#Victor has a short-circuit moment

[cryogenicmuses]

“Are you still panting?”- to Victor, sometime around/during the last rp

unprompted asks // ALWAYS ACCEPTING // @magicalberserk

"I-I'm wearing pants!" The researcher shook his head, still breathing a little more heavily than usual. "Oh. Fuck. Shit. Look, I'll be fine. I got this."

[sylvester-oak]

Alright, the latest episode has already created controversy, and I really don't mean to add to it, but come on everyone. It wasn't that bad.

John and Mariana sharing a bedroom is fine. It needs to be understood that Mariana is a new, developing character. We are not familiar with her the way we've been familiar for years with Sherlock and John. I say we give her a chance, yeah? I'm glad that the show didn't just introduce her and then keep her as a token female character. And would that not have been worse? Instead they actually make use of her. They are taking the time to put her in the limelight for once. So we can get to see how important she is to Sherlock and John, and also who she is beyond the manager of Sherlock & Co.

The episode had some great moments. Some of the best so far. Sherlock finally calling him John. And John's brain just short circuiting for a little bit. John and Sherlock laughing together. Their conversation was so heartfelt. I can't stress enough how important it is to me that we finally have an adaptation where Sherlock isn't reduced to a cold, calculating machine. Sherlock cares and he cares deeply. It made me so emotional. And Hunter narrating the story of the Gloria Scott. That's about as close to the ACD canon as it gets, folks. There's nothing that says ACD like the perpetrator narrating his own sad (or not so sad) story. The orchids, of course, as others have pointed out. The episode beginning and ending with unremarkable domestic shopping scenes, that are almost exactly the same, but feel different.

The only issue I have is that I think the ending was a little bit abrupt. What happened to Lionel? Did Hunter actually leave? What about Victor? Is he okay? Did he go see his dad after he found out, did he confront him with the truth? Too many questions unanswered.

[scandalouslamb]

do you think anything would be different if Felix became president instead of Coriolanus

No, in the sense that my interpretation of Felix is the most unsuited person to be President of Panem at that current moment at time (when Coriolanus also wants it), so he probably gets assassinated in office if he even makes it there, or gets used as a puppet president and then once he's fully despairing and miserable and tries to do something on his own initiative, he gets assassinated slightly later into his term. (This ripples out in terms of the rebels getting slightly more Capitol support/spies than they do in canon, but is likely ultimately negligible)

Okay, but What If I Tried Really Hard To Imagine It?:

If through the perfect set of circumstances, Felix manages to become president on his own initiative, I think he just gets overwhelmed by the sheer amount of shady dealings. The reveal that District 13 is not destroyed probably short circuits his brain, and he probably tries to be nice to Snow and try to empathize with him which with Felix just having won the presidency against Snow, probably just puts him on his shit list even more. He's always going to be on borrowed time.

In the miracle path where I willfully force the Hunger Games Universe to not kill him almost immediately, Felix, at some point, probably does hear about the more unsavory bits of the Hunger Games and the Victors' treatment and finds them distasteful. (I wouldn't say he sees them completely as human beings equal to himself, but he'd expect the Capitol and it's citizens to behave better). He'd probably stop any prostituting that's going on around the Games (I'm unsure when that starts, so this is assuming it goes as far back as the 20th-30th HG) and any body modifications going on without people's consent.

I headcanon that Pres. Ravinstill doesn't care about the HG that much, it's just Gaul's pet project to him, and was a good show of force initially. Then, it was losing money, and he threatened to shut it down, and she and Snow made it gain money, so it stayed. But Felix doesn't really feel an obligation to honor his great-uncle and keep the Games when they make him uncomfortable.

Tigris will probably find success lobbying the President for change now. With her influence, I imagine that the Games change, but I don't think it's entirely feasible for them to be gone overnight.

I'm sure that the Games are pretty big thanks to Snow, so any attempts to shut it down would be met with backlash, and political opponents knowing this will use that to their advantage. In order to Keep Felix From Dying, Felix's changes to the Games will start gradually. Over Felix's presidency, they probably shift away from a fight to the death and are still a fight to the near-death. Since no one's dying (most of the time), this leads to competitors/fan favorites having the chance to come back. Reaping children probably gets cut pretty fast (I'm sure Felix gets more and more uncomfortable with the Reaping as he ages.) It's probably switched to every District having the equivalent to a Career Academy at some point (maybe before the Career Academies are fully a thing, given the headcanon that they formally start during/after the 25th Games)

Basically the Hunger Games probably shifts into gladiatorial combat where like in history, the gladiators typically aren't killed. It still isn't great for the District tributes who end up being conscripted to a lifetime of bloodsport.

Felix probably adds benefits for the all the Districts and helps alleviate hunger, but this is less, because he feels bad for them (it is partially) but more because again, the Capitol has that responsibility. Kind of a paternalistic view, but listen, I still have to find ways to make him insufferable.

Anyway, I imagine he is immensely unhappy trying to juggle his own morality with all the backhanded dealings that has built his country and what will keep him from dying. In a weird twist of fate, I can imagine Tigris somehow becoming his kind of reverse-Gaul. She'll advise him towards seeing the good in people and doing good, and maybe warns him about her cousin depending how far that relationship has deteriorated by this point.

Okay, after typing this all out, I realize this would be a cool AU actually, but I have to stop here for now. Maybe, I'll contemplate President Felix, Advisor Tigris again at a later point, or if I get more asks about it, or if I get hit with a fic idea.

[nesssblog]

Natalya Vitya Morozov

Boxer name: Celeste

Rank: World Circuit #3

Record W - L: 34 - 3

Hometown: Moscow, Russia

Age: 27

Cold-hearted, and Mean. She’s incredibly wealthy and some might even say she paid to get where she is- But no, she is very skilled and strikes a freezing fear into the hearts of her opponents. Able to withstand quite a lot of punches, she’s an exceptional boxer.

Apperance: Platinum blonde hair up to her shoulders, with red dyed tips and two tufts that stand up, making her look like an owl, tall and built stature, overall cold aura. Outside of the ring, always seen with a white feather coat, and wearing the most expensive clothing. Cold or rude expression on face, with little makeup, although quite pretty.

Random facts:

She was Adarna’s ex, the two broke off because they were simply incompatible with each other. (They had a lack of trust in the relationship, with Celeste often accusing her of being with her only for her wealth.)

The people aren’t exaggerating when they say she’s mean, and she’s very judgemental towards the other boxers.

She knows how to speak French, and often Bad-mouths Joe and Gabby in their native languages so they can understand and hear her.

She and Adarna are often paired up in fights aganist eachother for dramatics, with her taunting and teasing her. Celeste normally wins, though in their lt fight, Adarna was the victor.

Violetta Grant

Boxer Name: Viola Louve

Hometown: Quebec City, Canada

Rank: #1 Minor Circuit

Record W-L: 7 - 12

Age: 21

Sharp, agile, and quick-thinking. Viola is a girl who just wants to roam arond in the sun, while running in forests! She says herself that she was raised by wolves her whole life, the WVBA have yet to see if that is true. A very optimistic fighter, even if she hasn’t had that many wins compared to losses-

Apperance: Body littered with small healed scars due to running around in nature in her childhood. Overall outfit has a purple color, with her shorts, upper wear, and boxing gloves all differing colors of purple. Sports a pair of purple wolf ears that move with her emotions with a tail to match. Unruly purple hair, that reaches the upper of her back, with bangs swept to the side.

Random facts:

Her story about being raised by wolves is somewhat true, but she wasn’t raised by them per say- While her parents were letting her play outside, she came across a wolf den, where she visits every once in a while!

LOVES hanging with Bear Hugger and his animal pals, even if Chip doesn’t seem very fond of her-

Her ears and tail are mechanical, and were designed to go with her emotions, it took years for Viola to make them and the moment she perfected them, she was over the moon!

She says her purple hair is absolutely natural, what are you talking about-

[rainbow-shine]

i'll never wear your broken crown, but in this twilight our choices seal our fate

An alternative s4 in where Dean has powers and that changes everything and nothing. Dedicated to @wormstacheangel and inspired by this headcanon.

It started with little things.

So little that Sam wouldn't have noticed them had it not been for the fact that he couldn't help but look at his brother like a hawk lately, partly to comfort himself that he had Dean back and partly to make sure his brother wouldn't find out about his extracurricular activities.

Dean doesn’t gets hurt anymore.

Sam felt his heart stop inside his chest when he entered the kitchen at Bobby's house and found Victor's ghost with his hand embedded in Dean's chest. With a swift movement Sam fired, the ghost disappeared and Dean fell to the ground.

Completely unharmed.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked either way. Dean gave him an unimpressed look before saying no.

The thing was, Sam had seen Olivia's corpse, had seen the corpses of the rest of the hunters. Right now Dean should be bleeding to death on the floor, his heart ripped from his chest, but instead he was just catching his breath like he'd just taken a good hit.

Sam, at that time, thought it was a fluke.

But it kept happening.

They had a dangerous job and the threat of the apocalypse only made the monsters worse, but Dean was always unharmed. Not a single mark stained his body and the times something or someone managed to hurt him, those wounds always disappeared in less than a day.

"You test him, right?" Sam whispered to Bobby, as soon as Dean went to buy something for dinner and Sam stayed with the excuse of researching something on a new book.

"Who?"

"Dean," Sam clarified. “After he was resurrected”.

"Of course I test him, Sam," Bobby hissed. “Do you think I'm stupid?”

"No, it's just…" Sam stopped speaking, realizing that his arguments at the moment would sound more like conspiracies. The fact that Dean was apparently untouchable wasn't exactly a bad thing.

"What?" Bobby asked sharply.

"Nothing," Sam replied, quickly coming up with an excuse. “It's just that I feel like there's something different about him”.

"Sam, your brother just came back from hell. Literal hell,” Bobby exclaimed slightly condescending. “His mind is trying to process a trauma that, as far as I know, no one has ever experienced. You can't expect him to be the same as before, because he won't be”.

"I know, Bobby."

"Then stop complaining".

So Sam stopped. After all, Dean was still Dean and the fact that nothing could hurt him was just one more reason for Sam to do everything he could so that nothing that could reach him.

•●•

The first time Dean went to sleep after being rescued from hell, in the uncomfortable but familiar couch in Bobby's house, he dreamed of a light.

A light so bright that he felt it might be able to melt his eyes out of his sockets, but at the same time it was warming a part of him that always seemed to be cold.

A light that was comforting and gentle. A light that meant love and salvation.

That night, in an abandoned barn in Illinois, Dean knew that he hadn't been dreaming at all.

•●•

When he was a kid and dad decided to start taking Dean on hunts, Sam used to kneel by his bedside and pray that god would keep his brother safe.

After Jess appeared nailed to the ceiling and their apartment was consumed by flames, Sam began to pray for forgiveness.

The day Dean was dragged to hell Sam stopped praying, because he knew that no one was listening to him.

But then Dean was saved. Dean was saved by an angel and Sam felt his faith restored. How he couldn’t have faith when an angel had achieved what he had been trying to do for months?

But apparently Sam Winchester couldn't have good things, because again his faith was destroyed and the angels, as Dean had said, were nothing more than dicks with wings.

The boy with the demon blood.

The curse Azazel left on him and the only chance they had to truly stop Lilith.

There was fear in Dean's eyes.

And that hurt so much more than anything the angels could have told him.

His powers were a curse, but he had stopped Samhain thanks to them. They may not have saved the seal, but an entire city was beginning their day with nothing to worry about thanks to them.

Sam was doing the right thing. He truly was.

It didn't matter that no one seemed to agree with him.

•●•

"Let me guess, you're here for the ‘I told you so’" Dean said, turning on the bench to look at the angel sitting next to him.

“No”.

“Well, good, cause I’m really not that interested”.

"I am not here to judge you, Dean." The angel's voice was surprisingly gentle and Dean tried to ignore the way the light from his halo suddenly looked alluring. Dean hadn't told anyone, not even Sam, what he could see.

Because Dean still wasn't entirely convinced that he hadn't gone crazy.

Big black wings curved slightly around both of them as they chatted and Dean, for a moment, stopped seeing Castiel, the righteous angel of the lord and only saw Cas, someone who looked as lost as Dean felt.

"I don't envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Dean," Cas whispered. “I truly don’t”.

Then Cas leaned into him and Dean felt his mind short circuit for a second, because the angel clearly seemed to want a kiss. But no, Cas stopped an inch from touching his lips, simply watching him simultaneously with the blue eyes of his vessel and with the hundreds of curious eyes of his true form.

“What…?” Dean's question was interrupted by something coming from Cas' lips and colliding with his. Dean instinctively parted his lips and allowed Cas to give him whatever he wanted.

It wasn't liquid, but it wasn't a gas either. It was tasteless and Dean didn't feel it pass down his throat or vanish in his mouth. His heart raced and he felt… safe. Blessed.

As soon as it started it was over and by the time Dean managed to control his heartbeat, Cas had vanished and no one seemed to have witnessed what had happened.

•●•

Ruby didn't like Dean.

For many reasons, some more obvious or justifiable than others. But for the sake of the role Sam had to play, Ruby forced herself to cooperate with the older of the Winchesters.

But this was too much.

The mere presence of Dean made her feel like there were cockroaches crawling all over her body. His soul had taken on a new glow and Ruby didn't want to know what kind of things Dean was doing with his angel to have that kind of purity.

"I think there's something wrong with Dean," Sam confessed and Ruby could feel the fear making his voice shake or maybe the shaking came from the blood that was still running down her arm.

"What are you talking about?" Ruby asked sweetly, almost genuinely concerned. If it were up to her Dean would still be rotting in hell, but Sam was on his way of doing a miracle and Ruby felt that someone like that deserved all the happiness and satisfaction in the world. Even if it meant having to put up with Dean Winchester.

"He looks different," Sam said. "I think the angels are doing something to him. My brother would never have..."

"What?" Ruby prompted. "Would never have risked his life for an angel?"

"Well, no".

Ruby had a sudden epiphany that they weren't talking about Ana.

"Maybe the angels are… purifying him," Ruby suggested. "I mean, you know what he did when he was in hell".

The idea of ​​Dean, brave and kind Dean, torturing souls in hell and enjoying it was too funny to be true.

"It's something more than that".

"What do you think it is?"

"I don't know!"

Ruby thought that they had already wasted a lot of time talking about Dean, so she decided to silence Sam with a deep and dirty kiss, climbing onto his lap and thinking that heaven could purify Dean as much as they wanted, because she would see to it that Sam was more powerful than they could ever imagine.

•●•

The angels had taken his brother and Sam swore he was going to kill them as soon as he found them.

Wasn't it enough that they were manipulating and corrupting him, they also had to make him relive what happened in hell?

Dean had protected him from many things. Dean, his older brother, had taken it upon himself to give him a childhood that he never allowed himself to have. Dean had been in the front row of his school play. Dean had made him tomato rice soup whenever he got sick. Dean had put a wad of money and a cell phone in his bag when he had left for Stanford.

Dean had sold his soul to save him.

So now it was Sam's turn to save his older brother.

•●•

"For what it's worth," Cas murmured against his lips. Dean was shuddering with what could be fear or perhaps anticipation. "I would give anything not to have you do this".

•●•

Sam had killed Alistair and Dean was furious.

Hundreds of emotions were piling up in his mind and he wasn't able to understand how his brother could be so stupid to not see that his powers were changing him for the worse. Dean could feel that something was wrong with Sam and his little brother didn't seem to mind.

"I did it to save you!" Sam insisted, throwing his hands up as if Dean was going to lunge at him despite still being slightly dizzy from the hospital drugs. "I only used my powers to protect you when the angels couldn't!"

"Cas did the best he could."

"Really?" There was a note of hysteria in Sam's voice. "Are you going to defend him?"

"Sam..."

"He forced you to torture Alistair despite knowing what you did in hell!"

"He had no other choice!"

"He's using you!"

"But at least he has never lied to me!"

The lightbulb in the room exploded.

Both brothers froze and Dean could see that Sam was breathing heavily and refusing to meet his eyes.

"Sammy?"

"I'm going to get some air," was all Sam said before he practically ran out of the room.

Leaving Dean wondering if things between them would one day stop being so broken.

•●•

Dean's eyes glowed blue.

Angelic blue.

Sam had to save his brother before it was too late.

•●•

The first time Dean healed him, Sam felt like something inside him was burning.

It had been a hunt like any other. No seals threatening to break, no angels or demons. Just the two of them against an angry ghost, just like old times.

Except the ghost was really angry and by the time Dean managed to burn their bones, Sam had been thrown into several graves and several trees and he was sure the back of his head was bleeding.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, running up to him and gently laying him on the ground, with his head in his lap, examining the severity of the injury. Sam felt like a little kid again, feeling safe next to his big brother.

For a moment, there was no apocalypse or arguments. Just the warmth of his brother's body and gentle fingers running through his hair.

"Dean, I'm fine," Sam managed to say. "You know how much head injuries bleed. It's less serious than it seems".

"I know, Sammy".

And then Sam felt the soft strokes on his hair turn into flames and a gasp escaped from his throat. The pain lasted only a second and by the time Sam regained awareness of his surroundings, none of his injuries were still hurting.

"What did you do to me?" Sam hissed, pulling away from Dean and standing up quickly and nearly falling back to the ground from the wave of nausea that washed over him.

"I… I don't know." Dean looked as terrified as Sam felt. "I just wanted to make you feel better".

Dean wasn't normal anymore. Whatever the angels had done or were doing to him was changing his brother.

And Sam no longer knew if he could save him.

•●•

"What's happening to me, Cas?" Dean asked. Trying to convince himself that his little brother was safe and that even though Lilith had escaped, she at least hadn't made any deals with Sam.

"You're changing," was Cas' soft reply. "A metamorphosis, a revelation".

"Am I not human anymore?" Dean asked with his voice showing the terror he really felt.

"You're always going to be human, Dean," Cas reassured him. "Every saint, every messiah, was as human as you".

"I don't deserve this, Cas," Dean gasped, closing his eyes to avoid seeing Castiel, his wings and halo, his eyes and his light. He wasn’t worthy of witnessing the greatness of an angel, not this angel at least.

"Do you still think you don't deserve to be saved?" Cas whispered and Dean trembled slightly as he felt a warm hand gently touch his chin, forcing him to look up and open his eyes. Cas was looking at him so adoringly that Dean felt like he was going to combust in any minute. "Do you think you don't deserve to be loved?"

This is love? Dean almost asked, but instead he connected his lips to those of the angel in front of him and tried to ignore the way in which, for the first time since he had been dragged to hell, he felt pure.

•●•

Castiel couldn't keep doing this.

Heaven had lied to them. Castiel had delusionally believed that he was keeping Dean safe, that he was rendering him immune to demons, healing his wounds and protecting him from all danger.

When in reality Castiel had only been poisoning him.

Shame mingled with guilt within his grace. His wings were flapping as fast as they could, pulling him towards Dean. Trying to warn him about what heaven was planning. Trying to save him from the hell Castiel had condemned him to.

The angels found him first.

Castiel felt how his wings were imprisoned and how his entire being seemed to be consumed by the most absolute pain.

"Take him to Naomi," ordered one of his superiors. "Fix him as soon as possible".

The last thing Castiel felt was the bond he had begun to form with Dean being brutally ripped apart.

•●•

No demon could touch him and surprisingly that wasn't the strangest revelation Dean had that day.

No, the fact that the demon that tried to touch him in Jimmy Novak's house let out a scream of pain as he held onto his burned hand paled in comparison to everything else:

Seeing Sam, his baby brother, throw himself on a demon to drink her blood, broke his heart in a way that Dean couldn't even begin explain.

After that, seeing how Cas looked like his wings had been passed through a shredder while his true form's eyes seemed dull and unfocused only served to make his wounded heart surrender completely.

Dean was practically invincible, but right now, with the broken pieces of his heart trying to stick together, he felt more fragile than any glass.

