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merryfortune · 1 month

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Touch Tag

August 14th: Post-Canon | Games | Horror

Title: Touch Tag

Ship: Boreshipping | Jim/Manjoume

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,264

Tags: Canon Compliant, Sports, Touch Starved

…What was he doing?

Based on his covert observations from up on the second floor of the dorm looking out over the grassy acres it belonged to, Manjoume had concluded that it was clearly Karen’s playtime but he wasn’t actually sure what game was being played. If it was a game at all. It involved a ball but it didn’t look like an actual ball game. Maybe drills? Some kind of practice?

Bah, it didn’t matter. He had much better things to do with his time than to watch Jim and his dumb crocodile punt a ball between each other. Surely. Yup, surely, he had something better to do. Like rearrange the dust on his windowpane or something. He was on top of his studies, his deck was as peak as it was going to get, he was certain…

And, yet, there was not much else to occupy Manjoume in his eight by eight room that he would love to claim that he had all to himself but very much didn’t thanks to the three Ojama Brother spirits who cohabited with him. So, mostly against his will, his brain bricked with boredom, Manjoume kept hovering by the windowsill.

“If ya wanna play, why don’t ya jus’ go down there an’ play, boss?” Ojama Yellow asked.

“I don’t want to play some dumb game with Jim.” Manjoume huffed, cheeks going red and his body very much going a different direction to what he had said.

Ojama Yellow snickered with his brethren as they farewelled Manjoume as he marched himself down the wooden steps and right over to where Jim and Karen were situated. He looked down his nose at the pair as they passed the pointed egg shaped ball between each other, Jim using his hand and Karen batting it back with her tail. Manjoume held himself to make himself look intimidating but based on the blank stare that Jim was giving from underneath his Akubra, it wasn’t working.

“What’s up?” Jim asked.

“Not much.” Manjoume replied stiffly.

The breeze swirled between them and the silence.

“Did you… need something?”Jim asked.

“Grawr.” Karen piped up, seemingly annoyed that Jim had halted her very important playtime.

“Er, just wanted to know what you were up to, I guess.” Manjoume admitted but he sounded like he was pulling teeth.

“Just… passin’ the footy ‘round. You want in?” Jim asked.

“The footy?” Manjoume echoed.

“Yeah, the footy.” Jim replied and he held up the ball a little higher.

It was branded to a sports team that Manjoume didn’t recognise but even if he was familiar with the intricacies of Australia’s big teams, it was faded as all hell, too. He could barely make out anything beyond vague lettering and what was probably a diamond shape once.

“You ever played footy before?” Jim asked and he started to get keen a bit, shook out his shoulders and if Manjoume didn’t know any better, he would describe his eyes as having a gleam of national pride.

“Do Australians call it football or soccer?” Manjoume said.

“We call it soccer but footy’s different to soccer and different again to football, if you're imagining the American one, anyway, we call that gridiron and don’t play it much. And it's different again to rugby, if that’s what you're familiar with, but we do like a bit of rugby but I like footy best. Or, y’know, Aussie rules, if you know it by that name.”

“You are not speaking any language I know.” Manjoume replied after Jim’s little spiel on the intricacies of sport down under and elsewhere.

“It's easy, promise.” Jim said. “Just don’t let the ball hit the ground, pass from the side, and since it's your first time playing, we won’t be playing tackle. We’ll play touch, instead, its non-contact, instead, you gotta grab at, uh… gimme a second, I’ve got some hankies we can use.”

Manjoume watched, puzzled, as Jim made the absolute bare minimum and honestly confusing attempt to explain the rules - and prepare him for the game. He tore in half a pair of handkerchiefs that he was carrying around and gave two strips to Manjoume, who accepted very limply, and the other. He hooked them around his belt hooks, not too tight, Manjoume noticed. All he knew was that his ears pricked up at “touch” and “non-contact” for some reason - and good reason, too, as Jim had a bit more to say on the topic.

“You're a bit… delicate so this’ll work well for ya.” Jim said.

“Hey.” Manjoume growled. “I’m not delicate. We can play tackle.”

“Nah, let’s start with tag, I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt, is all.” Jim said.

Manjoume’s brow furrowed further, “No, I’m tough, I can totally play tackle.”

“Alright then big guy, bowl me over. Knock me down. Do it.” Jim coaxed Manjoume, cockily tilting his chin up.

“I will.” Manjoume replied and without warning, he was straight at Jim.

Jim, however, was practically yawning. He played with a crocodile for Christ’s sake, no way was the living toothpick which was Manjoume going to knock him over but good on him for trying and he was trying hard. He was grunting and groaning, pushing into Jim’s breast as hard as he could, kicking up dirt clouds behind as all he moved was just his breath. Jim, meanwhile, was rock hard and standing still as a statue.

“Point proven yet or do you need some more time?” Jim asked.

“Argh, fine.” Manjoume gave up.

His hackles went up and he folded his arms crossly. He stared intently as he waited for Jim to explain more of the rules to this touch-tag Aussie rules footy thing.

“So, the goal is to get the footy across the line to score a point and the other goal is to get me out by taking my tags.” Jim said and he placed the ball on the ground. “When you get my tags, or if I get yours, we pause, we go back to where it happened and do one of these ones.”

Jim demonstrated what he meant by “one of these ones”. He put his foot on top of the ball, very softly kicked it maybe half an inch behind him and then picked it up. He tapped it against his foot, as well. It seemed like a very odd ritual but Manjoume shrugged.

“Normally, when you have a team, you pass it back and someone’s behind you to pick it up but for us, this’ll do to slow down the pace of the game. Oh, and if it happens three times, ball switches hands.”

“Right, got it.” Manjoume replied, chewing on it.

“Clear as mud, yeah?” Jim laughed. “Let’s get into it then, you’ll pick it up better playing.”

“Okay.” Manjoume replied, still chewing on all his vowels.

He glanced at Karen who opened her maw at him then closed it noiselessly. She seemed okay with watching them play rather than participating. But Manjoume felt very awkward about playing a sport he’d never played before.

Still, he and Jim lined each other up and Jim tossed the ball in the air. Whoever got it, got it. It went up, up, up, and Manjoume scrambled to catch it but with his taller stature and longer limbs, and his experience playing the game as well, Jim managed to catch the ball.

He hooked it under his arm and he took off. It was only then that Manjoume realised he had no idea where the boundaries or how long the field they were playing in was but Jim was booking it - and so he was, too. He scrambled after Jim but it was too late.

At just the edge of the schoolyard, Jim dunked the ball down and proclaimed he’d scored a point. It pissed Manjoume off, of course, but at the same time. The red in his cheeks wasn’t just from running full pelt for basically no reason out of nowhere and same for how his heart raced. Jim just looked so effortless playing this sport, how he grinned, it was absolutely cheeky. The tags hanging off his belt flapped victoriously as he showboated.

“Let’s try again.” Jim beamed.

“Yeah.” Manjoume huffed.

They both circled back to where they had started the game. Karen, at the sidelines, thrashed her tail around and growled, happy that her friend was in the lead but her guttural cries inspired Manjoume. He had to do better this time. He just had to. And so, he absolutely had a fire in his belly for what follows.

Jim punted the football upwards into the air again and Manjoume tried his hardest to get it. He brought all his weight down and jumped up as high as he could - and he felt like he could touch the sky. The sun blinding in his eyes, the salty sweat on his brow. His fingers just brushed the texture of the football but Manjoume didn’t bring it home. He just missed.

“Unlucky.” Jim taunted him as he once again won the one-on-one scrum.

He was laughing as Manjoume turned around, skidding on his heel. He full-on bolted. All he could see was the white, dangling fabrics of the tags flying off Jim’s belt loops. And so, he went for it.

Hard.

Even though they had established before playing that Manjoume was a twig and Jim was basically a brick wall, he went for it. He smashed into Jim from behind, grabbing the tags, practically frothing at the mouth for them as he tried to pull them off.

It was a glorious few seconds for Manjoume. Blood pounded in his head. He felt the spirit of sportsmanship deep in the bowels of his soul. He was going to win. Or, bare minimum, he was going to make the point score one all.

Manjoume’s arms swung wide. He made his stance low and as powerful as he could. He felt like a raging bull, tail swishing and horns glinting all the same as if they had been real. He crash-tackled into Jim and Jim crumpled. Manjoume hugged him tight around his waist, his head butted Jim’s chest and knocked the wind out of him.

At impact, Jim twisted the wrong way. His eyes opened wide and frantic. He lost footing and went down so, so slowly it felt. Manjoume grappled him wildly. Hands went everywhere in the effort to find the tags which were attached to Jim’s belt loops. Victoriously, at the end of such a crash, Manjoume did it.

He ripped free the torn in half hankies and it was glorious.

For all the couple seconds where it mattered before both landed with a thud.

Karen lifted her head briefly and blinked. The noise disturbed the grass and caused a dust cloud to bloom up around them. Jim and Manjoume both groaned as dizziness descended upon them, heavy like a cloak.

Manjoume had Jim pinned underneath him. The position was compromising. Manjoume had one leg in between Jim’s and the other over Jim’s left leg. He’d taken all the fall on his knees and wrists, the jarring sensation wracked all of him, competing - and winning - over the brewing embarrassment as Jim looked up at him. Surprised. Fully aware of everything with a slackened jaw.

“What the hell…?” Jim exclaimed in disbelief. “Where the devil were you keeping that, boy?”

Manjoume’s stare turned intense as his eleventh hour determination began to dawn on him. Jim looked so spindly and vulnerable underneath him, long and lanky body with outdoorsy musculature which strained his grass-stain proofed clothes. He swallowed thickly and felt Jim’s eyes watched, a little too carefully, as his larynx bobbed up and down in his throat.

Manjoume raked his fingers through the dirt. This was… This was a bit much for someone who wasn’t hugged enough as a kid, Manjoume realised.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Manjoume stammered and he scrambled off the top of Jim. Heart racing.

Manjoume was awkward and gawky, trying too hard to be fast and that slowed him down. He got there in the end but pummelled Jim first as Manjoume reefed himself back and sat in the grass. His coat flounced as he stopped.

“Er, good game, I guess?” Jim offered as he peeled himself off the ground. He didn’t look at Manjoume as he smacked dirt and grass off himself. “You seemed tuckered out.”

“Yeah, that took everything out of me.” Manjoume replied.

Jim smirked and then faced Manjoume forward. He offered his hand to shake.

“Draw?” Jim suggested. “Not a total wooden spooner if we’re evens-Stephens.”

“Yeah, sure.” Manjoume agreed.

He resolved to return Jim’s handshake upon the invitation. If a little reluctantly as he had all sorts of feelings about the climax of their match. Endorphins made his teenage angst fuzzy as he took his sweet time to shake Jim’s hand.

His blood droned in his ears as he realised, he was back to the start. Watching Jim a little too carefully for it to be platonic interest. Manjoume hurried up. To get it over and done with even though before he even slid his hand against Jim’s palm, he knew he wouldn’t want to let go afterwards.

Jim didn’t say a word waiting on Manjoume to hurry up before he finally did. Jim’s hand was firm and calloused. Manjoume’s was flimsy by comparison but he did his best to match the energy of well meaning sportsmanship that Jim was offering him.

They shook on it but both took a little bit too long to let go.

#ygorarepairweek2024 #yugioh gx #yugioh #gx #boreshipping #manjoume jun #jim crocodile cook #writing tag #touch tag

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wizardofarles · 1 month

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Hello readers, I present to you another snippet of lykmc chapter 16, at the request of @snivelingshade !!💙

Laurent was raising his fist to knock again when the door swung inward, revealing the pale, oval face of Loyse Fortaine. Her eyes widened as recognition struck.

“Laurent!” She blinked, and quickly gathered her thin lips into a smile. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“I’m sorry to drop by unannounced,” Laurent said, “but I was hoping to have a word with you.”

“Of course! It’s no problem. Come on in.” Loyse stepped aside and ushered Laurent through the door, into her apartment, where he promptly stumbled over a pair of mud-stained soccer cleats.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, this place is a pigsty.” Loyse crouched to pick up the cleats. “I wasn’t expecting guests.” She carried them with quick steps to one of three white doors that Laurent could see off the main room.

It didn’t take her long to get there, only a few brisk strides, weaving through furniture that was too big and fancy for the space. Laurent recognized the couch and armchairs from their old house, as well as the mahogany dining table and chairs that Loyse had inherited from her great-great aunt or someone. They were starkly out of place here in this small, cluttered apartment with scuffed-up wooden flooring that even Laurent could tell was cheaply made.

“Julien!” Loyse rapped on the door with the back of her knuckles. “Guess who’s here!” She smiled at Laurent while she waited for an answer from her son.

Laurent returned the smile out of politeness, but his mind was fixed on a puzzling thought. Guion lives in a penthouse. He’s still a board member at Angelico. Laurent had glimpsed him talking with Kastor at his birthday party, dressed in a thousand-dollar suit. Supposedly, Guion even had access to a private jet. He was, by all accounts, still a rich man. Maybe richer now than ever.

So, why are his ex-wife and son living in a place like this?

“Julien!” Loyse knocked on the door again, rattling it in its frame.

The door swung sharply inward, and Laurent blinked back shock.

As children, Julien had looked the most like Aimeric out of all his brothers, but the boy who stood in the doorway was a stranger to Laurent. His round face had thinned considerably, filled out in angular lines where before there had been only soft edges. He’d chopped off his chestnut curls in favor of a short, spikey look barely longer than a buzz cut, and he was much taller than Laurent remembered him—his limbs stretched out in a way Aimeric’s never would. Only his eyes were the same; wide, and green, and angry. He fixed them on his mother.

“What?”

She pressed the dirty cleats to his chest. “How many times have I told you not to leave these in the doorway?” Clutching his cleats, Julien rolled his eyes and started to close the door. Loyse stopped the swing of the door with a stiff arm. “Look who stopped by! Don’t be rude, come say hi.”

Julien glanced over his mother’s shoulder and locked eyes with Laurent. His look of bored frustration turned into something more guarded; something colder.

“Hi,” Julien said.

Laurent remained perfectly still. “Hi.”

Julien turned back to his mother—“I have homework”—and closed the door.

