i practially consider to be canon at this point. also the depiction of slytherin house + house unity in this fic is just *chef’s kiss*

boy with a scar by dirgewithoutmusic (208.7k, T, hinny, romione, jily) A series of "what if" rewrites of Harry Potter, books 1-7. Cross-posted from tumblr (ink-splotch).

thoughts: every single one of these fics are exquisitely written and i wish that i could experience the beauty of this series again for the very first time.

Hogwarts, to welcome you home by gedsparrowhawk (FaceChanger) (11.1k, G, ginny) “You understand, Professor,” Harry began, after a moment, “that I don’t have my N.E.W.T.s. I never even finished seventh year. Between everything, I never had a chance the first time around, and then afterwards there didn’t seem to be much point. Hermione argued for it, of course, but I was so tired of Britain. So technically, I am completely unqualified for the position.”“Quite a way to begin an interview, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, dryly.Or, three years after the war, Harry Potter becomes Hogwarts' newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

thoughts: this is my favorite harry as dada professor i’ve ever read. no doubt about it

And the Unethical Binding Contract by justafandomfollower (14.6k, G, gen) AU. What if the Triwizard Tournament took place in Harry's first year, not his fourth?

thoughts: this fic is beautifully written and i love the relationship that forms between harry, cedric, krum, and fleur.

Regulus Black and the Way Things Changed: A Not!Fic by imaginary_golux (8.8k, T, wolfstar) What if Regulus Black, and not Severus Snape, ended up being the turncoat Potions Master of Hogwarts?A not!fic written in bullet points, ignoring the Deathly Hallows entirely because they annoy me.Beta by my immensely patient Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw, and by the delightful starbirdrampant.

thoughts: this fic may be ooc at some points but it’s so funny that that makes up for it

spn

Broadway Musical by Griftings (12.5k, M, destiel) This is the day that marked the Holy and Blessed Union of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.The merging of prominent bloodlines is always a grand occurrence, but breeding pedigree hunter families like Winchester and Harvelle is something to be rejoiced. It is also something to be meticulously planned, which thankfully the Host is very good at.Or, the romantic comedy where Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle are destined to get married, Castiel is given the task of playing matchmaker and fails terribly, the entire Heavenly Host becomes a sitcom audience, God warns against male pregnancy, and Jimmy Novak is incredibly unimpressed with angels in general.

thoughts: this fic is quite possibly the single most funniest thing i have ever read. like i was straight up cackling when i was reading some of the scenes.

Down to Agincourt by seperis (1 million+, E, destiel) There is no such thing as a guarantee when it comes to war.The outcome's known. Why try? Return your rusty sword to battered sheath, bow your head and bend your stubborn knee. Why take the field when you cannot win the war? But Harry -- he went down to Agincourt.

--Harry Takes the Field by bratfarrar (AO3 link here.)

thoughts: this fic is an absolute work of art. the characterization dean and cas and all of the ocs is astounding the world building is immaculate and the writing is so detailed and in depth. a fair warning though to the first time reader as this fic can get very confusing at times but trust me it is worth it.

#mcu recs #atla recs #hp recs #bnha recs #spn recs #my fic recs #bullying tw #rape tw

73 notes · View notes

thesecondbatgirl · 3 years

Text

On the fetishization of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s hair and fanon biology

This could honestly probably go on my list of things I am salty about essays I will eventually write, but… have the essay.

Honestly the fandom trend I am probably most uncomfortable with is… the amount of fics that reduce Obi-Wan to how desirable he is because of either his red hair or his fanon Stewjoni biology and spend so much time talking about how much it would make him worth as a sex slave? Freak me out.

I mean, I get it. I *love* fucked up porn and whump and hurt/comfort (and hurt/no comfort depending on my mood) and well, fandom tends to give the most whump to a specific character type and Obi-Wan fits that for a lot of people. And redheads are really rare and considered exotic by a lot of people (I say we, because I am a redhead) and omegaverse’s popularity has *greatly* increased the amount of ‘non-traditional biology’ fics and Stewjoni fanon biology lets people write that without going into the power dynamics inherent in Omegaverse.

I’m cisgender, so I don’t feel entirely qualified to talk about the fanon biology, but I will note that the amount of murders of trans sex workers (and transpeople in general) adds an extra element that makes this incredibly uncomfortable. And I don’t particularly expect realism in my porn, but I do know that some… inaccuracies in common fanon Stewjoni fantasy biology often unintentionally harms intersex people in the real world.

And also if I never have to read another fic again about how great someone with my hair and coloring would be as a sex slave, it would be way too soon.

I don’t think anyone should ever have to out their identity to justify what they’re writing - I am still bitter about being told that a prompt I came up with for lgbtfest was offensive to bisexuals when *I am bisexual and was using my lived experience* and depending on the writer, what people may think is offensive could just be someone clunkily exploring their own lived experiences/working out some trauma. But I do think that as a trend, considering a lot of the fanon biology stuff is written by people who publicly identify as cis, it is worth reflecting on.

Write what makes you happy, tag accordingly, but also consider that there might be some things that show in your work that you didn’t intend to portray/be there. I know fandom is not a safe space, which is why I love when people tag and tag well!

(And um, if you have links to Obi-Wan whump that doesn’t go on about how much he’s worth as a sex slave because of how attractive his hair is, please please PLEASE send them to me)

#star wars #uncomfortable fandom trends

10 notes · View notes

whumpmatsus · 3 years

Note

Hi @whumpmatsus! Idk if u are still doing asks but I found ur blog and love ur work 😀 😍

I'm trying to get back into writing for Osomatsu-San, but I refuse to watch the next seasons (2 and 3) cuz I Stan/fangirl over Osomatsu and always hate it when my favorite character gets involved romantically with another character (it's dumb but my nerdy ass heart doesn't give 2 shits about it >_<). To the point, i want some forewarning or some reassurance about what goes on in the next seasons about my fav. NEET 😢 (idc for spoilers since i spoiled myself already). Again, a dumb request but i would appreciate it.

Also, if you dont mind, Im wondering how Osomatsu approaches friendly relationships with women (when he isn’t acting like a perv). Thank you for your time! 😄

heya babycakes!! I’m definitely still doing asks, absolutely! 😌

and listen honestly I totally get it! whenever I fangirl over a character or have them as my f/o, I get all ~fluttery stomach anxiety~ when I see them dating someone else on the screen, maybe it’s a lil dumb but I don’t care either, I just! I know how you feel!!

SO, I’ve just finished season 2 and I can tell you Osomatsu doesn’t really get any romance? I mean there’s all the sextuplets’ usual fawning over Totoko, and there’s some friendship with a character name Kin-chan, a little dirty teasing, and he goes on a double date with Totty and these two girls and there’s some flirting... but nothing really comes of any of it in the end!

now, season 3 in full I haven’t seen yet (I’m a brat and waiting for it to be dubbed before I watch it all XD), but I do happen to have seen spoilers bc it’s kind of impossible not to when season 3′s been out for a while now lol. and I know that Nyaa-chan tries to pursue a relationship with Osomatsu after he saves her baby! she gets all crushy over him and I think they go out a few times, but at the end I believe she gets over him and they don’t actually get together haha

hopefully that’s enough of a warning that you can watch these seasons without much stress!!

aaaand here’s some headcanons for you for this concept!

(in the future, if you want non-whumpy stuff, you can always send it to my main Ososan blog, @kisskissmatsu!! I did these here just because idk he gets so shy around women that I guess it could qualify as whump lol)

❤️ OSOMATSU ❤️

Believe it or not, he’s pretty capable of not acting like a creep toward women! He plays up the ‘I’m an inappropriate perv with naked ladies dancing around in my head 24/7’ thing when he’s around his brothers, and it’s true that every other thought of his is a naughty one, but… he comes on a lot less strongly once he relaxes. The truth is, despite having a filthy mind and liking to make dirty jokes, he’s pretty shy when it comes to girls, so he really prefers to approach as friends first. To jump right into something romantic or sexual makes him super nervous and insecure.

He’s very laidback after he gets past the initial awkwardness. There’s no pressure with him, surprisingly. Although he might get his hopes up to hang out, he doesn’t push if someone says no. He doesn’t nudge at them or try to convince them. It’s only when someone gets mean with saying no, like making fun of him for asking or something, that he gets upset. Even then, he’s more apt to flee instead of stand there arguing. He’s more considerate and self-conscious than he wants people to know.

Anything he invites them out to, it’s almost definitely something he’d invite a male friend to as well. A night of camping out at Chibita’s cart, eating as much oden as they can and drinking their weight in beer? Or maybe hanging out at the bar doing karaoke… and drinking their weight in beer? Spending an evening at the pachinko parlor, gambling away all their money? Going to see that new movie that’s supposed to be really cool? Hell, yeah! It’s pretty rare that he would invite a girl out to, say, dinner or something unless they’ve already been friends for a while. And if he does, he’ll make sure one of his brothers will come along with a date too.

All things being equal, he kind of treats his female friends just like any other friends. He might have some dirty thoughts or think they’re cute, but really that could go for any friend. He takes a lot of pains to ensure he doesn’t make his friends uncomfortable; sex jokes come with the territory of having Osomatsu for a friend, and yet, he’ll avoid touching people until he knows them better, and he’ll even try to stop making jokes if someone isn’t comfortable with them.

Overall he’s a decent guy, even if he doesn’t seem like it at first blush! He really does care about people, and when he tries to approach girls to be friends, he’s always thinking about how to make them feel at ease around him. Even if he’s not perfect, he’s incredibly genuine and thoughtful, especially around people he wants to be friends with.

#Osomatsu san #whump #Osomatsu #emotional whump #insecurity #headcanons #I love my boy he's definitely a good f/o <3

8 notes · View notes

drowningbydegrees · 3 years

Text

Fanfic Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @lokibus! <3 <3 <3

How many works do you have on Ao3?

54. I've written quite a bit more, but I just can't be bothered to carry over most of the fics from my LJ days. Also, once upon a time I had a super insecure streak and I went on an orphaning spree, so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What’s your total Ao3 word count?

Apparently 457,241! Kinda same as above.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Though I Try Not To (The Witcher)

I'm so weirdly pleased about this. I fell into Witcher fandom totally by accident. I don't usually do fixit fics, but I couldn't help myself. This is, I think, the only fic to date where I've started posting as a WIP and actually followed through and finished.

Where All Roads Lead (MCU)

If there is one plot device I'm just eternally a sucker for, it's time travel shenanigans. This was one of the two time travely fics I wrote for Stucky fandom.

For The Space of a Heartbeat (The Witcher)

I'm honestly really surprised by this? This was totally just a self indulgent spur of the moment kinda thing, and it's only a couple thousand words.

Even in the Dark I Know You (The Witcher)

Okay, I lied. There were two WIPs I actually followed through and finished. This started as a random oneshot for a whump week thing, and then the prompt for the next day fit so well with a follow up chapter that this just turned into a whole story. I really enjoy subverting tropes and with witcher biology I see a lot of sensory overload kinds of fics, so I decided to play with the idea in reverse.

