#after I um. ficced wildly for certain characters

[rugessnome]

B/

I hate this canon (affectionate) but what I really loathe is the expectation to emotionally process new additions that I won't like (derogatory)

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Rosemary groves!??!?!

@sensitiveheartless

Wow. Um. Ok then! I really appreciate the interest in my Moomin fic... but now I'm kind of embarrassed because I looked back at what I had written and I... really don't like it anymore. I'm so sorry; I can't even bring myself to post it here.

But! I'm happy to describe a bit of what the fic is about!

It's a oneshot featuring Snufkin and Moominmamma! They're my two favourites and I adore their quiet personalities. I'm much more familiar/comfortable with their book selves, and I aim to set this closer to the end of the series - somewhere between Tales of Moominvalley and Moominpappa at Sea.

"They say the quiet folk notice more." is my opening line, and it sets the stage for a sort of subtle exploration of two characters who, in contrast with many of the rest of the cast, tend to keep certain things to themselves, but for wildly contrasting reasons - Snufkin in defense of his solitude and privacy, and Mamma because she is the dependable heart of the moomin family, and as such, she often doesn't voice her discomfort (which of course leads to her painting escapism in Moominpappa at Sea).

This is sort of discussed in a roundabout way while Snufkin invites Moominmamma to come pick some rosemary with him from a nice field - which he did because he noticed her back was a little stiff, and he wants her to have some so she can reduce some of the pain (all without saying that directly of course! She knows anyways :) ). I always enjoyed Snufkin's respect for Moominmamma, and I think that he takes a little after Moomintroll's belief that she can kind of do anything - they both have this "Mamma will know what to do" attitude haha. On the flip side, Moominmamma loves Snufkin, like she does with all of Moomintroll's friends, and I think she sees him as kind of an honorary child... again, as she does.

This fic is really just an excuse to have them hanging out together... because I love them both :')

WIP ask game here!

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

Angel and the Freak

Character/Fandom: Eddie Munson - Stranger Things

Requested: yes - anon!

Prompt: When you forget your prized jean jacket backstage after theatre rehearsals, you have no choice but to run back and get it. Finding yourself face-to-face with the school's resident freak, Eddie Munson, you learn just how charming you can be. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: none! this is ✨ wholesome ✨

Rating: Pg || Word Count: 4.0k

A/N: anon, you literally read my mind??? i've had a shred of an idea floating around in my brain for MONTHS of writing an eddie fic where the reader does musical theatre because the hellfire meeting in ep. 1 is so clearly on the HHS stage. so this was PERFECT

If you want to be added to my stranger things taglist, fill out this tiny google form!

[ request | masterlist | wanna be tagged? ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

As you grab the handle of the car door, you suddenly feel the missing weight of something that should be tied to your waist. You quickly search your body, but you don’t find what you’re looking for.

“Oh god, wait! I forgot my jacket. Hold on, I’ll be right back!” you shout to your friends, spinning on your heel before they have a chance to protest.

You rush away, back toward the theatre. You need that jacket; it’s your prized possession. You’ve put way too much work into it to leave it behind. As you swing the back door to the theatre open, your ears are flooded with loud, harsh music. You furrow your eyebrows and stalk quietly toward the sound. As you get closer, you realize that you’re listening to “Dreamer Deceiver” by Judas Priest. You’d know that song anywhere; it’s one of the songs you use to practice expanding your vocal range.

You wade through the backstage area, cluttered with racks of costumes and set pieces all painted and ready to be deployed for the first show tomorrow night. You peek your head around the corner of the wall. The stage is lit by the lights above, a mix of blue, yellow, and red which casts a muddy glow over the scene. Your eyes track across the stage and find a man, a student, you don’t recognize. He’s bent over a table, his arms moving wildly. Your eyes land on a small black cassette player stacked on top of a bunch of boxes. You can tell just by the sight of this student that he’s not a theatre kid. You’d recognize him if he were. With a shrug, you step out from behind the wall.

“Um, hi!” you say loudly.

You were hoping he’d be able to hear you over the loud music. But, after waiting patiently for a few minutes with no response, you forcefully clear your throat. Still nothing. You cup your hands around your mouth and prepare to shout.

“Hey!”

The boy’s head suddenly snaps back. He glances over his shoulder in your direction. With the low lighting, you can’t see his face, only a mane of uncouth, long, curly hair. You squint and raise your hand to wave. He lunges over the table in front of him and clicks off the cassette player. Once the room is encased in silence, you step forward awkwardly.

“Um, hi,” you say. His back is still turned away from you as he fiddles with something. “Sorry for interrupting you.”

“Hey, no problem. What, uh, can I do for you?” he asks.

Your eyes are too busy scanning the room to notice that he’s turned toward you. Your gaze continues to search and re-search the exact spot where you’re fairly certain you had left your jacket.

“I just forgot my jacket and was wondering if you happened to see it. I thought I left it over-”

“Oh, yeah, got it right here,” he interrupts you.