Loyse sighed. “Sorry about him,” she said to Laurent.

“It’s you I came to see.”

For the first time since he’d arrived, her gaze flicked down to the violin case Laurent was carrying by the handle, and then quickly away. Rubbing at the fourth finger on her left hand, as though to twist a ring that was no longer there—an old habit—Loyse flitted past him and into the kitchen area of the apartment.

“Can I get you anything to eat?” she asked with her back to him as she began opening cabinets. “I haven’t been to the store this week but I’m sure we have something.”

“No, thank you,” Laurent said.

“Something to drink? Water, tea?”

“Some Earl Grey would be great, if you have it.”

“Of course.” Loyse tossed a smile over her shoulder. “I always have Earl Grey.”

“I remember.”

She showed him the back of her head again as she filled the kettle at the sink and carried it to the stove. There was a tension in the lines of her shoulders that Laurent knew only too well. He quietly took a seat at the table, clutching his violin case in his lap. Wordlessly, Loyse came over and set two empty mugs down—sliding one across the table to him—before seating herself in the chair opposite him.

They smiled awkwardly at each other for a long moment, both feeling the presence of the dark chasm that had ripped open between them, neither sure how to bridge it.

Loyse made the first attempt. “How are you, Laurent?” she asked with real warmth. “You look well. You’ve grown so much.”

Laurent stared down at the blue mug in his hands, suddenly crushed by an overwhelming sense of guilt. “I’m okay. And you?”

“I’m okay,” she echoed. Her voice betrayed her, strain and melancholy seeping through.

Laurent said nothing; the taste of his own lie still clung to his tongue.

“I heard your brother came home from Delfeur,” she said. “You must have been thrilled.”

Laurent smiled. It felt weak.

“How is he doing these days? Has the adjustment been hard?”

“Auguste is doing great,” Laurent lied. “I think the time away was good for him.”

Loyse became quiet after that. Maybe she’d heard more than just the fact that he’d come home, or maybe something in Laurent’s tone or expression had tipped her off. He silently cursed himself for forgetting how well this woman knew him.

“So,” she prodded, chewing her lip, “everything’s good at home?”

Uneager to traverse that particular path of small talk, Laurent cut right to the heart of his purpose in coming here. “I want to resume my violin lessons.”

“Oh!” Loyse tucked her wavy chestnut hair behind her ears. It was shot through with streaks of gray that Laurent didn’t remember being there before. “Wow, okay. That’s great! Are you looking for … a recommendation, or—”

“I want to resume my lessons,” Laurent clarified, “with you.”

#we’re in the home stretch people!#this month for sure #lykmc ch16 #lykmc updates #lykmc #my writing #captive prince fanfic

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phantom-kitten · 10 days

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tagged by @bloody-fate to play! tagging @ahdor, @daenerys-targaryen, and @vitri0l if they’d like to join.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ <3 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Do you make your bed?

I do not make it per se, but I do tidy it up a bit.

Fave number?

since learning about lucky/unlucky things in childhood, my favorite number has been 13. I did adopt two other favorite numbers, my childhood friend Alex’s number is 19 and my brother-in-law’s is 22 and somehow those became equally as important to me.

What’s your job?

each day I take approximately 40 phone calls from grieving families seeking to claim the funds belonging to their deceased loved one. I work with executors, beneficiaries, widows, lawyers, trustees, and talk about death and forms and money all day. truly though, I love it.

Go back to school?

one day I will finally bite the bullet and go to mortuary school. there are so few around the country anymore which makes it difficult to just do it; it’ll involve a lot of logistical work and possibly a move to make it happen. I think about it all the time and it’s the only thing I want other than being a working musician.

Can you parallel park?

I’m so excellent at parallel parking that it’s a fault. on more than one occasion, I have gotten myself into a spot so snugly that I cannot get out.

Job you had that would surprise people?

I was the assistant manager of a gym and it was so blatantly out of character for me that even my coworkers were in on the joke. I didn’t know how to work any of the equipment and I’ve never worked out before, so I’d just mind my business and do my own thing and it was actually really fun until management changed.

Aliens real?

yes, of course, it’s not even a question for me. I’ve always believed in the unknown: aliens, ghosts, cryptids. there is so much more out there than we are readily aware of or have “proof” of.

Can you drive stick?

no, and I don’t particularly have an interest in learning.

Guilty pleasure?

no guilty, just pleasure.

Tattoos?

twenty! with appointments for more! started the day after my 18th birthday and I love all of them so much, even the damn infinity sign/anchor combo on my wrist.

Fave color?

my favorite color comes in eras. I loved the purple years, green was fun for a bit, but my favorite color right now is yellow. I looooooove yellow.

Fave type of music?

that is possibly one of the most difficult questions and I do not have an answer, whoops

Do you like puzzles?

I heart puzzles very much. my mother would put together 1,000 piece charles wysocki puzzles - always only charles wysocki - when I was a child and I started helping. as the puzzle of the moment sat completed on the coffee table for the next couple weeks, I’d disassemble and reassemble portions until I was putting full puzzles together myself. now I have my own collection of charles wysocki puzzles and my mom got me a wooden puzzle table for my apartment last christmas.

I also really love word puzzles of all kinds, as well as logic puzzles.

Phobias?

eep, I am scared of the dark and the deep ocean.

Favorite childhood sport?

childhood sport? you’ve got the wrong girl. aside from t-ball from ages 5-7 or so, I have never played a sport. No basketball, no baseball, no soccer, got Cs in gym class.

Talk to yourself?

I am my favorite friend, I stay talking to myself at all times.

Movies you adore?

I have! too many! to list! first to come to mind: like crazy, eternal sunshine, I used to go here, thoroughbreds, promising young woman, shiva baby, it follows, oculus, elizabethtown, garden state

Coffee or Tea?

I like green tea but I love a macchiato or latte more.

1st thing you wanted to be when grew up?

musician or actress, duh.

#pk archive

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fallencomrade · 2 years

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𝑰𝑴𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑺 𝑻𝑶 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑹... 𝑗𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠 ( 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒 )

CAN THEY USE CHOPSTICKS ? - in more ways than one. in the traditional sense, barnes does know how to and uses chopsticks when eating asian foods, which he orders quite often. any given week, a number of half - eaten boxes can be found inside his fridge, wooden chopsticks left poking out of the last greasy container he stole a bite from.

WHAT DO THEY DO WHEN THEY CAN’T SLEEP ? this is a common occurrence and one of the hardest difficulties barnes faces following his release from hydra. imbued with the super soldier serum allows him to remain awake longer than most, but both body and mind have their limits. he still requires rest in order to heal and function. for decades, the soldier operated in a very specific way. it was a rare thing for him to be active long enough to require sleep. when assigned a mission, the soldier did not stop moving until the mission was completed. rest was not a course of action that would ever occur to the soldier. shutting his eyes ? turning his mind off ? not an option. it was eventually eliminated from his design, like so many other human things. what he became accustomed to was INACTIVITY and this dormant state came in one of two ways - either through the cold grip of stasis or the heavy drag of chemical drugs. after operating in such a way for such a long time, barnes struggles to adjust back to ‘ normal ’ standards of living. weaponized mind has forgotten, aggressively rejects even, the concept of shutting down and this inability to disengage often results in bucky falling asleep only when on the brink of fatigue and exhaustion. some nights, he still tries - but most nights he does not even make the attempt. his bed is rarely used. instead, his favorite spot to laze is his lumpy couch or the hard floor beside it. he tends to put on a baseball or soccer game, hoping it may lull his mind into a relaxed state. any strenuous activities - running, sparring, any exercise really, is typically avoided. his body is already exhausted by this point and does not require any further strain. instead, james will try more calming activities : cleaning his blades and guns, reading, listening to music or podcasts, crossword puzzles. a standard night finds him slouched on his couch, mindlessly watching the sports or history channel with tired, bloodshot eyes. sometimes it works and he will drift for an hour or two, but on most nights he finds himself watching the sun set in the evening and rise again in the morning.

WHAT WOULD THEY IMPULSE BUY AT THE GROCERY STORE ? anything cakey and sweet. packaged doughnuts, crumb cakes, double - chunk chocolate chip cookies, honey buns, cinnamon rolls, pies. he is also bizarrely fascinated with all the different brands of cereals that exist these days and has boxes upon boxes stored in his pantry.

WHAT ORDER DO THEY WASH THINGS IN THE SHOWER ? ( he hopes ) like a normal person ? he washes his hair first - shampoo and conditioner. washes his face, upper body then lower body.

WHAT’S THEIR COFFEE ORDER ? given his sweet tooth, james enjoys any mix of coffee / expresso and sugar. during the war, coffee was a coveted comfort - even if it did taste like bitter sludge. caffeine has no effect on his body, but james still finds comfort and joy in drinking it. it is a grand thing, the way coffee has evolved over the years ;; the staggering amount of options and ways to drink it. && he has no shame. he drank enough of the bitter crap during the war. he enjoys it fully now, reaping the benefits of time and creativity, and will drink it in any way. black, just milk, just sugar, milk && sugar, with creamer, flavored creamers, syrups, expresso, with whip, with extra whip, lattes, macchiatos, americanos, frappes, cappuccinos, affogatos. on most days though, he brews his own coffee every morning and drinks it with a gracious amount of milk and sugar. he prefers hot coffee over iced, mocha over vanilla, and is not a fan of teas, chi - teas or matcha based drinks.

WHAT SORT OF APPS WOULD THEY HAVE ON THEIR SMARTPHONE ? barnes does not really use his phone for much other than to make calls and send text messages. sometimes he will use the web to look up information, check the weather, order food, read new stories, etc but for the most part, he does not use the device - although, he does always have it on his person. he has no interest in social media of any kind. hydra had utilized these social applications in their algorithm to track and profile their targets and that alone is enough to convince barnes to stay as far away from them as possible. not to mention, he doesn’t have a lot of friends and what would he post anyway ? an inspirational quote from his stoic therapist ? political opinions ? a new recipe ? now and then photos ? his relationship status ? please. no one cares and he has no intention or confidence to blast his opinions for anyone to read. he does like the games though and has downloaded poker, solitaire, chess, battleship, tetris, minesweep for those moments when he is really bored. he has spotify for music and podcasts, audible for books - although he hardly uses it. true to his age, he still very much prefers hardback books as opposed to digital ones. he has netflix downloaded for movies and shows, but prefers to watch media on his tv and not his phone. && despite his love for takeout, he does not use grub hub or door dash. he picks up his food instead of giving away his address. paranoid, old habits die hard.

HOW DO THEY ACT AROUND CHILDREN ? for barnes, when it comes to children, each age bracket justifies its own reasons to avoid. back in the day, bucky had been great with children ( had even looked forward to having a few of his own ) but he is far from the man he used to be and the kids of this age are ... different. granted, when it comes to any social situation, barnes maintains the same consistent stoic, uncomfortable silence. that dazzling social prowess is gone, replaced with clumsy awkwardness and internalized panic. children in particular though, he does find more difficult to handle than others. newborns cry all the time and are just so damn fragile. toddlers have too much energy, throw attention - drawling temper tantrums and need constant supervision. kids ask question after question after question, are too observant, honest and far too impressionable. preteens are presumptuous. teenagers, self - centered, know - it - alls ... the tragic truth though is that he has turned countless children into orphans. && perhaps even more disturbing is the harsh reality that his hands are dripping red with the blood of far too many children he has mercilessly slaughtered.

WHAT WOULD THEY WATCH ON TV WHEN THEY’RE BORED AND NOTHING THEY REALLY LIKE IS ON ? he is not the type who would routinely tune into ‘ regular scheduled programming. ’ he has seen and lived through far too much. the dramatics of modern television, the scandals, sex, horror, and unnecessary violence, fail to capture his interest enough to warrant any weekly dedication. for as little interest as he shows though, the television is typically always on in the evening and early morning hours, but it is used more as a distraction than for actual enjoyment. that being said, he does get some enjoyment in watching old movies, sports, the cooking channel, trivia game shows, national geographic, and the history channel. if none of these things are on at night ( which is very rare ), he typically defaults to the news station.

tagged by : self - tagged. tagging : @camerica ; @mxndwitch ; @cxpt + my most recent mutuals ( at time of queue ) : @hclywtrs ; @misermagic ; @troubledfew ( muse of choice ) ; @espnage && @cptnrgers !!

#⸢ ✪ ⸥ CHARACTER STUDY. | ‘ 𝑗𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠.

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aestheticsworldasmr · 14 days

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2 Player Challenge: 2vs2

Challenge your friends to endless fun with this exciting 2-player board game app! Packed with both classic and innovative mini-games, it offers everything from timeless favorites like Tic Tac Toe and Carrom Board to unique challenges like Magnetic Chess, slide puzzles, 2-player Rubik tiles, and Finger Tug of War. Perfect for quick games during commutes, long trips, or epic game nights, this app brings the nostalgic feel of real wooden boards to your mobile screen.

With smooth, responsive touch controls and a wide variety of mini-games, you’ll enjoy hours of competitive fun with friends and family.

Game Description

It’s time to challenge your friends in the 2 person games, play red vs blue now!

But if you are alone and you want to play the mini-games with 2-person games, you can enjoy with AI! You have multiple mini-games to play in the 2 player games offline and enjoy red vs blue 2-player games now!

You can choose your favorite mini-games ( tug of war, paint the flag, knife throwing game, 123, tic tac toe, table tennis in 2-person games):

Tug of War :

Use your tap-tap force in the tug of war in the two-player games!

Knife Throwing Game :

Target the knife in the right place in the knife-throwing game in a player game!

Paint the Flag :

You have to draw the flag correctly in the 2 player games offline and win paint the flag!

Tic Tac Toe:

Refresh your childhood in the 1234-player game!

Mini Soccer :

Enjoy mini soccer in games for 2 players!

Table Tennis :

Play table tennis win your friends in red vs blue!

Dart Game :

Learn to target accurately in the dart game in the partner games and win red vs blue in the 1234-player game!

Pop it 2 player games :

Relax with pop-it 2-player games in the partner games!

Connect 4 in the row :

You have to connect 4 in the wow in the games for 2!