Even if it Hurts (Even if it Makes Me Bleed) (The Witcher)

So, most of the time when I settle into a fandom, there's one fic idea that I feel like I cannot leave without writing. For Witcher fandom, this was that fic. I have a lot of complicated thoughts about soulmates as a romantic concept, even more so when you're involving characters like Geralt, for whom fate is so often a double edged sword. This story was very much an excuse to dig into what soulmates mean for personal agency under the guise of a narrative. XD

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Admittedly, I do this with embarrassing inconsistency. Basically, what happens is: * Something gets a good response. * I respond to a few comments and then find myself overwhelmed (mentally, not as in there are a truly overwhelming number of comments). * I step away for a bit. * A month later I realize I still haven't replied. Cue paralyzing indecision about whether it's too late to reply. * Rinse and repeat.

I do want to! And I'm working on it. I've gotten a little better about it, but my apologies to anyone who I haven't responded to. Please know I'm not intentionally ignoring you. ;_;

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Oh hmm. I had a reputation for a really long time as primarily an angst writer, but pretty much all my stories have a happy ending for some given quantity of happy. I guess it kind of depends on how one qualifies that.

Noonwraiths and Other Woodland Forest Creatures maybe. It's got a got a pretty fluffy ending.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

It's a tossup.

I, The Paradox, which is my other time travel fic from my Stucky fandom days, with a paradox (shocking) that lands Steve with two versions of Bucky. For plot purposes even! It's not a particularly smutty story. It ends sort of ambiguously. There's a sequel outlined that was meant to resolve said ambiguity, but alas, it's still sitting in my WIP folder.

Truth in the Periphery. It's a psychological horror story I wrote for an event. I think it's the only fanfic I've ever written that was really intended as a hurt/no comfort kind of story.

Do you write crossovers?

I haven't, but not because I specifically don't. I've just never had an idea that felt compelling enough to follow through on.

have you ever received hate on a fic?

Maaaaybe once or twice a long, long, long time ago, back when FFN was still the best option for posting outside of LiveJournal. I don't think it was even about the writing. I think it was someone was mad that my much younger self tried to sneak smut onto FFN.

Do you write smut? if so, what kind?

I have such a love/hate relationship with smut in my own work. I used to write it a lot because I felt like I had to. It was until I came to terms with being more or less ace irl that it occurred to me why I didn't enjoy writing it. Weirdly, I like reading it just fine.

The thing is, while I don't really care for the physical aspect of it, I like the emotional touchpoints of it, so I do still write smut sometimes. It just tends to be a little cursory in terms of action details and heavy on character dynamics.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. But I used to RP a lot, and it's always been a lot of fun, so I wouldn't be opposed to the idea!

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh shoot. From a romantic standpoint that varies so much depending on what fandom I'm currently feeling enthusiastic about. It's pretty much always a specific character that draws me to a fandom, so I think the most consistent ship I have is favorite character/unconditional love and support. XD

What’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The sequel to I, The Paradox I mentioned earlier.

What are your writing strengths?

If there's one thing I feel like I have a consistently good handle on, it's emotional impact. I put a lot of thought into why people make the choices they do and how they relate to each other, and I would like to think I'm reasonably adept at leading readers to the emotional response I'm going for.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions. I'm just forever in awe of people who can just write settings/action naturally. It's a constant effort for me, and it's the thing I always feel like I fall short on. I can write navel gazing in my sleep, but an action scene? Pfftttt.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Very situational. Kind of like in movies and television. I don't have any kind of always x or y opinion on it though.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Inuyasha. It was back when I didn't have a computer of my own and would write at the library, so the only record of it was the site I used to draft and post to that is now defunct. No one is happier about this than I am. 😂

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

I think I'm genuinely pretty proud of everything I've written in the last couple of years, but if I had to pick right now, it'd be It Doesn't Break But it Bends. It's a time loop fic. Someone left "Recommended but you will sob." as their bookmark note for it and I think that might be my crowning achievement in fandom.

Tagging (if you want!): @mikkeneko @goodheavensgwen @writinglizards @plotdesigner And anyone else who wants to <3

#things I'm tagged in #my fic #about me

11 notes · View notes

dweetwise · 4 years

Text

day 18: panic attacks

prompt from: whumptober pairing: felix x ace notes: fluffy angst, idk if this even qualifies as whump but it’s what i went with <3 warnings: panic attack descriptions word count: 1920

Ace is having a rather good day, all things considered. He finishes his second generator of the trial while Feng is still doing a phenomenal job at being chased by the killer, and he even has time to stop and search a chest in good conscience.

He picks up a broken key with a worn brass token, which isn’t ideal but he’ll add it to his ever growing pile of junk back at camp anyway.

In the time it takes him to find a generator, the Nurse has finally managed to down and hook Feng, but someone saves her right after and the chase beings anew. Ace would guess the rescuer was David and that he used borrowed time to make sure the gamer made it out, since he can’t see Felix being stupid bold enough to unhook in the killer’s face like that.

With the Nurse’s distant screeches providing some pleasant background noise—considering it’s not Ace she’s chasing—he gets to work on a nearly completed generator by one of the exits. If he finishes it before the killer comes to check, it marks their fourth completed objective of the trial, and it looks like they’ll have an easy escape provided she doesn’t have the obnoxious totem perk to ensure an instant down after the gates are powered.

At first, Ace doesn’t question why someone would have abandoned the nearly completed machine, but just before he connects the last two wires, he hesitates. Will this be the last generator on this side of the map? Maybe someone wanted to leave it because it’s by an exit?

He gets up to look around a bit, trying to spot any other nearby generators, but then he hears it.

A sob.

Ace frowns in worry and keeps looking around, not seeing any signs of life. Did he imagine it? Feng is the only one injured, and her moans of pain can be heard from halfway across the map. The girl is a lot of things, but quiet sure as hell isn’t one of them.

He remembers the key in his pocket, a normally useless item with an underwhelming add-on that will allow him to see his nearby teammates for only a couple of seconds. But right now, it’s exactly what he needs, and as he channels the item, he eventually makes out a human form cowering in the corner next to the exit gate.

The key’s power dies out but Ace doesn’t care, carefully approaching his distressed teammate.

He should have guessed who he’s going to find just by basic deduction, as Feng is still keeping the Nurse busy somewhere in the Asylum and David is one to push forward through sheer stubbornness. It still takes him by surprise to notice Felix, normally so calm and collected, huddled in on himself with his knees drawn close to his chest and his head buried in his hands.

Ace suddenly feels very out of place, and he realizes he could just slowly back away and Felix probably wouldn’t even know he was ever there.

But Felix doesn’t seem to be just taking a mental break from the trial, he looks to be struggling. His entire body is trembling and he’s taking sharp, wheezy breaths, bordering on hyperventilating.

And Ace might not be the best at offering comfort, but he sure as hell is going to try.

“Hey,” he offers softly as not to spook Felix, but from the way Felix’s head snaps up in surprise, he’s not successful. Shit, he’s never seen the guy so upset, looking utterly broken with tears and snot running down his face and taking short, shaky breaths. It make’s Ace’s cold, selfish heart clench in sympathy and he slowly kneels down on Felix’s level, far enough away to hopefully not feel like he’s cornering him. “How you holding up?”

That’s probably the dumbest thing he could have asked, but at least it makes Felix react, quickly wiping at his face and averting his eyes.

“F-fine, sorry—” Felix starts, but then his trembling voice breaks on another sob and he hides his face behind his hand in shame as another wave of what Ace assumes to be a panic attack hits.

Ace has never been good at dealing with emotions, his or others’, but he’s learned a lot after being swept up by the Entity and trying to keep everyone in their little group happy and healthy. He knows that Dwight needs to be held when his anxiety surfaces, and although that position is usually reserved for Jake, Ace has been the body for Dwight to cling to on a few occasions when others were unavailable. On the other hand, when something triggers Quentin’s PTSD, the boy wants nothing more than to be left alone, and even the smallest touch will send him spiraling deeper into his own head.

“It’s alright,” Ace says, trying to keep his voice calm and even offering an encouraging smile. “We’ve all been there.”

That seems to calm Felix down some, so Ace optimistically deduces that maybe his presence does help after all.

This is a vastly different situation from Dwight or Quentin, though. Where Ace mostly sees himself as a somewhat shitty parental figure to the boys, he’s been openly flirting with Felix ever since the other got here. And despite Felix sometimes awkwardly flirting back, he fully expected their relationship to stay at the casual friendship level.

But this is huge step, and if Ace manages to comfort him without hiding behind shitty jokes and Felix allows himself to be vulnerable, maybe that’s a sign they could eventually be something more.

“Just say the word and I’ll be on my way,” Ace starts. “But I also have a pretty good shoulder to lean on, if that’s something you think might help.”

Felix glances at him and Ace tries to keep the smile on his face despite his own nerves surfacing and mixing with the worry for Felix already there.

“Are you sure?” Felix asks, voice nowhere near steady but at least being able to form a complete sentence.

“Of course!” Ace reassures without even knowing which option Felix is referring to.

And then Felix looks back at the ground and curls in on himself further and Ace tries not to be disappointed. He’s already moving to get up, an apology ready on his tongue, when Felix shuffles along the exit gate wall to make room for Ace to join him.

The grin that forms on his face might not be the most appropriate considering the circumstances, but Felix doesn’t protest, in fact he immediately buries his face against Ace’s shoulder and clasps his arm in a death grip as soon as he takes a seat next to him.

Felix takes shallow breaths against him and Ace doesn’t care that his shirt is getting stained with wet tears and snot, suddenly hit with how intimate the entire situation is. His own nerves resurface and his free hand hovers awkwardly in the air, not sure if it’s appropriate to touch the distressed man.

But in the end, he’s a gambler, and so he gambles, placing a hesitant hand in Felix’s hair as he remembers the other is usually messing with it when he’s nervous.

When the only reaction he gets is Felix gripping his arm tighter, he carefully starts running his hand through the locks, slightly disheveled from where Felix has no doubt been doing the same.

“It’s okay,” Ace says, trying to keep his voice steady and hoping Felix can’t hear his heart hammering in his chest. “You’re okay.”

“I’m going to get crows,” Felix chokes out through the tears.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ace reassures, discreetly looking up to try to spot the birds that should already be circling above Felix’s head. “Feng and David are keeping her busy. She’s got no reason to come here.”

Ace frowns as he realizes can neither see nor hear the Entity’s spies, despite knowing their captor’s rules clearly state the birds should be giving away their location by now.

The key sits heavy in his pocket and he suddenly realizes maybe the Entity wanted him to find Felix. Regardless of how Ace feels about the otherworldly being, he knows it’s not satisfied unless the trial has been what it considers “fair”. Maybe it’s giving them a time-out until Felix is in shape to continue, and maybe that’s why Feng still hasn’t been caught, despite being injured against one of the strongest killers.