•●•

Bobby wasn't having a good day.

No, that wasn't good enough, Bobby wasn't having a good life.

But this day was particularly bad.

No matter how much he wanted to ignore them, Bobby could still hear Sam's delirious screams. And to think that the boy who had entered his house years ago, hiding behind his older brother and observing everything with big eyes full of curiosity, was now going through a detoxification process for having consumed demon blood, was something that Bobby could hardly tolerate.

The fact that Dean was a mess didn't help much either.

Dean appeared to be a shadow, drowning in alcohol and carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Bobby wondered if there was something wrong with him too, for on more than one occasion the lights around him seemed to flicker and his eyes seemed to emit a strange light.

What had these two idjits gotten themselves into now?

•●•

Dean didn't know what else to do anymore.

"She's poison, Sam," Dean said, praying his brother saw reason. Sam just gave him a wry smile.

"What about Castiel?" Sam hissed and Dean instinctively took a step back. "Is he poison too, Dean?"

They had both lied to each other and here were the consequences.

"Cas is an angel," Dean replied. "He's just protecting me".

"What makes you different from me?" Sam asked. "Tell me, why are you allowed to be a freak and I'm not?"

"Sam that's not how things are..."

"Of course they are!" Sam yelled. "All my life I have been the freak of our family, I never fit in with you and dad, and I was ready to accept that I'm different from you, but it turns out that you are the same freak as me!"

"It's different and you know it, Sam," Dean tried to argue. "Cas never made me drink his blood, he never made me promises too good to be true, and he never made me addicted to anything".

"Why?" Sam asked, sounding exactly like the scared little kid who had believed that the monster under his bed was real. Dean felt his heart ache. "Why if we are both freaks I have to be the monster?"

"It's not too late, Sam," Dean pleaded. "We can still stop this. No angels and no demons, just you and me. Like before".

"I… I can't do that, Dean," Sam denied.

"Of course you can," Dean insisted, moving slowly toward Sam. "Say goodbye to Ruby, return with me to Bobby's house and we will find a way to end it all. I just want you to be okay, Sammy".

Sam's skin began to burn the moment Dean placed his hand on his arm.

No.

"Sammy?" Dean didn't recognize his own voice, he felt like his body had ceased to be his. A witness of his worst nightmares. A tear ran down his cheek. "Sammy, please".

The blow hurt less than the implications of what just happened.

•●•

It wasn't fair.

None of this was fair.

The place where Dean's hand had touched it still hurt. A reminder of what he had sacrificed for the greater good. A mockery of what he had lost by trying to be a hero.

But he couldn't stop, not now that he was so close to ending it all. Not when it was only a matter of hours before Lilith tried to break the final seal.

Ruby's presence was a comfort with the same intensity as a punishment, because Dean hadn't trusted him the way she did, but still Sam wanted the presence of his older brother.

That part of him that had believed for years that his older brother was a superhero right now wanted to run up to his brother and beg for forgiveness.

But Sam was no longer a child and his brother had made a decision.

It was time for Sam to made his, too.

•●•

The angels had kidnapped him. There was no other way to describe what they had done to him, but Dean had made a promise and he planned to keep it. So he stayed there and listened to what the angels told him.

But the moment Zacharias leaned toward him, his movements clinical and expressionless in a way Cas' had never been, Dean couldn't resist the urge to seal his lips, lower his gaze, and take several steps back.

"Dean," Zacharias sighed, as if Dean was a little kid who didn't want to eat his vegetables.

"No," Dean refused and before he could regret it he added. "I want Castiel to do it".

The expression on Cas' face was heartbroken.

"Very well," Zacharias agreed, before ordering Cas to come over to him.

With Cas' lips so close to his and with the warmth of what he now knew was grace enveloping his body, Dean wondered if Sam had been right and Cas had been poisoning him too.

Perhaps both of them had poisoned each other.

"You're almost ready," Zacharias marveled when Cas broke away from him. "Everything will go according to plan".

Dean wasn't so sure about that anymore.

•●•

"Sam," Ruby said, her dark eyes showing a panic Sam never remembered seeing. "Time is running out, are you going to do it or not?"

With Dean's voice telling him that he was a monster echoing in his head, Sam knew he really had no other choice.

•●•

"You know what's real?" Dean asked and didn't wait for an answer before grabbing the lapels of Cas' trenchcoat and slamming his lips against his.

Cas seemed to freeze for a moment before reciprocating the kiss with intensity. His black wings curved around both of them and Dean felt the heat of his halo brushing against his hair. Invisible hands caressed his skin and hundreds of eyes watched him adoringly.

"This is real," Dean gasped as they parted. "This, us, people, families— that's real. You're gonna watch them all burn, Cas?"

"What would you have me do, Dean?" Cas whispered. His wings trembling slightly.

"Get me to Sam," Dean said. "We can stop this before it's too late".

"I do that, we will all be hunted," Cas replied. "We'll all be killed".

"If there is anything worth dying for... this is it" was all Dean could say.

Dean barely had time to react before he was being pushed into one of the walls and kissed desperately. Dean raised his hands to tangle them in Cas' hair and parted his lips the moment he felt Cas' tongue touch his lower lip.

His body accepted Cas' grace with ease.

"We have to find Sam, we have to stop him from killing Lilith," Cas told him when they parted.

"Why?" Dean asked, feeling a little dizzy. "Lilith is going to break the final seal".

"Lilith is the final seal," Cas said. "She dies; the end begins".

•●•

Sam had never felt a power like this.

It was all about to end and he could finally have the life he deserved. His nightmare would end and everything Azazel had planned would be in vain. Sam would use the powers that hell had given him for good. He would use the demon blood that ran through his veins to prevent the apocalypse.

And maybe, when things finally ended, Sam could apologize to Dean and all of this would be nothing more than a bad memory.

Lilith was smiling and Sam was eager to erase that smile once and for all.

Finally, everything was about to end.

•●•

Castiel was committing treason.

He didn't even think twice before vanishing Zacharias and carrying Dean as quickly as his wings allowed him to the house of the prophet of the lord. It was the only chance they had to find Sam and stop the apocalypse before it started.

"You guys aren't supposed to be there," said the prophet, frowning. "You're not in this story".

"Yeah, well..." Castiel said. "We're making it up as we go".

Castiel then took a moment to look at Dean, his soul shining as bright as the sun and cradling his grace as if he never wanted to be without it. Castiel felt a wave of affection for the human he had rescued from hell, for the man who had kissed his lips like a lover.

He sensed the archangel's presence long before he appeared and Castiel knew that they had run out of time.

Regardless of whether the prophet was watching them, Castiel pulled Dean to share a heavy kiss. A kiss of regret for lost time. A goodbye kiss.

"I'll hold him off!" Castiel gasped against Dean's lips, allowing most of his grace to flow to him. If Castiel couldn't protect him, at least he would make sure his grace did. "I'll hold them all off! Just stop Sam!"

Dean connected their lips one last time.

"Good luck".

In the end, Dean had been right. This was something worth dying for.

•●•

He had been too late.

•●•

"I was the best of all those sons of bitches!" Ruby yelled, a maniacal smile curving her lips. "The most loyal!"

Sam had stopped listening to her, just staring in horror at what he had done.

This is not how things are supposed to be. This shouldn't have been the end of this. He had made a stupid mistake, he had been arrogant and he had been naive. Sam had only wanted to protect the world; he had only wanted to take some of the burden off his brother's shoulders.

Sam, for once in his life, had just wanted to do something right.

"You're too late," Ruby scoffed and Sam felt like he might start crying when he saw his big brother.

"I don't care," Dean hissed and Sam could only watch paralyzed as Dean placed his hand on Ruby's forehead and she started screaming, her eyes on fire and the demonic essence of her fading.

"I'm sorry," Sam sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Dean".

Dean couldn't even look him in the eye.

"We have to get out of here," was all Dean said. "Let's go, Sam".

"Dean," Sam gasped. "He's coming".

Dean ignored him, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the exit.

For the first time in months, Dean's touch was no longer uncomfortable.

•●•

The apocalypse had begun.

[maxwell-grant]

OK, I know this will probably be painful, and I may be a bad mutual for asking but...would you be willing to identify what, in your opinion are the bottom five worst Shadow adaptations, and give a detailed breakdown of why they were so lousy?

Oh christ, okay. I don't think you're gonna get as much of a detailed breakdown for these compared to some of the others, because I take more issue with adaptations that do have good qualities but also big or deep problems to talk about.

For example, I can't include Garth Ennis's Shadow in this list because the comic has a lot of strong points to it, despite a deeply, deeply detestable take on The Shadow's character, where as the rest of the Dynamite run doesn't reach neither the lows or highs of his run. Likewise, Andy Helfer's run has a couple or a couple dozen moments every issue that make me want to tear something to shreds in frustration, but it's also at many points a really good comic with great art and some occasionally very inspired writing. Really, I'd just be repeating myself talking about what I hate in those.

But, fine, let's list some of the others.

I think I'm just gonna have to get the elephant in the room out of the way here, and address that I won't be including Si Spurrier's 2017 Dynamite mini in this list, and I think at least some of you might be angry it's not Number 1 by default. I'm doing this because I intend to one day really revisit it, think about it and it's reception and what it was trying to do, and talk about it on it's own, now that it's been 5 years and everyone has moved on and we can maybe talk about it without kneejerk hatred driving everyone nuts (your mileage may vary on how warranted it was).

I'm also not going to be talking about James Patterson's new novel, because I haven't read it. It seems to be considered a forgettable potboiler by mainstream critics and a resounding failure by everyone who likes the character whether they've read the book or not, and frankly I don't have it in me to learn what the fuzz was about anytime soon, I got my hands way too full as is.

And I won't be including the Batman x Shadow crossovers here, because again, they do have a lot of virtues that put them far ahead of some of the really worst Shadow media, and I've talked enough about how badly I think they mangled The Shadow, which is really the big problem I have with them (well, that and Tim Sale blatantly copying a Michael Kaluta cover, that was really shitty). I don't really hate them anymore, I just get tired and frustrated thinking about parts of them, I said my piece as is. Really, my frustration over this comic is what inspired me to start writing about The Shadow here, so I guess in a way I do owe it at least that much.

5: Archie Comics's Shadow

I think some of you might be wondering why this isn't ranked higher, but to be honest, I don't actually harbor any hatred towards this. I mean, I have to include it, but I find it kinda silly that some people even today actually care about the existence of this comic enough to hate it.

For fans back then? Oh yeah, obviously, but this dropped to such instantaneous backlash that it never really got to live past 6 issues. Really, everything wrong about it can be understood immediately from the covers, and I've actually read the comic in it's entirety to see if there was anything worth taking. I found only a couple of things of note but, no, this really is just a painfully mediocre superhero comic that happens to have a couple of Shadow names in it. If anything, it gets too much credit.

The actual contents of what it is are never going to justify it's reputation, but the existence of it and the disproportionate response to it is the funniest and most enduring legacy it could ever ask for. This whole comic is The Shadow's version of Spongebob's embarassing Christmas photo.

4: David Liss's The Shadow Now

This is another "The Shadow as an immortal in modern times" comic and I think you may have noticed the pattern with those by now. I may revisit this eventually and I do have some moments from it saved for reference, but overall: It sucks, and it doesn't even suck in a way that lets me talk much about it, it's a diet version of Chaykin's Shadow. If Archie's Shadow is a generic mediocre superhero comic wearing The Shadow's name, this is a generic crime story playing beats from movie. The Shadow is an asshole and not even a grandiose or sinister one, he just feels like a sleazy douche in a costume. The art is a 50/50 coin toss between appropriately moody and "Google images with a filter on them", I don't remember anything about the plot other than Khan had a bomb again and he had a daughter, and there were new versions of the agents and the Harry stand-in turned evil and Lamont shacked up with Margo's descendant which, uh, no. I don't really hate this but I really have nothing nice to say about this comic other than Colton Worley's art is nice sometimes. I can't really muster anything else to say here.

3: Invisible Avenger

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZ...

...uuh, wha-

Yeah, I remember nothing about this one other than it's painfully boring and nothing about it, nothing at all, works in the slightest and I drift off to sleep even now trying to give this a rewatch. To be honest pretty much every other Shadow serial not starred by Victor Jory sucks and I don't really have anything to say about them, this one is just the worst of the lot. I dearly wish there was a good Shadow tv series but, if it was going to be like this pilot? Good riddance.

2: Harlan Ellison's The New York Review of Bird

This isn't really a Shadow story as much as it's a Harlan Ellison story that happens to feature The Shadow, but man am I glad that Ellison's "Dragon Shadows" was canned, because holy shit what a goddamn nightmare Harlan Ellison writing The Shadow for real could have been, going purely by the one time he ever touched the character. New York Review of Bird is a purely farcical parody story that wears real, real thin even before "Uncle Kent" shows up, and we get to see in it what is by far the most detestable and irredeemable take on The Shadow ever put on print, and not even in a critique or deconstructive way or anything that could be remotely worth discussing.

I don't hold any particular affection for Harlan Ellison and his writing (despite liking some of it) and I've come to notice the major red flag that is finding someone who looks up to Harlan Ellison in any capacity as a person, and this story in particular really feels like Ellison aggressively trying to channel his jackass tendencies through every line, just him being nasty because he built a personal brand on being nasty. The only reason this isn't Number One is because it's a very short story that saw zero influence or reputation, and thus it only exists as a brief mention in The Shadow wiki, and a brief mention is all it really calls for.

1: Howard Chaykin's Blood & Judgment

I'm guessing most of you already knew this one was in the top spot before I started writing.

I would actually rather not write a big piece on Blood & Judgment, because I think (or at least I hope) it's influence on The Shadow has waned a lot over the years and I would prefer to draw it the least amount of attention possible, but if I HAVE to talk about this, I guess I'd rather just vomit this out of my circuits now instead of giving it it's own post.

I would prefer to use a less unpleasant image on my blog, but if I'm going to talk about this comic, there's no image to better convey it than this drawing of macho asshole Cranston holding a sexualized mannequin at gunpoint. By leaps and bounds, Blood & Judgment is the most misogynistic Shadow story I've ever read. It's ironic that Chaykin justified the rampant misogyny he gave The Shadow with the idea that this is just a man from the 30s would act like, when he admits in the same breath that he never even touched the stories, and he wrote a story more sexist and demeaning to it's female characters than anything, literally anything, written in the Shadow pulps. It's almost impressive even.

I'll paste some segments from Randy Raynaldo's review

In Flagg, he intended to present his own point of view on American society while keeping his work tongue in cheek and acessible. But this vision dimmed, and Flagg had become a vehicle by which Chaykin could play out fetishes and portray gratuitous and stylish violence.

In The Shadow, stripped of the political and social veneer which was supposed to make Flagg unique, Chaykin's sensibilities and excesses become disturbingly apparent. For all of his liberal posturing, Chaykin's work demonstrates zero difference from the same kind of mentality exploited and made popular by similarly violent popular culture icons like Dirty Harry and Death Wish.

More than half a dozen individuals are indiscriminately and violently murdered in the first issue. Although the victims are characters who played major roles in the myth of The Shadow, we feel little sympathy for them, even for those of us who knew these characters at the outset. Who dies is unimportant, it's how they die that is the fascination.

Chaykin uses sexual decadence as a means by which to establish villains, and undercuts this device by making the protagonists as promiscuous as the villains. For all of Chaykin's seemingly liberal leanings, he demonstrates very little sensitivity in his portrayal of women.

Because everything works on rules of three, this comic also follows the pattern with other works mentioned here, as this isn't Howard Chaykin writing The Shadow: it's The Shadow reimagined as a Howard Chaykin character. He looks and acts exactly like Reuben Flagg and the typical macho protagonist of Chaykin's other works, he's a cynical sleaze with an entirely new origin who half-assedly dons a garb to machine gun people, and I already wrote a separate piece on why the machineguns are kind of emblematic of everything wrong with this take.

I understand that Chaykin has, or used to have, a big following of sorts, and I've tried to wrap my head around this for years, but I genuinely still don't get why Shadow fans stomach this comic unless they happen to be Chaykin fans first and foremost, I really don't. Everything, fucking everything Shadow fans hate about modern depictions of the character can be traced right back to this. The parts that stuck and changed the character for the worse, like him being defined as an immortal, bloodthirsty warmonger who got all his skills and powers from a magic city in Tibet, or Lamont Cranston being a coward who fears and hates the Shadow, or his agents being expendable slaves, stuff that has been ingrained into the mythos through this and the Alec Baldwin movie and other comics, to the point that people now think of it as the norm, that it's the baseline of what The Shadow is, and I hate it, I genuinely fucking hate it,

I hate it so much that it's a big part of the reason why I created this blog and why I want so badly to get to write The Shadow, because I plainly couldn't stand not having ways to tell people that this is all wrong, that this is actively shooting down the character's odds for success, and that they are missing out on something really great, because the well has been tainted with garbage that won't go away and everytime I read the words Shambala in a Shadow comic, even an otherwise good or great one, I get just a wee bit cross.

The only semi-redeeming aspects I can think of for this comic is one or two cool moments, like when The Shadow hijacks a concert using his Devil's Whisper or when he tames dogs with a stare. Just breadcrumbs of "not garbage" amidst an ocean of anything but. I hate that talking about why I hate this comic in-length can almost feel like I'm still enticing people to check it out of curiosity, but if you wanna do that, fine, just know this: The worst part of Blood & Judgment, even if you don't care at all about what it did to The Shadow, is that it's boring.

It is a deeply boring comic. If you like Howard Chaykin to begin with, you'll probably like this okay (although even Chaykin fans told me that this is his weakest work and that even he seems to agree). If you don't, I plain don't see what you could get out of this.

The comic itself is just nothing. It's the comic book equivalent of a pre-schooler trying to get a reaction by swearing. It has nothing whatsoever other than half-assed attempts at shock value. The plot isn't there, the ideas are stale, the dialogue is needlessly oblique and comprised entirely of unfinished sentences, interrupted conversations and one-liners without build-up. The characters are all unlikable and uninteresting stooges with no personality, or joyless cartoons. There's no heart or emotion or logic, and it isn't even funny enough to succeed as just an outrageous exercise in 80s excess. There's nothing in here.

I get "why" it was popular enough at the time, a rising star creator penning a modern revival of an old character based on controversy that pissed off the old fans, it's an old story that still gets repeated today. But manufactured controversy is not a replacement for storytelling and it rarely ever exists to benefit the people who actually want to enjoy the stories, it only benefits those for the crude benefit of those who want to sell you something out of the controversy.

I guess they got their money's worth back then.

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

Phew, okay, I did it, I finally vomited out a piece on Blood & Judgment and some others, allright, let's put this piece of negativity behind us now.

[kurinoot]

[day 6] six cute stickers | kageyama tobio

-> a court reporter who is a big fan of the Adlers and the team’s setter who has an inevitable crush on you (unbeknownst to you). seems like a good combination, right?

pairing: kageyama x fem!reader

themes: fluff, post-timeskip, court reporter!reader, pre-msby vs adlers, drunk!tobio

wc: 1.8k

note: I actually enjoyed writing this one LMAO bc the first part was somehow inspired from this video but make it a socially awkward tobiocchi uwu

*here’s a cranberry kiss for reference

As soon as the last spike secured the Adlers’ win, the game concluded for the Schweiden Adlers as the champion. The entire gymnasium was filled with a cacophonous roar, basking at the victorious team, hugging in joy. The sound of clapping balloons and an encouraging performance from the Adlers’ cheering squad added to the occasion. You were on the sidelines jumping in excitement as you held your microphone tightly as you screamed into the camera.

“And the Schweiden Adlers just sealed the win with that beautiful spike from Number 20 Kageyama Tobio, ladies and gentlemen!”, with a cue, Adlers-colored confetti scattered and were strewn in the entire venue.