And there are more mini-games! (Like Fight, teeth game, laser fight, test your luck…)

This game for 2 players has multiple two-player games with a lot of games with tic tac toe, table tennis, mini soccer, dart, and many more, you can enjoy these games for 2 players with your friends, Challenge your friends in 2vs2!

Improve your 2vs2 games skills with 2-player games / 1234-player games / two-player players, play it now with friends!

Alert: These games for 2 players kill your boring routine!

How to Play?

- Follow the hint and use interactive controls to play the game.

-Select a board game

- Follow the instructions in the game's rulebook

FEATURES

Multiplayer Interaction: Fosters social skills through communication and teamwork.

Strategic Thinking: Enhances problem-solving and critical thinking abilities.

Variety of Themes: Offers diverse themes to cater to different interests.

Replayability: Provides long-term enjoyment with different scenarios and strategies.

AVAILABLE ON

Playstore:

App store:

#video games #usa #tumblrforyou #trendingnow #satisfying #bloggers #viral #2playerchallenge #puzzle games #tic tac toe #board games #party games

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tootwotoys · 2 months

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Exploring the Wonderful World of Toys: A Guide to Their Different Types

Toys have always been part of childhood and, and therefore, part of growing up. More than a pastime tool, toys are a very important item for play and learning, magnifying for children the strange, vast, and endless universe of infinite and unlimited alternatives, whether for mere fun, education, or development. Every type, from the traditional wooden ones to high-tech gadgets, plays a special role in the growth of children. In this blog, we are going to talk about the different kinds of toys and their benefits in detail. We will also include some points that define the reasons why children as well as parents love these types of toys.

Play Equipment: The Base of Active Play

Play equipment is best for physical activity and building the motor skills of the child. The toys will encourage a child to move outside and play. His energy will be spent, and health will be maintained. Play equipment includes swings, slides, jungle gyms, etc.

Benefits of Play Equipment

Physical development: they provide the necessary exercise for developing strength, co-ordination, and balance.

Social skills: help develop group-play skills by sharing and cooperating.

Creativity: Creativity Encourages pretend play and adventuring, which assist in the development of creativity and problem-solving

Kids Toys: A World of Possibilities

Whether erected in your backyard or in a public park, play equipment keeps kids busy and allows them to engage in physically challenging play while they learn essential skills. Such a diversity of kids toys is directed toward entertaining, developing, and exciting. These toys go from action toys to dolls, puzzles to toys-every one of them appealing to different tastes and levels of development.

Popular Categories of Kids Toys

Educational Toys: Such toys illustrate the practice of some specific skill or concept—from counting to reading to problem-solving. For example, alphabet blocks, math games, and science kits serve this purpose.

Creative Toys: Creative toys are toys that inspire children to be artistic. They consist of coloring books, craft kits, and musical instruments.

Role-Playing Toys: Role-playing toys consist of dolls, action figures, and costumes for different places and characters.

Fun Toys: Playthings That Make Children Laugh

Fun toys are the types that appeal and keep the child busy. They will be brightly colored and very gentle to attract the kids and make them enjoy the fun in them.

Characteristics of Fun Toys

Interactivity: Most fun toys have interactive features, like buttons, lights, or sounds, which keep children engaged.

Humor: Humor-infused toys, like joke books or novelty items, bring out lots of laughter and amusement.

Surprise Elements: Unexpected features or secret, hidden surprises aboard add excitement and mystery.

Fun toys are just perfect for sparking joy and laughter, creating memorable moments for children and families.

Toys for Boys: Adventures Await

Toys for boys often center on sports, adventure, and construction. They are liked by the boys, yet other children of either gender can also like them.

Various Popular Kinds of Toys for Boys

Construction Sets: Blocks or construction kits like LEGO or K'NEX are capable of bringing out a child's creative side and can be problem-solving tools.

Action Figures: Known as the most common, be it from movies, television, or comics, action figures allow children to re-create their favorite adventures and create new ones on their own.

Sports toys: From soccer balls to baseball bats, sports toys inspire physical activity and team play.

These toys will have them exploring, engaging their imaginations, and refining their skills all day long.

Cool toys: The Fashion of the Day

Cool toys appear to be all the rage of the day, appearing highly innovative in design or technology. These types of toys typically pique a child's interest because of its uniqueness and popular characteristics. Examples of Cool Toys

RC Vehicles: The car, drones, and boats light up the eye of a tech-savvy, fast little learner.

STEM Toys: Tactile construction and experiential learning translate into robotics kits and games that engage a child in coding.

Collectibles: Trading cards, figurines, and mystery boxes—this is in line for kids and collectors.

Cool toys make a perfect gift for the child who loves to have fun on the cutting edge of fun and innovation.

Indoor Play Equipment: Fun Rain or Shine

This equipment can enable play inside, regardless of the weather. Most of the time, this equipment is often set in playrooms, basements, or bedrooms to keep the activity safe and in a convenient place.

Types of Indoor Play Equipment

Play Tents and Tunnels: These products foster creative play and offer a snuggly spot for reading and lounging.

Balance Boards and Mats: These are manufactured to enhance coordination and balance. More importantly, balance boards and mats offer an amount of physical challenge to the user. Balance boards or mats are simply fun toys, providing children with playful ways of challenging themselves while having fun.

Mini Trampolines: Consider safe and energy-filled forms that children would find enjoyable when burning some of that extra energy. Indoor play equipment makes it possible for children to play and do some exercise even when the weather is not conducive.

Best Toys: How to Choose the Right Toy

When selecting the right toy for a child, the best toy is one that suits the child's age and interests. A good toy should be safe, sturdy, and encourage purposeful play

Best Strategies in Choosing Toys

Age: Proper selection of toys for children will enable children's safety and how they will relate to the toy chest.

Learning: Toys that will help in the learning and development process of the baby.

Durability: Choose toys that are durable enough to withstand active play and last over a long period of time.

First-class toys capture a child's interest while promoting development and growth, thus adding value to one's toy box.

Toys Shops and Manufacturing

Toys Shop Near Me: Learn More about Local Options

It is going to help you locate an incredible "toys store near me" with surprising discoveries and a personal touch to your shopping. Local toy shops and local businesses have unique selections and offer expert advice on finding the perfect toy.

Manufacturing of Toys: Crafting Quality

Manufacturers, a key feature in any toys market, redefine the standards of safer, more innovative, and sustainable toys to meet the evolving needs of both children and their caregivers.

Conclusion: Magic of Toys

In a nutshell, TooTwo Toys has emerged as a torchbearer of innovation and quality in the Indian toy company scenario. Focus on the holistic development of children—this is not a toy company; TooTwo is a partner for the parent in the growth and development of their children. It's in this commitment to replacing screen time with quality playtime that we take great care in selecting your play equipment and educational toys. At TooTwo Toys, we commit ourselves to creating spaces where creativity, social skills, and physical activity come alive. Join us in shaping engaging play experiences that raise a healthier, more imaginative, and dynamic future for children across India. Together, we're making childhood a bright adventure, full of learning, laughter, and opportunity.

#kidstoys #fun toys #toys for boys #toys company in india #indoor play equipment

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ozrobotics · 11 months

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bellogoal · 3 years

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#Wooden Soccer Puzzle Games

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bestqualitypuzzles · 2 years

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#Wooden Puzzles Soccer Players #Soccer Wooden Puzzle #Soccer Puzzle Game #Soccer Puzzles

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cookiethreat · 2 years

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Random things #3:

It was a beautiful late afternoon that the Hero couldn’t stop admiring.

The sun shined on the leaves, turning them to a rose red.

There was a comfortable breeze in the air, the birds sang their songs, and the summer skies shined with blue and yellow.

If only the Hero could get a break like this every time.

They were walking in a small park, it wasn’t filled with many people. They were walking on a small trail, with their hands in their pockets humming a quiet tune to themselves.

There were no fights with anyone, everything had seemed peaceful. Hero wished this could happen everyday.

As they walked, they started to feel weird.

They felt knots suddenly tie into their stomach, goosebumps appeared on their skin. The breeze suddenly didn’t feel comfortable to them.

Someone was watching them.

They grew paranoid, only continuing to walk faster. They flipped their hood over their head.

But then they heard footsteps following behind.

Someone was following them.

With immediate reaction, the Hero turned and pulled out the gun they had.

They never want to pull any guns out, but they used it for emergencies.

There was a brief pause before Hero saw who had followed them.

It was Villain, in their casual outfit with their hands in the air. They didn’t seem scared of Hero’s defense at all.

“Uh-oh…” Villain had a tease in their voice, almost sounding like a chuckle. “Hero’s caught me, yay…”

Hero moved the gun to the side, but refused to put it down.

“What the hell do you want?”

“Relax, relax,” Villain murmured, slowly putting their hands down. “I’m not planning to do anything bad.” They looked around the setting. “Not on a nice day like this.”

“Right…” The Hero felt puzzled and confused. Most times the Villain would randomly appear with weapons, henchmen, or whatever it took to cause a fight with Hero. But this seemed different. Too different.

There was no weapons on Villain. None on their belt, in their hands, or their pockets. There was nobody else with them, it was just the two. It made an unsettling feeling inside of Hero.

“Say… since it’s nice out… mind if I walk with you?”

Oh hell no.

Immediately Hero aimed the gun right back at Villain. This was a trick. A trap.

“No. Absolutely not. I know where this will go Villain. And I won’t let you do anything.”

There was a quiet chuckle from the Villain. And they started to approach Hero.

Hero put two hands on the gun.

“I mean it.” Hero snapped. They took a step back. “Stay back.”

But Hero’s command did nothing. Instead, the Villain only approached more.

They knew Hero wouldn’t shoot them. Not with people nearby.

The Hero could only stand there and yell threats, but none of it worked.

Eventually the Villain was now alongside them. They grabbed onto Hero’s sleeve and forced them to walk with them.

It was quiet for a moment. Awkward quiet.

As they walked, Hero only stared at Villain. They only watched the settings like a normal person. The birds kept singing, children kicked soccer balls around and rolled down hills with laughter. Parents sat in grass or wooden tables talking with others.

Maybe, just maybe, the Villain didn’t mean any harm. Very slowly, they put the gun back into their pocket. Their eyes fixed onto the ground in complete silence. Until at least, it was interrupted.

“So…” The Villain tugged at the bottom of their gloves. “How’s your day?”

“You suck at starting conversations.”

The Villain scanned Hero for a moment.

“I’m not trying to on purpose. It’s just a question.”

The Hero glanced around, before shaking their head side to side with a loud sigh.

“Fine. Fine until you showed up.”

“Oh Hero~ Don’t be so bummed about it.”

The Hero only ghosted that comment. “Do I even want to ask how your day went?”

“Mmm… same as always.” There was no feeling in the tone. “Busy and annoying.”

Of course it was.

They kept on walking, every step they took something felt off to the Hero.

Why was the Villain acting so casual? They never did. And why would they even care about the Hero’s day?

What were they planning?

Thoughts ran into the Hero’s mind like a marathon. Like a million bullets were firing into their brain.

They were so confused, they just couldn’t understand.

Finally, they snapped.

Their feet stopped immediately. Like a car hitting the brakes at a red light. They weren’t going to walk anymore with Villain. Not until they figured out why they were acting like this. The Villain stopped ahead, turning back to Hero.

“What?” The Villain questioned. “What is it?”

“It’s you.” Hero’s eyes slowly examined Villain. “Something’s off. You’re acting off.”

“Me?” The Villain let out a laugh. “What do you mean? I’m just being my-“

“No, you’re not.” Hero’s eyes finally locked with Villain’s. “You don’t randomly follow me and then go on walks with me. You don’t ask me how my day is or even try to act causal. What are you planning? What are you trying to do?”

Villain’s facial expression faded.

The laughter seemed to cut off, and they stayed in one place. Their body language switched within a split second.

They now seemed bothered. Something wasn’t right. Hero could sense that. Something was on the edge of Villain’s tongue, but they refused to let it out. All they could do was try and cover it up.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“How so?”

There was more silence. Only the birds and the breeze going by cleared the absence between the two.

Finally, the Villain spoke.

“I… I dreamed about you. Last night.”

The Hero couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Sounds very kinky of you.”

“No.” The Villain shook their head, now staring at the ground. “It wasn’t good.”

The Hero paused. “So what? A bad dream?”

“A nightmare.” Their voice had suddenly gone cold and shallow. No emotions sparked into their eyes. It made chills go down the Hero’s spine.

“Okay…? And what was this nightmare about?”

The Villian remained still for a moment, almost as if they were turned into a statue. Hero could spot their breathing beginning to go heavy, and their eyes finally pondered at them.

“You… you were fighting Supervillain.” Villain’s voice became shaky, and they tried to remember the moment. “A-and I was too far away to even help you. When I finally finished fighting I turned and… and… you were on the ground. S-Supervillain was standing over you with a knife in his hands. I… I tried to run over to you b-but it was… it was too late.” The Villain didn’t want to say the rest, but a force pushed their throat to. “They killed you. They murdered you and I couldn’t save you.”

And then, the Villain broke down.

Like if want pt. 2! (If u want. :)

#hero x villain #writing #hero and villain #not a prompt

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

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To Call Forth Love - Chapter 13

Happy holidays to everyone!

I’ve been struggling with my writing lately (stupid writers block), but I really wanted to get a chapter out for you guys before Christmas. So ta da! I hope you guys enjoy it and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Few things to note:

-This picks up immediately after the last chapter....*wink wink*

-The Norwegian in here is translated from Google and it means “little one”.

-Lastly, when i mention ‘football’ in here....i mean soccer (for all the Americans to not be confused).

Words: 8400

Warnings: Lothbrok family mayhem, swearing, some Ivar violence, sexual innuendos/references

Series Masterlist

Standing in front of the wooden door to the Lothbrok home, Kari could not help but wonder where her prior courage had vanished. Sometime between jumping off the bus, walking down the winding street and up the long driveway, her previous courage and determination had jumped ship and was now hiding, leaving her a nervous wreck. She smoothed down her purple skater dress with her hands, cursing herself for her spontaneity. What had she been thinking? She had already knocked once but no one came to the door; either due to her pathetically timid knock or the loud noises inside she could hear, even from where she stood.