“Seems like the crows are on their lunch break,” Ace voices his observation in hopes of reassuring Felix. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Not surprisingly, the knowledge that he’s not on a time limit seems to calm Felix down some, and the grip on Ace’s arm loosens as the sharp breaths slowly turn into more deliberate ones.

“That’s it, deep breaths,” Ace murmurs and keeps petting Felix’s hair since it seems to be working, or at least not making the situation worse. “You’re going to be fine.”

He has no idea how long they sit there together, with Felix slowly coming back to himself and Ace offering generic encouraging sentiments he hopes are somewhat helpful, lost in their own little bubble while the trial carries on without them.

When Felix eventually pulls away, Ace feels disappointed, even if he finally gets some much needed blood flow to his arm that has fallen asleep a while ago.

“Fuck,” Felix sighs and leans his head back against the tiled wall with a dull ‘thud’. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m not,” Ace offers with a small grin. “But I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I didn’t expect one in the middle of a trial,” Felix says, letting Ace is on the fact that this wasn’t a one-off. “Thank you. You, um, helped. A lot,” Felix says bashfully, and Ace has to resist the urge to pull him back into his arms.

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, and when Felix just gives him an adorable, tiny smile, can’t resist adding a cheeky “There’s a lot worse ways to spend a trial”.

“I’d say being a liability and making a complete fool of myself isn’t something I’m eager to repeat,” Felix mutters, but he’s still smiling, so Ace hopes he’s not still embarrassed.

“Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t make the situation worse,” Ace jokes. “Or that my brain didn’t implode on itself from not making jokes or flirting for five minutes.”

“You were perfect,” Felix says so earnestly it takes Ace completely off guard, and he’s not blushing he’s just suddenly really warm okay— “I should get back to my generator,” Felix seems to remember, looking over Ace’s shoulder in the direction of the machine. “I’ve wasted enough of everyone’s time for today.”

“If there’s anything we have plenty of, it’s time,” Ace reassures, pushing himself off of the wall and ready to join the trial.

He offers a hand to help Felix up, and it makes him smile when Felix only hesitates for a split second before accepting the gesture.

“You know, we should do this more often,” Ace says with a grin as he pulls Felix up on his feet. “I mean, preferably without the panicking. I didn’t mind but it didn’t exactly look like you were having the time of your life.”

Felix huffs out a small laugh at the statement, and then he squeezes Ace’s hand that’s still clasped in his.

“I’d like that.”

#whumptober2020 #no.18 #panic attacks #dead by daylight #fic #riconti #dweetwrites #ace visconti #felix richter #dbd #prompt #felix x ace #dbd fanfic #mental illness cw

22 notes · View notes

dramaticviolincrescendo · 4 years

Note

F, I, S and X for the fanfic ask thing? I'd listen to you talk about your writing ALL day! <3

Aaaaaaah, Kee, you’re too much! 😭🧡 Thank you!

F - There have been so many dialogue exchanges I’ve taken pride in over the years, but I’m going to stick with a fairly recent one (slightly edited so the narration isn’t included):

~*~

“Fuck no. We’re doing this the right way.”

“Does, uh…” Lip cleared his throat, but Mickey wasn’t a fucking idiot and caught on to the fact that he was trying not to laugh. “Does Ian know?”

“Not yet,” Mickey evaded with ease.

“Okay.”

“That a fucking problem?”

“No, I’m”—there it was, that goddamn smirk again—"sure he’ll be excited. For the planning and all.”

Bullshit, he will.

“Fucking better be. You know how expensive it is to get nice flowers?”

“Yeah, I remember Fiona mentioning it.”

“It’s a fucking lot.”

“Can always take out a loan.”

“Sure, I’ll bet every bank in Chicago is lining up to hand out loans to a couple of gay ex-cons.”

Lip grimaced but nodded in agreement with the fucking obvious. “Savings?”

“Working on your stand-up routine, huh, Gallagher?”

“We’ll figure something out. All else fails, you can just threaten to break a few kneecaps, right?”

~*~

I was really proud of this exchange in “Forced Perspective” because I always agonize over whether conversations sound like the characters. It’s easier when you’re writing internal monologues because you only have to think about one person, but with dialogue you have to consider the characters’ individual voices, their relationship to one another, how the perspective character is going to interpret the accompanying character’s demeanor... Or I just go overboard, which is a definite possibility. 😬 Either way, when I finished writing this part, I could HEAR Lip and Mickey as though I were watching the show, and I was super proud of that.

I - Ooh, a guilty pleasure in fic. Hm. I’ve honestly never thought about this. I guess I’d have to go with a really well written, well characterized, and (what I would deem to be) reasonable whump fic. I don’t tend to write it myself because I stick with expanding on canon so much of the time, but I do enjoy seeing characters band together to support someone who is more vulnerable at that time and needs it. Nothing too severe or anything, just sick- or injured-fics and the like, for example. “Prison Break” is the only fic I’ve written that might qualify.

S - I honestly don’t have any tropes I can’t resist, though I have quite a few I can’t stand! 😂 I’ll pretty much read anything that has good plot and characterization, so I don’t necessarily pay much attention to tropes. The closest I’ve come in the past is a soft spot for Disney/fairy tale AUs, which I guess might have the “damsel in distress” trope? But I’ve learned to resist it since the characterization doesn’t usually fit with my own interpretations.

X - ENJOY making suffer?! Kee, you wound me—I hate making my babies suffer!! 😩 ...But I do enjoy writing some Ian Gallagher angst, not gonna lie. 😶 There’s a reason!!! First, I know he’s strong enough to handle it. Not every character is, but Ian has a background mired in struggle on so many levels that it would be impossible for him not to have grown a very thick skin. He knows how to bounce back from disaster, even if it might take him a while and a few wrong turns to do so. Writing angst for him doesn’t feel like piling on pain for the sake of it since he can cope with a lot. Second, I know we (as a fandom) tend to talk about how Fiona and Mickey are the ones who can’t show vulnerability, but Ian is also very high on that list not because of his responsibilities or reputation, but because of who he wants to be. He doesn’t want to burden anyone and prefers to go through life on his own merits. It takes a LOT for him to break down or show an ounce of vulnerability, and even then it is typically when he’s alone and no one else will ever know, especially in earlier seasons. So, while I don’t ENJOY making him suffer, he’s probably my favorite character to explore during times when he isn’t okay. (But he always will be because I don’t do sad endings!)

#you asked #ask meme #oekdjchsjxbxhshshxjd thank you for asking!

10 notes · View notes

dragonnan · 4 years

Text

Author Interview Tag

Tagged by @aelaer a week or two ago, thank you!

Name: Tanya (among family I'm Nan or Auntie Nanny)

Fandoms: Sherlock, MCU, Psych, Prodigal Son, and a goodly collection of others

Where you post: For a number of years I posted on FFN but between the really shitty reviews and extremely cumbersome posting process I finally quit. I posed on Psychfic while still an active part of that fandom but that, too, has pretty much ended. I put a few stories on Wattpad but found it to be pretty meh. I now post exclusively to AO3.

Most popular multi-chapter fic: It's a tossup between “Fury” on Psychfic and “All Nighter” on AO3 – one based on comments and the other on Kudos. Frankly “popularity” is really subjective because there's also stuff like read count and with comments, at least nearly half are replies from me and read count also includes re-reads as well as every time I clicked on the damn thing to edit so....

You know I'm just really not sure how to properly answer this??

Favorite story you’ve written so far: Like others have stated you can ask me this on three different days and get three different answers and there will be more than 1 fic mentioned every time so.... Because I write in different fandoms I just absolutely can't list a single fic. The best I can narrow it would a fic from my top 3 fandoms.

Psych: Paint it Black. I had read a fic where Shawn was gradually going blind and had really been enjoying it and the challenges it presented. Sadly it was never completed. As has happened before I decided I would write my own damn fic if I couldn't get a completed story so that was the primary motivation to start this. What I most love about this is writing from Shawn's perspective as he navigates being blind and not knowing whether or not his condition is permanent. I did my best to honor the experience of blind and partially blind people and tried to look beyond the cliché.

MCU: I have so much fun writing these stories! In spite of the dumpster fire the film canon became I do so love this sandbox and employing various forms of unfucking it. So I'm gonna cheat a little and pick two for my faves here since one is a WIP. Sed Diabolus. I don't need to have completed it yet to know this will be my all-time favorite. This is the first fic that has been entirely plotted out and OMG I'm so excited for iiiit!! The second is Simple Math which seems like an odd choice given there's zero action – mostly just one character – hell, not even any whump. But there is something about that deep dive into Tony's mindset that keeps this as a fave even though it was the first thing I ever wrote for the MCU. I learned about Tony as I wrote this and I also worked my way through those motivations that bothered me regarding Stane. Even years later I still mentally go back to this fic whenever I write Tony because I feel encapsulates the essence of how I see him as a character.

Sherlock: Compared to other fandoms I'm still quite new to this fandom so I don't have nearly as many fics. But I still have a favorite! And, like with the MCU, it's the first story I ever wrote for this fandom; The Tiger and the Shark. Returning to a plot device I've employed in other fics, this one is built around a sexual assault and taking the character on a journey from that terrible event to the point where they rediscover themselves. PTSD ever being my favorite form of whump I employ that fairly a lot in this story and employ some kinda radical methods for coping with those memories.

Fic you were nervous to post: I mean until I start getting comments I'm a world of anxiety with every story I post. But grabbing a specific fic that hit my nerves – that Sherlock fic I'd said was my fave certainly qualified. Not only was it my first Sherlock fic – it also was charging out of the gate with a very heavy topic so yeah – I wasn't sure if people would absolutely hate it or find my characterizations totally off or what.

How you choose your titles: It varies a bit. In some stories, like Sed Diabolus, I actually consult friends on various ideas. Other times I'll consider songs or lyrics and my favorite thing is if I can alter the known title just a bit to make it more relevant to the fic (I did that a LOT with Psych fics which was the method the show also employed for its episode titles). One of my favorite Psych titles is “The Wizard Was the Wicked Witch and the Scarecrow Lost His Courage”.

Do you outline: Almost never – not until “Sed Diabolus”. That story, though, is so astoundingly complex that without an outline I'd be hopelessly lost. I am, though, trying to make a practice of outlining more because it helps SO much!

Complete: If we count every one-shot collection and challenge collection it likely is over 200 stories. Of course a lot of those are one-shots. My total completed chaptered fics number maybe around 34?

In progress: 16 – between Psychfic and AO3. All Psych stories are on long-term hiatus for the foreseeable future (some, honestly, I will never finish as they are many many years old and I've lost the inspiration for the plot). Several MCU stories are also on the back-burner while I focus on “Sed Diabolus”. I admit I get LOTS of story ideas and staying focused on a single fic is not something I've ever been greatly successful with.