The audience can be heard clapping in chorus, celebrating the result of the game. The players then started to exchange hands by the net before lining up to their respective sides, both yelling a “Thank you for the game!” as they bowed at each other before retreating to their benches to rest and hydrate.

The emcee gives a brief commentary, replaying the spike from earlier as you quickly ushered the cameraman into the team’s area before the camera directed to you.

“So here on the sidelines we have today’s victors, the Schweiden Adlers!”, the camera directed towards the  Brazilian ace, Nicolas Romero, as he prompted the other members to position themselves for the camera. The entire team stood, hogging the camera in joy.

“And here, we have the handsome Brazilian ace, Nicolas Romero!”, you ushered as you could see some of the members smiling and waving in front of the camera as you went to interview them.

“Congratulations to you guys! Not only did you win today’s game, but you also won the hearts of the entire gymnasium!”, to which most of them replied with “Thank you!”. You could only suppress your inner fangirl as you clapped in excitement, much to the happiness of the team.

“That last match was intense! So how do you guys feel after that match?”, you asked with a smile.

“Of course we can’t say that we’re not tired, but that game was exhilarating, to say the least.” Romero answered as he pats the back of his teammates.

“It was a close one! But you managed to score at the last second!”

“Well, I’d like to give credit to our amazing setter,”, the team pushed the flustered setter to the front as Nicolas pulled him up close next to him. “Kageyama! If it wasn’t for him, we could’ve flopped!”, he goes on as he patted the blueberry-eyed flustered setter, who couldn’t face straight at the camera. You gave him a grin that even reddened the already-flustered setter, who unbeknownst to you may or may not have a crush on you for some time now.

“Kageyama-san,” you called, startling the nervous setter. “That was some quick decision-making in there for you to spike that ball with the blockers targeting you! It was amazing! What made you lead to that decision? How did you feel about that spike?”, you directed the microphone to him with the cameras focusing towards Kageyama, who shuffled nervously before giving an awkward smile.

“I-I-It was k-knife, n-nuff, nice...”, he stutters as his eyes shift away from you as Nicolas laughs along with you and patted Kageyama’s back.

“And so, to all the fans who have been asking, do any of you guys have a special valentine today?”, you teasingly asked, garnering various reactions from them as you pointed the microphone in their direction, hoping that at least someone answers your suggestive question. You can see the team knowingly look at each other (with the exception of Ushijima) as they thrusted an awkwardly flustered Kageyama into the spotlight of the camera. You could only smile at the setter which didn’t help his situation.

You flash him with a smile as you ask the setter, “So Kageyama-san, is there a special person you’re expecting for Valentines?” Unbeknownst to you, the rest of his teammates were silently whistling from behind.

“Go get her, mah boy!”, Romero inaudibly cheers on the sidelines.

“U-Uhm, u-uh...”, he stutters, as the setter tries to grasp what’s left of his ability to talk properly. You could only giggle and gave him an encouraging fist pump that was visible to him, which only short-circuited his brain more. You look back at the camera and could only breathe back with a “Sorry to the fans, looks like our setter here has someone in mind this valentines. She is one lucky girl! And so, back to you, emcee!” You wrapped up as you bowed to the team before one of the staff approached you.

“Ah, Y/N-san, the captain says we’re gonna go to a nearby bar later after the clean up, are you free today?”, Romero suddenly wraps an arm around your shoulders, “We plan going out to celebrate with the team. How about we all go later?”

You nodded as you hurriedly walked with the staff member, waving at the Adlers as you left. “Then we’ll all see you later at the bar!” Romero knowingly winks at Kageyama, flustered at the gesture.

After the occasion, you and your colleagues arrived to celebrate at a nearby bar. The bustling atmosphere welcomes you and the staff, settling in a celebratory mood. Your colleagues went ahead to grab an empty seat as you followed suit.

”Hey, it’s that cute reporter girl, Kageyama!”, Hoshiumi teases as soon as he notices your entrance, nudging at the setter.

You spot the rowdy team at a side with a laughing Romero before waving at the white-haired spiker. “Hoshiumi-san!”, you waved back, garnering the attention of the rest of the team. “Ah hello, reporter-san!”, the captain Hirugami waves at you, still sober as he looks out for his teammates. You waved and bowed at him in reply before taking a seat with your colleagues.

“You know, she’s been at our every game, and maaan… I wonder if she’s single. She’s really cute, you hear me Kags?”, Hoshiumi teases further as he eyes your every action, perching a chin on his hand as he sipped from his pint. Kageyama felt a sting in his chest as he looked away from the spiker.

“I don’t know about that.” His eyes glanced at your figure from afar as you laughed at one of your colleagues’ jokes. “She might already have a boyfriend…”, he silently muttered, still gazing at you. He watches you walk up to the bar counter, ordering something as the bartender did a series of flips. Hoshiumi abruptly stood from his seat.

“H-hey! Where are you going, Hoshiumi-san?”, he panickingly says as he grabs the spiker’s jacket. He looked at Kageyama with a confident smirk.

“Ordering a Cranberry Kiss.”, he says with underlying intent in a teasing manner before Kageyama’s grip loosened. Hoshiumi huffs as he walks toward the bar counter, approaching you. Kageyama carefully watches the scene, his grip on the handle of his glass tightening as Hoshiumi tells a few stories, making you laugh at the little giant. Romero clears his throat that catches Kageyama’s attention.

“You have a good grip on the game, but,” Romero stops as he looks at you and Hoshiumi talking. “For a young man yourself—”

“Stop.”

Romero pauses, looking back at Kageyama. “I’m not a good talker like you or Hoshiumi-san,” he stands up, his eyes looking at his feet. “Or even cool as Hirugami-san.” He shuffled as he walked towards the comfort room. Romero sighs as he drinks from his glass.

“Kageyama-san,” Romero swirls the whiskey in his glass, startling Kageyama, smiling at the young setter. “You won’t know if you don’t try.”

“But—”

“Just be yourself, meu irmão.”, he chuckles before downing the whiskey, leaving Kageyama confused at his statement.

You laugh and smile at Hoshiumi’s antics. Before he could finish his joke, a few fans approached him, taking away his attention from you. Kageyama spots you alone at the counter as you wait for your drinks. He looks around for the white-haired spiker with his fans as he tries to calm himself before approaching you. You quickly noticed his presence, giving him a smile that stuns the setter, a hint of red rising in his cheeks.

“Oh, Kageyama-kun!”, you grinned as Kageyama nodded, stiffening at the interaction. You motioned to an empty seat next to you, obeying as you placed your chin on your hand, looking at him. “So, what can I do for you?”

He felt the heat getting to his head, his cheeks reddening at the intimate space. “O-ordering a C-Cranberry K-K-Kiss.”, he nervously stuttered, trying hard to imitate Hoshiumi’s suave delivery earlier much to his chagrin. You laughed as you motioned for the bartender. “Two Cranberry Kiss on the rocks.” The bartender nodded, flipping and pouring several bottles at once.

“A-ah but what about—”, you looked at him, confused at his sentence. He unknowingly bit his lip as he looked away, cursing at his own awkwardness. “Oh, you mean my colleagues? They’ll be fine! And besides,” You and Kageyama suddenly locked eyes with each other, absorbed in your own space at the bustling bar. “A drink is best enjoyed with someone.”

Kageyama could scream at the moment, if it weren’t the people around them. He could feel his sweat running down and the heat rising in the air as his eyes glided over your features: from the strands that defined your face, to your long lashes which revealed your Y/E/C eyes, reflecting him, before gazing at your alluring colored something-glossed lips.

The moment was cut short as the bartenders served your drinks. You tipped the bartender as he resumed to serve other customers, leaving you and Kageyama alone once again. You picked the cocktail, inching it close to your lips.

The members remaining at the table watched at the scene unraveling before them as Kageyama stiffly held the drink as he drank it in one gulp, stunning you and the others, much to their amusement.

“I never thought of you as a drinker. All I knew is that you love milk.”, you laughed as Kageyama furiously blushed, calming himself as he set the glass down.

“I also drink once or twice. B-but not all the time!”, he says, worked up as you chuckled. Hoshiumi appeared out of the blue, patting Kageyama on the back. You both looked in unison as the team were gathered. “Oi, time to go, Kageyama!”, Hoshiumi says as the team  left the bar one by one.

“Anyway, I’d like to give this to you before you go.”, you said, reaching into your breast pocket, revealing a pack of six stickers which you personally made as a fan of his team.

“Consider it as my gift for you.”, you continued, winking at him before you joined with your colleagues.

Tobio quickly grabs the pack, immediately feeling a surge of happiness as he opens it to find a sticker of his face, the Schweiden Adlers logo, his jersey shirt, a Mikasa volleyball, and to his amusement a carton of milk as well as a container of yogurt. He smiles in pure joy before seeing the back of the paper lining up the pack legibly scribbled with “0X-XXXX-XXXX”. It might have been the last straw before his head inevitably (and figuratively) exploded at the revelation.

back to valentines masterlist

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Magnificent Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a squeal-inducing date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

There’s a phone call that comes BEFORE the date: here

Valentine’s 2020 Collection: Gavin // Kiro // Lucien

The date begins with MC sitting alone in a café. The temperature is incredibly hot, and the fragrance of roses is in the air.

She’s on a video call with Anna, who very helpfully establishes the context for us - Victor brought MC to South America to participate in the Rose Festival as a “reward” for completing an assignment the previous year.

It’s MC’s final day in this foreign country, and she wants to make full use of it.

Anna notes that MC’s complexion doesn’t look good. MC looks at herself in the screen and realizes that she indeed looks paler than usual. She says the weather is too warm, so she feels a little faint.

Anna is still worried about MC as she remembers how MC did quite a lot of overtime before leaving for the vacation. MC tells Anna to hide this matter from Victor.

Anna: You haven’t…

Anna stops abruptly, her eyes looking at something behind me. Having a bad feeling, I turn around.

Finished with his video-conference, Victor walks down the stairs towards me, wearing his usual suit.

He stands behind me, his eyes sweeping over the phone screen on the table before raising an eyebrow.

Victor: What are you hiding from me?

Anna ends the call.

MC: Your meeting is over?

I flash Victor a wide smile, forcefully changing the topic.

Victor: It ended earlier than expected.

Victor doesn’t press further. He loosens his tie. I realise that there is a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

MC: You didn’t have to rush over. Don’t you feel warm dressed like that?

Victor: It’s still okay.

He lifts the small luggage beside me, then picks up the sun hat on the table and places it on my head.

Victor: There are still a few hours before the event starts. That “Travel Guide” you did on the plane can be put to use now.

I widen my eyes and look at him from underneath my hat.

MC: How did you know about that? I thought I did it covertly…

Victor: What do you think? Of course I saw it.

MC: So you weren’t sleeping at all!

Hearing my “accusation”, Victor glances at me, his tone slightly teasing.

Victor: Someone’s soliloquy woke me up.

MC: Since you know about it… leave the rest to me. Let’s set out towards the Rose Festival!

Ignoring the discomfort in my body, I raise a fist in the air in high spirits.

There is a look of resignation in Victor’s eyes, but the corners of his lips are dyed with the warmth of sunlight, hooking upwards into a slight smile.

Victor: I shall wait and see then.

They go for a walk:

MC: I heard the Rose Festival has been around for a few hundred years!

I look at the flower baskets sold along the streets, and I feel like getting one.

MC: On this day, the men will invite their other half to dance. They will find the “most beautiful rose” during the event, and he will present it to her with a lover’s kiss. Isn’t it very romantic?

I share what I had read up online. Victor listens to me quietly, his thin lips pursing into a nice smile.

Victor: You did your homework.

MC: Of course I did! You specially accompanied me here, so of course I’d want you to have a memorable experience!

Victor: Haven’t you gotten it the other way round?

My grand ambition is suddenly interrupted. Victor takes the small slip of paper containing our travel plans from me and puts it into his breast pocket.

Victor: This is my “reward” to you. All you have to do is enjoy this trip.

Amid the unique architecture of this foreign country, Victor’s eyes seem to become more tender. It gives me the sudden urge to capture and record this moment.

MC: Victor, I’ll help you take a photograph?

I lift the camera that is hanging around my neck and point it towards him.

MC: Cooperate and give me a smile! I’ll shout “three, two, one”, and you say “pudding”!

To my surprise, Victor frowns.

Victor: Why pudding?

MC: Because I feel you wouldn’t shout “brinjal”… Or else you could use another word?

The crease in between Victor’s eyebrows smoothens out. He nods.

MC: Have you thought about it? I’m going to take the shot now! Three, two, one-

Victor: Dummy.

When I press the shutter, I hear Victor’s soft yet clear voice.

In the picture, Victor has a small smile on his face.

My heart rate suddenly accelerates. I lift my head to respond with a retort, but a sudden wave of weakness floods my entire body.

The blazing sun makes me feel especially dizzy.

MC: I…

The camera almost slips from my hands. I sway for a moment before falling into Victor’s arms, and he realises something is amiss.

In my flustered state, I see anxiety written on Victor’s face. I open my mouth, trying my best to form words.

MC: Victor, I don’t feel very well…

~

The hotel room separates us from the blazing noon sun. I am seated on the bed, my head slightly hazy from heatstroke. The ceiling fan spins slowly, dispelling the heat in the air.

This room that Victor managed to book at short notice has been decorated with several rose-related ornaments because of the Rose Festival.

The rose petals which were originally on the bed have been scattered all around, adding a touch of fragrance to the humid air.

The sound of the door being knocked cuts me off from my thoughts.

After half a second, I hear the sound of the door being unlocked. Victor walks in, carrying a grocery bag.

Victor: How do you feel now?

MC: I feel much better after taking the medicine.

To ease his worries, I summon my strength to give him a smile.

MC: Though we’d probably have to miss the Rose Festival…

Victor: You’re still thinking about that?

Victor puts the bag on the table. He walks over and presses his hand against my forehead. I relish the coolness of his touch.

Victor: Your temperature has gone down, but you still need to rest.

After checking on my condition, he draws his hand back. He removes his outer suit and places it at the side of the bed. Then, he returns to the table and takes out the items from the bag.

MC: What did you buy?

Victor: Ingredients. It’s more appropriate for you to eat milder foods.

Victor’s back is facing me. I see that the back of his shirt is drenched with sweat. I bite my lower lip, my heart suddenly feeling lighter.

MC: I’m not that hungry actually. Just getting something from the hotel would be fine.

Victor: It’s so rare that we’re here. You want to eat those kinds of things?

Victor turns to toss me a glance, directly rejecting my idea.

MC: Then… at least take a break first?

Victor: No need. You should sleep for a while.

Victor walks into the small kitchenette with the ingredients, and the sound of splashing water follows. Hearing him cook, I start smiling.

I’m unable to sleep peacefully in my current state. Something horrifying is chasing me in my dream, causing me to scrunch up my eyebrows.

MC: Uhh… don’t go!

In a moment of peril, I grab onto something that gives me a sense of assurance, and refuse to let go.

Victor: Dummy.

A familiar sigh travels to my ear, enabling my tense self to relax. I enter a deep sleep.

An unknown duration passes before I regain consciousness. My body feels like it is being enveloped, and I’m unable to move.

I struggle to open my eyes, but all I see is a patch of skin.

MC: !!

I widen my eyes instantly, my drowsiness vanishing completely-

Victor is also lying on the bed, his arms encasing me tightly, taking an afternoon nap.

I am leaning in the crook of his neck and am able to see his chin if I look upwards. I feel his steady, gentle breathing - like a single feather - on my ear.

My brain short circuits and I have no idea how the scene before me occurred - until I see how my fingers are tightly wound around Victor’s tie.

While I was dreaming, I had pulled on Victor’s tie, which in turn tugged his shirt open as well, revealing his bare chest.

I control my eyes before they can trail further downwards, and immediately let go of the tie.

Perhaps disturbed by this movement, Victor frowns, his eyelashes twitching under the light.

I shut my eyes, pretending that I’m still asleep.

The body that is pressed against mine shifts slightly with a rustle. The sound of Victor’s breathing seems to change.

He weaves a hand through my hair, his slender fingers gently sliding along the strands. Every minute movement faithfully travels to the ends of my nerves.

I don’t dare to move even the slightest inch. Feeling nervous, my temperature rises, and I feel my back break out in a thin layer of sweat.

The hand resting on my body shifts. Our close proximity makes it easy to visualise even the slightest movement in my mind.

Victor: Why are you sweating so much?

His low voice is tinged with slight suspicion. I’m wondering if I should open my eyes at this moment, but Victor’s palm ends up on my back.

The sudden contact makes me want to quiver, but I suppress my body’s instinctive response.

Fortunately, Victor retracts his hand. He slowly extricates his wrist from under me.

The body warmth suddenly vanishes, leaving me feeling slightly dejected. Soon, the sound of running water can be heard from the bathroom.

MC: Huff…

I release a long breath and open my eyes slowly.

Victor is no longer in the room, but the parts of my skin that he had touched feel as though they are on fire. My heart rate is unable to settle down.

The sound of running water stops. When I see Victor walking out, I shut my eyes once again.

The spot next to me on the bed sinks. Victor sits at the side of the bed, picking out a few strands of hair from my face.

Victor: MC? Are you awake?

MC: Uh…

I pretend to swipe his hands away blearily, but he continues placing the back of his hand against the side of my cheek.

Victor: Why has your temperature gone up again?

He draws his hand back, replacing his warmth with a wet towel. He gently wipes off the sweat on my temples.

Even though I know that he is genuinely helping me lower my temperature, I am completely unable to control my own senses.

The soft towel trails down my neck. Victor’s fingers unintentionally brush against my lower neck, causing me to tremble slightly.

A bead of sweat trickles off my face, sliding down my neck and disappearing into my hair.

Victor pauses. I squeeze my eyes shut, but my eyelids twitch uneasily.

It’s as though my body has decided to go against me in every way. At this moment, my stomach releases a string of low growls.

MC: …

Quiet air flows in the room. I remain stiffly in position, not moving at all.

Victor: You’re awake?

My eyelashes twitch, but I still don’t dare to open my eyes.

Victor lets out a low laugh, then leans over slowly. I sense a large shadow looming over me through my eyelids, and I stop breathing.

Victor: How much longer will you pretend to be asleep?

MC: I… I’m awake.

Seeing that I can no longer put up this pretence, I open my eyes slightly and watch as Victor straightens up.

Victor: If you’re awake, get up and have something to eat.

After a late lunch, MC notes to herself that even though they can’t go for the Rose Festival, spending time together alone with Victor is not bad either.

She notices that there is a bottle of red wine on a low shelf, and that it doesn’t have a label.

Victor: You still want to drink after having a heatstroke?

Victor’s sudden voice from behind gives me a fright.

MC: I was just curious… did you buy this bottle just now? Why doesn’t it have a label?

Victor: It’s home brewed wine from the Market Fair. It has a special flavour.

MC: Special? Was it brewed by some famous master?

Victor: Not a master. Didn’t you want to find the “most beautiful rose” earlier?

I fail to understand the meaning of his words, but Victor doesn’t continue explaining. He skilfully removes the oak stopper, pouring the rose-coloured wine into a glass.

Along with the scent of wine, a sweet-smelling aroma permeates the air. I can’t help but let out a deep sigh.

Victor arches an eyebrow, looking slightly surprised.

Victor: I didn’t know that people who suffer from a heatstroke would also experience a deterioration of smell.

I ignore his sarcasm, taking up the wine glass and swirling it in front of me. The faint aroma of flowers becomes even more obvious.

MC: It’s rose! So you can actually brew wine with roses?

Victor: It’s not made using roses, but it does taste like it.

MC: Can I try it?

Victor doesn’t respond immediately, but takes the glass from me before saying slowly:

Victor: No.

MC: Victor, CEO Victor, Mr Victor, please let me try it! My heatstroke is completely gone!