Mustering up what miniscule courage remained, she knocked on the door again.

And waited.

Suddenly the door opened, making her squeak in surprise. She was just mentally preparing herself to turn around and walk away. It was stupid for her to come unannounced anyway. Really, what had she been thinking?

She figured it would be one of the brothers answering the door, since it was their house. So when she looked up to greet them shyly and apologize for bothering them, the words died a spectacular death on her tongue.

Instead, standing before her, was a man that appeared middle-aged or just past that. Yet even dressed in a simple black shirt and jeans, it did nothing to diminish the aura of authority and intelligence around him. What startled her the most was the bright, blue eyes that stared down at her, like she was a puzzle piece found under the rug and needing to be put back in its box. Slowly, a side-smirk tilted one side of his mouth up as he casually leaned against the door with one arm above his head.

That's when she realized she had been staring at him for far too long without saying anything.

"Oh, um, hi."

Never in her life had she wanted to bash her head against a wall until she was unconscious until now. Really? That was the only intelligent thing she could say in the face of the man she was awkwardly beginning to think might possibly be the infamous Ragnar Lothbrok.

That smirk never moved on his face as he tilted his head, still staring at her. "You don't look like the stripper we ordered."

Kari gulped, eyes widening to the size of saucers. Her gaze darted around as if looking for this elusive stripper he was waiting for. "Um, sorry, no. No, I'm not?"

The man hummed thoughtfully, running a hand over his beard, then peered back into the house over his shoulder. "Bjorn!"

Kari's mind seemed to both whirl wildly while also seeming frozen and unable to make a decision. Should she apologize and leave? Should she ask for Ivar? Did she look like a stripper? She ran her hands over her dress anxiously. Someone would have told her if she did, right? Surely, Alana would have. Even as thoughts swarmed her mind, her feet remained rooted to the ground as if stuck in cement.

The sound of footsteps on the hard floor alerted her to someone else approaching. Her eyes darted back up from staring at her dress to find the older man still lazily leaning against the door, his gaze seemingly never having moved from her.

A few seconds later, Bjorn appeared just behind the older man. He was wearing a football jersey and jeans, long hair pulled back in its braid and ponytail.

"This doesn't look like the stripper we ordered. What do you think?" The man leaning against the door said, bright eyes assessing her.

Bjorn crossed his arms over his broad chest, his own blue eyes scanning her before seeming to come to a decision. He shook his head. "No, looks too damn scared. She does seem familiar though."

If Kari had any doubts about the identity of the man before her, it died when Bjorn appeared. Ragnar was clearly where Bjorn got his stocky build, even if the son exceeded the father, and the shared, brilliant, blue eyes that must be a Lothbrok trait. Her mind was not given much opportunity to compare the father to his sons as the two continued speaking.

"Familiar? Should I know her?" Ragnar thoughtfully ran a hand over his beard again.

"I think she's friends with Gyda."

"Our Gyda?" Ragnar asked in mock-surprise. "She has actual friends? Not just friends to fuck?"

"Hell, surprised me too." Bjorn said with a shrug, a smile teasing the corners of his lips.

"That explains why we don't know her."

"Hmmm." Bjorn suddenly snapped his finger. "Oh! I think this is the girl that Ivar has a crush on."

Ragnar widened his eyes. "No….this one?" He looked Kari over once again as if reassessing her before glancing back at his son. "She seems too nice. And beautiful. Hopefully she knows better than to get tangled up with him."

"I bet Ivar wants to do more than just get tangled up with her."

Kari was certain her face was flushed an astonishing shade of red by now. Her gaze had been jumping back and forth between Ragnar and Bjorn, like a volleyball during a match. At this last comment and a wink from Bjorn, her gaze dropped to the flats on her feet, unsure what to say or do next. One of her hands drifted up to tug on the diamond earring she wore.

"I think you embarrassed her." Ragnar whispered loudly.

"Pretty sure Hvitserk has done worse….hey, Ubbe, come here!"

The sound of more footsteps approaching accompanied by a gruff 'what?' was the only indication of Ubbe's arrival.

"Father wants to know if this is the stripper we ordered."

Kari peered up as she heard Ubbe begin speaking.

"Stripper? We didn't order one…." At that moment, Ubbe moved around his older brother to get a look at her. Immediately, she could tell he recognized her, much to her relief. He huffed, shoving an elbow into Bjorn's side and making him take a step back. "Ignore them, Kari. They're just teasing you. What are you doing here? Come in!"

She hesitantly accepted his outstretched hand, letting him guide her inside while Ragnar shut the door behind her. "I'm so sorry to just barge in. I was hoping to talk to Ivar for a moment. I promise I'll be quick and let you get back to your guys' night." She rambled, twisting her fingers around the handle of her small purse in her hands.

Ubbe waved a hand dismissively. "Kari, it's fine. You aren't bothering us."

"But….weren't you guys waiting for a….um…." Her voice trailed off awkwardly, a flush rising to her cheeks again.

Ubbe narrowed his eyes at his father and older brother, both standing back and watching on with matching mischievous smiles, as he answered her. "No. We aren't."

"Oh, okay."

"C'mon, Ivar is watching TV." Ubbe prompted her to follow him.

Cautiously, she took a step forward, clutching her small purse in her hands. She glanced over her shoulder at the two men still standing near the door.

Bjorn spoke up when he caught her gaze. "Good seeing you again, Kari. Gyda is back in town from her trip to Cyprus on Sunday. I'm certain you'll get a text from her after that."

"Perfect. I know she was excited for this trip." Kari smiled back with honesty for the first time since her arrival. She peeked at Ragnar, who just met her gaze with a wink, that smirk never having left his face the whole time. The action sent a shot of warmth through her and she wondered if that meant she had passed whatever test had just happened….or Ragnar just liked to humiliate his children's friends.

With that thought in mind, she followed Ubbe to the living room she remembered seeing last time she was here but never stepped foot in. An absolutely massive TV was directly across from the door, a football game on but she did not recognize the teams. Not that she had ever really been professional sports inclined. The dark, leather couch that took up the majority of the floor was a massive sectional with three sides and faced the TV. A glass coffee table was in front of it, littered with beer bottles, paper plates and other various trash. There were a few pictures on the cream-colored walls and a shelving unit cluttered with movies, video games and controllers. It certainly felt like a place for the Lothbrok brothers to crash and relax, which made Kari smile.

"That's my baby mama!"

The loud shout was the only heads-up the brunette received before she witnessed Hvitserk leap over the back of the couch. With a broad grin covering his face, he swept her up into his arms and spun her around, making them both almost fall as he stumbled. She giggled, holding onto him and amused by his reaction to seeing her.

When he finally set her down, his gaze slowly scanned over her. "Look at you. Looking fucking fine. Did you dress up to come see me?"

She could smell the beer on his breath and the hazy look in his eyes let her know he was not completely sober, but not drunk yet. She patted his cheek as she answered. "Sorry, Hvitserk, not this time."

"Why?" He whined, laying his head on her shoulder, keeping his arms wrapped around her waist. "You didn't dress up to see Ivar, right? He's being mean to me…."

She had to bite back a laugh at his childish tone. "I'll tell him to be nice to you."

"That's why you're the best. He threw a remote at me earlier. A damn TV remote! All I said was I'd happily fuck you if you…."

Without a second thought, she shoved him away, making him stumble and almost fall back over the couch.

"For fuck's sake, Hvits." Ubbe muttered, leaning against the back of the couch, watching them.

"What?" Hvitserk stared between the two, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Ivar!" Ubbe called loudly. "Come get your girlfriend before Hvits propositions her again!"

"THE FUCK?!"

Kari would have laughed at Ivar's response if the sudden butterflies had not turned into fighter jets and were proceeding to have a dogfight in her stomach. Subconsciously, a hand drifted over her stomach to try and settle the rising nauseous all to no avail. This was why she had come, right? To talk to Ivar. To tell him how she felt. Now that the opportunity was before her, her mouth felt full of cotton and her heart pounded in her chest.

Over the background noise of commercials, she could clearly hear Ivar's measured, hard gait on the hardwood floor. Her head turned to a side opening of the TV room, leading directly into the vast kitchen where he was coming from.

A moment later, Ivar appeared dressed in sweatpants under his leg braces, a football jersey that she vaguely thought was Norway's, and with his hair unbound and loosely touching his shoulders. He stopped at the open archway leading into the TV room. His brilliant, blue eyes surveyed her as if she was a mirage, trailing over every inch of her. A low curl of warmth bloomed in her core in response.

"Kari?"

"Ah, hi." She did an awkward little wave. After she thought she heard a snort come from behind her but she did not turn around to confirm, too focused on the man she had come to see. To confess to. To tell him that she was ready. To claim him and to be claimed by him. That he made her happy.

Slowly, he moved closer and her world seemed to narrow down to him in the moment, swallowed up by blue eyes that made her feel safe and wanted. "What are you doing here?" His eyes scanned her body again, licking his bottom lip. "The fuck you dressed up for?"

Internally, she shook her head. Of course, he noticed her attire since it was more than her typical work-out clothes. "I, um, needed- no, um, wanted to talk to you. But it's not a big deal. I, um, I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm so sorry, I forgot about your guys' night. I just got excited and wanted to see you." She rushed out, feeling her cheeks flame as the words spilled forth like a broken dam. How had she managed to blush so many times in such a short period? It must be a new record for her.

"You just wanted to see me, kitten?"

With a smug grin on his face and his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb rubbed her cheekbone delicately. It all sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine, which she desperately ignored. "Maybe?"

"I told you, you could come over."

"I know….I just….didn't want to be a bother."

"You'll never be a bother." He whispered, his lips ghosting over hers as he spoke, caught up in the spell of the moment as much as she was.

Her hands automatically went to his chest as he kissed her, just a simple pressing of lips but it was enough to make her eyes close and a sigh fall from her mouth in response when he pulled back. Her eyes snapped open as he quietly chuckled at her, ready to defend herself. But the humor and affection in his eyes as he beheld her, silenced the retort on her tongue. His thumb stroked her cheek again and all she wanted to do was melt into him.

"Why are you kissing that asshole? You're here to see me." Hvitserk whined, breaking the spell surrounding the couple.

As if electrocuted, she jumped with an undignified squeak and whipped her head to the side; now remembering the rest of Ivar's family was in the same room and watching the little show they were putting on.

Ivar wrapped an arm around her waist possessively as he snarled at his brother. "You fucking touch her and I'll cut off your hands. Then shove one down your throat and one up your ass and keep going until they meet in the fucking middle."

Hvitserk giggled. "That sounds painful."

Luckily at this point, Ubbe intervened. He took a step closer and shoved Hvitserk over the back of the couch, earning a giggling squawk from the slightly drunk blond, all the while muttering something under his breath.

"Should have cut him off earlier." Ubbe said.

Ivar shrugged. "Didn't know he was such a goddamn lightweight."

"I won!" The cry came from Hvitserk as he lay sprawled on the couch with his head and one leg hanging over the edge.

"No, you didn't." Both Ubbe and Ivar replied.

"Huh?"

Ivar glanced down at Kari. "Hvits and Floki were doing shots earlier. Not sure why that fucking idiot thought it was a good idea."

"Why wasn't it a good idea?"

"I'm certain Floki actually died from alcohol poisoning years ago and now is a zombie so that's why he's able to drink so much without ever seeming like he's drunk." Ivar said with a shit-eating grin.

"I HEARD THAT, YOU CRIPPLED BASTARD!" The shout came from the kitchen.

"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO, UGLY OLD MAN!"

Kari laughed along with the others, leaning into Ivar's hold on her. "Between Hvits and then your dad thinking I was a stripper, I think--"

"The fuck?" Ivar interrupted; his eyes boring into hers for a moment before looking up to glare over her head. "You thought she was a fucking stripper? The fuck is wrong with you?"

Kari turned to look behind her. Bjorn had moved back to the couch, sitting on the far side. Ragnar leaned against a table shoved against the wall, that smirk still on his face and arms crossed over his chest.

"I knew who she was." He casually replied.

Now Kari was even more confused but before she could explore that dilemma, Ivar rolled his eyes and tugged her towards the couch. "This is why we hang out at your townhouse. Damn it. Fucking getting under my skin on fucking purpose."

She followed Ivar as he led her around the couch to a spot along the side of the sectional where he clearly had been sitting before, if the beer bottles and his cell phone were any indication on the glass table before them.

"Grab that."

She reached under and grabbed a woven, throw blanket from a basket under the table as Ivar directed. He took it from her, draping it over their legs, then tugged her into his side like they had done this a million times. All the while, she could feel the eyes of everyone else in the room, even if she was too embarrassed to confirm.

"We'll talk after the game, alright?"

"Sure." She whispered back.

When she left the pub, intent on telling Ivar her newfound revelation, she had arrived without a plan. The whole bus ride and walk to their house, her mind had been unable to even attempt to formulate something vaguely resembling a plan. Her thoughts circled and swarmed like an overturned beehive, all fixated on the source of their predicament.

Her revelation was no major life altering thing. It did not affect the fate of the world. Hell, most people probably would call her naive or dimwitted for taking so long to realize this. But to her, this revelation - that Ivar was her boyfriend, that she wanted Ivar as her boyfriend, that being with him made her happier and feel safer than she ever had been - it was life altering for her.

And that was enough.

So, she leaned back against him, loving how he kissed the side of her head as she threaded their fingers together. Her revelation could wait. Most likely he would just roll his eyes at her and say something along the lines of 'fucking finally'. For this moment, she chose to bask in the joy and serenity lighting up her nerves like Christmas lights. Almost giddy in Ivar's embrace. Overwhelmingly happy with her revelation. Ready to see what comes next for them. It was impossible to keep the silly smile off her face.

The second half of the football game on the TV started up, and so did the cheering or heckling from the men around. Ragnar had meandered over to the couch, sitting next to Bjorn. Ubbe also had taken a seat, surprisingly being the loudest at voicing his complaints. Even Ivar called out his opinions, but all the while, kept his hand entwined with hers. The brunette sat back amused and just enjoying listening to these men that were supposed to be these ruthless businessmen, yell and threaten the players and refs on the TV like little boys not getting their way.