Coming soon/not yet started: I meaaaan.... lots?? I have probably several hundred ideas and partially started fics across many fandoms. As to “imminently coming soon...” I don't think I currently have an active story that I haven't already posted at least a first chapter. Sadly I have zero patience for developing something for months before posting which is why I have so many WIPs. That said I DO have a Sherlock au that has been poking at me now and then involving the witch trials that started in Denmark and, eventually, made their way to Salem. The idea would be that Molly Hooper is accused of being a witch. She, of course, is innocent but cause this unfortunate attention due to her “uncanny” ability to heal the sick and injured (not so much uncanny as opposed to employing methods that aren't so reliant on superstition and folklore).

She is scheduled to be tortured and executed but is saved by Sherlock – a strange recluse primarily ignored and given a pass as he solves mysteries for people. He and his friend John save Molly from this awful fate. The twist is that Sherlock is a sorcerer (bit of marvel crossover-ish) and able to transport them to safety.

Do you accept prompts: I wish I could cause I love ideas but I don't have the time/energy to always work on what I already have and I'm awful at follow thru. Like I will never turn away an Ask wanting to share ideas but I can't promise that I can actually write anything.

Upcoming story you are most excited to write: As was the reply to a previous query – I have lots that are ideas that will linger in partial stages for sometimes years. If it's “upcoming” I've already posted the first chapter lol! But, again, I have several story ideas that whenever I poke through my folders I get excited about someday actually writing them. Here is a teaser for an MCU fic involving Tony Stark and Obie (I still feel this was never explored enough – certainly not in fic):

They were doing a retrospective, ten year anniversary kinda... whatever. Unofficial, of course. Certainly nothing Pepper would have dreamed up even at her most drunk (which, honestly, was never her scene. Tony had sorta owned that space well beyond the time it had started owning him). Whose idea it ultimately had been? Frankly Tony couldn't give a fuck. That he was asked to be one of the speakers was slightly more... awkward. Awkward was the right word, yeah? Nauseating was certainly another and possibly a bit more accurate.

Dead for a decade and Obadiah Stane still managed to fuck with his life.

But... it hadn't always been that way. At least, not as he'd believed back when the Walkman had been on every kid's Christmas list.

He'd thought it was bonding; at the time. His dad had never been one for just hanging out; shooting the shit; telling tales out of school. No, Pops, when he bothered to interact, led with questions. “You keeping your grades up?” “You still seeing that floozy?” “When are you going to pull your head out of your ass and grow the hell up?” “You do realize it's my name you're disgracing every time you go on a bender?”

With Obie it was just, easy. Obie might ask about school but it was always with approval and pride. He would discuss Tony's conquests as though Tony had climbed Kilimanjaro wearing nothing but underwear and a cape.

Obie was there when his father wasn't. Which meant that Obie was always there. The first time he got astoundingly drunk on his father's scotch, Obie was the one to help him hunch over the toilet and vomit expensive, aged booze into the toilet. Obie was also the one to replace the depleted bottle to keep Howard in the dark. For a fourteen year old kid still trying to gain his dad's favor, that had meant everything.

He saw his first porn with Obie; sex education ala Traci Lords, three months shy of his fifteenth birthday. That was the same time he was introduced to weed. Obie had cautioned him to use it sparingly; didn't want to fry that genius brain, he'd say, and ruffle his hair. The porn had made him uncomfortable. Obie had turned it off and told him they could watch whatever Tony wanted. They'd ended up changing the station to Knight Rider; smoking and munching Cheetos and laughing over their orange fingers.

It was Obie who was there, arm around his shoulders, after his parents died. He desperately didn't want to sob in front of the man. Things were so complicated with his dad that all he felt was blinding guilt... as though some part of him had caused this. But Obie had filled him with bourbon until the emotions got soft around the edges and he'd sat beside the older man, head tipping gradually to the right until he was held up by Obie's shoulder. Obie had just slung an arm around him and let Tony pass out while he rubbed a broad hand up and down his bicep.

It was strange, now, looking back with adult perspective. A perspective that included Afghanistan and his intended execution while Obie talked about legacy and responsibility while Tony's lungs slowly seized. He'd taken the time to sit there – arm around Tony's shoulders while one broad hand traveled up and down Tony's bicep – just like when he was a kid and Obie was the whole world.

He'd tried to remember if it had felt so... tainted... at the time. Or if he'd always believed it was love.

Obie had never quite crossed that line. Though hindsight offered a peek into that possibility with enough clarity Tony had fought with his cramping gut for nearly thirty minutes. He'd staved off vomiting though he was fairly certain his dignity had still been in tatters what with Bruce wandering in on his misery.

Upcoming story you are most excited about (this is basically a repeat of the above question so I decided to change it. Do you have a future story idea you'd like to write that is not yet beyond the vague idea stage? I love stories that put Molly in some sort of jeporady and I have a barely formed idea to someday write a “stalker fic” of some sort and not I don't care that this trope had been done on repeat – I still love it lol! I have a smidge of writing for it:

“I need your help.”

As afternoons at Baker Street went, this was a mundane request heard so often that Sherlock's typical reply, “Obviously, or you wouldn't be here”, could have been printed on flash cards. The detective had actually made the suggestion after a particularly full day at the flat and having heard the statement no less than twenty times.

Today, however, Sherlock merely blinked for a moment. Then, with an awkwardness rare to a man with a lethal sort of grace in his movements, Sherlock gestured to John's chair, JOHN'S CHAIR, before taking his usual seat.

Molly didn't exactly smile but her lips edged up a bit before she sat.

John cleared his throat before pointing a vague hand towards the kitchen. “I'll just go make some tea, shall I?”

“No, please, I...” The stammer in her speech was not uncommon; though John couldn't recall such obvious fear. Forgoing the kitchen he, instead, took the hard wooden chair facing the other two.

“Molly, what's wrong?”

Tagging: @kitcat992 @mizjoely @sgam76 @ariaadagio @hanuko @ceruleanmindpalace

1 note · View note

sableflynn · 5 years

Text

broken bone

speaking of ignoring medical accuracy when we feel like it, here’s day 2 of the 29 day whump challenge! this honestly does not qualify as whump in any sense but I had fun writing it so whatever.

Day 2: Broken Bone || Tied or Chained Up

---

“Listen, you need to let me set it or it’s gonna heal all wrong.”

“I’m fine, don’t touch it!” “You’re not fine, dumbass, your nose is broken!” Darya snapped, trying to pull him closer for a better look. “At least let me see it--” “Nope! I’m good!” Marcus backed away frantically, trying to wipe away the blood that dripped from his nose and swearing as his hand bumped up against the injury.

“Does it hurt?” “Of course it hurts, my fucking nose is broken!” “Then let me fix it!” “But that’ll hurt too!” He dabbed at the blood with his shirt, uttering another soft fuck at the pain. “I’m just gonna wait for a healer. Or someone who knows what they’re doing.” “I know what I’m doing!” She looked downright offended. “And if we don’t get it fixed, it’ll heal all crooked and you’ll look like this forever.” “But doesn’t it make me look kind of badass?” He lowered his shirt and gave what he surely thought was a charming grin. Blood was still dripping down his face. “No. It makes you look like a dumbass who was too stubborn to let someone help you with your fucking broken nose!” “You of all people cannot lecture me on stubbornness,” he said, but he moved closer and allowed Darya to examine his nose with surprisingly gentle fingers. “Hey Marcus, remember that time we tried to make a birthday cake for Kailo, but you fucked up the recipe and it just exploded in the oven?” She placed her hands on both sides of his nose. “Excuse me, it was definitely you who fucked up the recipe, and anyway it still—FUCK!” He jerked back as she wrenched his nose into place, hands flying up to push her away. “Warn me before you do that!” “If I warned you, you would’ve tensed up and it would hurt worse.” She grinned at him. “But look! It’s all better now. You’re welcome.” “Yeah, whatever, thanks.” Despite his tone, he returned her smile. "Let's just get out of here already."

#my writing #my oc: darya #my oc: marcus #i was looking up how to set a broken nose and everything was like 'doctors need to do surgery or reset it with all their fancy tools'#and i was like oh suddenly i don't care #not sure if a broken nose even counts as a broken nose since it's like cartilage but again i don't care #having fun trying to write things quickly and casually and not stress about it lol #darya and marcus have a single brain cell between them and they're always losing it anyway #29 days of whump challenge #ou content

9 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 6 years

Text

Where You Can Still Remember Dreaming (4/35)

Killian Jones, former crime reporter, was not happy to be home. It hadn’t been home in a very long time, after all. Home was an abstract construct that existed for people who didn’t know as many adjectives for blood as he did. Home wasn’t New York City, but it certainly wasn’t Boston or New Orleans either and he’d always gone where the story was. And he was positive Emma Swan was one hell of a story.

Emma Swan, pro video game player, desperately wanted to find home. She thought she had, a million years ago in the back corner of a barn and a town and faces she trusted. But that had all blown up in her face and it didn’t take long for her to decide she was going to control the pyrotechnics from here on out. So now she was in New York City and a different corner and she kind of wanted to trust Killian Jones.

Neither one of them expected a year of of video games and feature stories to dredge up old enemies and even older feelings, but, together, they made a pretty good team.

Rating: Mature. Word Count: 9.4 K of Emma Swan background and flirty text messages. AN: Hey, uh, let’s play some video games, huh? And learn why Emma didn’t really want a year-long feature story about her video game team. It’s time to try and qualify for the League (which is really a tournament, honestly) and I cannot thank you guys enough for the serious kindness you’ve shown in regards to this fic. It’s been incredibly nice. We’re just getting started. || Also on Ao3, FF.net and tagged up on Tumblr || Tag List: @jamif ; @alicerubyfloyd ; @courtneyshortney82 ; @jennjenn615 ; @artistic-writer ; @onceuponaprincessworld ; @kmomof4 ; @nikkiemms ; @resident-of-storybrooke ; @whumped-natascha-remi-ronin ; @coliferoncer ; @strangestarlighttree ; @tiganasummertree ; @game-of-once-upon-an-outlander (Let me know if you want to be tagged or don’t or, like, how your day is going.)

She wasn’t sure what was more annoying.

The very loud alarm she could hear a few inches away from her head, whatever David was shouting on the other side of the door or the horn honking just outside the window of her room. It wasn’t her room.

It wasn’t even really a room, per se.

It was a...corner.

And David wasn’t really on the other side of the door, he was on the other side of a partition that Mary Margaret ordered off Amazon for nineteen bucks a week before Emma had descended on their apartment with one suitcase in her hand and the hope that, maybe, this could work.

This had to work.

They’d find out in a few hours if it could.

A few hours from now, Emma would walk back into the apartment with one of two options in front of her – either she was as much of a complete failure as that tiny, nagging voice in the back corner of her brain promised her she was and even the idea of playing video games professionally was absolutely insane or, and this is where the hope came into play, she was the quasi-captain of the only all-female pro Overwatch team in the league and they were well on their way to splitting a four-million-dollar championship check with their names plastered across the internet and a string of feature stories written about them on The Daily Caller and and a national spotlight that would, maybe, lead to more money.

God, those feature stories.

God.

Killian Jones.