I lean towards Victor, but he raises the glass up high. Even if I were to tiptoe, I wouldn’t be able to reach it. So I can only huff and give up.

MC: Fine.

Victor: Wait till you…

MC: Just kidding!

Seeing Victor lower his guard, I jump and snatch the glass. Because of my unsteady footing, I end up lunging towards Victor.

Victor reacts immediately and steps backwards, forgetting that the bed is behind him.

After a chaos-filled second, Victor falls onto the bed heavily, bringing the scattered rose petals along with him.

I’m lying on him, my mind a complete blank, though my expression still displays cheekiness and excitement from snatching the glass earlier.

The glass of red wine that sparked off this entire situation has tumbled onto the bed, its contents spilling onto the covers and even soaking my hands.

I dumbfoundedly take in the scene before me as the scent of rose petals envelops us.

Victor, who is pressed below me, lets out a heavy sigh. Loose strands of hair casually fall in front of his eyes, making him look less sharp.

Victor: Didn’t I say that you can’t try it?

While he speaks, I can feel the vibration of his chest as we are pressed together tightly.

I regain my senses, my face beet red, wanting to straighten up.

Victor grabs hold of my wrist, and I fall back onto his chest.

Victor: You need to change your habit of running away whenever something happens.

His narrow eyes catch the change in my expression. His expression, while remaining the same as usual, makes me even more flustered.

Unlike his seemingly calm expression, he is unable to hide the heat emanating from his body and seeping through the thin fabric of his clothes. This causes my body to heat up as well.

The air seems to be burning, and I can hear my rapid heart rate. Even my voice wavers.

MC: I will change… next time.

Victor: I’ve heard this phrase many times.

The hand around my waist is like iron, pulling me even closer.

MC: This is an accident.

I explain in a small voice, letting my eyes shift everywhere aside from his face.

MC: I was just curious about the flavour…

Victor: You’re only allowed one sip.

MC: You said it yourself!

The scent of wine still wafts in the air, tinged with the fragrance of roses, making the atmosphere feel even warmer.

I bring my wine-soaked palm to my lips, gently licking it with the tip of my tongue.

A touch of sweetness spreads from my taste buds to my brain. The slight bitterness of wine carries with it a hint of a rose aroma. It has a surprising attractiveness.

Victor pauses. His eyes turn darker, and his voice sounds slightly husky.

Victor: …are you stupid?

Hearing this, I realise what I just did, and even my ears turn red.

MC: We’ve tasted the wine already, we...

Victor grips my wrist before I can escape again. With an irresistible pressure, he pulls me closer-

A drop of sweat trails down the side of my face and pelts onto his collarbone.

His Adam’s apple bobs, and he uses his other hand to loosen his tie in a slightly rough manner. He releases a low laugh.

Victor: Who says I’ve tried it?

With my guard down, he pulls my palm closer to himself and sticks out his tongue like I did earlier, gently licking the remaining red wine off my palm.

The rose-coloured liquid and the redness of the tip of his tongue makes this colour appear fresh, and even more dazzling, in my eyes.

My breathing and heartbeat seem to stop. I can only sense the touch on my palm, like electric currents coursing through my entire body.

While doing this, he keeps his eyes on me.

Trembling slightly under his gaze, another bead of sweat rolls off my temple. I want to escape, but I’m unable to hide from him.

The emotions within those deep eyes resemble surging tides.

Victor: The taste is not bad.

MC: [blushing] !!

I widen my eyes and pull my hand back as though I just touched a live wire. Victor doesn’t stop me this time, letting me hop up from the bed frantically, almost tripping over his feet.

Victor: Don’t be so reckless.

Victor reaches out to hold onto my waist, his low and husky voice in my ear.

MC: You…

Victor: The “most beautiful rose” is not just a literal rose.

He lowers his head and leans towards my ear, his lips almost pressing against it. I can barely concentrate on his words.

The curtains are drawn open, and the scene of the town shrouded in dusk appears before our eyes.

Victor: The sky is the most beautiful part of this town.

Following his words, I look up and my eyes widen in surprise.

MC: …it’s beautiful!

The rose-coloured sunset glows from the horizon. The clouds hang in the air, drifting slowly. Embedded in the sky, the clouds resemble waves from the sea.

The sky of this small town looks like a rose that is waiting to bloom.

Victor: In the evening, the colour of the red clouds look very special from here. This is the most beautiful rose I found.

His tender and low voice is in my ear, and I suddenly understand what Victor brought to me.

I originally wanted him to have a unique travel experience. I never thought that he would be the one giving me this rose-coloured sky in the end.

Victor embraces me against the window. The look in his eyes is even more tender than the red clouds.

Victor: Close your eyes.

I close my eyes obediently. A scorching breath gradually draws near, and a soft touch descends on my lips.

Victor places his hand on the back of my head, deepening the kiss.

His actions are gentle yet powerful. The intense stimulation spreads from the tip of his tongue all the way to my depths.

The fingers that gently brush the back of my spine leave a trail of tingles in their wake.

The hot air cools as the sun sets, but the temperature continues to increase along with the intertwining of our lips and tongues.

My senses are completely overtaken by Victor’s presence. His breathing, his tender licks, his arm encircling my waist, and the heartbeats from his chest…

After an inordinate amount of time, I tighten my grip on Victor’s arm, like a person who is about to lose consciousness and drown.

The faraway clouds, like a rose that has been waiting for a very long time, finally begins to bloom.

The curtains are pulled shut, and the room once again descends into a dim warmth.

An intense and rich floral fragrance slowly ferments in the blisteringly hot air.

🌹

Phone call after the date: here

[loth-wolffe]

Hello darling, maybe send a 📝? If not, feel free to ignore me. 💕 Much love!

Send me a 📝 and I’ll tell you what my favorite fic of yours is (and what I love about it!) 💕

hihihi hello! omg of courseeeeeee. much love to you too!

sOoOooOooOo. this took me so long bc i had to like, reread everything just to be sure my fave one was,,,, my fave one. u know. and also got slightly busy at my grandma's so didn't have much time to check them out and aaaaaaa excuses excuses. ANYWAYS HERE IT ISSSSSSS

i changed my fave fics like 833736 times, but I finally decided heheheheh.

SO. blankets of flesh.

where can I even begin. this is so good. so. good. I'm trash for soft thrawn and you write him so well. not just soft thrawn but like, thrawn in general.

the way you perfectly balance this saccharine softness and still make it so hot,,, wow, like, damn. natahanto. if u know what I'm sayin. (undescribable)

and it's just how worried he's at the beginning, asking reader if she's alright, ready to stop the second she shows discomfort.

when he says "you're in pain" and he's already walking towards her, ready to do whatever she wants him to.

the whole exchange makes my heart ACHE like, it's so pure, to be in love with someone and not saying it with those exact words but with little actions and with the care you're trying to show to compensate the lack of those eight little letters.

AND this !!!

“Do you enjoy being at my mercy?”

“Do you enjoy being at mine?” You counter like a jab, a sparring session of words with no decided victor.

no comments just AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

and thissss?!!!!!!?!!!

"How do I make you feel?”

“Like no other has, my csaz.”

JUST MORE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

and u know, many thrawn fics I've read are just like,,,, maybe soft dom? sometimes. and you just made this dynamic where them both are soft subdoms(??????? idk idk

and it's so !!!!!!! because I aDORE where reader is also a match for the person she's with.

Thrawn’s hands cradle your face as he sees to ruin you, pushing aside all that once was until he can reach near your lungs; and maybe one day he’ll tell you he loves you.

But today he only asks, "What color?

I JUST– ITS SO SKFJSKDJAKWN I HAVE NO WORDS. this fic really k worded me.

AND ITS JUST. when there's the thought of saying, of admitting, this feeling, to be vulnerable enough to let them know you feel like this or like that, and to think "maybe today's the day" BUT IT ISN'T, and instead they say this other thing that means jUST AS MUCH for them.

AAAA It makes me go 🥰🥰🥰🥰 and feel so warm and fuzzy.

AND THIS

“I am yours, Grand Admiral,” you turn your head to the side, kissing his palm, “but are you mine?”

“I would never belong to another. You are ch'eo csaz, ch'eo ch'acah."

THISSSSSSSSS

the uncertainty, the doubt, "are you mine?" even after the care he shows, even after the kisses and the touches, even after all that has happened between them, there's this lingering doubt.

AND HIS ANSWER I–

i am crying.

there's this,,, humanness in those words. in that moment alone. it is what make us us, you know. that we want to know these things, to be loved just the same as we love, to know it's reciprocated, that we feel as one. and it's in this intimacy that we dare to ask, when our walls are down and there's no space to shy away because we're filled with this blissful feeling of him inside you.

idk. just me thinkin stuff.

anyways.

AT THE END !!!! i lOVE this. I LOVE hIM.

A large thumb brushes the tears from your cheek, “You are alright, my love, I’m here.” No Cheunh this time for fear his truth would get lost in translation; words bringing you down from the clouds until you’re safe in his arms once again. 

I'm. here.

fuck. dude this is so 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i literally can't express how much this makes me feel, my heart swelling bc that's so f u cki i ng soft.

and like I said, the balance between this goddamn hot fic along with this– rawness of what it is like to be in a relationship with someone that cares for you the same amount as you care for them. showing us this,,, familiarity. these feelings, these forms of love.

so beautiful.

other fics of yours i absolutely adore are that one rex fic where he wears lingerie.

the moment he goes all "you don't like it" :((( i fucking SCREAM every time. rex is so cute and my number one (1) baby boy so seeing him in this scenario makes me go 🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴 but at the same time u showed us what is like for your partner to be self conscious at the lack of response from you (bc it's usually the other way around in some fics) and ahhhh!!! you did it so wonderfully. i like to reread this from time to time bc one (1) it's so amazingly written and it's a *chefs kiss* fic and second I'm a w word for rex ahdkahd.

AND. that one fic with thrawn and eli. oh my gODSSDJKWFNISND. jesus christ kendra darling that sent me straight to horny prison in fucking hell. gosh. when mr. vanto goes and says "we eat first" I short circuited and had to take a moment bc dAMN GIRL, you really wrote this masterpiece and expected me to not fucking combUST.

[welllpthisishappening]

One Foot In (5/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9K’ish this chapter, with feelings AN: Thank you to everyone who is clicking and reading and saying nice things about this story. It is very nice and I think you are awesome. We’re deviating a bit from the Pushing Daisies path here, so, uh...let’s get magical, huh?

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam. Or! You can catch up from the start ||

@shireness-says​ @optomisticgirl​ @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488​, @greymeetsblue​, @jennjenn615​, @heavenlyjoycastle​, @klynn-stormz​, @superchocovian​, @onepunintendid​, @jonesfandomfanatic​, @lfh1226-linda​ @thejollyroger-writer​

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-four days and, approximately, nine hours and sixteen minutes old when she decides she may actually be going crazy. 

It would explain away a whole host of her problems. 

Ruby is flirting, genuinely and legitimately flirting, and Emma has a few sinking suspicions about the origins of the shirt Killian is wearing, but she’s also a little distracted by whatever the tips of Killian’s ears are doing because it seems he can dish the flirty banter out, but he absolutely, positively cannot witness it. 

Or however the saying is supposed to go. 

And he won’t stop staring at Emma. Like he knows something she doesn’t. 

It’s unnerving. 

“If you stare at me any harder, you’re going to turn me to stone,” Emma mumbles, letting her head drop back and that is a mistake. She can’t remember ever having a concussion, but the wall behind her feels impossibly hard. 

That may just be the situation. Ruby laughs again, leaning over the edge of Victor’s desk until the tips of her hair skim over papers and the not-so-good doctor looks incredibly overwhelmed. Emma understands the feeling. 

She bites her tongue to stop herself from making some kind of absolutely absurd noise because Killian’s eyes widen slightly at the scene in front of them and the longer she tries to remember the dream, the harder it’s becoming to separate reality from fiction and she can’t actually google psychiatric institutions. 

That would probably alert some kind of government agency. 

“If what we’ve been told is true, I’d imagine that’s entirely possible,” Killian says. He doesn’t take a step towards her, but Emma knows he wants to and she swears she can feel him next to her. 

Maybe there are psychiatric institutions listed in the yellow pages. 

She’s not even sure there are yellow pages anymore. The whole thing sounds incredibly antiquated, even in her head. 

Ruby makes a ridiculous noise when she knocks a pile of papers off Victor’s desk. His answering whatever makes Emma want to gag. 

“And,” Killian adds, ducking his head so Emma can’t avoid his gaze. “I know you’re thinking something, love. So let’s have at it. At least it’ll distract us from whatever is going on over there.” “This is normal.” “That doesn’t make it acceptable.”

She scoffs, digging the toe of her shoe into the tile underneath her. “What’s the matter, Jones? Not into public displays of affection?” “How does the man not realize what’s going on? It’s honestly almost too much, don’t you think?”

Emma shrugs and maybe it’s the wall that’s moving because it seems to be pushing even harder against the jut of her ponytail. She can barely remember anything about the dream now, just wisps of memories and moments and it was so, incredibly dark. 

She hasn’t been able to get the goosebumps off her arms since they got into her car. 

“Maybe,” Emma says. “But I don’t think he really cares. And, you know, it works. Gets us to the body and—”

She cuts herself off, wincing as soon as the word body falls out of her mouth. Killian tilts his head, the ends of his lips quirking up. 

“You’re doing another admirable job of avoiding my question. Seems to be a habit of yours.”

“Sweeping judgment,” Emma grumbles. She’s going to dislocate her toe if she presses her shoe any harder into the floor. 

Killian shakes his head. He’s bent his knees at some point which, if Ruby and Victor weren’t far too preoccupied flirting with, maybe, some purpose, would probably lead to both of them making fun, but it also makes Emma tug her lips back behind her teeth and breathe a bit sharply through her nose and it is not fair how good he is at this. 

Still. 

Maybe that was part of the dream. 

Something about understanding. 

She kind of remembers the woman’s face. Her eyes looked...not quite sad, but a little disappointed and a little wanting and that’s the feeling Emma hasn’t been able to shake, a tug in the pit of her stomach and a pull in the center of her soul and she’s never dreaded a trip to the morgue more. 

God, what a weird sentence. 

“Not sweeping,” Killian amends. “Accurate. And obvious. Do you think it’s possible?” Emma blinks. “Do I think what is possible?” “You’re not actually going to make me say it, are you?” “I think I may kind of need you to say it.”

It’s an admission Emma doesn’t need to make, but she feels as if she’s drifting between dream and reality and she swears she’s seen those people before. She knows she knows them, she just can’t figure out how. Or why they showed up in her subconscious. 

Emma’s eyes flit up when Killian doesn’t respond immediately and she’s not sure if she’s glad or frustrated that she does – because she can see the muscles in his throat move when he swallows, the clench of his jaw probably doing damage to several different parts of his mouth. His lips move again, like he isn’t sure if smiling is acceptable in an emotionally charged moment in the middle of a goddamn morgue, but it only takes half a second for him to decide and Emma is thankful for the wall behind her. 

“Do you think it’s possible that I was inadvertently working for some kind of magical darkness because that same magical darkness thinks I am…” “Magical?” Emma suggests, and Killian’s answering noise is strangled at best. “I have no idea. I’ve never...it’s not like I’ve met a lot of other people who can wake the dead and ask them who murdered them.” “Have you ever woken anyone who wasn’t murdered?”

Emma tenses. She knows she tenses. Killian knows she tenses. Ruby is in the middle of something absolutely ridiculous and she probably knows Emma tenses. 

She’s the world’s worst liar and even more terrible at trying to deflect the conversation, but it suddenly seems like she’s balancing on that tight rope again and her head shake makes her entire neck ache. 

“Nope,” she says, far too quickly to be anything except the blatantly obvious lie it is. 

Killian arches an eyebrow. “Nope?” “Nope. I...well, why would I do that? I’m not trying to play God.” “I’m not suggesting that.” “Then what are you suggesting, exactly?” He lets out a low, vaguely sardonic chuckle and Emma figures that’s fair. His hand twists behind him, tugging on hair and pressing the pads of his fingers against the skin just behind his ear. There’s a hint of color on his cheeks. 

That’s disconcerting too. 

Emma can barely hear him over the buzzing in between her ears. 

“I have no idea at all,” Killian admits softly. “But well...I don’t know. I have no idea what the hell I’m talking about or suggesting or even theorizing, but I’m at least ninety-six percent positive I can hear you, Swan. Or maybe feel you. God, shit, that sounds ridiculous.” “That doesn’t sound ridiculous.” “You’re being generous, love.”

Emma makes a contradictory noise, ignoring the fluttering of her pulse. “I’m not,” she promises. “I...you have no idea what you were trying to collect though? For this...darkness? Honestly, that almost sounds more ridiculous than you being able to feel me.” “That kind of sounds like a line.” “It might be.” Killian smiles, head falling forward when he exhales and Emma’s palms are never going to recover from the nails she keeps digging into her skin. “We are exponentially better at flirting than Lucas is.” “Don’t tell her that, she’ll get offended.”

Emma briefly wonders if magic is possible, based solely on the force of Killian’s expression when he looks at her. It’s not immediate, which almost makes it worse or, probably, better, but Emma’s clearly lost control of the English language, so she’s not going to be specific about which adjective she uses. 

He tilts his head up slowly, like he’s trying to savor the moment and she needs magic to be real and fix this because not reaching out and brushing her fingers over the curve of his jaw is growing more and more difficult. 

“What are you thinking about, Swan?” he asks, voice low but with a hint of something that sends a shiver down Emma’s spine and makes her dig her heels into her shoes and maybe they should have gone to prom together because they appear to be very good at dancing around the subject. At least Emma is. 

“Way too much to be even remotely healthy.” “Can you think so much that it would be a detriment to your health?” “You’re the one who’s read encyclopedias. I’m surprised you’re not a doctor at this point.” “Not a doctor,” Killian says, smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth. Ruby is taking her sweet time getting them to see this body. 

Emma does not want to see this body. 

“That wasn’t a contradiction to the encyclopedias,” Emma points out. “And I’m surprised you can’t feel my neurons like...short-circuiting or something at this point.” “You’re also not a robot, Swan.”

“Look who’s being generous now.” His eyes widen slightly before raking across her, drifting from her face to her arms and the bend of her elbows, tracing back across her hips and the bend in her right knee. Emma doesn’t mean to hold her breath, but she’s still on that metaphorical tight rope and she kind of feels like she’s being taken stock of. It’s not altogether unpleasant. 

Every single inch of her feels like it’s buzzing, a quiet energy under her skin and a hum of something that might actually be power or magic and Emma can’t remember the last time she went to the doctor. 

She assumes a doctor would be able to refer her to an appropriate psychiatric facility. 

Killian’s head shifts again, hair dangerously close to his brows, but she can still make out his eyes perfectly and--

“You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking, Swan.” There’s a hint of a plea to his words and Emma realizes, rather suddenly, he’s been doing a very good job of taking this in stride, but it may be a bit of an act and a possible show of magic and she inhales quickly, like that will give her an extra boost of confidence. 

“I’ve never met anyone else like me,” she says. Her voice shakes. That’s disappointing. “Ever. There’s...it’s not like we have club meetings or matching lettermans jackets or anything like that. There is just me and what I can do and shouldn’t be able to do and—” “—Why don’t you think you should be able to do it?” “What?” “What makes you think it’s inherently wrong, Swan?” Killian asks. 

Emma gapes at him, stunned that he could think it was anything except that, but she knows Ruby also kind of thinks that and she’s incredibly good at self loathing. It’s probably the trail of bodies in her wake and the lingering sense that she’s forgetting something important about that dream. Killian’s expression doesn’t shift though, steady and certain and the confidence that’s practically pulsating in the air around him has an almost legitimate taste. 

Like berries or something. 

She’s honestly gone insane. 