At the next commercial break, she suddenly felt as if a spotlight had been thrust onto her. Tensing, she turned her head to catch a pair of dark eyes staring at her from Ivar's other side. Having "met" Floki months ago, she immediately knew who he was….which did nothing to make her feel less unnerved underneath his penetrating gaze.

He leaned slightly closer, eyes holding hers as if looking past whatever walls she had up to peel back their flimsy form of protection and pierce her soul with his gaze that seemed to just know things that were beyond mortal knowledge.

Although Ivar kept his blue eyes on the TV, she felt his fingers tighten marginally against hers.

"Let me see your hand, liten en."

Her blue-green eyes blinked rapidly for a moment as her brain absorbed Floki's words. Her eyes darted to Ivar's, who just gave a minimal shrug, but stared back as if curious himself. Shifting, she held out her other hand, unwilling to release her hold on Ivar as their entwined fingers felt like a security blanket.

Carefully, Floki cupped his hand under hers, the hard calluses evident under her soft skin. She recalled Ivar mentioned that Floki built Viking ships in his free time, spending months and years on them. His hands certainly were different from what she was used to. They were tough like leather, no part of his hand feeling soft. A hand that was used to hard, physical labor.

Floki's other hand rose, tracing the lines on her palm. His dark eyes studied them as if they were stars he sought answers from. She noticed he paid particular attention to the half ring near the fleshy part at the base of her thumb, his own pointer finger following the line several times before moving on.

The whole encounter could not have taken longer than a minute, but sitting there, watching this man that Ivar considered a second father, that he clearly trusted and loved, gaze down at her hand….it felt like a lifetime passed in that minute.

Slowly, Floki curled her fingers into her palm, forming a fist, then rested it on Ivar's thigh. He withdrew his own hand, only then to peer up and meet her eyes with his own dark ones that just seemed to know too much.

Floki hummed, one corner of his lips turning up. "You'll do, little valkyrie, you'll do."

The tension eased from her body after his statement. Even Ivar seemed to take a deep breath and squeeze her hand that he still held.

Floki leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping conspiringly. "Good luck with this one though. Ungrateful asshole that he is."

Karo covered her mouth with her free hand to smother the smile.

Ivar roughly shoved Floki's shoulder, making the older man rock back. "Shut up, you deranged fucker."

"See?" Floki giggled. "All I've done for this bastard and this is the thanks I get?"

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck you." Ivar grumbled but was unable to completely hide the amusement in his crystal, blue eyes.

Kari tipped forward, nerves dancing in her belly even as the smile graced her lips. "Do you really build boats?"

Floki cocked his head to the side. "When I'm not babysitting this one."

"Ah, fuck off."

"Ivar, be nice." Kari swatted at him.

Floki pointed a finger at her, dark eyes alight. "I like her."

"Both of you, shut up." Ivar said as he tried to watch the game that was back on.

Kari could not help herself. She lowered her voice, still looking at Floki. "So, that means you don't get to build often I'm guessing?"

Ivar swore up a blue streak as he covered her mouth with his hand. The brunette laughed, even as she half-heartedly tried to wriggle away from Ivar. Floki leaned back, giggling like a fiend. Even short bursts of laughter came from the others in the room that had overheard.

The end of the game finally came with Ubbe and Bjorn both complaining angrily as they each pulled a wad of bills from their wallets and slapped them into Ivar's upturned hand. A sinfully smug smile resided on the youngest Lothbrok's face. Floki just shook his head and muttered something under his breath about a 'lucky bastard'.

Instead of drifting away, everyone seemed inclined to just relax where they were. The volume on the TV was turned down as some sports news program came on that no one really paid attention to. A conversation sprung up between the brothers about the next games and who would win those.

Hvitserk was semi-conscious on the couch, his eyes drifting shut frequently, even as he subtly tossed candies at Ubbe near him then feigned ignorance. Until Ubbe walloped him over the head with a throw pillow. Ragnar had moved to sit on Floki's other side, both commenting quietly on something they were looking at on Ragnar's phone.

Kari just sat back and listened, content to wait for Ivar. This was a side of him she barely got to see and she wanted to soak in the moment for as long as possible. Absent-mindedly, she toyed with his Thor's hammer necklace, running her thumb along the familiar grooves, as she laid her head on his shoulder. His own arm was behind her, lazily tracing circles on her hip.

The faint sounds of a door opening and closing from the direction of the kitchen could be heard. Footfalls on the hardwood floor followed as a quick tempo.

"Ah, fuck, he's back." Ivar muttered sullenly.

Ubbe called out, tapping his beer bottle with his fingers. "Hey, Sigurd."

"You're back late." Ragnar said, looking towards the entryway leading to the kitchen.

"We went to her place after." The disembodied voice of Sigurd answered.

A few chuckled knowingly.

"Was the fuck worth going to her show? Last time you said it was boring as hell." Bjorn asked, leaning back on the couch.

"If she didn't fuck so good, I'd never go to her show again." Sigurd came around the corner, his braids looking a bit frazzled and his clothes rumpled like he picked them up off the floor. "She's got a good voice but the --" his voice trailed off for a moment as his eyes landed on Kari, cuddled up under Ivar's arm. A cruel grin split his face, eyes never leaving her as he started talking again. "-- the others suck. Right, Kari?"

At his direct question, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She desperately tried to figure out what Sigurd was talking to her about. Who had a good voice? And why would she know? Plus with the look he was giving her, like the cat that caught the canary, anxiety bubbled up inside of her.

His grin widened, as he moved closer to the couch. "Don't remember? That's fine. How was your date though? Have a good time?"

At his words, her blood turned to ice in her veins. Her heart stopped beating. The very air in her lungs transformed into frost, making it difficult to breathe. It could not be….no….

"What the fuck are you talking about, Sig?" Ivar drawled.

"Oh? She didn't tell you? Huh. Interesting." Sigurd leaned his forearms on the back of the couch, his gaze still narrowed on the couple across from him. "She was at the pub too. I saw her there on a double date."

Please, no….No, no, no. Please. Not this. Not like this. Please! The pleading stampeded through her mind. How had Sigurd been there and she had not noticed? How much did he see? Why was he bringing it up? But as she stared, eyes wide and breath stuck in her throat, she could see the wicked joy in Sigurd's eyes and knew why he was doing this.

And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"You're fucking lying." Ivar hissed; jaw clenched. He leaned forward slightly as if ready to leap off the couch and attack his brother.

"Oh, I'm lying? Fucking ask her. I dare you." Sigurd chuckled darkly. "She's got herself a man on the side now. Unless you're the side man. Either way, you aren't the only option she has for a fuck."

Ivar turned his icy, cold gaze onto her. "Kari….what's he talking about?"

"This…." She swallowed thickly, clutching his hand tighter. "This is what I was going to tell you about earlier."

"Then you better start fucking talking."

She nodded, feeling like a mouse who accidently pissed off a lion with no way to escape. Coming from someone else, she knew how bad it sounded. She knew it would piss him off. That was why she wanted to tell him first, so he would know she was not cheating on him in any way. But now Sigurd ruined that opportunity for her. Now she was having to do damage control instead of easily explaining what happened. "Um, well, should we go…."

"Start. Talking."

She tugged on her earring, barely able to meet the piercing eyes boring into her. "Um, Alana dragged me to some pub. I thought we're going to hang out and reconnect or something. Um, but turns out it was a double date that her other friend bailed on last minute, so I was the substitute. I swear, I didn't know it until we got there. That's it. I didn't even want to be there. I promise, Ivar."

Sigurd snickered. "Didn't look that way. Both you and that guy seemed pretty cozy talking and laughing at the table."

"What?" Ivar snarled, sounding more animalistic than human.

Every cell in Kari's body was tense, even as she tried to explain, to reassure the man beside her. His hand now held hers with a death-like grip, further restraining her, almost more than his unrelenting gaze "No, Ivar, it wasn't like that. I promise. We were just having a conversation. I didn't want to be rude."

"What about…." Sigurd started.

"Sigurd, shut up!" Ubbe stated loudly but the younger brother ignored him.

"....when the two of you were dancing? Out there on the damn floor for anyone to see? His hands were all over you….and I'm not the only one that saw the two of you leave the pub together after the quick fuck in the bathroom."

Immediately, Ivar's hand latched onto Kari's jaw with a bruising grip.

A shout of his name echoed in the room but all Kari could focus on was the raging fire in his icy eyes and the grip on her jawline that felt more restraining than chains. Never before had he turned his wrath on her. Never before had she truly felt a need to fear him.

Now terror slide along her skin, paralyzing her like a toxin, unable to escape the fury about to be unleashed.

"Tell me he's lying." Ivar whispered, rage dripping off every word. His body hovered over her, face inches just away, pinning her to the couch. He appeared a vengeful angel with both fire and ice in his eyes.

"It wasn't like --"

He gave her a single, harsh shake, silencing her explanation. "Don't you fucking lie to me."

"Ivar, please." She gasped out, one hand clasped over his wrist, the other still in his death-grip. Terror rose like the tide within her. Her vision narrowed, only able to see his face, those eyes that simultaneously held fury and agony. And she was unsure which emotion cut her to the quick most.

"After everything I've done for you?" He hissed, yet unable to completely overshadow the begging in his tone. "You'd betrayed me like this? Why?"

"IVAR!"

But neither Ivar nor Kari could hear the shout. Caught up in their tangled web. Absorbed in each other's tormented gaze. Prisoners to one another and the pain shackling them both. Betrayal on both accounts colored the lines between them.

Suddenly, Ivar was yanked away from her at the same time someone pulled her further back on the couch. Physical distance grew between them but Kari could still feel his hands on her. Gripping her. Pinning her down. A touch that had brought her comfort and peace….until now.

She blinked slowly, as if awakening from a terrible nightmare, her mind trying to decide which reality it was in. Daring to peek behind her, she was met with Ubbe's concerned face, his hands wrapped around her upper arms.

Turning back, she saw Floki holding Ivar against his own chest, his wiry arms around Ivar in a constricting embrace. Those dark eyes watched her, even as he clung to the youngest Lothbrok, with something akin to pity and regret.

Ragnar stood in the newly formed gap, hands outspread as if ready to intervene at a moment's notice. His sharp gaze drifted back and forth between Kari and Ivar.

Yet it was the caged animal across from near her that monopolized her attention. For how could one look away when knowing, waiting, for a predator to pounce?

His chest rose and fell like waves during a storm, rapid and dangerous. Those hands that had touched her so gently, so tenderly, were now in fists. His eyes, so expressive, now for once she wished she could not read. Those icy eyes bleed in misery and treachery. He licked his lip as if tasting her deception, a snarl still tainting his face.

It was then she could feel the shakes begin, starting with her bottom lip then sweeping throughout her body with the ferocity of a wildfire.

"Let's go, Kari." Ubbe's gentle voice came from behind her, his hands coaxing her off the couch. "Can you walk?"

But his words were like a ripple amongst a tempest. Her gaze was still locked on the one person she had trusted the most. Who she had shared more of herself with than anyone before. Who had infiltrated her heart and wrapped himself around the organ like a vine, only now for the thorns to pierce through. Who had spoken honeyed words into her ear, and she foolishly believed. Someone she thought she may one day even love….

"You promised…." She whispered brokenly. "You said you'd never hurt me."

As her quiet words echoed in the air, the red haze over his vibrant eyes began to dissipate. The clench of his jaw softened. Fists curled at his side loosened. What tension in his body drained rapidly as reality sunk in. But it was too late.

"I trusted you."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his voice coming out like molasses. "Kari…."

Wobbling, she stood to her feet, barely paying attention to the presence behind her or his steadying hands on her shoulders. All she could see was Ivar. All she could see was the terrifying hurricane of emotions playing across his face, in his eyes. She could see when the realization of what he had just done hit him. The trust he had broken, shattered, annihilated in a single moment.

"Kitten." He slowly reached a hand out, a silent pleading in that one word, an apology wrapped up in horror and regret.

But still she flinched.

A large, warm hand gently held her elbow. "I'll take her home."

She barely paid attention to the figure directing her out of the living room. Barely noted the hand on her shoulder guiding her and steadying her. Barely saw the faces of the brothers as she passed them. Barely paid attention as her feet moved. A watery mist covered her eyes, yet tears refused to fall. She moved on autopilot. The only thing she was aware of was Ivar's voice calling out to her, begging her to come back. A shout. A cry. A lament to the heavens. It tore at her heart. Ripped at her sanity.

Yet her feet took her further away.

The hand on her shoulder guided her to the front door. Each step felt as if someone else was taking it and she was just watching. For her mind rang with his voice. His cries resounded in her thoughts until it was all she could hear.

"Kari! Fuck! I'm sorry. LET ME FUCKING GO! KARI! PLEASE, KITTEN! FUCK! PLEASE, COME BACK!"

Her feet moved. Her hands trembled. Tears filled her eyes. Snakes slithered in her belly, threatening to choke her. Or was that because of the ice still in her lungs? Nothing felt real. Only his voice in her mind.

A hand tipping her face up brought her back to her senses. She pulled away, instinctual fear coursing through her, making the snakes writhe in her belly. Blue eyes stared down at her, vibrant blue, but like the ocean….not like the sky….not Ivar's eyes.

She blinked several times, only for the face of Ragnar to clear before her like a silhouette from amidst a fog, finally taking shape.

"….just wanted to see if we needed to stop by a hospital." He was saying.

She just shook her head.

Those eyes, familiar but different, scanned over her once more before he grunted and opened a car door.

She paid no attention to the car as she slid in. She hardly noticed the expensive leather under her hands or the faint scent of cigarette smoke. Her mind scarcely registered when Ragnar asked her where to go. Somehow she was able to give directions back to the townhouse, even as her mind refused to acknowledge the twists and turns as they traveled back through the city.

Occasionally, she could feel Ragnar's gaze on her but she continued to stare at her hands, her fingers twisted together.

All her mind could focus on was how everything had gone so wrong. She had been so excited, so hopeful, when she arrived at the Lothbrok home. At the pub with Peter, it felt like her world had been turned upside down, but in a way that it was corrected. Like she had been looking through a lens that was just out of focus. Then with the revelation that Ivar was her boyfriend, that she wanted Ivar to be her boyfriend….she could finally see clearly. She understood.