She was going to see Killian Jones that afternoon. And that didn’t terrify her. Absolutely not. She was worried about the game. And four million dollars. She couldn’t even imagine four-million-dollars, let alone imagine winning an inaugural tournament that promised just historic. Probably with a comically large check.

It had nothing to do with Killian Jones or how blue his eyes were or how she kept replaying that slightly awkward, slightly strained, undeniably sweet conversation they’d had the week before.

“Shit,” Emma mumbled, slamming her hand on her phone and promptly knocking it onto the floor. She could barely make out David’s laughter a few feet away and what sounded like cabinets slamming shut and she hadn’t actually turned her alarm off.

“You know,” David shouted, throwing what sounded like a pillow full of bricks at the partition. The whole thing shook, nearly falling on Emma and her air mattress and it would almost figure that she’d get taken down by nineteen dollars worth of plastic before she even stood up.

She needed to be more positive.

She needed to find her super cheesy team-branded t-shirt. That cost more than the plastic partition.

“Were you ever going to finish that sentence?” Emma called back, finally pushing herself off the air mattress and half of it had deflated during the night. That wasn’t a sign. God, her phone was still making noise.

David chuckled again, kicking at another cabinet and drawing the mumbled reprimand of Mary Margaret – who was absolutely going to be late for work so she could see Emma off or something equally maternal. “Yeah,” he said, padding across the apartment and leaning around the still-wobbling partition. “You need to learn how to control your electronics. And work on your hand-eye coordination. It sounded like you nearly knocked off your whole little compound over here.”

Emma scowled, but that was as good a word for it as any. She didn’t bring much with her to New York – didn’t have much to bring to New York – but David and Mary Margaret had offered up, at least, three quarters of their living room without question, pulling an ancient air mattress out of the closet and buying an entirely new bed-set, with a questionable amount of flowers on the sheets, and pushing the coffee table against the wall so Emma had somewhere to keep her phone and her laptop.

It was, exactly, what they’d always done.

And Emma would never get used to it.

“Compound Godzilla,” David continued, eyes bright and wide and far too confident. In her. He was confident in her. Even when he was insulting her and comparing her to lizard monsters.

“Yeah, but you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with the damages,” Emma reasoned. “So you know, in the grand scheme….” “Of? “Of whatever joke you’re trying to make. Very badly I might add.”

“That’s rude, Em,” David said, but there was a laugh just on the edge of his voice and Mary Margaret was already humming under her breath. It was so goddamn domestic Emma couldn’t quite believe it was real.

She shrugged. “You need to work on your jokes. These are getting stale. And you’re the only who nearly knocked over the partition. I just almost cracked my phone.” “Whatever,” he grumbled and Mary Margaret’s humming had turned into open laughter, far too well-acquainted with whatever early-morning war of words Emma and David were staging in the corner. “I’m not going to provide you with any caffeine or the vast array of breakfast pastries I’ve procured from the place down the block.” “Did you just swallow a dictionary?” “Thesaurus,” Mary Margaret corrected, flashing a smile over her shoulder and she’d already taken a shower. Emma hadn’t even heard her wake up.

There was probably a reason for that. That stupid voice in the back corner of her mind did jumping jacks, bouncing off the sides of her brain as it tried to grab Emma’s attention and provide an explanation she didn’t really want to her – because the kids in the foster homes always cried, quiet sniffles and even louder wails, wondering what they’d done wrong and when someone would decide they were enough and they could leave and, maybe, get just a bit warmer.

It always seemed to be freezing in those houses.

And, somewhere in between Hartford and Minnesota and a few weeks on the street in Boston, Emma had developed the ability to sleep through anything – crying or wailing or chattering teeth or, apparently, Mary Margaret taking a shower a few feet away.

“Em,” David said, tugging on the edge of her sleeve and jerking her out of the past. “You went all glossy for a second there. Was it because I totally impressed you with my vast and detailed vocabulary?” She rolled her eyes, taking a step towards the kitchen and accepting the mug Mary Margaret offered her. “I promise,” she said. “It had absolutely nothing to do with that.”

David’s smile wavered for half a moment and he shot Mary Margaret a nervous look, meaning flitting between them and nearly becoming another sentient being right there in their kitchen. Emma sighed. “Ok,” she mumbled, taking a sip of hot chocolate-coffee hybrid and they’d bought her cinnamon. She shouldn’t have been surprised. “That’s not what I meant it like.” “Are you nervous?” Mary Margaret asked softly, a picture of support and belief and something that felt like certainty. Emma clearly hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

“About the game?” Mary Margaret nodded. “No, no, I am absolutely not nervous about the game. We’re good and we’ve practiced a shit ton, enough to drive Granny absolutely insane and we don’t even have to win. Technically.” “You’re totally going to win.” Emma bit back her immediate response – a string of practicality and low expectations that absolutely did not belong in the same room as Mary Margaret Nolan.

She’d been part of the package deal that came with arriving in Storybrooke and life with the Nolans and enough love to almost make up for everything else.

Actually, arrived was generous. Emma had kind of stumbled into Storybrooke, nothing more than a few dollar bills stuffed into the back pocket of her ripped jeans and a blanket clutched tightly in her hands and she just needed somewhere to sleep. She didn’t expect to find a barn and a corner that was almost, nearly, sort of warm.

David found her the next morning, legs tucked up underneath her with her blanket under her head and hay stuck in her hair. Honest to God hay.

She’d run away. The house had closed a week before and there just wasn’t enough money to support a run-down building and a dozen orphans that no one wanted. Including the national government. Or maybe just Maine. Emma never could remember who was in charge of that.

It didn’t matter.

The only thing she’d known was they were going to move her again and she was just supposed to agree to Florida and another fresh start and she’d started running before she’d even really considered any other option.

She was going to run again as soon as David found her, hand balled up into a fist and halfway through the air when he held up his hands in surrender and asked what she was doing here and promised a hot meal and maybe a shower if she’d just follow him inside.

Mary Margaret was sitting at the kitchen table with Ruth when the door slammed shut behind Emma. She gave her a new set of clothes and, it seemed, Emma had found a family.

Even when she didn’t want it.

Especially when she didn’t want it.

“I know, I know,” Mary Margaret said, nudging her elbow into Emma’s side with a familiarity that made her stomach clench. “You only have to be in the top eight. Doesn’t mean I totally don’t think you’re going to absolutely wreck.” David nearly dropped his coffee. “Absolutely wreck,” Emma repeated slowly, eyes flashing up towards a determined Mary Margaret.

“Yes. Absolutely. And completely. C’mon. That’s a gaming term!” “You’re just digging yourself into an even deeper hole here, M’s. You are painfully uncool.” Mary Margaret stuck her tongue out, rolling her eyes dramatically and jumping onto the edge of the counter next to Emma. She rested her arm on Emma’s shoulder, elbow pushing into the side of her neck and it probably would have been uncomfortable it weren’t so normal and, not for the first time, Emma was glad she’d stumbled back into this life.

“She looked it up,” David whispered conspiratorially before taking a far-too-large bite of bagel and, somehow, smiling at Emma. Mary Margaret clicked her tongue in disapproval, but it wasn’t a disagreement either and Emma wondered when she’d had the time.

Probably in between attacking major website editors with plans and making sure Killian Jones wasn’t actually trying to kidnap two kids from a summer program with the promise of ice cream on his lips.

Shit.

Killian Jones.

Emma needed to drink more coffee and get some food in her and a slightly more professional mindset. There were rules about that, right? Ethics or something. A reporter wasn’t supposed to date whoever he was writing about.

No, probably not. Definitely not. And she wasn’t thinking about dating Killian Jones or or a sentence that included both Killian Jones and lips or even really talking to Killian Jones – far too focused on the game and winning and keeping her personal life, decidedly, personal.

She could be a good story without the depressing history and vaguely troubled past.

Definitely not.

Primary fire, secondary fire, obliterate every enemy – and that stupid, annoying, asshole voice in the back of her brain. It would be fine. She probably wouldn’t really even notice him. For the entire goddamn day.

“I think she’s playing the game,” David muttered, pouring another cup of coffee and, God, he’d showered too. How had she slept through all of that?

“I’m thinking what the best way would be to take you out,” Emma lied and David didn’t look like he believed a single letter of it.

“I bought you baked goods. A plethora of baked goods.” “That was actually kind of nice,” she conceded. Her drink had gone cold. “God damn. Although there are a questionable number of cinnamon-raisin in there. What time did you have to get up to make that happen?”

David shrugged. Painfully early, then. “It’s an important day, Em,” he reasoned. “And maybe I just wanted cinnamon-raisin for the week.” “Yuh huh.” “How come you don’t have to actually win to win?” “We’ve been over this twenty times already,” she sighed, but she kind of appreciated too. If Emma kept running the plan, the one that decidedly ignored Killian Jones and his far-too-blue eyes and nicknames and on-the-record questions, then she could stay focused on the goal. She could absolutely wreck – as Mary Margaret would say.

“Humor me.” She took a deep breath and Mary Margaret reached over her shoulder, tugging the mug out of her hand to fill it with scalding hot liquid. God, it was like being fifteen again. Emma was a better video game player now.

“It’s a qualifying tournament,” Emma started. “So there are sixteen teams today, from all over the world, who didn’t get the automatic bid. It’s because none of us have fancy, corporate sponsors and we’re some kind of Overwatch plebs in the eyes of the league, so, they put us in a different bracket and make us play each other.

The seeds coming into this were a total joke though. They, literally, just put our team names into a hat and that Zelena lady who’s in charge of everything picked out pieces of paper and that’s where we ended up.”

David snorted over the top of his mug and he’d mixed peanut butter and cream cheese on his cinnamon raisin bagel. Emma tried not to actually gag. “Ruby’s very mad about that,” he said. “She’s brought it up every single time I’ve talked to her in the last forty-eight hours.” “How many times are you talking to her in the last forty-eight hours?” “A couple,” he mumbled and it sounded a bit like an admission. Emma’s pulse accelerated and she was positive she was missing something. David’s nervous glance towards Mary Margaret all but confirmed it and they were talking about her. God.

“Yuh huh,” Emma repeated, eyebrows pulled low and frustration brewing in the pit of her stomach and she was fairly positive they were talking about that phone call she’d made on the other side of the plastic partition on Friday night.

She was going to kill her whole goddamn team.

“And what seed are you guys?” Mary Margaret asked quickly, trying to refocus the conversation and keep Emma from throwing things in the middle of her kitchen.

“We are fifth,” Emma answered and maybe she was as upset as Ruby was about this whole seeding debacle. Maybe Killian Jones, award-winning reporter with a history Emma was positive was also a story, should write about that.

That, however, would require her to talk to him long enough to suggest story ideas.

What a mess.

“And playing?” David prompted. Emma rolled her eyes. They’d really gone over this twenty times already, had discussed it in detail in the back corner of Granny’s on Saturday night, Ruby’s voice rising with every sip of alcohol until she and Anna seemed to be having some kind of joint screaming match over seeding.