“It’s…” Emma starts, waving her hands in the air when she can’t come up with the right words to prove what an absolutely, terrible, no good, very bad person she is. “It’s unnatural. This is—”

“—Magic?”

“That’s crazy.” “Swan, you touched me and I wasn’t dead anymore. I think that’s fairly good proof that there’s some kind of magical something happening here. And it doesn’t make it a bad thing.” “So long as no one knows about it.” “Explain that.” “I’ve been...Graham wasn’t wrong before, you know. I don’t really...talk to, well, anyone. I mean I talk to Ruby and some dead people and the people who buy my pies, but it’s not like I’ve got a thriving social life or anything. And I can’t.” “Why?” Killian presses, and there isn’t any anger there, just genuine curiosity and concern. Emma’s pulse is going to fly out of her body. 

At least there is an actual doctor nearby. 

“Because I left Storybrooke when I was a kid, alone and absolutely terrified and...I knew I could do this...whatever it is. Magic or a genetic mistake or—” “—You’re not a mistake, Swan.” “It’s nice that you think that.” “Emma,” Killian snaps, and she’s dimly aware of Ruby’s sound of frustration when they get loud enough to distract Victor from whatever part of the flirting plan she’s currently executing. He doesn’t take a step forward, there’s not enough room, but he rocks forward slightly and Emma’s breath hitches, stinging her nose and making her lungs burn and she’s totally unprepared for the look on his face. 

He’s determined and not, a strange combination that’s also a little soft and maybe Emma should start reading the dictionary so she can come up with better words in situations like this. 

Situations that end with conversations in her head. 

“I don’t think that,” Killian continues. “I know that. Unequivocally. You didn’t...whatever reason this happened to you, it doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.” Emma shakes her head out of habit, pleasantly surprised and slightly charmed by the look of exasperation on Killian’s face. “I shouldn’t be able to do this,” she whispers. “It’s not right. It’s not safe. I mean...if you move the wrong way or—” “—That’s not going to happen.” “You can’t know that!” Ruby groans again, throwing them both a glare over her shoulder before redirecting her attention back to Victor. This is taking forever. 

Emma hopes that isn’t a sign. 

“Nothing is going to happen to me, Swan,” Killian says, another promise he can’t make, but one Emma also kind of needs and maybe covets and, if put under oath, she would swear his eyes get bluer when he looks at her. “But you’re deflecting quite a bit again, love. What are you worried about?” “Would you like an itemized list?” “I wouldn’t refuse it. You’ve been jaw-clenching since you answered the phone this morning.” Emma sighs, letting her tongue trace over her teeth. “When I was a kid, I was terrified of what would happen if someone could find out what I could do. That they’d...take me or use me and no matter how much you try and cover it up by flirting with me, we both know this is something I shouldn’t be able to do. It’s not normal.” “That doesn’t make it wrong.” “It doesn’t make it right either.” “You are impossibly stubborn.” “Yeah,” Emma mutters. “But that’s the point. I haven’t really...I’m very good at pushing away with both hands so no one will know what I can do.” “You can’t actually push me away, you know,” Killian says. It’s more out of place flirting. Emma’s pulse does not care. 

“That’s stupid.” “That’s what you’re capable of doing.” Emma groans, less frustration than...something else. “I’m kind of freaking out,” she admits, wholly unfair all things considered. Killian’s smile looks a hint sadder. “And I...well, Cora said the Darkness was looking for people like us, right?” 

“I’ve never undeaded the dead, Swan.” “I figured that’d be part of the reintroduction, honestly. Hey, Emma, long time no see, I also can touch people back to life.” He chuckles, fingers fluttering at his side like he’s trying to stop himself from touching her. “I wouldn’t have called you Emma,” Killian mutters. “Save that for special occasions and exercises in self confidence.”

“Do you think it’s possible?” 

“Your self confidence or the magic?”

“Throw a dart,” she quips. “But mostly the magic.” “Like I said, I have no idea. But I knew something was wrong as soon as the goons got on deck and there had to be some reason they wanted that water moved. I doubt the Darkness is all that concerned with proper hydration.”

“You’re absolutely hysterical.” “Got you to smile though,” Killian points out, waving a finger through the air and it’s dangerously close to her cheek. 

“Cora seemed very adamant.” “Well, we all know that Cora wouldn’t lie.”

She might laugh, but the sound feels like it rattles around her throat, scraping against the side and leaving behind marks that will linger for days or weeks or the rest of her goddamn life. Emma’s eyes fall shut, breathing only slightly erratic, which really is a step in the right direction.

“I used to have dreams,” she says, another sudden admission she hadn’t planned on making until the words are flying straight out of her. “When I was a kid and there were new houses and cold houses and I’d never been very good at sleeping, but it got worse and worse the older I got. I used to fall into these kinds of fits and they changed a lot, different locations and faces that weren’t ever really specific, but it always ended the same.” She opens her eyes, vision blurred slightly. She can still see the flecks of something in Killian’s eyes. It might be magic. 

Emma still wants it to be magic. 

If only to prove she isn’t as alone as she’s always felt. 

“How did it end?” Killian asks, another rock forward that she should object to. She doesn’t. 

“Badly.” She doesn’t say anything else, knows she doesn’t really have to when Killian’s tongue flashes between his lips. He’s not close enough for Emma to actually feel his exhale. Her brain doesn’t care. It latches on to the want and the need and the taste of blood lingers in the back of her mouth when she chews on her tongue again. 

“Is that what happened last night?” Emma nearly bites her tongue in half. “What?” “Is that what happened last night?” Killian repeats. “A dream that ended badly?” “How do you know that?” “That’s not an answer, Swan.”

She huffs out a breath of oxygen her lungs could desperately use, running a ragged hand over her face. “I can’t really remember,” Emma mumbles. “It wasn’t the same as those ones. It was...it was dark and I was alone for awhile, but then I wasn’t. There were people there. A man and a woman and they said…” She grits her teeth, trying to remember details that are fading as quickly as she can try and hold onto them. “They said it was going to be worth it.” “What was going to be worth it?” “Your guess is as good as mine.” Killian laughs again, low and almost unsurprised because of course there’s another mystery. “Figures. You weren’t by yourself though.” Emma considers that for a moment – trying to remember the feeling of the dream and the faces that were almost familiar in a way that made it seem as if they’d been there since the very beginning. Her smile feels almost natural. “No, I wasn’t.” 

She shakes her arms, doing her best to get rid of the sudden surplus of excess energy that appears to be lingering in the tips of her fingers. “And I don’t think Cora would lie either,” Emma adds, avoiding Killian’s gaze. 

It doesn’t matter. She can feel his eyes widen and she wrings her hands together just to prove that she hasn’t, in fact, turned to stone. 

“Emma.” “Oh, c’mon.” He rolls his eyes when she does, finally, meet his eyes. It’s a bit of normal in the crazy and Emma’s thankful for it, even when they’re discussing something another human has already referred to as the Darkness. 

“They called him master,” Killian says. “That’s...he must have been looking for something.” “Something magical.” “But the water is gone. I saw it crash before, well…before everything went to shit.” “That’s a nice way of putting it,” Emma mumbles, drawing more laughter and another smile and that’s comforting too. She lets her head drop back again, pulse almost evening out and breathing coming almost normally – until Killian runs his hand through his hair and rocks back on his feet and—

“You know, I used to wonder about you,” he says, rushing over the words as if they’re somehow embarrassing. “Not, well, not in a stalkery, all the time kind of way. But in a you were gone and eventually I realized you weren’t coming back and I wondered what you looked like sometimes kind of way.” “What I looked like?”

“Yeah, in retrospect that sounds a little stalkery too, doesn’t it?” Emma twists a strand of hair around her finger, chewing lightly on her lower lip. “Sounds a little flirty, honestly.” “Ah, that’s bitter.” “How’d it play out for you?” Killian hums in confusion, a furrow to his brows that is equal parts attractive and a little overwhelming, as if one look can alter the entire state of gravity around Emma. She presses her palms flat against the wall, not really much better than digging her nails into her skin because whatever this wall is made out of is kind of gritty and horrible, but Killian’s ears have gone scarlet and the tip of his tongue is pressed into the corner of his mouth. “Play out,” Emma repeats. “As far as looks go.” He might genuinely growl at her. 

Whatever the sound is, it lingers in the air around them until Emma is certain it’s crackling with electricity and want and a slew of other adjectives that make her heart race and the possible magic she’s definitely in possession of soar.  

Killian’s eyes darken, crowding into her space and pressing his hand above her head. “That’s a loaded question. And I’m a little disappointed it’s not more obvious.” “Maybe I’m just trying to get some more confirmation.” She can see his shoulders shift, a twist of skin and muscles and a t-shirt that’s half a size too small. They really are incredibly good at flirting with each other. 

Emma licks her lips before she considers the repercussions of it, whatever noise that rumbles in the back of Killian’s throat making her feel as if she’s floating and a little drunk and both of those things would be a better explanation than magic. 

It’s definitely magic. 

She doesn’t know how she knows, but she knows and she wants to ignore the idea of the Darkness for the rest of her life. 

“Better,” Killian says, low and gruff and Emma swears the word slinks into her bloodstream. It wraps around her heart and several other internal organs that would probably sound disgusting if she were to ever say any of this out loud, drifting down her limbs and taking up residence at major pulse points, a steady rhythm that helps ground her when the buzzing in her brain roars to life. 

Emma doesn’t scoff, it’s more of an exhale, but still a little disbelieving and a little needy and—

“Yeah, you too,” she breathes. 

And, honestly, in a conversation about magic and death and dreams that end with Emma serving as the subject of several vaguely horrible science experiments, telling a guy she’s definitely started referring to as her boyfriend in her head that she’s attracted to him shouldn’t be so surprising. But Killian’s face hasn’t appeared to get that memo.

His eyebrows jump into his hairline, a muscle in his temple fluttering at a rate that can’t be medically accurate. He doesn’t move his right hand, but his lips press together tightly and Emma’s eyes dart towards his left arm when he tries to twist it behind his back. 

His eyelashes are impossibly long, fluttering when he closes his eyes and his shoulders move again, as if he’s trying to readjust the weight that’s landed there. 

“Hey,” Emma says, reaching out against her better judgment to tug on the front of his shirt. “That’s...do you want to talk about it?” “No.” “Killian.” “What is there to talk about, Swan? It was there when I left home and it was there when I got on the boat and it’s very clearly not here now, so somewhere between living and dying and living again, someone decided I didn’t need to have my left hand anymore.” “I think you want to talk about it.” He glares, but she’s almost confident in her ability to read him too and if they’re going to share magic, or whatever, Emma figures it’s part of her biological right. “The most stubborn person alive, you know that?” “No,” Emma argues. “You’re alive too. That, at least, makes us even.”

“God, it’s not fair that you can still do that.” “Yeah, tell me about it.” Killian grins, less...everything except something Emma can’t possibly begin to think about in a morgue. “Cora said she didn’t think they’d take it,” he whispers. “As in there’s a reason they did take it. And I’m pretty positive the they in this scenario are the goons.” “Seems to be a trend.” “Yeah, it does. A frustrating one that I can’t wrap my head around. Have you ever heard of a fairy tale where the villains steal someone’s hand?” “Fairy tale,” Emma echoes skeptically, and Killian’s teeth dig into his lip. She’s slightly optimistic that it’s so he won’t be tempted to kiss her. 

“Are you not my knight in shining armor, Swan?”

“That’s almost laying it on too thick, don’t you think?” Killian mutters a quick disagreement, bringing his left arm back to his side. “I think it’s some very twisted trick of the universe that I’d spent more time than appropriate during my teenage years wondering if your hair was still able to reflect sunlight only to die before finding you again and then, upon not being dead, being unable to touch you as much as I very desperately want to.” “Desperately?” Emma’s voice cracks on the word, and she knows she should stop repeating everything he says, but she’s having a difficult time breathing and she assumes he won’t fault her lack of sentence structure. Ruby’s laugh has taken on a decidedly victorious tone, Victor grumbling something that sounds like the tell-tale signs of acquiesce. 

They’re running out of time. 

“Desperately,” Killian repeats. “And, as if that weren’t enough, if we do somehow figure out a way to magic ourselves out of this mess, figure out who killed me, fight off some mythical Darkness and make sure you get to REM sleep every night, I still won’t be able to hold onto you with both of my hands.”

Emma doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath until all the oxygen rushes out of her lungs in one great, big enormous huff. She’s not crying, so that feels like a victory, but Killian’s suddenly the one who can’t hold her gaze and that doesn’t compute at all. 

She shuffles her weight between her feet, trying to put some incredibly undesirable space between them so she can hold her hand out expectantly. 

“Is that code?” “We didn’t come up with the code yet,” Emma points out, and it’s enough to work a slightly tremulous smile out of him. She’ll take her victories where she can get them at this point. “And I know there are gloves in your back pocket. Hand ‘em over.” “Swan, what…” “Don’t argue with me, Jones. A pirate is supposed to share his booty with his crew or something, right? I have no idea how pirate rules work.” “I don’t think pirates had many rules, love, that’s why they were pirates.” “You are grasping at straws and distracting me from my point. Gloves, now and now.” He makes a disbelieving noise, but doesn’t argue anymore, yanking the gloves out of his pocket and dropping them in her upturned palm. It takes some finangling on Emma’s part to make sure she doesn’t inadvertently elbow him in the ribs or something more catastrophic, but she keeps her grunting to a minimum as she tugs the fabric over her fingers. And it’s obvious he realizes what she’s about to do before she does it. 

His eyes go wide and his jaw goes slack and he might mumble her name, a quiet Emma that sounds half like a plea and half like another wholly impossible promise, but none of that is quite as gravity-altering as whatever happens to every single inch of Killian’s face as soon as she wraps her glove-covered finger around the end of his left arm. 

Emma doesn’t say anything – isn’t entirely certain she’s capable of it and, really, she’d rather not embarrass herself by saying something idiotic, like telling him she may honestly be in love with him again or still or whatever – so she just lets her fingers drift over skin she’s not actually touching, tracing over scars that are far cleaner than she expected them to be. 

That gives her pause, but she refuses to linger on it when she knows they’re already on borrowed time. The clack of Ruby’s heels is getting closer. 

And Killian, for his part, looks a little stunned. His eyes don’t ever leave Emma, bouncing from her fingers back to her face and drifting towards her mouth and maybe they should start carrying saran wrap with them at all times. 

That seems a little weird. 

“Emma,” he whispers, and when they get out of this, when there are no more dead bodies and no more threats and she’s told him the absolute truth about absolutely everything, she’s going to kiss every single inch of skin she can find. She’s going to linger on these few inches, an emotional brand that feels as heavy-handed as any of the decidedly sentimental thoughts she’s considered in the last few days, but she’s going to do it anyway, until he believes it’s ok and worth it and—

“Did you say you wondered if my hair could reflect sunlight?” Emma asks. 

Whatever noise he makes will probably play on loop in Emma’s memories for the rest of her life and very likely into several different afterlifes. It warms her from the inside out, another rush of power and a hint of guilt she’s been ignoring because she’s definitely keeping big, important facts from him and Killian is already nodding. 

“I did when I was a kid. Especially in the summer. We’d be outside all the time and, God, I swore it was, like, phosphorescent or something.” “That’s a very big word for a nine year old.” “I didn’t come up with that one until I was ten.” “Ah, well, that’s ok.” He nods, half a wink and it’s not very good, but it’s still stupidly charming. “Like it was it’s own power source,” Killian adds, half to himself as his fingers drift through the air just above Emma’s head. “It never made any sense.” “Yeah, join the club.” “I think I probably could have remembered every single strand when I was a kid. And, fuck, I know I’m not helping my stalking case, but—” “—No, no,” Emma interrupts, far too quickly. “That’s...I mean, it’s kind of ok.” “Good news for me. But it was like it was imprinted in my brain, even after you left. Years and summers and how ridiculous it was trying to race myself down that stupid hill.” “You went back to the hill?” “My uncles thought it was a coping mechanism, and it was at first, but then it was so I wouldn’t forget too. I wanted to hate you for a while, Swan. That you left and never came back and—” “—Not all of that was my fault.” “I know it wasn’t, love, but tell that to a decidedly friendless, leather jacket sporting fourteen year old and you’ll find I wasn’t very rational at that point. I wanted to hate you, more than I’d wanted just about anything at that point.” “Did you?” “No,” Killian answers immediately. “I kept going back to the hill and the memories always seemed to slam into me and I couldn't hate you if I tried. So I stopped. I remembered everything and every time I went back there I always seemed to remember the exact way the sun reflected off your hair.” She opens her mouth. Only to close it again. And does that four more times. Killian’s smile turns a little nervous, but that may be because Emma hasn’t let go of his arm. 

She’s got no intention of letting go of his arm. 

Or him. 

God. 

“That’s decidedly romantic for an angst-ridden teenager,” she says, which is really the last thing she expects to say, but is also kind of par for the course and Killian grabs one of her hands so he can press a kiss to the bend in her knuckles. 

“Yeah, it is.” Ruby groans, the scrape of Victor’s chair sounding impossibly loud when he gets up, muttering an excuse about taking an early lunch lingering behind him. 

“Are you guys done?” Ruby asks. She’s already tapping her heel. “Because we are on a very tight schedule here.” “The guy isn’t going anywhere,” Killian reasons. 

“Yeah, about that guy. I’ve got some facts.” Emma blinks, and lets Killian lace his fingers through hers. “What kind of facts?” “These kind of facts,” Ruby says, brandishing a questionably large file in front of her. “The kind that show that Charles Thatch has spent the better part of the last ten years in and out of several different prisons in a variety of states. He never seems to have much in the way of employment history, but he’s certainly got the means to bounce around the country quite a bit.” “Meaning?” “Meaning, our Mr. Thatch, who, incidentally, was found in the woods on the edge of the Storybrooke city line—” “—Town line.” “I’m going to kill you.” “Let’s avoid that, please,” Emma mumbles, trying to pull her arm out of Killian’s grasp so she can dramatically cross them over her chest. He tightens his hold. 

Ruby scowls. “Yeah, that was kind of shitty, right?” “Just a little. Go back to lording facts so you feel like you’re in control of the situation.”

Ruby flips her off that time. “Mr. Teach bounced around everywhere. Doing odds and ends and things that don’t make any sense at all, but, and this is the most important part, in the last two months he applied for, and received, an expedited passport.” “Meaning?” “Oh I get it,” Killian mumbles, and Emma isn’t sure if he means to squeeze her hand that hard. It’s almost worse if he doesn’t. 

“Honestly were you a PI in another life?” Ruby demands. “Or a cop? Getting upstaged like this is not fun for me at all. 

“As far as I know only one life. If we start dealing with regenerations or something too, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle that.” “Regner-whats?” “Like Doctor Who,” Emma supplies. “His brother was a giant nerd.”

The casual mention of Liam catches her by surprise, eyes widening to a size that Ruby absolutely notices and Killian’s brows pull low in confusion. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it too, Swan. You were the one who wanted to build a TARDIS that one time.” “Yeah, well, it didn’t work did it?” “We didn’t know about the magic yet.” “Can we focus, please?” Ruby shouts, jumping for emphasis and they are being kind of unfair to her. “Because as Jones said, but didn’t actually explain, the passport thing is important. It means that Mr. Teach was able to leave the country with relative ease in the last two months, which could potentially include a little jaunt into the Atlantic ocean and—” “—Oh shit,” Emma mumbles. 

“Exactly. So, shall we touch him and ask him if he’s got TSA pre-screening?” “I don’t think they let felons do that,” Killian shrugs, ignoring whatever strangled noise Ruby makes and his hand doesn’t leave Emma’s when he directs her towards the nearest door. 

She’s never really enjoyed trips to the morgue. 

She assumes no one really does, except possibly Victor, but he’s a little weird and she understands that trips to the morgue are necessary. It’s the lighting though. It’s far too bright and everything smells like bleach and somehow stale at the same time, as if death is just permeating the air molecules. 