And just as suddenly, her world shifted off its axis and tumbled away to crash and burn.

"Kari."

She lifted her eyes to Ragnar then looked around, recognizing they were parked in front of her townhouse.

"Thank you." She whispered robotically, unbuckling and getting out of the car.

To her surprise, Ragnar stepped out, walking around the car to stand in front of her. Silently, he held out her purse, something she had forgotten during the mayhem. With a nearly silent 'thank you', she took it, expecting him to leave now. Instead, he vaguely gestured towards the townhouse with a shrug and muttered, "I'll walk you up."

Wordlessly, they walked up like two shadows in the night. She unlocked the door, only fumbling with her keys once. After stepping in, she kept her hand on the door and turned around to thank Ragnar for the escort. Once alone, with only her bed and heartache to comfort her, she planned to uncork the bottle of emotions inside of her. To let them explode freely in waves of tears, anger and self-pity. For now, she greedily clutched onto the numbness around her mind.

Aiming for a small smile, but most likely looked like a painful grimace, she met the vivid, blue eyes of Ragnar. She opened her mouth to thank him, the words on her tongue….

….until a muffled scream filled the air.

Kari froze along with Ragnar, both staring in the vague direction of the scream. It only took a second before another sound drifted from upstairs of a pleasured 'yes!' for Kari to recognize it.

Unable to help herself, the wearied brunette placed her forehead against the door and allowed a few, stray tears to slip down her cheeks. Apparently Alana had come back with her date….and they were loudly enjoying themselves.

"Your roommate?"

A single nod was all she could give to answer Ragnar's question, unable to speak with the sob stuck in her throat. She did not have the mental or emotional energy to deal with Alana right now. It was taking all she had to suppress the pain, despair and anguish that threatened to choke her. Until she was alone, she dared to fight the emotions, wrapped in numbness. Yet somehow, she had managed to forget about what happened at the pub while coming back with Ragnar. Too consumed in how everything went wrong. The feeling of Ivar's hand on her, gripping her painfully. The betrayal in his gaze. Knowing her roommate and date were here, that she would be forced to listen to them, unable to truly be alone….she just wanted to collapse into a heap and cry at the cruelty of the past several hours. There had been so much hope only to be dashed against the unbreakable boulders of reality.

Ragnar grunted, gaze directed towards the ceiling after another loud feminine shout filled the air. "Go sit down. I'll take care of it."

"It's not --"

"Go sit." He placed a large hand on her shoulder, directing her further inside, closing the door behind them. "It'll only take a damn minute."

Without Ragnar's hand on her shoulder, she knew she would have been stumbling towards the couch in the small living room. She felt utterly drained, like she had nothing left to give. If anyone else tried to ask her to do something, she might melt into a pile of human goo. Hastily, she wiped away the few tears that had spilt over but knew there was more to come.

Once she was sitting down, she gave Ragnar an uneasy smile as he hovered near her. He nodded then turned and headed up the stairs, taking two at a time. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the couch. A throbbing pain was growing in her jaw. The skin was sensitive to the touch. She wondered if there would be bruises already, tainting her skin, mapping out where Ivar had touched her. But she was not brave enough to look.

Within seconds, loud, angry shouting came down the stairs.

Kari recognized the sound of Alana arguing, but was unable to make out most of the words. Desperately, she wished she could tune everything out, but the shouting seemed akin to a jackhammer in her mind, unwilling to be ignored, no matter what she tried to do.

A minute later, harsh footfalls echoed down the stairs.

Kari blearily opened her eyes. Alana's date came down the stairs first with his dark-wash jeans on but unbuttoned and pulling his shirt over his head once he stepped off the stairs. Never once did he glance her way as he headed towards the front door, muttering under his breath the whole time.

Alana was on his heels with a pair of sleep shorts and wrinkled t-shirt on, a far different look from her glamorous appearance earlier. Her eyes locked on Kari as she descended the final few steps, with a small overnight bag thrown over her shoulder and a pair of sneakers in her other hand. None of it distracted from the waves of rage pouring off of her and the sneer morphing her pretty face into something hideous.

"You must be sucking their cocks all day to have the Lothbroks wrapped around your little fucking finger." She spat.

Kari blinked owlishly.

"Can't even deny it? I always knew you're a goddamn slut, even if you pretend to be fucking perfect."

A deep rumble came from halfway up the stairs, but Kari could easily see Ragnar staring down at her roommate like a hawk seeing a wounded mouse and wanting to watch it squirm for just a bit longer.

"I recommend you vacate the premises….unless you prefer the alternative?" Ragnar smiled with a sharp edge.

Even with him not even looking at her, knowing he was on HER side….a chill swept down Kari's spine and made her visibly shiver at the malicious look in his eyes. He looked like the wolf finally shedding the sheep's clothing and enjoying watching his prey realize their mistake to trust him.

Alana tightened her grip on her bag and shoes, glaring up at Ragnar. With one last hateful glare and a quietly murmured "fucking bitch", Alana stormed out, slamming the front door behind her.

Eyes closing on their own accord, Kari took a deep breath. She heard Ragnar finish descending the stairs. At this point, she guessed he would leave since there was no reason to stay. Surprising her again, she felt the couch dip as a weight settled on the other side.

The two sat in silence for perhaps a couple of minutes before the brunette softly spoke.

"So you're where he gets it from?"

"Who?"

She smiled despite herself. "Ivar….with threatening people….except you're much scarier."

Ragnar snorted.

Silence slipped back in, weaving itself around the two like a comforting blanket. Such an odd sensation since Kari barely knew the man an arm's length away from here. Yet he had driven her home, which was more than expected of him. More than that, he made sure she was safe and comfortable in her home, going to the length of removing her roommate so she could hopefully have some resemblance of peace tonight.

Maybe another time she should question her judgment in trusting him as she was but right now….she was exhausted and struggling against the painful waves of emotions that slammed against her viciously.

"Are you certain you want to stay here tonight?" Ragnar's voice broke the serenity around them.

"I don't have anywhere else to go." She answered with a hitch in her voice and far more candor than she probably should have.

He hummed quietly in acknowledgement.

After a long second, she felt two fingers gently lift her chin. Her eyes snapped open to see Ragnar leaning slightly closer, vibrant eyes scanning her face. With a resigned sigh, he pulled back, throwing an arm across the back of the couch but kept his sharp gaze on her.

"If you choose to go to the hospital later, I'll pay for everything."

She waved a hand feebly. "It's fine. I don't….It's not that bad."

"What will you do now?"

She knew what he was referring to. Not just about her physical situation, but about his son and what would become of them. "I don't know. I can't…." She shook her head. "That wasn't okay. I'll tolerate a lot of shit from Ivar but this…."

Several long seconds passed as she stared, without truly seeing, at her hands in her lap. Silence clawed its way back up, but this time carried an edge of tension with it. Something Kari was unsure what to do with.

"Good."

His delayed response surprised her. Her blue-green snapped up to meet his own, wondering what he meant.

He leaned forward again, putting his elbows on his knees. "My sons speak highly of you. Hell, from what I heard Hvitserk would love to steal you from Ivar. Possibly Ubbe too, finally get rid of his dumb, fucking girlfriend. Gyda talks about you frequently. Even Torvi seems to like you." He narrowed his eyes, that edge of danger creeping back in and making her spine straighten subconsciously. "But you are soft. In our world, that is a dangerous quality to have."

"I'm sorry?"

He chuckled, his voice low as if talking to himself just as much as her. "Perhaps that's why Ivar likes you. You're good for him. Damn good. Everyone has noticed a difference in him since you entered his life. But the question is….is he good for you?"

And if that was not the question Kari found herself asking too.

"I thought so." She wiped away a stray tear. "That's why I came to the house tonight. Ugh, it seems so stupid now. I just….I realized I wanted Ivar to be my boyfriend. Officially. That's what I wanted to tell him. I realized with him, I've been happier now than I have been for years before. I was so excited to tell him that--" her voice broke with a sob. She covered her mouth but she could not stop the tears that still flowed. It took a long moment for her to regain her composure, to be able to speak past the suppressed sobs clinging to her throat with their talons. "I'm sorry. You don't have to stay. I'm….I'll be fine."

"You have the space to yourself tonight. Your roommate will not be coming back until morning."

"Oh….thank you. Thank you for everything. Really."

"Where's your phone?"

She gestured towards her small purse that she'd dropped onto the coffee table. Ragnar easily found her phone, messing with it for a few seconds, then carefully set it back on the table.

"I added my personal contact. If you need anything, do not hesitate." His gaze bored into hers as he continued. "I'll help keep Ivar away from you, for as long as you need."

"Wha--"

"Unless you wish to speak with him now?"

She slowly shook her head. Even if the notion of talking to him cut her as deep as not talking to him, she knew she needed the space and time to think. Tonight had brought about a devastating revelation and she was unsure what to do next.

A sad smile graced his lips as if he already knew what was to come. "I thought as much. I'll do what I can to give you space but Ivar is a persistent bastard. If it becomes too much or he shows up here, you call me. Night or day."

"Why? You don't know me."

"You're a good girl, Kari."

That did not answer her question at all but her follow-up question never reached her tongue as she watched him stand.

"Think about what I said. You're good for him, but he might not be good for you. Think about that. If you can figure it out now, it'll save you heartache later on. Trust me on this."

She nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Lothbrok."

He smirked, shaking his head faintly. "Call me Ragnar."

With a parting smile, he walked away and out of the townhouse leaving a deafening silence in his wake.

Kari sat on the couch for several long seconds, her mind and body at war what to do. With a heavy sigh, she finally pushed herself off the couch and went to lock the front door. Even if Alana did show back up, at least for the moment she could pretend she was shutting out the world.

Next, she snatched her purse off the table and checked her phone - only to see 18 missed calls, 11 voicemails and 23 texts from Ivar. She swiped the notifications away without even checking them. Not ready to see what he had to say, to question if his apologies were real. She was just too exhausted to care. Barely paying attention to her surroundings, she trudged up the stairs and to her bedroom. Shutting the door behind her, she shimmied out of her dress and ungracefully collapsed onto her bed.

Finally alone, the floodgates broke and the tsunami of pain and regret escaped. She curled into herself as sobs wracked her body. The sound of her distress played like music in the air, drowning out everything else, leaving her feeling even more alone than ever before.

She did not know how she would feel come morning, but right now, in this moment, she wished she had never met Ivar Lothbrok.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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sotangledupinit · 2 years

Text

run, run rogers - My CSSS 2021 Gift

hi there @ilovemesomekillianjones! here’s chapter three of my @cssecretsanta2020 gift to you! thank you for being so understanding and patient (still. because i am the absolute worst!).

run, run rogers (chapter 3 of 4)

SUMMARY: The last thing Emma Swan expected to be doing on Christmas Eve was last minute Christmas shopping. But Neal's genius left her in the lurch, and she needs to fix things. And the Uber trip to get this all done? It'll cost her.

RATING: M for Mature (may go up)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 4,284 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, Holiday, Uber Driver Killian Jones

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Special shoutout to @mariakov81 who worked with me to create this magnificent piece to showcase the chaos that was chapter two! So much love and appreciation -- thank you!!!! <3 love how this came out!!!!

And another very special shoutout to @snowbellewells who looked over this chapter for me as I was unsure about some moments in it, and she ended up fixing a bunch of my grammar and tense issues. A true blessing!!! Very grateful and appreciative for her help as well!!!! Thank you!!! <3 <3

***

Henry Bear’s Park.

It’s the last store of the night. Her last chance.

Brick overlay covers the top quarter of the store’s façade, white lettering spelling out its name. She’d never been in it before and didn’t even know what she was looking for, but the place has good reviews and Emma figures she’ll know what to get when she sees it. Plus, it’s got her kid’s name in it – that has to mean something, right?

Red carpet covers the floor and the walls are painted with lime green and orange, the colors alternating with each pillar. Shelves line the perimeter walls of the door, item display stands forming the configuration of the store. There’s soft plush animals, puzzles, and sporting goods spread throughout. A lacrosse stick crosses her vision and she’s tempted to grab him the equipment but ultimately decides against it. Henry’s never been one for sports, soccer holding only a passing interest two years ago, so she can’t think of a worse gift.

Standing in the middle of the store, Emma feels like a failure. Nothing there is catching her eye as a worthy gift for Henry, and the ticking of the large clock behind the register echoes in her ears despite the high volume of customers milling around her. She wonders if they all forgot a prized gift on someone’s wish list or if their significant other dropped a surprise family member on their doorstep for dinner and festivities.

The faint sounds of Christmas music wafts through the air as her eyes peruse each and every object in the store. There are books she passes by, ones too young for Henry’s reading level and others he already owns, action figures she decides against as he’s begun to grow out of them, and trading cards which never held his interest.

She nearly gives up, her eyes glancing at the clock to see the time reads 8:26, when a line of figures on display beside the registers catch her eye.

The figures are wooden, hand-carved by the looks of it, and shaped with intricate detail. They resemble different fairytale characters and it reminds her immediately of the story that Henry’s crafting. He leaves Post-It notes and scraps of paper for it all over their new house, and the sight always brings her joy, even if she’s constantly picking it up. Throughout her time in foster homes, she kept her belongings closely guarded. Anything she had, she locked away in the small duffle bag she hid underneath her bed, a parting gift from a former foster family so she didn’t have to use a garbage bag as they sent her back to the group home.

Henry’s scribbles were a sign of his comfort and trust in her and was the greatest gift she ever could have asked for.

“Hello, Miss?”

Emma turns around to find an elderly man behind her. White hair rounding his head, he’s dressed smartly with a nametag pinned to his vest that states ‘Marco’. His smile is small but kind and a bead of sweat trails down his temple, his hands wringing together for a moment as he gathers his breath to speak again. The shop has been packed since Emma walked in and she’s sure it’s the cause of Marco’s exhaustion.

“Can I help you find anything?” he asks, an Italian accent coloring his words.