“Vivi’s Adventure,” Emma responded, dropping her head against Mary Margaret’s side and sighing softly when she felt fingers working their way through her hair. “It’s the dumbest name in the history of dumb names and that’s coming from someone who might actually have a lawsuit on her hands if we actually make it out of qualifying rounds.” “You can’t change your name,” Mary Margaret said. She was braiding Emma’s hair. And Emma didn’t move her head.

“I’d rather not get sued for four million dollars before I even get the chance to try and win four million dollars. That’s impractical.”

“But you made shirts,” David pointed out.

“Ruby made shirts. Or ordered shirts. No one asked her to do that.” “Are you even remotely surprised that she did that?” “About as surprised as you getting up insanely early to go get me bear claws from a bagel place that makes the best bear claws in the city.” David grinned at her, ducking his head to press a kiss on Emma’s temple and maybe being fifteen again wasn’t the worst thing in the entire world. “It’s only because we live a few blocks away,” he promised. “Any more than five blocks and I totally wouldn’t have done it.”

“No, then he would have called an Uber and woken up even earlier,” Mary Margaret mumbled.

Emma’s pulse sped up again, heart hammering against her ribs with something that felt like emotion and maybe sentiment and she couldn’t just start crying on Mary Margaret’s actual shoulder. That would have been weird.

Probably.

Mary Margaret wouldn’t have blinked.

She was, after all, used to that sort of thing. And David would have woken up at dawn to get Emma bear claws if he had to, if only to prove that she had people behind her and support in her corner and a slew of other athletic-based clichés that made her vision swim just a bit.

David hadn’t just gotten her to come into the house all those years ago. He’d gotten his mom to agree to Emma and everything that she came with – a mess of legal battles and paperwork and enrolling her in Storybrooke High that fall.

And she’d had her own room, across the hall from David, and Mary Margaret had helped her fill out a closet, the very first she’d ever owned, and the three of them spent the entire year together, the memories of those days still hanging in frames on the walls in Ruth’s house.

It had been good. It had been perfect – some kind of storybook lifestyle for a town with an absurd name and Emma could never quite believe her luck.

So, naturally, she’d gone and ruined the whole thing.

She had a tendency to do that. And David graduated, got into the University of Maine and that was hours away and Mary Margaret was gone as well, that perpetual smile and positivity that Emma had allowed herself to depend on in just a few, short months, limited to phone calls and text messages.

They promised they’d come back. They’d drive back down for weekends and Emma could come up and sleep on Mary Margaret’s floor, but Emma was sure – it was all over. So she ran. Again.

She was an idiot.

Only David and Mary Margaret found her. Again. And again. Over and over, every single team she absolutely fucked it all up, there they were, encouraging smiles on their faces and certainty in their stare and, usually, baked goods in their hands.

Shit, she’d totally started crying on Mary Margaret’s shoulder.

“Em,” David said slowly, eyes wide and hand falling on her forearm. “Are you crying? God, you’re totally crying. What’s the matter?” Emma shook her head, some of the braid Mary Margaret had already finished falling apart in the process, but the evidence was on her cheeks and her slightly puffy eyes and she could hear her phone buzzing from her compound a few feet away.

“That’d be totally lame,” she mumbled, dragging her knuckles across her face.

“The lamest. Is it because I put peanut butter and cream cheese on my bagel?” “That’s totally it,” Emma agreed and her voice was still shaky and just a bit scratchy, but David didn’t push, just tugged her away from the edge of the counter and wrapped his arms around her tightly. His hand found the back of her head, cupping her hair as he mumbled something that might have been encouragements in her ear, but Emma couldn’t really think when he did that, the actual feel of self confidence enveloping her as soon as she pressed her forehead into the crook of his neck.

“Five seed’s a good underdog story,” David continued, leaving another kiss on the crown of her head. “Tell your reporter guy to lede with that.” “Not my guy,” Emma mumbled. There it was. She was, almost, surprised it had taken them that long to get there. David had absolutely been gossiping with Ruby. “And,” she added. “He’s the one who’s won awards, doesn’t seem like it’s my place to tell him how to write his story.” “Yeah, but it’s about you. He should take that into account.” “Are you trying to protect me from the big world of journalism, Detective?” David pulled back, face turning serious quicker than Emma expected and that shouldn’t have surprised her either. “Yes,” he said simply and Mary Margaret made some kind of noise of agreement in the back of her throat.

“M’s, this was your idea,” Emma said, glancing over her shoulder. Mary Margaret shrugged. “And I still think it’s a good idea. He really did seem excited about it when I saw him on Friday. Even if he was being kicked in the side.” “I’m sorry, what?” “He was holding Roland. Or trying to, at least. I’ll tell you something though, Roland Locksley has never been more excited to have someone pick him up from summer camp than he was when Killian Jones showed up. He’s not nearly that enthusiastic about the assistant.” “You’ve lost me. And how old is this kid?” “Regina Mills’ assistant,” Mary Margaret explained. “She’s usually the one who gets the kids. Although Robin comes sometimes too. He’s nice. Better with the kids than the assistant. She always looks kind of stressed out.” “And did anyone mention why Killian Jones was picking up these kids? Or how he knows them enough to offer them ice cream?” “I don’t think you need to be well acquainted with kids to offer them ice cream,” David reasoned, one arm still slung over Emma’s shoulders as she tried to twist around and stare at Mary Margaret.

“That’s true,” Mary Margaret agreed. “But I don’t think that’s what was happening. He knew those kids. Like in a part of the family kind of way. They had nicknames and everything. It was painfully adorable.” “Jeez, that’s just like a thing for him isn’t it?” Emma asked, the words flying out of her mouth before she could even really consider them. Mary Margaret’s eyebrows practically jumped off her face.

“What?” “Nothing.” “Emma Swan.” She growled or groaned or maybe wondered if she could get out of the conversation without having to talk about any of this. No such luck. “He’s just got this nickname thing,” Emma muttered. “When he talk.” “Right,” Mary Margaret said, smile tugging on the sides of her mouth. Emma’s phone was still buzzing. “And you know this because…” “I’ve had two conversations with him.” “No, of course. Two conversations. You talk to him since that second conversation?”

Emma narrowed her eyes, pressing her lips together and ducking out from underneath David’s arm. “I’ve got to shower,” she said, already halfway towards the bathroom. “Ruby’s going to murder me if we’re late.”

It didn’t matter – Emma walked out of the bathroom ten minutes later, damp hair still wrapped in a towel, to find Ruby sitting cross-legged on the couch with a controller in her hand and a disgruntled David a few feet away from her.

“Why are you so bad at this?” she laughed, not moving her eyes away from the screen and David made some kind of impossible noise, trying to elbow her in the thigh.

“Why are you so good at this? And how do you keep getting all these bananas? Oh, shit, shit, fuck, God, stop laughing, Lucas.” “I’m sorry, this is just hysterical. It’s like the game got better and suddenly you’re complete shit at MarioKart.” She dropped another banana behind her and David let out another string of curses as he skidded off the course again, throwing his head back towards the ceiling and damning Ruby to several different afterlives, including, what sounded like, the seventh circle of Hell.

“For betrayers and mutineers,” Emma intoned, not quite able to keep the laughter out of her voice when David actually chucked his controller at the ground. Mary Margaret didn’t even look surprised.

“Stop quoting things at me, Em,” he hissed. Ruby lapped him. “God, Lucas, seriously. Stop showing off. It’s just embarrassing.” “For you or me?” Ruby asked, swinging her legs back onto the floor and she’d already won. She took a step towards Emma, eyeing the shirt she’d begrudgingly put on, and grinning, confidence practically rolling off her in waves. “I told you the shirts were worth the money,” she said pointedly, tapping on the emblem they’d gotten Anna to draw nearly a month before. “And it’s absolutely embarrassing for you, Nolan. I know I’m good.” David sighed again, dropping down onto the floor and pulling one leg up until he looked like a Renaissance painting – of MarioKart 8 defeat. “We shouldn’t have bought the new one,” he mumbled. “I was better at the classic version.” “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Hey, did you get Emma bear claws for good luck this morning? I’m starving.” “Stop stealing my baked goods,” Emma said, but Ruby was already in the kitchen and Mary Margaret was already pouring another cup of coffee and they were going to be, at least, twenty minutes late. It was going to take forever to get crosstown.

“Too late,” Ruby said, mumbling through a mouthful of bear claw. “Have we complained about the seeding for this qualifying thing yet this morning because I’d really like to complain about that again.” “Too late,” Emma repeated. Ruby sighed. “How come you’re here? I didn’t think you were coming here. Are the rest of them coming here?” Ruby shook her head, confusion flashing across her expression when she glanced towards Mary Margaret. Emma tried not to groan. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” “There’s a car outside.” “What?” “Automobile. Vehicle. Motor car. A sweet set of wheels.” Mary Margaret laughed loudly, the sound working its way across the entire apartment as Emma practically sprinted towards the window. Ruby was right. There was a car outside and a uniformed man leaning against the passenger’s side door, feet crossed at the ankles and a hat in his hand like he’d wandered straight off a movie set.

“What the hell is that?” Emma asked sharply, not sure why she was, suddenly, terrified by the answer.

“Did you not hear my sweet set of wheels explanation?” Ruby asked. “I can’t really come up with another synonym. You can ask your reporter when we get to the Theater. He’s probably got more. That’s his job, right?” Emma shook her head, mind muddled and thoughts moving slowly and she needed to dry her hair. And look at her phone. Oh fuck, her phone. She moved again, actually running across the several hundred square feet of apartment and nearly knocking over the partition while Ruby mumbled something her breath at Mary Margaret.

She had six text messages and she’d never actually programed his number in her phone, but she recognized the 718 area code and her heart might have actually been in her throat.

Good luck today, Swan.

Not that I think you’ll need it. You’re absolutely going to wreck the competition. God, that’s the lamest way to say that isn’t it?

Definitely lame.

True though. Even if that five-seed seems kind of absurd since your team actually has a pretty impressive win-loss record.

How did you end up a five seed? It doesn’t make any sense. This Vivi’s team hasn’t even won a competitive game yet. And they’re a four. This is just basic math. Even Singularity is garbage. And they’re the No. 1? You’ve got more wins than them. This is absurd.

Emma bit her lip, suddenly aware of the smile on her face and the way her breath had caught in her throat, knees not quite as straight as they’d been a few minutes before. He might be more upset about the five-seed debacle than Ruby and David combined.

And Emma could nearly imagine what his voice sounded like, the way he tried to rush over the words when he started talking about something he cared about and there was a sudden and distinct lack of oxygen in her compound at even the passing idea that he cared about her.

That was insane.

Impossible.

That was impossible. There were ethics involved. And one more text message.

The car’s for you, by the way. Courtesy of Mills Media. And how shitty the MTA is this summer. Just figured it’d be easier.

Was she still standing? She was. She might not have been breathing, but she was definitely still standing and somewhere in the realm of swooning until she suddenly and quickly got very, very frustrated.

She didn’t need a car. She didn’t need text messages from a phone number she, admittedly, probably should have saved on Friday night. She could walk crosstown quicker than the car could drive there.