Emma takes a deep breath and immediately regrets it, shuddering despite her best efforts to control her limbs. 

“Hey,” Killian mutters. “It’s going to be fine, Swan. No matter what happens.” She doesn’t respond, but her eyes dart towards Ruby’s and there’s a warning there that Emma doesn't entirely appreciate. “How’d he die?” 

“Who?” 

“Mr. Teach. If they found him in the woods, there must have been a medical examiner there, right? Some kind of report.” Ruby makes a face – a stop sign in human form, but the question is already there and—“Just touch him and ask him how he killed Jones and who he was working for, Em.” “Wow, that was kind of blunt, Lucas,” Killian says. His gaze keeps moving back towards Emma though and she’s going to chew through her cheek by the time the day is over. 

She really wishes it were tomorrow. 

The Doctor never had to deal with this shit. That’s fundamentally untrue, but it makes her feel better to compare her problems to those of a fictional character who, eventually, was forced to blow up his entire planet. 

Emma just hopes she won’t have to do that too. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” she mumbles, tugging the glove off her right hand with her teeth when Killian continues to let go. She drops her phone onto the edge of the table. 

Charles Teach is old, that much is obvious. He’s got wrinkles around his eyes and a decidedly disheveled look to him that kind of screams no good, very bad villain. They’ve already removed his clothes, a mass of skin that’s marred with scars and jagged lines and a life that practically reaches out and smacks Emma across the face. 

And part of her knows that none of those marks are what killed him. 

The other part of her is screaming. Loudly. In her head. 

“Is that him, Jones?” Ruby asks, and Killian hums. 

“Yup. You’d think the Darkness would get better looking lackeys. He looks like he's been dead for a very long time, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, that’s weird. Seriously, am I going to have to offer you a job?” “It’s probably better than me testing the market when I’m fairly certain I don’t have a social security number anymore.”

“Oh, yeah, it’d be weird explaining that at an interview probably.”

“Plus, look at all the fun we’re having. I think I’m starting to grow on you, Lucas. I knew it was only a matter of time.” Ruby gags. “Don’t press your luck.”

Killian chuckles again, a flash of a smile that does not belong near a guy who definitely does not look like he’s only been dead for a few hours. There’s a pallor to his skin that doesn’t make sense, gray and drawn and everything looks far too calm. 

A guy with a track record as long as Charles Teach should not have died a peaceful death. 

It is the single worst observation Emma has ever made. 

“Swan,” Killian prompts when Emma continues to stare at the man on the table in front of them. “Emma, love, you’ve actually got to—” “—Yeah, yeah, I know,” she interrupts sharply. Ruby clicks her tongue. 

She doesn’t think much about where she touches, swatting her hand against Teach’s and he doesn’t jerk up the way most bodies do. Emma hates that she thinks of them as bodies. He opens his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings as he lifts his head off the table. 

There’s a piece of hair sticking to his forehead. 

“Who the hell are you?” Teach asks, directing the question to, presumably, Emma. Her hand is still hanging very close to his. “And what the hell are you doing here, Jones? Didn’t I already kill you once?” “Yeah, I believe I was there for that,” Killian says flippantly. “Why’d you do that incidentally?” “Should have asked a few more questions before you met your untimely demise, my boy.” “Not your boy and honestly who says demise? That’s…” “Not important,” Ruby hisses. “Why’d you kill him? And what was the water for?” Thatcher narrows his eyes, but he almost looks impressed and Emma isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. “The water was for my master. I’m sure Jones told you that already.” “And that master,” Emma says, finding a bit of courage she didn’t expect and she’s not sure if it’s entirely because it feels like there’s sparks in between her fingers. The same fingers twisted up with Killian’s. “That’s the Darkness, right?” “You know far more than you’re giving yourself credit for.” “What the hell was the water for then? And why did he want Killian?” “It wasn’t Jones specifically,” Teach argues. “It was what he could do. It all timed up rather perfectly until he decided to be infuriatingly noble about it.” “Did that make negative sense to anyone else?” Ruby asks, glancing around the room as if there are more than the four of them there. 

Emma shrugs. “The magic, then? That’s...that’s a real thing?” “Can’t you feel it?” Teach asks. “It’s practically got its own frequency. Granted, part of that is how worried he is about you right now, but it’s there regardless. It’s rolling off you in waves.” “What does that have to do with the water?” She hates that she shouts the question, hates that she’s lost her last few strings of apparent sanity and control, but Killian squeezes her fingers again and tugs her hand up towards his lips and that can’t possibly be the right course of action. 

Emma couldn't care less. 

“My master,” Teach says. “He’s been looking for something, for a very long time, to bring back someone. And nothing has worked. It’s been...well, he’s been very disappointed. But we’d heard of something in those waters, a magical source of rejuvenation—”

“—Like the fountain of youth?” Killian asks. 

“Obviously not. The lad is dead already, keeping him young wouldn't do much of anything. The legend of this water said it could revive things that had been...not living. My master believed it would work, but he needed another magical being to transport it for him.” Ruby scoffs. “And that was Jones?”

“Obviously.” “Why wouldn’t the Darkness do it himself?” Emma presses, and Teach  gets that same impressed look on his face. It sends a chill down her spine. “Cut out the magical middle man as it were.” “It was dangerous. And my master doesn’t need to involve himself in matters like this. Not when it wasn’t guaranteed and he’s looking for…”

Teach trails off, expression shifting again to something far closer to terror than Emma is entirely ready for. She glances at Ruby – who immediately holds her hands up in confusion. 

“Fat lot of help you are,” Emma grumbles. “Alright, so the Darkness is looking for something to revive someone, but there’s more to it, isn’t there? What...what else could there be?”

“You don’t know?” “Obviously not and you are running out of time.” “I’d answer her,” Killian adds, a wholly unnecessary and slightly gallant move that leaves Ruby with her tongue hanging out of her mouth and Emma blushing just a bit. Teach’s mouth twists, understanding settling on his face.  

Emma hopes there isn’t actually ice sitting at the base of her spine. 

“I’m not doing anything,” Teach says. “I’m assuming I’m already dead given my surroundings and I’d imagine I won’t be going back to that funeral home any time soon. So it’s really up to you. Jones wouldn’t help my master, so he had to die. It’s as simple as that.” “But you took my hand,” Killian growls. Teach’s laugh bounces off the walls and echoes around them, seemingly growing louder and more threatening and— “That’s part of the mystery my boy. Trust me, my master’s getting plenty of use out of it. He’s gone back to the start. He’ll figure you all out sooner or later. There’s no way around it.” “The start? And, wait, wait, did you say you were in the funeral home? What the hell were you doing there?” “Making sure you made it into the ground. Unfortunately I didn’t stick around long enough to guarantee that, but I can’t be entirely faulted when the whole world went pear shaped and—” “—Did you die in the funeral home? When?” “Are you dense?” Teach sneers, sitting up now and Emma keeps glancing at her phone. “Of course I was in the funeral home. I was there when you were there. How you got out and I didn’t is a question for the ages of course, but—”

He doesn’t finish. Emma doesn’t let him finish. She swings her hand out, skin against skin and Teach falls back on the table with a thump that sounds far too loud. 

Ruby curses under her breath. 

“Well,” she whispers. “At least we know how that ended. And you know...justice is kind of served. So points to us.” “I don’t think that’s how it works,” Emma argues. She squeezes her eyes closed, as if that will change the scene in front of her or stop Killian’s gaze from boring into the side of her head and she could play this moment out eight-hundred thousand times and she’d still never be prepared for the next few words out of his mouth. 

“What is going on?” Killian asks, low and a hint desperate. His thumb starts tapping against the back of Emma’s wrist, directly on top of her pulse point. She figures that’s what does her in. 

She doesn’t open her eyes. 

It’s a cowardly move. 

Emma feels like a coward. 

“There’s another rule to all of this,” she whispers. “Me, I mean. And what I can do. That...well, that I didn’t tell you yet.” Killian’s arm falls back to his side. Ruby curses again. “What kind of rule?” he asks. 

“Remember you wanted to know why it’s a minute? It’s uh...it’s because the universe needs to stay balanced or something and if a not-dead-anymore person stays alive longer than a minute then—” “—Someone else has to die,” Killian says. 

Emma’s eyes snap open. “How’d you know that?” “Context clues.” “That’s impressive.” “Yeah, it’s something isn’t it? So Teach died because you didn’t kill me. Did you know that was going to happen?” Emma nods – quick and jerky and painful, but that may just be the echo of Ruby’s heel in a room filled with a bunch of dead people. “Did you know who it would be?” “No, it’s not…” “Right. Right. Just a trick of fate and happy coincidence.” Emma isn’t sure what to do with that tone of voice. It’s not angry and she knows he’s not, not really. The man on the table in front of them killed Killian, cut off his hand for reasons they still can’t figure out and apparently serves some mythical being with the worst villain name in the history of several universes, but he’s looking at her like he’s never seen her before and it’s not the exciting, slightly overwhelming gaze it’s been in the last few days. 

It’s like he can’t quite come to terms with her. It’s like he’s wondering if maybe she is, in fact, wrong. Emma bites her cheek again. 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she says, not sure why she’s still talking. Ruby is going to sprain her tongue. “This,” Emma waves her hand towards Teach. “That wasn’t part of the plan. And I mean—” “—He did kill you,” Ruby adds, grinning when Emma flashes an appreciative glance in her direction. “So, you know, if we’re keeping tally marks in the Emma saving your ass column...”

Killian doesn’t move immediately, doesn’t even blink, but his eyes drift back towards Emma and she tries not to breathe too much. It feels like he’s taking stock of her again and she desperately wants to live up to expectations. 

She’s still not telling him everything. 

“That’s true,” Killian says eventually. “Thank you, Swan.” Emma wishes she could nod like a normal person. Her lungs are going to rise up in protest of her. “But,” he adds, and Ruby might try to actually cast a spell on him. “There’s one part I don’t entirely understand. Teach said he was in the funeral home, but they found him by the line. And now...going back to the start. The Darkness, I mean, was going back to the start. Where do we go? It’s not like we know who this thing is.” “I still don’t think it’s an alien,” Emma mumbles. It’s a piss-poor attempt at a joke and control and Ruby rolls her eyes so hard it must hurt. 

She throws both her hands in the air when she, apparently, comes to some sort of conclusion. “Oh, fuck, fucking fuck!” “Eloquent.” “Shut up, Em. You have your car?” “Do you want me to shut up or…” “Oh my God. We have to go. We have to go now. Jones, would your uncles be in your house, right now?” “Yes,” Killian says slowly, drifting back into Emma’s space. She doesn’t think he realizes he’s doing it. “They don’t...oh fuck.”

“Can someone tell me what is happening?” Emma yells. 

“The start. He’d go back to try and find whatever he was looking for. Whatever Thatch thinks he needed my hand for.” “And that would probably be a little jarring for your shut-in uncles, yes?” Ruby asks, already moving towards the door and brushing by a clearly confused Victor. 

Emma suddenly understands. 

She needs to expand her curse vocabulary. 

Because the Darkness is on his way to Storybrooke. 

Emma doesn’t actually count how long it takes them to get to Killian’s house, but she isn’t sure she’s ever driven that fast and she’s going to get at least half a dozen tickets for running all those red lights. 

Killian’s out of the car before she’s really stopped it, running up steps with long strides and ignoring both Emma and Ruby’s cries to wait two seconds, Jesus. That last part is mostly Ruby. 

The house itself is exactly the way Emma remembers. 

The shutters are still that same shade of blue Liam picked when they were kids – an afternoon that felt like torture at the time, but quickly dissolved into paint-stained clothes and color-streaked cheeks. There aren’t any chairs on the porch anymore, the curtains drawn closed on the huge bay window in the front of the house and Emma can see the fabric fluttering slightly, as if something or someone is standing just inside them. 

“Killian,” she calls again, but he’s already bounding up the steps. He jumps over the third one. It creaks. And he doesn’t bother closing the door behind him, the screen slamming against the side of the house and Emma’s out of breath by the time she catches up to him. 

There’s no one inside. 

At least it doesn’t look like there’s anyone inside. 

Everything feels as if it’s been paused, a stillness that’s unnerving and incorrect in a house like this where Emma only knew laughter and smiles and blanket forts with incredibly detailed engineering. She lets her eyes flit around the room, taking in the differences. There are more frames on the wall now, Killian at a variety of ages with a variety of hair styles and two men Emma only has vague memories of. 

There are pillows everywhere, decorative lamps that are just treading the line between classy and ostentatious, blankets draped over both couches. 

She reaches her hand out before she thinks about, probably something to do with magnets or those words she’s been ignoring for the better part of the day and it doesn’t really matter because Killian moves his hand behind him to grab at her too and that’s when everything suddenly and completely goes to shit. 

It’s as if an explosion goes off, a darkness so deep Emma briefly wonders if it’s possible for the villain of this story to toy with the sun. 

She blinks, gripping Killian’s fingers like a lifeline and one of them must mutter we’re going to be ok, but Emma genuinely has no idea who it is. She’s far too busy shrinking back from the laughter that’s suddenly surrounding them, jarring and victorious and just a little unhinged. 

The darkness ebbs slightly, bright enough that Emma can make out the shadow in front of her. 

And, for half a moment, that’s all it is – a shadow and smoke over the water, but then the laughter grows and the magic in her veins sings, doing its best to battle back. It doesn’t work. Particularly when the shadow turns corporal and the smile on the Darkness’ face is like nothing Emma has ever seen. 

“We’re ok, love,” Killian whispers. “It’s ok.” She must shake her head – can feel her hair shift against her neck, but the words get caught in her throat and the Darkness hasn’t stopped staring at her. 

Emma barely notices the other men who have appeared there, faces that match the ones in the frames and one of them curses when he sees Killian standing there. “No,” he mutters. “No, no, that’s going too far. Kill us. It’d be better than this.”

The Darkness laughs again. 

It makes his whole body shake, head thrown back and Emma suddenly notices there’s a slight glimmer to his skin, like he’s glowing and it may be the single worst thing she’s ever seen. 

Until he snaps his head back, eyes meeting hers and she will eventually wish she didn’t whimper. In the moment, though, she can’t seem to do anything else. She holds her breath and tries to melt into the floor, but she can’t do that either and she can’t turn into Killian’s side and every single promise he makes falls on deaf ears. 

“I thought he’d bring you,” the Darkness says, the same triumphant look that was in his smile working its way into his voice. “You’re rather predictable, but the good ones always are.” “What do you want?” Killian asks. Nemo, Emma thinks it’s Nemo, curses again, doing his best to fight against the rope tying him to the chair he’s sitting on. 

The Darkness waves a finger through the air. “You already know that, dearie. There’s no point in rehashing. I know you spoke to Teach.” “How?” “Please, I know everything. That’s how I know this is going to work. Because the good ones are always easy to get an edge on and,” he lets out a low whistle, taking a step closer to them as Killian tries to push Emma behind him, “she’s practically bursting with it. But first we need to clear the air a little bit.”

“Meaning?” Emma gasps, the realization striking her like lightning or something equally metaphorical and terrible and she kind of wishes it weren’t metaphorical because then she wouldn’t have to do this. It feels a bit like blowing up her planet. 

Or at least the sun she’s started orbiting around. 

She’s not even sure that makes sense. 

She really has no idea how anything scientific works. 

The Darkness bobs on the balls of his feet – an absurd sentence and an absurd visual, particularly when his skin has gotten even brighter, like he’s growing more powerful the longer Emma plays coward. He lets out another laugh. 

Shakespeare might be the one who curses that time. 

“Oh, this is going to be delightful,” the Darkness says, a wistful sigh that makes Emma wonder how long he’s waited for this. “I don’t need you anymore. Well, no that’s not true, I’ll take you, but I’d rather have her and—” “—You’re not getting Emma,” Killian growls. “I’m not...not again.” “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, dearie. I should have known from the very start it wasn’t you. You were just...a leech, a latch on, a sponge.” “What?” “Of the magical variety.” “I don’t…” “Oh, I know you don’t,” the Darkness continues. “But magic leaves a mark. It lingers where it matters and Cora should have realized. That was foolish of me. To believe she’d be able to differentiate and, well, I do admit it’s close, but…” “Make some goddamn sense!” “Oh my God, Killian,” Nemo sighs. 

Killian doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t let go of Emma’s hand. And Emma is only slightly confused. She’s mostly doing her best not to cry. 

The Darkness stares at her again. “But you my dear,” he says, a longing in the words that makes her whole body ache. “You are something entirely new. I’ve been looking for you for a very long time. The only problem is I need you to be free of those pesky secrets that have been crippling your magic. The Savior can’t have that.” Emma blinks. “The what?” “We’ll get to that. First thing’s first though. The truth, Ms. Swan. About what happened in this house all those years ago and how you’ve spent your entire life running from it. Then the fun will begin.”

She tastes blood in her mouth, vision blurring with tears she can’t bring herself to cry because it is her fault and it’s always been her fault and she should have told him from the start. 

She’s wrong. 

From the very start. “Swan, what is he…” Killian starts, but his eyes widen when the Darkness moves back towards Shakespeare, a knife at his throat and a predatory glint in his stare. 

“Go ahead, Savior,” the Darkness sneers. “Or we’ll start killing. I’m not nearly as upset about it as you are.” Killian spins on the spot – ignoring the villain and the knife pressed to his uncle’s neck and Emma’s breath hitches when his glove-covered hand brushes her cheek, catching a tear on the fabric. The whole thing is very cyclical. 

She hates it. 

“Like the goddamn sun,” he mumbles, and it doesn’t make sense. It makes a negative amount of sense, but Emma exhales like it’s the single most important sentence ever uttered and—

“I’m the reason Liam is dead.”

Killian’s hand falls away from her.

[lia-jones]

Growing Pains - Chapter Sixteen - Dummy

I finally managed to pull the zipper of my dress without tearing apart the lace on the bodice. I looked at myself in the mirror, wondering if this was the perfect attire for dinner. Cryptical as he sometimes could be, I could never exact what Victor really meant most of the time. I sighed. The dress I had picked would have to do, a short rose lace A-line dress with an illusion neckline. Dark grey high heels to match it. Not too “date night”, not too professional either.

Judging from everything we had lived, and knowing the circumstances that we were in, I wasn’t inclined to believe this was more than friendship. Perhaps Victor just wanted someone to enjoy the city with him, and I was nearby. However, I could guess a much better company would be just a phone call away. It was confusing, like most things concerning Victor. Keep it simple, Andrea, stop reading into things. It’s dinner, I thought to myself. But my heart was thumping hard, no matter what I told myself.

I had no time to wonder or ponder anymore, as I looked at the clock and it was already 6:55 pm. I had five minutes to get to the lobby, fully aware that Victor would be moody if I was late. I got my things and opened the door to leave, only to find Victor in the hallway, hand raised, prepared to knock on my door.

“Hey.” I greeted him, slightly startled. “I was just going to the lobby to meet you.”

“No need. I just got ready.” Victor seemed to be in a good mood. “Let’s go.”

We got in the car and the driver took us through the city, pulling near the Eiffel Tower. Victor got out of the car immediately, and before I got the chance to, he opened the car door for me, offering his hand to help me out. Seeing me out of the car, Victor closed the door and motioned the driver to leave.

“Shall we?” Victor offered his arm for me to take, smiling.

I smiled and took his arm, as we walked towards the Eiffel Tower. As we got closer, I realized where we were going.

“Jules Verne?” I asked.

“Yes. One of the best views in Paris, and outstanding food. I trust you’ll like it.”

The restaurant was not as refined as I predicted, but it was still very elegant, and Victor was right, the view over Paris was magnificent. We were led to a table near the window, and I felt like I was floating over the city. The waiter came to take our order, and Victor took over, asking for the tasting menu, and for the waiter to bring the wine right away.