“Those figures… I’d like to buy them.” Her hand points to the display and her smile is wide. The weight that has laid on her chest since dinner at Neal’s has finally lifted and she feels relief flood her system. The holiday isn’t going to be a total waste. A gift, a perfect gift, sits in front of her and she can already imagine the glee on Henry’s face as he unwraps it.

“Oh…”

That simple word, said with such pained hesitance, grips her ankle and pulls her swiftly down from cloud nine. Her heartbeat echoes loudly in her ears as Marco’s eyebrows pinch together and a frown mars his features. “My apologies, Miss. Unfortunately those are not for sale.”

“What?”

“They’re not for sale.”

Desperation clings to her throat, words difficult to come by. She licks her lips and eyes the figures frantically. “If someone’s already bought them, I will pay triple. Or just name your price and I’ll pay it. Please, it’s for my son.”

Marco shakes his head at her, smiling sadly. “They haven’t been purchased, they just are not for sale. They were crafted by my son. We lost touch some years ago,” the old man says, sucking in a breath as tears glisten in his eyes. “And these were the last things we worked on together before he left.”

It’s as if with those words the world caves in on her. Emma nods absentmindedly through his apologies, offers for her to come back on January 2nd if she’d like to special order a duplicate of the set he could make her, and ushering her out of the store as they close.

Stepping onto the sidewalk outside of the store, the stragglers of last-minute shoppers filing out behind her, she stands in a state of shock until the click of the store’s lock behind her brings her out of her stupor.

The breaking of her heart rings loudly in her ears as her eyes sting and begin to blur.

She’s failed him.

She had all night to find Henry a new gift, a perfect gift, for him to open at her house that’s not the same exact things Neal decided to give him, and she couldn’t even do that. Swallowing down a sob, the image of Henry’s smile dimming into disappointment projects itself in her mind. He’d do his best to conceal it, manage to meagerly grin through his confusion, and try not to let on how much he was let down. It tears at her.

Emma comes back to the car, tears in her eyes as she approaches. Killian is leaning against the passenger door with her coat and scarf slung over his left arm, and she can see Will sitting inside the car behind him, playing Candy Crush on his phone. The moment he spots her, Killian stands up straight, gaze roaming over her person. “Swan, are you okay?”

She chokes back a cry and blinks furiously. “I’m done. I’ve failed and completely ruined Christmas for Henry.”

“That’s not possible, Emma.”

“No, trust me, it is.”

“This isn’t your fault, you have to know that.”

“It is, because I knew my ex was an asshole and I should have expected him to ignore the explicit instructions I gave him like he ignores everything else because it’s such a Neal thing to do. If it isn’t directly about him, then he just wings it. And now I’m left with nothing to gift Henry tomorrow morning. He has nothing to open under the tree except what he already got! How does that make it a great Christmas?”

Her feet travel back and forth in front of Killian’s car. Hands clenched at her sides, all she wants to do is scream at the top of her lungs and lock Neal out of her and Henry’s life for good. All he’s done since finding out about Henry is disrupt the small foundation of stability that Emma has built for her kid. Their lives would have been much better without him in it.

But she knows she can’t cut him out, especially not when she admits that he’s not a terrible father. Sure, most of the time he acts more like a friend than a parent, and she suspects that’ll cause issues in the future, but her kid is smart and he can already see the cracks in Neal’s façade, the pedestal created when finding his father already beginning to crumble.

Still, it was Neal’s actions that led her to this moment. Christmas Eve without a new gift for Henry.

Every time he unwrapped a gift in Neal’s living room, a bright smile on his face and exclamations of the gift being exactly what he wanted, she forced a smile as her stomach dropped. Swallowing was a difficult task and anger brewed in her chest. There were specific items on Henry’s list that Emma didn’t get, leaving them to Neal. And now Henry won’t get them at all.

“Henry’s going to be so upset,” she says to herself, blurred eyes cast on the pavement.

She didn’t even realize she’d begun to pace until she feels Killian’s hands on her shoulders bringing her to a stop. “Henry’s a bright lad. He’s not going to care as long as you still make it a great day for the two of you.”

“I don’t know how I can do that,” she whispers. “I don’t want him to have the Christmases I had.” Tears completely block her vision without her permission and she hiccups as she speaks. “I want better for him. I want to give him everything he ever wished for.”

Her mind recalls Henry’s letter to Santa once more in her head. It was by no means extravagant but it presented a multitude of options. Options she couldn’t take advantage of now.

Though they’re several steps from the car now, her eyes zero in on Will’s phone through the window. Snow slowly starts to fall from the sky, and she watches as small flakes drift towards Rogers. At least Henry will have a white Christmas, she thinks lamely to herself. Not that it is anything she actually did for him though.

Killian brings her focus back to him when he offers a handkerchief to her. It hadn’t even registered to her that the wetness on her cheeks wasn’t the newly fallen snow and instead was her tears having spilled over. She sends him a small, grateful smile before cleaning her face, taking deep breaths. She presses the cloth to her eyes until she sees stars dotting the back of her lids.

“I just want him to have something new, something just for him that he hasn’t gotten already. Something that’s his.” Her voice is low enough that she’s surprised he even heard her behind the handkerchief. As in tune with her as if they were one, he gently moves her hands away from her face.

There’s a gaze in his eyes like he can see to her soul, and it unnerves her for a moment. Killian reads her like an open book, like every expression she allows to grace her features and every wall she’s built is familiar to him. She wonders how that came to be.

“Wounds that are made when we’re young tend to linger.” Emma eyes him wearily. “Tell me? I’d love to know more about your beginnings.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Suddenly bashful at his request, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his winter coat, and Emma sniffs, admiring the sight. He’s usually so cool and calm, collected even in stressful situations.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she chokes out, offering a tiny, watery smile.

“The beginning is always a good place.”

She’s not sure what makes her do it. Perhaps it’s the snow falling, drawing them into their own little world where the pain doesn’t hit as hard or the impossible feels real. Or maybe it’s that look in his eyes, the one that is starting to remind her of herself. The one that seems to mirror every hurt she’s experienced and is beginning to understand the struggle of getting through it.

Drawing a shaky breath, Emma nods to herself. It’s like her mind is full of crossed wires or tangled Christmas lights and she has to close her eyes to get a semblance of organized thought. Then it all spills out.

“My parents abandoned me as a baby. They didn’t even bring me to a hospital. Just left me on the side of the highway to die like roadkill.” She kicks her toe at the ground, frowning as she realizes she left a mark on her brand-new boots. Not enough snow has fallen yet to have softened the blow. “From there, it was foster home to foster home until I met Neal.”

She hates the way her voice cracks over his name. More than a decade later and the pain still echoes in her chest from time to time. Will she ever get over his betrayal? At times, she doubts it. Neal was the first person she trusted, the first person she let into her life, and the first person she offered everything to. Emma tells Killian as much.

“What made him different?” His voice lacks the judgment and pity that fill so many others and it hits her square in the chest. The unexpected notion takes her breath away and she shivers. Killian is quick to pull her coat over her shoulders and drape the scarf around her neck, the warmth that fills her from the action having more to do with the intention than the clothes. He moves without a second thought and continues as he rubs his hand and wrist over her arms in a desperate attempt to drive away the chill. Sincerity in his small smile encourages her to keep going.

“I was a kid and excited to have an older guy like me. He’d tell me all these things about how alike we were, acted like we understood each other and were cut from the same cloth. Lot of good that did me. He ended up setting me up for a bunch of luxury watches he stole,” she pauses, looking up at him briefly before straightening her shoulders and rushing out, “and I ended up going to prison for almost a year while he ran off to Canada.”

Her companion’s face still lacks any judgment or hesitation. Instead curiosity colors his features, a frail effort to cover the brewing anger she senses from the way he clenches his fist. She feels the fingers curl in on themselves, his tightly closed hand resting against her arm as he stops his warming motions. “When did you have Henry?”

“In prison.”

A myriad of emotions flicker across his face. Pain – the pain of being abandoned, the pain of being left alone – most prominent. He takes on her hurt like it’s his own, and she can’t handle how heartbreak looks on his features under the falling snow.

Word vomit. She’s convinced she’s suffering from a case of the worst of it because suddenly she’s telling him about her time in prison, finding out she was pregnant the same day she got confirmation Neal snuck across the border. How she gave birth shackled to a bed and had to give Henry up because she couldn’t care for him behind the iron bars of her cell. Of David and Mary Margaret Nolan being a godsend when they took Henry in as a foster, giving him the best first years of his life that Emma could have ever asked for. The way they let her see him as often as she wanted while she got herself back on her feet.

She tells him of how they became the only family she’s ever truly known, how they helped her build a home for herself and her son, how they understood the complexities of her job and offered to babysit Henry when she had to work late.

She tells him of the loneliness that settled in her chest when Mary Margaret was offered a job at a school in Boston not long after Emma gained full custody of Henry again and how Emma couldn’t bear to part from them.

“I owe them everything,” Emma says. “They’re my family. That’s why we moved here.”

“And your ex,” Killian asks next. “How did he come back into your life?”

Huffing only blows a small cloud of white smoke out of her mouth. It billows towards Killian’s face and makes her realize just how close they’ve been standing. She takes a step back as she clenches and unclenches her fists, his own arms dropping to his side. Wills cheers something loud from inside the car, Candy Crush still visible on his screen as his hand reaches up to pump his fist.

Clearing her throat, Emma attempts a wry smile. It only lasts a moment before the corners of her mouth tilt down in a frown. “I was trying to catch a bail jumper a few weeks after we moved here. Tackled the wrong guy. I ended up running into him with Henry a couple days after that and Neal put two and two together. It’s made my life hell since then.”

Fury rolls over her as she remembers their first interactions after over a decade apart, how he claimed she deprived him of raising his son as if he weren’t the one who completely abandoned her and destroyed her life.

“I have been trying to finally give Henry a stable life with an actual home and being around family, and Neal’s been fucking it up every which way. He comes by without warning to take Henry to baseball games, concerts, the park – and how do I deny my kid time with his dad? Then he tries to pit Henry against me as if he’s fucking Father of the Year and not some deadbeat that set me up for his crimes without an ounce of regret, never looking back.”

“This Christmas was supposed to be the first one where I could really spoil Henry, you know? I had a plan for it all and I told Neal what I got him so he could get the rest of the stuff on his list. And what does Neal do? Buys those things again. So here I am,” she continues, and throws her hands up at the closed storefront behind her, “getting the doors closed in my face on Christmas Eve and without any other gifts for my son on his wish list.”

Killian remains silent.

“I want him to have a better Christmas than I did. I don’t ever want him to wake up on Christmas morning and hope that someone cared about him enough to leave a gift under the tree only to see nothing there. I don’t want him to feel insecure about his place in my life or think I don’t care about him or consider him worth my time. I’ve been there. Some foster families tried to include me; they got me little knickknacks, sometimes ones I already had, but never anything personal. Others just didn’t bother.” She sucks in a ragged breath. “Honestly what’s less thoughtful? What’s a worse way to let someone know you don’t care about them – no gifts or the same ones you just got? How many more chances am I going to get with him to fix my mistakes? I feel like I’ve already run out.”

He sees the fear of vulnerability in her eyes as her walls begin to crumble and reconstruct themselves in the same breath and lets his own down in exchange. Biting his lip as his gaze becomes hooked on the snowy sidewalk, he takes a moment. Once he’s gathered his confidence again, he steps towards Emma but keeps his eyes averted, instead fixating on Will.

“My father moved my family here when I was still young – not much older than your lad’s age. Shortly after that, the only presence he had in my life was a title. When he abandoned us, he lost even that. Mum struggled to make ends meet after he left, and our Christmases became small affairs. My brother Liam and I would receive the necessities and a small trinket or two.” When he finally looks at her, she smiles sadly, but he shakes his head.

“When I look back, I don’t even think of his absence. You know what I remember the most about those Christmases?” he asks her.

“What?”

“Music.”

“Huh?” Emma inquires, tilting her head to the side. “‘Frosty the Snowman’, ‘White Christmas’? That sort of thing?”

Killian shots her a small, amused smile. “Yes, but not in the way everyone else remembers it.”

Will yells something unintelligible in the car, but her attention remains on the man before her. Snowflakes land gently on his facial hair and his blue eyes seem impossibly bright in the cold winter night. Perhaps it’s the watery sheen making them twinkle, but she feels like she’s staring at the ocean preparing to jump in.

“You see, we had this rickety old piano left in our apartment from the previous tenants. It sat and gathered dust most of the year, but around Christmas, Mum cleaned it off. Mind you, she only knew a song or two. Still, every Christmas Eve she’d gather Liam and I around the piano before bed and play us one of the songs she knew, make us sing along with her and everything. She made a big deal out of the whole thing even though neither of them could carry a tune.” The chuckle he lets out is watery and his gaze holds a pensive sadness she’d never seen on him before. “Then she’d send us off to sleep and play a song by herself as we began to drift off. The radio would go on next and she’d play it all night long through to the morning.”

“I always thought it was a way to ring in Christmas and get us excited for the morning. It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized she did it so we wouldn’t hear her wrapping the gifts.”

The thought makes her giggle. She thinks of a boy with black hair all a mess and blue eyes filled with wonder falling asleep to the notes of a classic Christmas carol. She thinks of a woman staying up all hours of the night with one ear out for the softest of sounds that might reveal that her ruse has been foiled. She relates to the woman she’s imagined in her mind, to Killian’s mother, and feels her heart flip in her chest. A mother who would do anything to give her kids the best holiday.

Killian’s fingers fiddling with his rings bring her attention to his hand, and she realizes that he shoved his gloves into the pocket of her coat. His exposed prosthetic hadn’t even been a thought in her mind until now.

“When she got sick and her fingers couldn’t move as well, I played for her. I expanded our repertoire too, and I will never forget the smile on her face when she realized what I’d done.”

Tears sting her eyes, a longing pinging in her heart.

“The first Christmas after she’d passed was the quietest. Liam had to sell the piano to make rent and neither of us were in the mood to celebrate. It wasn’t until the following year that I’d be in the department store and heard one of her songs that it made me smile. It made me think of her and it brought me joy.”

Her voice is quiet when she speaks. “What was the song?”