Ethics.

And a deep-rooted stubborn streak that was probably her undoing. Or something less dramatic.

“Em,” Ruby said, approaching cautiously and that might have been the strangest thing that had happened all day. “M’s wants to know if you want her to braid your hair so we can get out of here. We probably shouldn’t keep that fancy driver guy waiting. Seems like a dick move.” Emma hummed noncommittally in the back of her throat, stuffing her phone in her pocket. “We’re not taking the car,” she said and Ruby’s eyes widened. “That’s...how did he even get Mary Margaret’s address?”

“I have no idea. But, like, that’s a thing, right? Investigative journalism or whatever?” “Are we the investigation?”

“Eh,” Ruby wavered, teeth bared as she tilted her head slightly. “Maybe not we.” Emma sighed, any sense of swooning as deflated as the air mattress at her feet. “That was almost kind of heavy-handed, don’t you think?”

“I almost don’t care. You should have heard David’s must protect Emma speech on Saturday night. You want to talk about heavy-handed, that was, like, the single most awkward conversation I’ve ever had and, once, Anna tried to tell me about how she nearly got engaged to a Tindr date the same night she met him.”

“What? God, I can’t imagine Elsa would be very into that idea.” “She wasn’t. There was, apparently, a fight if you can believe those two actually fought about anything in their lives and, just, trust me, it was weird and David is worried about you and these stories and he hasn’t told Mary Margaret about that and I’m not supposed to tell you either and Killian Jones blushed while holding a painfully adorable kid as soon as someone mentioned your name on Friday night.” “Were you not supposed to tell me that part either?” Emma asked archly, tugging her hair out of the towel.

“No, that’s painfully obvious. Everyone knows that.”

“Jeez. You are on a roll.” Ruby shrugged, but there was a tinge of disappointment in her gaze and Emma licked her lips. “We’re really not going to take the car?” “We’re really not going to take the car,” Emma said, the weight of her phone practically dragging her through the entire apartment building. “C’mon. Let’s go over strategy while M’s fixes my hair.” She did feel kind of bad about blowing off the driver – fancy hat clutched tightly in his right hand when Emma promised they were fine with walking and Ruby grumbled under her breath about it for the entire thirteen block walk to the Playstation Theater.

Emma ate another bear claw.

And tried not to drop the two cups of coffee gripped tightly in her hands.

She heard her name on the other side of the block, Anna’s hair obvious even in a sea of professional video game players and spectators and frantic-looking league reps who, clearly, had no idea what they’d gotten themselves into. Emma waved, hoping that would, somehow, stop the screeching from the other side of 44th Street, but it only seemed to drive Anna forward even more and, suddenly, she was nearly a foot taller, held up by a pair of hands that looked vaguely familiar.

She was clinging to Will Scarlet’s side, one of his arms wrapped tightly around her waist while she balanced herself on his shoulder and waved at Emma like she was trying direct several planes. And Killian Jones was very obviously staring at his feet a few inches away, a pen stuck behind his ear and something that might have been a credential around his neck and two cameras hanging off his left arm.

Emma bit her lip. And tried not to focus on the obscene amount of sugar she’d already ingested that morning.

“We should have taken the car,” Ruby muttered again, dragging Emma with her across the street as soon as the light changed.

“Emma, Emma, Emma,” Anna chanted, pulling herself away from Will and grabbing Emma by both her shoulders. Killian’s eyes darted up, one side of his mouth ticking up when he saw she was holding coffee. “You are missing everything. There has already been trash talking and people screaming into NY1 cameras and Tink totally dated the guy who’s Singularity’s captain and she said…”

Anna paused for half a moment to take a breath and Emma allowed herself one, quick glance towards Killian Jones. God, he was unfairly attractive. That was making this far more difficult than it should have been. Anna was still talking, detailing how Tink knew some guy named Greg and how shitty he was at playing Overwatch and how they were totally going to wreck and Emma barely heard any of it, lips dry again and both of her hands were burning from the somehow-still hot coffee.

Killian smiled at her, soft and maybe just a bit nervous and Emma tried to keep her expression neutral. It probably didn’t work if Anna’s continued exclamations were any indication. “Emma, are you ok?” she asked and Emma’s head darted up at the concern in her voice.

Elsa narrowed her eyes knowingly and Emma was struck with the rather sudden realization that they’d all talked about this. God, there was probably a group text. David had probably started it.

“I’m fine,” Emma promised. “NY1 is really here?” “It’s apparently an event,” Elsa said, a smile on her face as she waved a hand at the scene in front of her.

That was, definitely, one word for it. There were people everywhere, some of them already lined up in front of the doors to the Theatre and even more pushing their way down the block, cups of Starbucks clutched tightly in their hands and they weren’t the only team with matching t-shirts. That didn’t make Emma feel any better about the matching t-shirts.

Killian still hadn’t said anything, but Will was taking pictures and Emma tried not to be completely overwhelmed by everything around her. So, naturally, her eyes darted towards Killian again and that stupid, confident smile on his face. “You didn’t take the car,” he said slowly, muttering the words quietly enough that it was a conversational miracle Emma even heard him.

Emma rocked on her heels, not sure how to respond to a statement and Ruby elbowed her in the side – hard. “Ow,” Emma hissed, but Ruby just glared at her. “What the hell?” “Here,” Ruby said, ignoring Emma completely and pushing something into Killian’s chest. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, just glanced down and the smile turned just a bit more genuine.

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” he said. Ruby shrugged. Oh, God, it was a matching t-shirt.

“Please. Although seeing as we are an all-female team, this is absolutely not going to fit you and is now a gift for Henry wherever he is.” Emma nearly dropped the coffee again, stammering slightly and growling at Will when he pushed a camera lens in her face. “Wait, what? Henry like the one in Mary Margaret’s class?” Killian nodded. “What is going on right now?” As if on cue, a kid who couldn’t have possibly been more than twelve years old, skidded to a stop in front of them – both Will and Killian reaching out an arm to brace him. “Hook,” he shouted, head snapping up towards Killian. “You’ve got to come inside. There’s this whole table of merch and you can get a credit for download bundles to get new skins for characters and…”

His shoulders heaved when he ran out of oxygen, eyes wide when he realized there were two other people around now, but he smiled when he noticed Ruby. And Emma felt incredibly out of place. “Hey, Rubes,” Henry said brightly, ducking underneath Killian’s arm and only muttering slightly when she pulled him against her side.

“Hey, kid,” Ruby grinned. “You know you don’t need to get credits for that bundle. We’ll get you that in, like, a couple hours tops.” “Really?” Ruby nodded seriously, holding one hand out and Henry wrapped his pinky around her outstretched finger. “Let us wreck this qualifying tournament and then for sure.” “God, will everyone stop using the phrase wreck in regards to this tournament,” Emma groaned, feeling half a dozen curious eyes land on her. Killian grinned.

“Who else is using that?” Ruby asked and Emma tried to brush her off, nodding towards Henry instead. “Oh, right, right, Henry, this is Emma Swan. She’s our team captain and the best goddamn Overwatch player in the country. She could get you your codes in a couple minutes.” Henry’s eyes lit up and Emma bit her lip tightly, hoping the blush she could feel on her cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “It’s really nice to meet you,” Emma said honestly. “You were in Mary Margaret, uh, Mrs. Nolan’s class last year, right?”

“Yeah,” Henry nodded. “She used to ask me about the game all the time last year. She, uh, she knew I played and I told her about my mom.” It was some kind of miracle Emma hadn’t dropped the coffee. She glanced back at Killian – as struck as she was, with wide eyes and a half-open mouth and Will was still taking pictures. “Thanks,” Emma mumbled, not sure what else to say. Henry’s smile got even bigger.

“We should probably go inside,” Elsa said. The line outside the door was starting to move and they were definitely running late already, but there was some semblance of a schedule and Emma really just wanted this first match to be over.

She nodded, more than willing to let Elsa direct them into the main room and a check-in table and, of course, she’d just fallen into step with Killian. She could nearly feel him next to her, something that felt a bit like heat and almost like electricity radiating off him and he took a deep breath before she interrupted him completely.

“This is for you,” Emma said brusquely, holding her hand up expectantly and his lips twitched again. That was distracting. “I...I should have started with that. Buried the lede or whatever.” He laughed softly, taking short, measured steps so he didn’t move in front of her and his fingers were warm when they brushed over Emma’s. “Was that a journalism joke, Swan?” “A pretty good one, I think. Mostly because I don’t know any other journalism terms to make jokes with.” “Nothing?” Killian asked skeptically. He needed to stop looking at her. And talking to her. And asking questions. There was already an Overwatch game happening on the main screen. “Byline? Deadline? Something about quotes?” Emma rolled her eyes, taking a sip of coffee. “Congratulations on proving your ability to just shout out keywords regarding your job. Although I’m not accepting something about quotes.” “Too broad, huh?” “Exactly that.” “Noted,” he grinned and he hummed softly when he gulped his own coffee. “This is good.” “I’m not trying to poison you.” “Noted, again. And appreciated. If I ask you an actual question are you going to try and turn me to stone again?” Emma stopped walking, whoever was behind her nearly colliding with her back and she did drop the coffee. It was about time. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, dropping down and one of her knees landed directly in a puddle of caffeine and two-percent milk.

Maybe this event wasn’t quite as much a disaster as Emma assumed – a person with a League Official t-shirt on appearing beside her quickly and there was a mop and promises that it was fine and Emma found herself being pulled back up before she even realized Killian had moved.

God, his hand was warm.

“Come here, love,” he said softly, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and tugging her away from the crowd. She followed him before she could come up with an argument, ducking behind the merch table Henry had been so excited about and it was, almost, quiet there.

“I’m fine,” Emma snapped, pulling her hand away quickly and wincing when it collided painfully with her side. He hadn’t even asked a question yet.

Killian nodded. “I’m not questioning that. Here,” he added, pushing his half-finished cup towards her. “You need the caffeine more than I do.” “Are you trying to tell me I look tired?” “No. I’m telling you that you’re the one who has to win an entire qualifying tournament today and that it only seems fair you to get at least some coffee out of the equation when, I’m assuming, you paid for it.”

Oh. She really was an asshole. And far too certain things were just going to go wrong by default. Mary Margaret would have some kind of hope speech perfectly prepared for this moment. Emma kind of wished she’d come with them.

“Not everything is some kind of calculated attack, Swan,” Killian added, ducking back into her eye line and smiling when she took the cup.

“What was your question?” she asked. His coffee didn’t have cinnamon in it. Damn.

“Why didn’t you take the car?” “Why did you send a car?” Killian shook his head, tongue pressed against the edge of his lip and Emma didn’t think she imagined the way he rocked towards her. “I asked first,” he said. “There are rules.” “I think you’re just making them up as you go along.”

“And I think you’re doing a very bad job of avoiding the question.”