We sat in silence for a while, as I sipped my wine and enjoyed the view.

“God, look at the moon. It’s beautiful.” I said, looking through the window “The view is amazing.”

“Breathtaking.” I heard Victor’s soft voice. I turned to him and smiled, only to see that he was staring at me. Reading me. Like he needed to memorize every detail on my face. I faced him, slightly embarrassed.

“Thank you for bringing me here. Although I don’t think I deserve the reward, I barely worked at all.”

“This is not about work, and tonight I am not your boss. We will not discuss work today.” Victor leaned slightly forward on the table. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“What’s there to know? I’m pretty ordinary.”

“I’ve seen you disarm a man in less than 30 seconds. That’s not ordinary at all.”

“Krav Maga. Obviously, an overcompensation. It just came in handy this time.” I shrugged.

“Still, although incredibly stupid, it was impressive.” Victor looked me in the eyes, hiding his smile with his glass of wine. “What other hobbies do you have? Do you play other sports?”

“Just Krav Maga and some Yoga. How about you?”

“I run, whenever I can. I also enjoy swimming, horseback riding, golf. When the weather allows it, I go rock climbing.”

“None of those are team sports. You really enjoy your solitude.” I remarked.

“I deal with enough idiots at work. I like some time for myself.”

“Yet you are here with me. You could’ve easily ditched me at the hotel.” I teased.

“You’re not an idiot.” Victor suppressed a smile.

“Oh, do I sense a compliment?” I recalled our talk at the ball.

“Just because you sometimes act like an idiot, it doesn’t mean you’re one. Besides, last time I called you an idiot I was severely reprimanded. I tend to play safe, now.” He couldn’t hide his cocky smile now. I laughed.

“To be honest, I really wanted to keep you as far as I could back then.” I made a face.

“What about now?” Victor eyed me carefully.

“You’ve shown some other layers of you. I did too. Things changed.” I walked around the question, trying not to spill the beans.

“You didn’t answer my question. How do you feel about me now?” He pressed, an expectant look on his face. For someone usually so cryptic, he was really acting forward. I decided to through caution to the wind and be just as direct.

“In all honesty, I find you hard not to love.” I stated, looking him in the eyes.

Victor’s face dropped and his eyes widened. He seemed to freeze in time for a while, if not for all the emotions I could see running behind his eyes. I could almost hear the circuits in his brain buzzing, overwhelmed with thoughts my honesty brought to light. He snapped out of it when the waiter came with our first course, clearing his throat. The dishes were served and we sat for a moment, staring at our food, the proverbial fog setting on our table.

My chest tightened with his lack of reaction. But I also felt some kind of relief. At least I knew where I was standing. And it wasn’t like I professed my undying love for him, or did something reckless like steal a kiss. I looked at Victor, who was still clearly uncomfortable and at loss for words, and cut a piece of the aspic on my plate, tasting it.

“Good.” I hummed in pleasure. “I’m not really a fan of aspic, but this is really good.”

Victor welcomed the change of subject, as he relaxed slightly, his expression becoming his usual poker face one.

“Yes, but just wait until they bring the braised salmon. It’s one of my favorite dishes here.”

“Can’t wait.” I said, smiling, trying to play it cool. “So, besides sports, what other hobbies do you have?”

“I read, listen to music, mostly classical, I cook.”

“I remember you said your mother was a pianist. Do you also play?”

“She taught me, but then I went to boarding school and my father considered it a waste of time, so I stopped.”

“It’s a shame. You have pianist fingers. I had to work extra hard, because, as my piano teacher would put it, I do not have the hands for the keys.” I said, showing him my small hands.

“You play the piano?” Victor frowned in surprise.

“Yes, since I was six. I learned the piano for 13 years, actually.”

“Thirteen years learning the piano is a very long time. You must be really good at it. What are your favorite pieces?

“Vivaldi, all four seasons. Grieg’s In The Hall of The Mountain King.” I hummed a bit of the tune and Victor nodded, recognizing it.

“Interesting choice.” Victor stated, seemingly impressed.

“Yes, I auditioned for the conservatory with that one.” I agreed. “It’s technically demanding, but it’s also very easy to visualize while playing it, it has a very natural rhythm. I like pieces that allow me to make up a story in my head while I play.”

“Why did you choose Economics instead? It seems like you had a very promising career as a musician.” Victor frowned.

“Mostly because I was tired. And you must surely know, your mother being a pianist, the kind of injuries you get when you have to practice hard on a daily basis. I had back and shoulder pain, my fingers would easily cramp with the cold… It was taking a toll on my health. I got accepted in the Conservatory, but then I also got admission to college, so I chose Economics instead.”

“Do you still play?”

“Not since I came to Loveland. I couldn’t fit the piano in my suitcase.” I joked, earning me a chuckle from Victor.

The initial awkwardness from my honest outburst seemed to fade gradually as we engaged in conversation. Victor kept asking me questions about myself, seemingly wanting to know me better and I complied, replying and asking Victor his perspective on all the subjects he brought up. Victor was incredibly sharp and knowledgeable, and the world around us seemed to fade away, and with it, time itself. When we noticed, the restaurant was almost empty.

“Shall I call the driver or do you want to walk back to the hotel, take a stroll, maybe?” Victor proposed.

“Walking would be nice. I would love to take a last look at the city.” I answered.

We walked in silence for a moment. Victor seemed to be lost in his own thoughts until he spoke again.

“What you said in the restaurant…” Victor stopped and turned to me, touching my arm. I felt self-conscious all of a sudden, avoiding his touch.

“There’s no need to make things awkward, Victor. I get it, I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m a big girl. You are not forced to feel the same way.”

Victor closed the small gap between us, holding my upper arms. I was startled by the sudden proximity, and instinctively looked down.

“Look at me, Andrea.” His voice was soft yet demanding. I didn’t comply.

He leaned his forehead against mine, forcing me to face him, but even then I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. I squirmed again and he tensed his grip, as in to say I wouldn’t go anywhere.

“Look at me.” He pleaded again. “I need you to look at me. Look me in the eyes, Andrea.”

I finally mustered the courage to face him, afraid of what I would see. His expression was a calm, loving one.

“Did I ever say I didn’t feel the same way?” I didn't know what to say. “How can you not see it?” I heard his hoarse voice again.

And like it was the most natural thing in the world, he leaned in and kissed me. It was a soft kiss at first, just enough to taste the wine in his breath and feel the softness of his lips. But it didn’t take very long for me to get totally addicted to his warmth. I pressed his body harder with mine, taking his face with my hand, wanting more of him, and suddenly the fire inside him became brighter. And hungrier.

It was like something broke, something that was helping him hold his emotions back, and he lost all self-control. He was all over me, deepening the kiss with unexpected passion, one hand clasping my curls in the back of my head, the other holding my waist for dear life. I was lost in his arms. Hopelessly open and vulnerable. Gone for good.

Victor broke the kiss panting, his eyes dark, his forehead touching mine. I achingly let go, and it took me a moment to regain my senses, only to find I couldn’t possibly utter a word. I was terrified that the faintest sound from me would break the spell, keep him away from me again, and now that I had a taste, I wanted this more than anything. Victor smiled softly, still holding me in his arms.

“Dummy.” He teased. “Not everyone wears their heart on their sleeve like you do.” He softly stroked my cheek. “But I trust now I have successfully shown you my intentions.”

“You did.” I smiled back. “Now let me show you mine.”

And I kissed him again, reigniting his fire, and instantly melting with its magical warmth.

[virsamin]

Sassy Much?

Victor x Reader

Genre: NSFW/SMUT

Word Count: 1,771

Summary: A little idiot gets sassy and pisses off our lovely Victor

A/N: To the anon that requested this, I hope you like it!! (I got a bit carried away sksksksk)

Additional: Spanking, Fingering, Public /Office Sex, Rough Sex 

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

It started with the quip she made in Souvenir about Victor's hypocrisy, how he'd shamelessly lie about the obvious smile he'd brought out once she'd complimented his kitchenware. His mood was cheerful then, freshly made pudding sat on the counter next to a long-stemmed wine glass and a tall glass of juice for his little fool. His heart soared at the thought that he had finally become a priority to her, she desperately wanted him featured on her show, so he let the remark pass. The corners of his lips curled upwards as she frantically tried to parrot what was in the proposal, stumbling through each concept. 

..................................................................................................

Though you were busy explaining the project to him, his actions didn't go unnoticed. With building confidence, the thought to try again resurfaced in your mind. It was only appropriate that you try to use a fairly small amount of sass to equate for the amount of teasing voiced by him.  

So it began, the small jests in private, the jeers out of the office. Nothing too witty, nor too sassy to anger him but just enough to provoke.

It was the mockery when discussing her company's progress report that pushed him over. The ambiance was already tense when she walked into his office half an hour ago and even more so now as he stared at her silently, his brows furrowed together and his lips pursed. He had been skimming over the documents in the manila colored folder, one hand balled into a fist, holding up his sharp jaw as the other grasped the papers stiffly. 

Tick...tick...tick...

The clock reverberates around the room simultaneous with the tapping of her foot, each second followed by a soundless Victor. His usually brightly lit office was now dim, the windows behind him covered with a thin screening, casting faint rays of light where it has managed to slip through.

The steady rise and fall of his chest proved that time wasn't frozen and that Victor was very much alive... and upset. His silver eyes glimmer, boring into her deep gold ones. With a slight head tilt and eyebrow raised, he sits there taunting her, urging her to repeat yourself. 

*** 

Your posture changes. Your spine straightening minutely, a sense of defiance coursing through your veins, challenging him back. A breath escapes him as he sighed almost in defeat beckoning you towards him. The squeaking of the wheels of his chair broke you out of a trance as he rolled back from his desk. The corners of his crisp suit wrinkle as he folds his arms, his Rolex watch glinting in a shimmering ray of light. 

"Come here."

His voice rings with authority, the sounds loud and clear in the otherwise still room. He watches the girl rise from her seat, her footsteps rivaling his tone as you move to the space between him and the edge of his white desk. Leaning back on the blunt side of his desk, you mimic him, crossing both your arms and legs in pursuit of showing superiority. Your gazes are locked, unyielding,  as he leans forward to grasp your chin cautiously. Tilting it slightly to the side, a smirk resides on his lips as he sits there examining you like a fine specimen. 

Warm, strong hands wrap themselves around your delicate body, pulling you against their hard frame. Your eyes widen in shock as your being goes rigid at his unspoken assault. Arrogance flashed within him as our eyes met and his hands gripped that waist of yours to bend over his lean thighs.  His hands run underneath the rim of the satin skirt as he slides them off along with your panties. His nails scrape against the sensitive skin of your thighs and the cold air bites at your flesh. 

“What are you doing?” The words come out wavered as small shivers encase you. He says nothing as his eyes float over her smooth skin, erupting warm tingles over his lover's body. A sharp pain comes from your now bare ass, faster than you've realized Victor had brought down his hand against your supple flesh, he slaps it again, short-circuiting your thought process. He smirks seeing you repeatedly tensing and relaxing and decides to unbutton your pretty blue blouse, letting it fall away from your bare body.   

There you were, bent over his lap, facing his growing erection. His eyes glimmer down over the trembling woman in front of him. 

"Victor wait! What if someone comes in?" He glares down at her in angst, only to skim his fingers across the girl's back and dip into her core. 

"You had better stay quiet then, you'd have a lot of explaining to do then" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice.  

His knuckles caress the indent of her back, trailing downwards and gradually pressing harder. She's visibly quivering, whether it be from the fear or exhilaration of his hot touch, you couldn’t tell. 

Weak but growing in strength, she attempts to break free from his hold, only to be met with an iron grip and a dark stare from him. He forces her side to his view, finding a slowly rising blush rising along her nakedness. Victor traces his finger around the redness of your ass, but instead of massaging it, he brings another sharp sting and the sound of his hand slapping your skin echos across the room.  The pain sends surges of heat to wetness in your core and your thighs press themselves together in an attempt to stop shaking.

“Victor...” The words are barely audible as the girl struggles in his hold. He wouldn't let her go tonight. 

“Sorry, what was that?” He smirks, the enjoyment in his voice prominent. 

“Victor, please! It stings...” Tears brim at your eyes as he relentlessly brings his hand down onto your reddening cheek. Ten, Eleven, Twelve, he had no intention of stopping until the color of the skin on her ass matched the blush on her face. 

The corners of his mouth turn upward, satisfied, and he finally lets go of your blazing skin. Your hands' reflexively travel to the tender parts of your buttocks as you massage it slowly. His leg presses against those trembling legs and they separate on his command, showing a dripping, glistening pussy in its wake.    

“Victor...Touch me...” The words come with a shameless whimper, and regret flashed across your features as soon as the words mistakenly fell from your lips. 

He stares, his eyes scanning those plump soft breasts down to the spreading heat between your thighs. He steps closer to her still body, his breath brushing her warm skin as his hands find themselves to rest on those lovely hips.

“You know I don’t like being told what to do.” His voice is sharp and low, hostile even, making a shiver rack your body. His hands are quick in gripping your sides as he picks you and roughly pushes you into the empty space of his office wall caging the fragile being as a predator would to its prey. He excels in the sense of agility, leaning down closer, skimming his lips ever so softly on your exposed neck. He continues his delicate assault, lips on my collar bone, on my ear, on my neck. 

With gusto, Victor crushes his soft lips to your own. Moans slip between the two of you and before you could comprehend what he was doing, the hands that were tugging at hair were secured tightly around his neck along with the legs that clasped around his waist.

His bulge had made itself known against the inside of your thigh as he bit your bottom lip, sticking that tongue of his into your mouth. Pressing himself closer, his racing heartbeat matches yours, his hand finds its way to those full breasts, palming and squeezing ever so delightfully, releasing heavy moans. His other hand slips a finger between your slick wet folds that only seemed to respond to his explosive touch. 

“So divine. So ready, Y/N.” He smiles, indulging in the moment before pushing another slender finger into you as your back arcs against him. 

He pumps his fingers faster and faster, each thrust almost leading to your undoing. He pulls his soaked fingers out only to strip himself of his clothes and have his prominent member making its appearance against your drenched thigh. 

Dominating those sweet lips again, he takes matters into his own hands he carries your breathless body back to his desk. Victor basks in your splayed nakedness, deciding where to begin. 

In your exhausted state, you lay flat on his desk, your eyes facing the ceiling as your body freezes at the sound of footsteps outside. The sound is loud and the only other sound was the labored breathing you both shared. The footsteps fade and the body in front of Victor slacks.

The smirk that pressed itself against your sweet bundle of nerves was conspicuous as he lapped and sucked at the little bud until you convulsed under him, arching in delight.

“Delicious as always. “He murmurs as he removes himself from the soaked folds, kissing your lips with your essence on his tongue. His eyes interlocked with yours and all he could read was the desire to have his thick cock pulsing inside you. His eyes darken and suddenly the rest of his garments are strewn across the floor. Victor drags your body down until your heated core is against his throbbing length. 

He leans across to press his chest against the one in front of him as he rams into her core, stretching it immensely. Thrust after thrust he drives with no mercy but a hint of longing in his grip on her body. 

His cock slides in and out of you at a constant rapid rhythm that you match eagerly. His hands graze your breast and grip your hips, squeezing and holding as he thrusts deeper, his name being cried out louder and faster every time. We both moan deliriously into the room, our breaths labored as we climb to our high. 

The folds around his throbbing cock clench him tighter as he slams into you. He groans, whispering that name of yours like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His pace picks up, thrusting so vigorously that your nails rake against his back as you scream and moan his name over and over in ecstasy. His throaty moans ricochet off the walls as his cock pulses inside of you. Together we pant, a mess of limbs bent over his desk, breathy and bewildered. 

knock knock

"S-sir...?"

[fantasyfictionary]

Victuuri

Has been 1 year since Yuuri and Viktor parted to walk in different ways in the same path. They promised not to see each other until now and only have phone calls in order to focus on winning the next Grand Prix. However, today is a special day. Today is their anniversary, the day that promise in Barcelona was made and the golden rings were exchanged. All the paparazzi and fans had tried to investigate more about the relationship without many results, only knowing they have paired rings and nothing else. Every time someone asked them about it, they avoided the question with: “it’s a personal promise between us”. 

In Russia

Yuuri sends Yurio one last message confirming that he has already landed and is waiting for Otabek at the airport exit. The plan consists of surprising Victor in his apartment with a homemade meal and a few decorations. To do this, Yurio and Otabek were required as his spy and taxi driver. 

Otabek left Yuuri in Victor’s apartment. Yuuri put the number key to enter and start with the plan. First, Yuuri decorated the flat with balloons, a trace of rose petals in the hall leading to dining room and candles all over the place. Then, he started cooking dinner. When he finally finished the special menu, he received a message from Yurio telling him that Victor was on his way home. Sending a ‘Thanks’, Yuuri rushed in putting the dishes on the tables, lighting the candles, turning off the house lights and last but not least, hiding himself in the bathroom. As the door was opened, he starts filming the moment with his phone.

Victor opened the door of his flat, annoyed and frustrated ‘cause his Yuuri didn’t respond to all of his messages and phone calls. He was also worried. Yuri never have left Victor’s Whatsapps without a response. Something was wrong, not only with his boyfriend, but also with Yurio. The little tiger had watched over him like a watchdog all day and only had approached to tell him to leave the training early today and to not get scared. Weird. He turns on the lights to find a welcoming rose petals entrance and a nice and familiar smell in the air. 

Victor: “Hello?” There was a silence. Victor takes out his Taser from his backpack. In Russia, someone stealing in your home could happen anytime so you must always be prepared. “Mister House-breaker?” 

Victor arrived at the dining room where the race of petals finished.

Victor: “Wow! Is that katsudon?” As fast as he finished the sentence, Yuuri appeared from the bathroom.

Yuuri: “Welcome home Victor! Happy anniversary! Did you like my surp- Waaaaaaah!”

Victor has missed the shot of the Taser when his lover has surprised him from his back. A few more centimetres and it would have hit him straight in the trunk.

Victor: “Oh my god! Are you okay Yuuri?” Yuri was now on the floor with one hand on his heart. 

Yuuri: ”... Yeah. Just … give me a minute. You scared the shit out of me Victor”

Victor: “How come?” Smirking, he helps his lover to stand up holding his hip “Well, Yuuri that was a real welcome surprise”

Yuuri: “Yeah. I’m glad you like it. I have been preparing it all the afternoon.” When he raised his head to see Victor’s face, he gasped. Victor has now his original long hair!

Victor: “Darling? Oh, I know, is it my new makeover? Well actually, is a comeback makeover” He says giggling.

Silence.

Victor: ”You don’t like it?” He asked more seriously at the null response.

Yuuri: “Wha- What?! What are you saying? Of course, I like it! Victor I-I-I ...” He tried to search the correct words to describe his crush, but he cannot find any because his brain just had a short circuit. In front of him, just a few inches from his face, was his beautiful ice-skating star boyfriend with his beautiful LONG silver hair, sensual lips and hypnotic eyes holding him by the hips. How many times has he fantasized in this situation?

Yuuri stops the recording, leaves his phone in the table, and immediately grabs Victor by the wrist and takes him to the bed where shyly Yuuri sits. Yuuri breath in and out twice trying to calm down before speaking.

Yuuri: ”Victor listen carefully. You’re the most gorgeous and stunning thing alive in this world, in this universe. Right now, I know I’m blessed that you Victor Nikiforov are mine as I am all yours” After that, he pulls Victor to be able to kiss him with a gentle but demanding kiss.

Victor started touching his boyfriend moved by his words while kissing him more roughly. He pushes him to stretch in bed and have better accessibility. They were flushed and the need for the other after one year of hunger was present.

Morning

Victor wakes up as he feels something snuggle closer to him, stepping into the process of his now long hair.