“‘Little St. Nick’ by the Beach Boys.”

Emma huffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes as Killian grins wide at her. She opens her mouth to speak when his smile begins to fade. She waits.

“Every year without fail she’d sit us at the piano and make us sing along before sending us up to bed. She kept up her tradition with the radio even when Liam and I both knew why she was doing it. Now every Christmas Eve, I play the radio through the night. It reminds me of her. It makes me happy, like it’s a little piece of magic she keeps giving me.”

His hand reaches out to take one of hers, pulling it from the pocket of her coat. Despite the icy feeling of his fingers, his skin sends sparks down her spine. The small step he takes in her direction makes her breath hitch, and the pure sincerity in his gaze leaves her heart hammering against her chest.

“Emma, gifts can be great, but what is going to stick with Henry is what you do to make the day special. That’s what will stay with him as the years pass – not what you got him which year. Because even when you have nothing, the memories are everything.”

She gets it. There’s a hole in her heart, carved out at a young age for the families that would house her but never truly accept her. Always the outsider looking in. What she would give to have memories to hold onto like Killian does. Not to be the other, the asterisk at the end of every family name.

The Swans*.

*And the foster kid Emma.

Emma tilts her head back towards the sky and takes a deep breath. Snowflakes land on her cheeks and set an icy burn to her skin. “I don’t know if I’ll be enough.”

One side of Killian’s mouth tilts up, his face coming all that much closer to hers as if he’s about to tell her his deepest secret, and she can’t help but drop her head to face him without barriers. No walls, no diverted gazes. “You just spent your Christmas Eve traversing Boston in the mightiest of crowds, all in an effort to give your son the best Christmas you could ever wish for him.” Then he does that thing – that one where he raises his eyebrows to drive his point home – and her stomach swoops at his words and the total confidence he has in her. “I’ve yet to see you fail.”

#run run rogers #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #csss #cs secret santa 2021 #cssecretsanta2021 #ilovemesomekillianjones #temporarystatus #my fics #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #holiday fic #cs fanfic #secret santa

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cosmicbash · 3 years

Note

One the angsty prompt ideas I’ve been thinking about is Kells practicing how to cook for weeks so he can surprise Em by cooking him dinner, maybe for an anniversary or something, and on the day Kells has planned to surprise him, Em is hours late, leaving Kells alone for the evening. If you’re interested maybe you could write something like this? 🥰

3 years together. One thousand and ninety five fucking days between him and this old dorky man.

It's insane. Downright impossible to believe but Colson knows it's as real and true as the 2 year sobriety chip he's got hung around his neck on the gold chain Marshall gifted him with it this morning.

Both their relationship and his sobriety are as intertwined as their lives are now. Marshall's like the glue that holds all of his pieces together. Picking Colson back up, time and time again whenever he shattered in the beginning and filling in the gaps with his own loose pieces until it was Colson's turn to do the same. Which, by then, it only made sense to combine their puzzles and broaden the picture.

Now Marshall swoops in for Casie's PTA meetings he can’t make during tour. Holding the phone and helping him FaceTime for soccer games and school conferences when flight delays or bad luck keeps him late.

Colson tags along to Whitney's first few dates out in LA, weaving through the public spaces Marshall never could without drawing attention just to make sure she's safe and respected.

They tag team any situation involving the girls, even though Alaina and Hailey both still snicker at him from time to time, and Casie rolls her eyes at Marshall's rules. They're more than just dating now.

They're family.

And even just thinking about that brings tears to Colson's eyes.

Or maybe it's the onions. Baze said chewing gum helped mitigate this fucking problem but goddammit does it burn-

"Fuck!"

He has no idea how he got it in his mind that he could actually cook a meal, let alone a full anniversary dinner for Marshall but here he is. A pot and pan already cooking on the stove and his fingers knicked a dozen times in his rush to cut up more veggies for the sauce.

It's insane.

But Colson's following through with it anyway, because he fucking loves Marshall and that bastard cooks dinner for them every single holiday or occasion so it's about time he stepped up to the plate and did it himself.

Plus he's been secretly practicing for weeks with Baze over both FaceTime and a few in person lessons. Perfecting his simmering styles and meat seasoning to make the tastiest meal he can manage all on his own.

So far the last three times he's made the dish his bassist had given stellar reviews so there's little chance he'll somehow fuck it up tonight knowing it's for Marshall…..at least, he hopes.

The minor setbacks his butchered fingers have brought aside though, so far everything was coming along perfectly. His noodles are boiling (never over the rim, thank you wooden spoon trick), his meats marinating, and as soon as he tosses these sliced onions in his sauce will be cooking down beautifully.

All in all the night is starting to look like it just might be perfect.

Until 6 o'clock passes by and Colson's ears never pick up the click of the front door knob, or the hum of Marshall's escalade pulling up front outside.

The food's still simmering, minutes away from being actually done so he doesn't worry too much. Sure he was hoping to have a sweet moment where his boyfriend comes home and catches him cooking at the stove like a traditional housewife, but seeing his face when the food's done and plated promises to be just as cute.

Besides, Marshall has always fit the housewife role so much better than him anyway. Even the apron Colson's wearing is one of the older rapper's, stolen from his small collection in the pantry to protect his designer sweater.

Colson doesn't start to worry at 6. Traffic can be a bitch.

7 though? And then 7:30 when his texts go unread and his calls ring all the way through to voice-mail? That's when the blonde starts to fret.

He's luckily put off plating because some brief flash on uncertainty had run through him after the food finished so it's stayed warm and simmering on the stove. But even that had to come to an end before 7:30 because his sauce would singe or his noodles might squish, so now Colson's trying to keep busy by perfecting the presentation. Shaky fingers swiping around the edges of Marshall's plate to clean up a splatter of sauce. Every Chopped Judge rambling off feedback in his head until he has it looking like something he's certain even Gordon fucking Ramsey would ask for a bite of.

By 8 the dinner table is set. His plate, Marshall's, the bucket of low alcoholic wine they both love chilling as a centerpiece. Colson even lights a few candles and adds some flowers from this mornings gift exchanges to keep himself from screaming.

There's a pit in his stomach that's steadily been growing though. Every passing minute and glance to his phone where he finds no change only carving it deeper.

Marshall should be home. He never runs this late at the studio without a call, let alone without a message. He's treated his work like any other 9-5 job since before they ever even got together, always strict about his routine and careful to make up for over run hours by leaving earlier the next day. Usually Colson likes to bust his balls and insist he live a little more spontaneously but tonight isn't the one to pull that.

Especially not if it means Marshall's going to completely forget to check his fucking phone and leave him trying not to think the worst.

Colson only males it another 5 minutes before he caves and texts Paul. Fingers tapping fast across his screen to draft multiple desperate sounding messages before he finally settles on a "Em bust his phone again?" That feels just casual enough to not embarrass him in the off chance Marshall decides to burst through the front door seconds after it sends.

The door stays closed though and Paul doesn't open the message at all.

Now Colson can't even start passive aggressively eating dinner on his own if he wanted too. The pit in his stomach has torn itself open wide into a nauseous chasm. Every scary possibility he wanted to avoid thinking about spilling forth from the dark trench like ghouls.

He's dead. Some crazy fan broke into the studio and shot the whole place up. No one's gotten around to tell him yet, that's all. They're too busy dealing with the fallout.

No, Em's security is beyond top tier, and with how close Colson and his current bodyguard are he knows the guy would call him immediately. Marshall's fine.

Unless… what if he was in a car accident? Or some road rage incident gone fatal? Colson's seen Marshall's short temper flare up while driving. They've made dozens of jokes about it in the past, so is it really that unreasonable to believe?

Colson's pacing in the front haul when he calls Porter. Phone tucked between his ear and shoulder while he fights his shoe laces, heart racing in his chest. Prepping to fly out of the house the second Denaun tells him what fucking hospital Marshall's staying in, praying it's at the ICU section and not some fucking morgue.

"Kelly?" The older man sounds confused when he finally answers. Voice high and tone light like he's expecting this to be a butt dial. "What's up man?"

The lack of rush or worry in Denaun's voice almost soothes Colson's panic right on the spot. Surely he wouldn't sound so casual if something had happened.

It's enough to keep Colson from immediately pleading for Marshall's safety at the least. "H-hey, uh nothing really-" Maybe Marshall is even with him right now, realizing how fucking late its gotten and how shit of a boyfriend he's been and that's why Denaun sounds awkward too. "Just uh, waiting for Marsh to get his slow ass home ya know? Sorry, aheh, I'm probably sounding like a fucking needy girlfriend right now, calling his friends and shit-" the longer Colson rambles the more embarrassed he actually feels in the moment.

God he must sound pathetic right now. Panicking over Marshall being a few hours late.

"Waiting? Didn't Marshall head out like 2 hours ago?"

"W-what?"

Colson's blood feels like actual ice in his veins.

"He isn't home? I mean, I know he was gonna stop at- fuck is it already half past 8? Marshall seriously isn't home?" Denaun's sudden panic only heightens Colson's own, but he can't get any more words to come out. Not with how a rock feels like it's jumped up his throat. "Shit, Ryan are you getting through to him? Try Paul-"

Ryan's there too?

"What? Paul's gotta fucking answer-"

They can't get ahold of Paul either?

"Kelly have you-"

Marshall's missing. Colson's been standing around making dinner for hours, worrying over the portion sizes and appearance of his plates and Marshall's been fucking missing. What kind of partner is he? What will he even tell Hailey? Alaina? And fuck Casie is supposed to be coming up this weekend so they can all go vacation together before his next tour-

The front door bumping into his shoe startles Colson out of his frozen panic. Denaun's angry shouting dropping from his ear, as he twists and meets a pair of sheepish blue eyes peeking around the hardwood.

"Hey."

Marshall's…..

"Is that my apron?"

So fucking dead.

"Is this your--" Colson's fingers are curling around the edge of the door so fast he doesn't even care that it makes his phone fly to the floor. "That's what you want to fucking say to me!?" His anger is boiling fast, replacing the cold in his veins with lava. "You fucking piece of-"

Marshall stumbling inside with the yanked door is expected, but the flash of bandages and a sling douse Colson's flames like a bucket of water. "Ow, fuck just give me a second to explain-"

He's hurt.

Now with all of Marshall visible Colson's hyperaware of dry blood splattered on his white graphic tee and scratches partially hidden within the rapper's beard along his cheek. "I got in an accident out on the M-8, it was minor but-"

Colson really can't handle all these rapid mood switches Marshall is putting him through today.

“You fucking idiot-“ Tears are bubbling up in his eyes and it’s like his hands can’t reach his partner fast enough. Pulling Marshall into his arms for a tight hug despite the pained noises his actions inspire. “Stupid, old asshole-“ Marshall’s hurt, the cars probably wrecked, but he’s home and that’s enough of a relief to finally smother that pit weighing down his stomach. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

A moment passes before he’s hugged back, shock more than likely freezing his partner up but when Marshall does loop his good arm around Colson he pulls him close. So close Colson is the one who’s bones feel like they might ache. “Can’t make any promises about that,” The older rapper’s palm feels warm when it climbs to cup his neck, Marshall’s face turning to press a kiss into Colson’s throat.

That brush of lips is the final crack to release the flood gates.

"I love you."

"I know."

"I really really fucking love you."

"I know baby."

"I don't care how old your ass is, you better hold out and fucking die after me like a proper goddamn boyfriend, you hear me Marshall?" He's getting snot all over the older rapper's shirt. Full on smearing it across his own cheek and the fabric with every pointless rub of his face. "I love you so fucking much. Can't do this without you."

"Told you I'm not dying after you unless you kill me first, and I'm chasing you into the afterlife once you do go too. Fuck all the marriage shit, death ain't parting us either you brat." Marshall's tone is light and his palm is doing wonders to comfort him by rubbing circles into his back. It's enough to slow his hiccupped breathing down a few notches. "I dunno if you noticed but, I'm a little obsessed with you."

That drags out a wet snort. "Y-yeah?" When Colson pulls back to meet Marshall's eyes he swears he can see a wet shimmer starting to glaze over his partner’s as well. "Prove it then."

There's a flicker of something in blue eyes, so fast that Colson almost thinks he hallucinates the emotion altogether. But then Marshall's wrapped up arm wiggles between their bodies. The dark blue of the sling catching and sliding so his scratched up fist can shimmy its way partially out. "Planned on it-" There's something clutched tight there, black peeking out from between Marshall's finger and thumb. It's got Colson's heart dropping down into his stomach all over again. "What do you think I was driving so late on the M-8 for?"

"Marshall-" It can't be.

"Colson." But his shithead of an accident victim boyfriend is pulling back, both his good arm and slung arm awkwardly flailing in the air for a moment as he drops down on one knee. The visible wince not hidden as well as Colson imagines the man wants it to be. But Marshall's eyes are softening, and the blonde feels completely cemented in place. The only part of him moving being the uncontrollable shaky quiver of his bottom lip. "I had a whole moment planned, there were flowers, balloons, and those stupidly expensive alcoholic chocolates you love, but they all got absolutely trashed in the crash. Like, half of Detroit is probably going to think the Macies Thanksgiving parade started early. Paul called to have it all replaced, and honestly some intern is probably going to come banging on the door in about 20 minutes but I don't want to wait-" There's a flash of genuine worry that's furrowing the skin between Marshall's brows as he continues. "So I'm sorry this isn't gonna be that fancy perfect proposal you've always dreamed of-"

"Shut up." Colson's voice can't go above a whisper. His tone quick and clipped from how anxious he is to hear the man finally finish. "Just- shut up, ask me. Ask me Marsh, please-"

"Fine, always need to rush me."The rapper's lip quirks at the corners. Hands transferring the small box between eachother with a bit of fumbling. "Will you, Colson Baker-" Until Marshall can finally get it open with an audible clunk. "Legally commit to being with my annoying old ass forever?"

#sorry i had to give it a happy ending #i hope thats okay #🥺🥺#kells totally snots all over Em's shirt even more #and they end up sitting there at the dinner table #Em shirtless and Kells grinning like an idiot #eating cold food and being utterly inlove until the intern finally shows up #em slipping him a good couple hundred dollar tip #emgk #asks

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