She flashed her eyes up, but he didn’t back down, just lifted his eyebrows and stared straight at her, like he could read her mind or maybe like she was the open book he promised she was. Emma sighed. “I’m perfectly capable of walking a couple of blocks.” “I’m not questioning that.” “You really need to be more specific then.” Killian tilted his head – and Emma tried to keep her shoulders straight and her spine in line and she couldn’t remember having ever been looked at like that, like he was interested and intrigued and like he wanted to know everything, on the record, with absolutely no intention of putting it on the internet.

“I’m not one to just...accept things,” Emma said slowly. Killian didn’t respond, just moved his eyebrows again and kept staring at her. No, she thought, waited. He was waiting for her. “Especially from people I don’t really know. Who should have no idea where to send town cars.”

“Ah,” he laughed, running a hand through his hair and twisting slightly so his left arm was pulled behind his back. “Yeah, that was bordering somewhere on stalking wasn’t it?” “How did you do it?” “The receptionist at Mills is actually some kind of secret coding and internet expert. And she was very willing to do me a favor if I got Gina to get her and her boyfriend a reservation at TAO on Saturday night.” “The receptionist?” Emma repeated and Killian made a significant face. “You got a receptionist to...what, hack into some sort of record and find M’s address?” “She’s not trying to be the receptionist apparently. It’s a very involved story. But she saved the website on Friday and kept Robin from actually pulling his hair out or having some kind of episode in the middle of Broadway. So, you know, Gina owed her.” “You keep saying all these names and I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Emma admitted, appreciating his smile a lot more than she should have. “Gina is Regina Mills, right?” Killian nodded. “And Robin is…” “Her husband.” “Which makes Henry…” “Their kid. One of two. Roland is seven and obsessed with chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream and being Henry.” Emma nodded in understanding, pieces of the puzzle, almost, starting to fit together. “And you know both of these kids well enough to pick them up from school, offer them ice cream in a not-creepy kind of way and then bring one of them with you on an assignment?” “Yes, yes and yes,” Killian answered. “Although Gina wasn’t happy about that last one. It’s apparently not very education-focused.” “It’s summer.” “My argument exactly, Swan.” She’d finished her coffee. Or his coffee. Emma wasn’t sure of the specifics anymore, trying not to linger on the fact that they’d somehow managed to share one cup of coffee that morning.

It felt like something important.

Emma turned her head, staring straight at him and maybe that was a mistake. Shit, his eyes were blue. He still had his arm twisted around behind him. “And you wanted to send me a town car to go thirteen blocks because…”

“It was a gesture of goodwill,” he grinned. “So you could get here easier.” “There wouldn’t be anywhere to park on 44th Street. How did Ruby know about it?”

“I have no idea.” He wasn’t lying – eyebrows pulled low and gaze intent and he wanted her to believe him. She didn’t. Jeez.

“I feel like we’re both missing a pretty big part of this game,” Emma muttered, taking a step towards him and she was close enough that her toes nearly brushed up against his sneakers. She could have moved, could have pulled her hands up and rested them flat against his chest like she wanted to and pressed her lips against his and maybe she’d thought of that a questionable amount since she’d swallowed some of her pride on Friday night and called him.

She didn’t do any of that.

Because Emma Swan never got in the car – metaphorically or otherwise. Not anymore.

“How did this happen, Swan?” Killian asked suddenly and she realized they’d been standing in silence, staring at each other like they were taking inventory for far too long.

Emma licked her lips quickly, tugging them back behind her teeth as she tried to regain her bearings. She could make out the sounds of the game behind her, catchphrases that had been playing on an endless loop in her brain since they’d decided to do this, and she tugged self consciously on her t-shirt.

“What?” she asked a bit breathlessly. Killian’s gaze shifted, dropping away from her eyes and, maybe, down towards her mouth, but then he blinked and it was gone as soon as it came, features stoic and professional and good, she could deal with that.

“On the record,” Killian said, a recorder held loosely in his right hand.

Oh. Well, yeah, no, that was ok. They had to do that, right? He had to ask questions and write stories and that was the deal. That was what Emma had begrudgingly agreed to when Mary Margaret announced the plan and Ruby promised it was good for business like that even made sense in context, but they’d taken a team vote and Emma had been overruled and now she needed to answer questions.

On the record.

“Ask me an actual question,” Emma hissed, frustration back in her voice and there went flirting. If flirting had ever been on the table. Jeez.

“How did Emma Swan become the team captain of the only all-female pro Overwatch team in the league?” Killian asked. “Or, rather, how did you start playing video games?” “That’s a long story.” “I’ve got some time. And so do you. Your shitty five-seed matchup isn’t for another hour.” “Why do you know that?” “I can read, Swan. There was a schedule on the league site and something about streaming. You’re still not answering my question.” He shook the recorder slightly and Emma’s stomach flipped. She swallowed back the bundle of nerves in her throat, chewing on her lip as she tried to figure out the best way to answer. Killian nodded once, like he was agreeing to an idea he hadn’t voiced, and leaned towards Emma, half an inch away from her face and what was personal space when she could barely think?

“I’ll tell you what, love,” Killian said, low and intent and Emma could feel it. “We’ll go one-for-one, huh? On the record back and forth. You answer my questions and I’ll answer yours. No matter what.” She hadn’t been expecting that. “Why?” Emma asked sharply. It was an accusation. And Killian knew it. “We both need this to work, Swan. You asked me about Boston and what led me back to New York, well, this is it. A story. A good one. So I need this to work and your team needs the publicity. It’s a win-win for both of us, we might as well be honest with each other.” “You have a very high opinion of this whole situation don’t you?” Killian shrugged. “I think we could make a very good team, Swan. It’s up to you whether or not that works.” Emma considered that for a few moments, scowling when she realized he was absolutely and infuriatingly right. Damn. On the record. “My brother,” she said. “He’s the reason I’m here.” “Give a guy a second to get his recorder out, Swan,” Killian grinned, hitting a button on the square of plastic in his hand. She rolled her eyes. “Ok, brother. I’m going to guess he’s the reason behind the NYPD shirt before?” “Why do you remember that?” “Perceptive. And a journalist. It’s the details, love. So you and your cop brother started playing video games when you were kids?”

“No,” Emma said and Killian did something absurd with his eyebrows. “Ruth bought him a knockoff XBox for Christmas one year and we spent the entire break playing. Turns out I’ve got pretty good hand-eye coordination.” “Did you wreck him, Swan?”

Her eyes were going to get stuck that way if she kept rolling them, but Emma was smiling again and they kept bouncing through moods in this conversation. It felt like playing the game. She’d clearly lost her mind.

“You were right before, you know, that’s totally lame,” Emma said. “But, yeah. Every single time. And even now. Between David and Mary Margaret I was fairly convinced I was the greatest player to ever walk the Earth, but they were just both painfully bad at Halo.”

“And that sparked the interest as a career?” Emma shook her head and that was what she’d been dreading. There wasn’t any way to explain a year in jail and no high school degree and what talent did she have except the innate ability to kill her virtual enemies? Killian seemed to pick up on her concern, hand falling back on her arm and she shuddered at the touch.

When she’d gotten out of jail, she didn’t know where to go – didn’t have much more than a blanket with her name on it and the memories of everything blowing up in her face and Emma was barely making ends meet in Providence when David showed up at her apartment and told her enough was enough.

He found her. Again. And Emma had gone with him. Again.

So he took her to that sleepy little college town and got her a job at the coffee shop on campus and Emma kept playing, nights on the couch with David and Mary Margaret and, eventually, she came up with a plan.

She started making money. She almost forgot about him and a time when she wasn’t certain and confident and ready and the League just seemed like the next logical step.

Only that step had landed her in front of Killian Jones and his recorder and blue eyes and Emma needed a plausible story. “I’ve always wanted to kind of control my own life, I guess,” Emma started, mumbling over the words while she tried to keep her lip in between her teeth. “And I’ve been lucky that my brother and M’s have been super supportive of that. So they helped and played against me so I could get better and there were competitions all over the country that had big prize pools, bigger every year as games got more and more popular and less and less weird and, well, you know the rest. I’m camping out in their living room while I try to find my own place and win this whole, stupid League.” Killian hummed, hitting another button on the recorder and starting at her. Still. He kept doing that. She wished he wouldn’t. “Was that ok?” Emma asked. “On the record?” “Of course, Swan. It’s a good start.” “A start?” “Ah, well, that’s my angle I guess,” he explained. “We’d background everyone on the team, maybe highlight how shitty this whole seeding thing was and talk a little bit about what comes next. Oh and maybe the thing in Philadelphia.” “You know about that too?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, smirk settling onto his face with practiced ease and they definitely had to play soon. It felt like they’d been standing in that corner for several lifetimes. “You’re very surprised by reading comprehension, love,” Killian laughed.

“Just impressed by your dedication to research.” “Maybe not such a bad journalist, after all. I almost understand the game.”

“Color me impressed,” Emma smiled, eyes wide and that smirk was stupid. She wanted to kiss it off. She wanted to absolutely wreck Vivi’s Adventure in the first round. “You know, maybe, we could try and build on that knowledge today? If you’ve got...questions or something.” “Are you offering to explain the video game to me, Swan? Henry’s been trying to do that for two weeks already.” “And how that’s going for you?” “Eh, he’s very frustrated. Far more preoccupied with getting that credit than anything I could offer him today.” “Ah, well, there’s no ice cream involved.” Killian smiled and Emma’s heart dropped into her stomach or maybe into her feet or possibly exploded out of her chest. “Always a disappointment, of course,” he muttered, stuffing his recorder back into his pocket and leaning towards her again.

He didn’t touch her arm.

He did, however, move his left hand and Emma’s eyes caught on a flash of color and a name and the question hung in the minimal amount of air between them as soon as she closed her mouth. “Who’s Milah?” she asked. “On the tattoo.” And just like that, it was over. The whole scene changed and Emma’d been absolutely wrecked by an assailant she didn’t see and wasn’t prepared for, thrown back to the start of some metaphorical level without a single weapon to her name.

The corner suddenly felt very small and Killian couldn't seem to back up quick enough, eyes dark and lips pressed together tightly and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Someone from a long time ago,” he bit out, venom in every single letter. “On the record.”

Emma nodded, quick jerks of her neck that sent a shockwave of pain and frustration down her spine. That’s what she got for asking questions.

“Hey, uh, guys,” Elsa said, appearing in the corner with a nervous look on her face. “We’ve got to go play the game. Ruby’s half a second away from shutting down the whole tournament to try and find you, Em.” “Of course she is,” Emma mumbled. She tried to plaster a smile on her face, certain it hadn’t worked as soon as she looked at Elsa. “Ok, we’re coming.”

She turned back to Killian – shoulders tight with the tension he was holding and his thumb pressed into his left forearm. “You, uh, want to watch a game in action?” Emma asked and he hummed softly, gaze still heavy on her face.

“Yeah, Swan,” he said. “Let’s go.”

#cs ff #cs #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #video game fic #if i ever write a fic where david and mary margaret aren't emma's biggest fans #i've probably been kidnapped #just fyi

39 notes · View notes