Victor: “Ouch. какого черта? Is that you Makkachin? Please stop eating my hair” Half asleep, he looks at the fake Makkachin. ‘Oh, it’s Yuuri’ He smiles ‘Look at him, he is too adorable’. He approaches his ear and whispers to him as he gently caresses his arm “Yuuri, my precious Yuuri, you truly are amazing. I think you aren’t the only one blessed” He kisses his ear, before kissing his cheek, nose and finally his left eyelid. “Well, I believe we’re going to have katsudon for breakfast”

* The End *

[emilyjunk]

Hgau pt next pls and ty this isn’t momoko btw just a humble anon

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8)(part 9) (part 10) (part 11) (part 11.5) (part 12) (part 13) (part 14)(part 15) (part 16) (part 17) (part 18) (part 19) (part 20) (part 21) (part 22) (part 23) (part 24) (part 25) (moodboards) (playlists) (ao3)

beca wakes to gentle fingers on her face

she sucks in a sharp breath, eyes flashing open and body jolting upward

“sorry! sorry. you’re okay, we’re home, you’re safe”

beca realizes she’s in bed and takes a few seconds for her heart to slow. she slumps back into the pillow, relief flooding through her. emily’s been spending the night at her house in victor’s village for a month now, but she usually has already left for school when beca wakes up. or on the weekends she sleeps later than beca does and beca spends a few minutes in easy tranquility, listening to the easy sounds of emily breathing, and peeking glances at her every few seconds. sometimes she lets herself look for longer, if emily is curled up against her and beca can’t easily turn away

emily’s presence in her bed has become a common comfort, warm and solid when beca can’t sleep or when she’s jolted from a nightmare, sweaty and shaken. she’ll turn and look at emily and be reminded that she’s not in that arena anymore. that she made it back home.

“sorry,” emily repeats with a guilty pout. “i didn’t know how best to wake you up”

beca rolls over to look at emily better. emily’s facing her on her side, backlit by the sunny window behind her. her hand is resting on the comforter between them and beca lets her fingers brush up against emily’s

“yeah. it’s… fine.” her voice comes out raspy and emily’s pout gives way to a fond smile, so small and soft beca doesn’t know what to do with it. her breath feels too hot in her lungs

after a moment, emily’s fingers drift back to beca’s face, her thumb gliding over beca’s cheekbone. beca’s whole body sighs, feeling the most relaxed she’s been since… she wants to say since before the reaping, but now that she thinks about it, she can’t really ever remember feeling this relaxed.

they stare at each other for a long second, but then emily frowns and beca knows the moment can’t last

“you have to get up,” emily says, slow and deadpan, like she hates the words coming out of her mouth. “they’re gonna be here soon.”

beca closes her eyes. shit. “i forgot for a second.”

“i know,” emily pouts again. “im sorry. i wanted to let you sleep but they sent a message with their arrival time”

“it’s fine,” beca sighs. “it’s not your fault they suck.”

“beca,” emily whispers, her eyes widening.

“because they’re ruining my beauty sleep, i mean. they could’ve picked a time in the afternoon, you know.”

it’s a lame attempt at a joke, but beca knows it’s enough for anyone who may or may not be listening. emily nods, eyes skittering around the room nervously.

beca pushes herself out of bed. “let’s get ready then. gotta look our best for the cameras.”

for the cameras, for the capitol. for all of panem. it was time for their follow up, a few months after the Games. the first of many. beca would have to do her victory tour over the summer and that would be hell. she didn’t even want to think of it. 

emily follows her out of bed and they brush their teeth and get ready. beca tries to play it off like she doesn’t mind what’s about to happen, but she’s pretty sure emily can see through her. she keeps sending furtive looks her way and, halfway through making breakfast, starts to sing softly under her breath. when she passes behind beca, she lingers, her hand gliding over beca’s back, her pretty singing voice soft in beca’s ear. beca has to admit it works because her anxiety cools to background jitters for a little while

finally it’s about time. beca gives herself a last glance over in the mirror and frowns. she’s still getting used to capitol-nice clothing. she usually wears her old stuff, but she has to look nice for her entourage she guesses. 

emily comes up behind her while she’s staring in the mirror and moves her hair off her neck. 

“i’m sorry you have to be part of this,” beca says. “i’m sorry your life is like this now too. that we have to… pretend.”

“you saved my life. don’t be sorry.” emily sighs and beca can feel it on her skin. “it’ll be over soon,” she murmurs. “for the day at least.”

beca nods, watching emily’s reflection, the pretty brown of her eyes. emily catches her looking and her lips twitch upward. her arms come around beca’s waist and her chin lands on beca’s shoulder. it’s soft, and intimate, and beca heats up from the inside out.

“you’re better at pretending than i am.”

emily turns to look at her and her nose brushes the underside of beca’s chin. “who says im pretending?”

beca’s mouth goes dry and her brain must short-circuit because she can’t think of anything to say. she stares and stares and stares. emily just laughs. “come on, i think i can hear them outside.”

sure enough, beca can hear clanging from outside and the low hum of muffled conversation. emily kisses her on the cheek and releases her, moving out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

beca drifts after her, the commotion from outside just background noise, even as emily opens the door and greets beca’s glam squad.

who says im pretending

it’s not like they aren’t that physically close usually. they hold hands and sit close on the couch and beca sometimes can’t even sleep these days if emily’s not touching her in some way. but that’s all she thought it was… an easy comfort between them, something that existed out of necessity. at least beca had thought so, but…

there was always that lingering yearning, that veiled confusion that beca didn’t acknowledge because their relationship wasn’t normal. beca had forced it into existence the second she stepped forward that fateful day and changed everything

she never thought it would mean anything beyond that, beyond the narrative they have to tell for the cameras

she really didn’t even stop to consider to think it might be something real

she steps outside after emily, hearing the offending squeals of her stylists and the general horrible capitol-ness from their district representative. it makes her stomach turn as she remembers she’ll be the center of attention for the rest of this horrible day, surrounded by these vapid, clueless people

but then emily extends her hand and beca takes it, letting emily pull her against her

emily talks and laughs with her team, taking the attention off beca, even if just for a moment, and beca feels gratefulness and tenderness and fondness for emily settle deep, deep inside her

she doesn’t know if it’s pretend, for herself or for emily, but when emily snakes her arm around her waist and tucks beca protectively against her side, beca decides that in that moment, she doesn’t really care

[elisaphoenix13]

Far From Home Ch.5 (End)

The suit was almost ready. Happy had sent Nick Fury a coded message and Peter had gone over his plan with him and Stephen. No matter what Quentin Beck stirred up, Peter just needed to remember that it was all an illusion and get inside if it to disable the drones. After that, he could go after Beck. Peter really didn't know how this would all play out, but he would die trying to fix his mistake.

The thought reminded him of the little something currently burning a hole in his utility belt. Peter pulls out the necklace he had bought for Cassie what seemed like ages ago, and holds it out to Stephen.

"Since you know about us...can you give this to Cassie if anything happens to me?" Peter asks, but Stephen makes no move to take it.

"You'll give it to her yourself." The sorcerer says softly. "I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit."

"I did give a bad guy a pair of glasses with an AI that has control over weaponized drones." The teen quips half-heartedly, earning a quiet chuckle from the older man. "At least hold onto it for me?" Peter requests.

Stephen nods. "I can do that."

He takes the necklace hanging from Peter's fingers and pockets it as he turns to the new Spiderman suit. Peter had said it was temporary, but he liked the design so he would ask Tony to help use it with nanotechnology so he could have the protection the nanites offered. Such as a bit more armor and being bulletproof. With this suit, he was vulnerable to bullets.

Stephen waits until Peter pulls the suit out before stopping him and taking it from him. Peter frowns as Stephen sits down with it, but when he asked for at max of five minutes with it, he relented and it only took a few moments to figure out what the man was doing. He was applying protective runes throughout the suit.

He may not be there personally to help him, but that didn't mean Stephen would send him off without some kind of magical protection. He also threw in some runes that would let him know if Peter got into trouble and couldn't call him for help. The teen was going into the fight with a comm piece, but those have been known to get lost sometimes. Stephen also asked Victor to reconnect to Karen in the new suit so they had a second way to communicate.

When he finishes, he gives back the suit and Peter changes from his stealth suit, and into the new one, leaving the mask off. "How's your leg?" The doctor asks.

"It's fine. I just want to kick his ass and go home." The teen admits. "I just need to focus more on my sixth sense so it can help with the illusions. I was too overwhelmed before."

Stephen nods. "Worry about Mysterio. Happy and I will help your friends. If you need me though--"

"Tell you." Peter finishes. "I know."

They land temporarily so Peter can hang on to the outside of the jet, Happy thoroughly teasing Stephen when the sorcerer argues against it, and they take off again once the head if security and the doctor take the seats at the front of the jet. As the approach the London Bridge, a huge Elemental forms and starts destroying the bridge, and the older men stare.

"Peter...are you sure that's not real?" Happy asks over the comm.

"Oh yeah...it's just a hundred times bigger than I expected!" The teen shouts over the wind. "We need to get higher so Beck doesn't see me."

Happy flies the jet higher until Peter finally loses his grip and falls off, and the teen recovers quickly by deploying his parachute and diving. Once he gets low enough, he releases the parachute and then deploys his 'web wings' to glide the rest of the way into the illusion of the giant Elemental.

"Oh...it's not real. It's not real. It's not real!" He repeats to himself before he flies into the illusion and manages to land on one of the many drones creating the illusion before looking around. "Whoa...that's awesome."

He could have sworn he heard a short bark of a laugh, but didn't think much of it. It was probably just Stephen laughing about him nerding out over tech in a dangerous situation. It wasn't the first time Peter had done it either. He starts his plan by applying the first of his taser webs to the drone he's hanging on to, then flips around to connect the web to as many drones as possible. Once he feels that he's done enough, he flips off the last one he webbed and activates the electricity, successfully short-circuiting the affected drones and causing the illusion of the Elemental to start falling. A section opens up to reveal a closed off part of the bridge and the eyes of Peter's suit narrow when he sees Beck within.

"I see you." He webs toward the windows with the intent to break through, but a drone that Beck must have called barrels into him and sends him flying over his mark. He slams into part of the bridge before falling and attempts to shoot a web out to save himself from the fall, but his web doesn't connect and he hits the railing of the main part of the bridge. Peter coughs through the pain when his previously bruised ribs scream at him, and he holds his side as he looks up.

Drones were circling the enclosed part of the bridge that Beck was in and the partially broken illusion of the Elemental finally falls and Peter only assumed that Beck had turned it off. He was planning something, but the vigilante was distracted by the explosion that he saw nearby. The same area he saw Happy land the jet.

"Mom? Happy? Are you guys okay?!" Peter asks over the comm.

Stephen was the one to respond. "We're fine. Focus on Beck!"

Peter bolts away from his crouch behind a car when drones start firing at him, and eventually webs himself up and swings around, using himself to trick the drones to shoot each other. He punches others that are just out of the line of fire and sends them falling out of the sky, smoke trailing behind them. He eventually loses momentum though and falls on top of a parked car, and rolls off to take cover from firing drones again.

The drones weren't only after him though. He knew they were after his friends and Happy and Stephen since they were protecting his classmates. "Happy! Say something so I know you're alive!"

"I'm here! I'm here!" The bodyguard's voice seeps through Peter's communicator.

"Thank god."

"We saved us some time, but not much. Stephen has a shield up."

Peter sticks to the car he's using as cover. "I'm trying to get to Beck but I can't shake these drones!" He yells out as he webs himself up and then webs the car to jump off, sending the vehicle back down to fall on top of some drones.

When he lands on a top part of the bridge, more drones fly toward him and attack him with flame throwers, lighting the back of his suit in fire as he swings away. He gets knocked around between endless amounts of drones and parts of the bridge until he's falling again, shoots out a web just in time so that his back hits the water below and extinguishes the flames on his back, and then webs a nearby drone flying up. Peter felt like he was setting traps for endless amounts of drones as he moved throughout the bridge. Another small amount was destroyed as he landed back on the road of the bridge, and groans when a small shockwave throws him into a parked car. More shockwaves follow, piling more cars on and around him, and then eventually he gets pushed over the edge and into the river below.

He really hated water now. It had gotten into his web fluid so he was at a disadvantage. Peter looks around for possible protection or a weapon and grins behind his mask when he finds the sign to the bridge and quickly makeshifts a bomb from car parts.

He runs forward and tosses his bomb up to a collection of drones, and then uses the sign to jump off of as soon as the bomb exploded. He crashes through the bottom of the tunnel that Beck is in, sticks to the ceiling of it and punches the man through his fishbowl helmet without hesitation. He grabs the front of the man's shirt and holds him in the air and looks down at him.

"Your lies are over."

"I have contingencies. EDITH?" Beck calls out and Peter looks over the man's head just as a drone shoots him and sends him sailing to the other side of the tunnel, rolling a few feet when he hits the ground. Peter ignores the pain as he gets back to his feet and turns on Beck.

"Just give me back the glasses."

Beck pulls said glasses from his shirt. "You want these? Come and get them." Drones surround him and pull up another illusion of darkness.

The teen takes a deep breath as he psyches himself up and focuses on his spider senses and uses them to avoid and destroy the invisible drones. He grabs one to use as a shield when the illusion shatters, and Beck screams at EDITH to continue firing even though he was in the strike zone. Beck did get hit by one of the drones as Peter destroyed the rest, and the teen pulls off his mask as he approaches him after he sits against the wall.

"Beck...you lied to me...and I trusted you."

"You're a good person Peter...such a weakness..." Beck holds out the glasses. "Stark was right. You deserve the glasses."

Peter jumps when a gunshot goes off and he looks to his side to find Stephen in his own suit and holding Beck's wrist. The teen looks back to watch the Beck against the wall fade away, and then looks back when the sorcerer growls. Peter actually smiles when Mysterio's eyes widen in surprise.

"Where did you come from?!"

"Beck...meet my mom. Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme." Peter says. "A real magic user."

Stephen takes the EDITH glasses off of Beck and hands them over to Peter. "Call off the drones."

Peter throws the glasses on. "EDITH! Turn off the drones!"

Once confirming his decision, the drones fly back to the satellite in orbit and Stephen glances down at Beck's gunshot wound.

"A fatal location." He makes eye contact with Beck and narrows his eyes. "You tormented and hurt my son. I don't feel inclined to help you, and technically I'm not breaking my oath as a doctor--" Stephen sighs. "Screw it." Peter gapes when the sorcerer throws him through one of the windows and opens a portal for the man's dying body to fall into, and he closes it as he turns to Peter.

"Holy crap Mom."

"No one hurts my cub and gets away with it." Stephen says matter-of-factly. "Come on. Let's find Happy, make sure your class gets to the airport, and we'll go home."

Peter sighs heavily. "That sounds great."

They do just that, Peter making sure to stay out of sight as Happy and Stephen make sure his friends and classmates make it onto a bus to take them to the airport, but the sorcerer gets side-tracked when Fury and Hill approach them. Mama Bear came out in all his furious glory when he stood at full height a foot away from the ex-director, and Peter barely caught a glimpse of fear in both agents. Stephen had told him to stay hidden, so he was watching from the darker side of a building, his enhanced hearing picking up the conversation.

"Strange...I need to talk to your kid."

"No."

"No?"

"Am I a joke to you?" Stephen snarls out. "This all could have been avoided if you called me."

"You and Stark are recovering from--"

"So is Peter! Next time you call him, you make sure there is absolutely no one else to help you! Do I make myself clear?"

Fury folds his arms and narrows his gaze. "...crystal."

Stephen nods sharply and turns on his heel to walk into the alleyway that Peter is in, and he opens a portal that Happy immediately walks through. Peter jumps down from his perch on the side of the building, landing gingerly on his feet, and Stephen helps him through the portal. Once they're safely in the tower penthouse, the sorcerer closes the portal and Peter limps toward the couch. He hisses out in pain as he sits down, and Stephen quickly joins him when he starts leaning to the side. The sorcerer had barely gotten comfortable before Peter's head was in his lap.

"Don't you want to get changed at least?"

Peter shakes his head. "Just wanna sleep."

Those three words took what was left of the teen's energy, and he slept for a couple of hours as Stephen did what he could to heal the boy's wounds. He only focused on the bigger ones, since he was tired himself from helping protect his son's classmates, and that was when Tony had entered the room. Stephen looks up at him briefly before reaching down to take the EDITH glasses from the sleeping teen. He hands them over to his husband in silence, and the engineer fiddles with them as he mulls over his next words.

"FRIDAY and Happy told me everything."

"You can lecture him later...just let him rest for now." Stephen says in response.

"I should lecture him...but I don't think I will." Tony admits and Stephen looks up at him in surprise. "He screwed up...bad...but he knew he did, stepped up, and fixed his mistake. He even asked for help."

"What Beck put him through was punishment enough anyway."

"How is he?" Tony asks quietly.

"Hurt...exhausted..."

"I know you got in Fury's face, but remind me to put in my own two cents next time I see him."

Stephen chuckles softly. "I'm sure you'll remember."

"Yeah, probably. I'll order some pizza for Underoos. He's going to be hungry when he wakes up." Tony says.

"How do you feel about suing a train company?" The sorcerer asks his husband who gives him a weird look.

"Why do you ask?"

"Peter got hit by a train."

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

[cloudycrystalkpop]

Predator AU roles | original lineup

will be making a part two for the perspective series, but should i include the dreamies and the rest of wayv in this au?

Jaehyun | THE HOUND

• tracker and inteligence agent

• the thrill of the chase

• hunter by blood

• loyal and gentle to those he trusts

• but ruthless and hellish to his pray

• he’s a quiet one but his silence is his obedience 

Doyoung | WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING

• club owner and pimp

• of shining teeth and soft fur

• believes most will reveal more if they are in pleasure, rather then pain

• business parters with Yuta (Perspective Series roles) 

• two faced. 

• his secret to his success? he’s a psychopath.

Jungwoo | A GLITCH 

• stalker and hacker

• tick tock, tap tap, click clack

• little boys and their love of colorful things

• tell a man he cannot have that, and it will be all he will ever want

• sometimes even just a smile can cause a short circuit

• be vary carefu who you judge as harmless

Lucas | THE SERPENT

• drug dealer

• on the side, he’s gifted with poisons

• some men live with venom on their tongues

• he smells like cigarettes and cheap sex

• but he tastes like heaven and hell

• be weary, he’ll take your breath away and squeeze the air from your lungs.

Winwin | THE CHAMELEON

• now you see him, now you don’t

• a magician, he is always his best trick

• but if you look closer, you may catch a glimps of the man behind the mask

• what he says and what he thinks is of little care to others

• no one really knows what’s real and what’s an act

• but perhaps if you peeled off his skin, you could fine the lonely man beneath

Taeyong | THE KING, DETHRONED 

• ace in the hole

• of dictators and their love affairs with freedom

• some say they fear the word

• most argue there is no such thing

• he would tell you, “freedom is an illusion.”

• yet, his world fell apart when his was taken

Mark | LITTLE LION MAN

• jack of a traids

• the ambitions of a young man

• with the wisdom of the lion tamer

• it’s all about power and control

• but everyone has a weekness

• while he may be the tamer, he is the man on the leash

Ten | SILVER TONGUE

• the right hand, exorcised from the body

• cleaver as the devil and twice as angelic

• lustful man, he takes whatever he wants

• history is written by the victors, never the survivors

• the devil was born for his throne, yet the kings crawl for the crown

• the man who is a traitor is the man who is the survivor.

Taeil | THE INNOCENT 

• -

• -

• -

• -

• -

• P E R S P E C T I V E S E R I E S R O L E S

Kun | THE SHARK 

• serial killer

• and, hit man.

• offer one drop of blood to him

• and he will crave all of it spilled out

• pain was never poetic in the moment. only in the aftermath. 

• in the moment, the blood wasn’t beautiful, it was only red.