At the sound of his reply, your stare centers on him. Your eyebrows raise as you meet his deep brown eyes. Now that you can see him clearly, you would swear you know him from somewhere. His hair is wild and long, falling all the way down to his shoulders. His soft eyes are friendly; they remind you of a puppy’s. He's actually super cute, maybe even pretty. You can’t place a name to his face, but…maybe he’s in your history class with Mrs. O’Donnell? Yeah, that feels right.

Offering a smile, you step closer to him to take the jacket from his fingers. As you do, your fingertips gently brush against one another.

“Thanks,” you say.

“No problem. Cool pins.”

“Oh, thanks!”

You giggle nervously as heat creeps up through your ears. You quickly swipe your finger over the top of your favorite Lord of the Rings pin, which reads “Gamgee for President.” Can you say embarrassing?

“That’s actually why I came back for it,” you continue. “I’ve put a lot of work into this jacket with all the pins and patches and stuff.”

“Oh believe me, I get it,” he replies, leaning back to grab something behind him

As he does so, the hem of his shirt rides up just enough to give you the slightest peek at his stomach. Your eyes can’t help but drop down to take it in. You bite your lip as you feel butterflies in your stomach, fluttering softly. You’re all but positive now that Mrs. O’Donnell’s class is where you know him from. But his name…what is it?

He presents a jean vest to you. You take it from him, nodding as you examine it. Judging by the frayed hems, it looks like he’s cut or ripped off the sleeves. There are pins and patches placed haphazardly across the fabric. Each piece of decoration is merchandise for a different metal band: Motorhead, W.A.S.P., Judas Priest, etcetera. You flip the jacket over and smile at the massive Dio patch sewn onto the back flap.

“Kind of a metalhead, aren’t you? Very impressive, though,” you say, handing the jacket back. “You don’t have as many as I do, but I have the exact same Judas Priest one, actually.”

“No shit.”

You pull your jacket up, maneuvering to the exact spot where you know that very same Judas Priest pin has been secured for the last eight months. He steps forward, leaning closer to examine it. He chuckles, his fingers swiping over the glossy surface of the metal pin. You bite away the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. He smells like a mixture of smoke, musk, and something mildly sweet that you can’t quite identify. It’s a nice smell, natural and not chemical like some colognes. After a moment, he pulls away, glancing down at you with furrowed eyebrows. His eyes flick up and down your figure. You cross your arms over your chest defensively.

“What?” you ask.

“You just don’t seem like the kind of person who would have a heavy metal band pinned on your jacket, that’s all.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” you quip, narrowing your eyes. “I happen to dabble in metal so I can work on my vocal range. Judas Preist, in particular, and that song,” you gesture to the player, “specifically.”

“Really? You in a band or something?”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Not exactly. I do musical theatre. Hence the jacket being left over there. We’re doing Grease for the spring production and I'm playing Sandy.”

You wince as the words leave your lips and wonder why you feel pressured to impress him so much. Why did you think telling him you’re playing little miss Sandra Dee herself would impress him, anyway? Silence has settled between you, his head nodding slowly. You don’t have to justify yourself to him, to the likes of E-! His name suddenly clicks in your head. Your pleasure in remembering it moves you to break the awkward tension.

“Hey, I do know you. It’s Eddie, right? You have Mrs. O’Donnell’s history class for fourth period. I knew you looked familiar! I’m in that class, too. I’m-”

“Y/N,” he says, a smile spreading across his handsome features. “I know who you are.”

“Right,” you nod, dropping your embarrassed gaze. “Well, I know you're not in theatre, so what are you doing back here?”

He uncrosses his arms, pulling his shirt taut. Your eyes move down to take in the logo printed on it: a satanic red face with horns jutting out from its skull, haunting yellow eyes, and jagged teeth. To the sides of the figure, you recognize a sword and a mace with oddly shaped dice. The words HELLFIRE CLUB are printed in bold, black letters across the top of the shirt.

“Just setting up for a club meeting,

“Hellfire Club? What’s that?”

“Only the most badass club this school has ever had.”

“Okay,” you chuckle. “Well, what do you do?”

“Asking what we don’t do would be a better question,” he answers, flicking his pointer finger matter-of-factly. “We battle evil vampires, drink ales at the local pub, discover treasure, and go on long adventures to defeat evil and save the world as we know it.”

You raise your eyebrows. 

“You…what?”

He sighs, his smile fading quickly. His lips flatten as his cheeks heat up into a soft pink.

“We play a fantasy game called Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Ohhh, yeah…” you squint your eyes and lean close, jokingly whispering, “isn’t that the game that promotes Satanic worship or whatever?”

He chuckles deeply, the sound tinged with an almost sinister tone.

“According to adults who don’t know any better.  According to the fried brains of intellectually weak and easily persuaded teenagers who are slaves to popular customs. According to the school that forces conformity on every student who goes here.”

“Forced conformity?” you repeat, nodding slowly. You shrug. “Sounds like a drag.”

His eyes flick up to catch yours. The corner of his mouth twitches up into a smile. His gaze momentarily drops down to your lips before returning to your eyes. You ignore the temptation to move closer to him and, instead, lean around his body to see what’s behind him. You gesture toward the table on which tiny figurines and sets are meticulously placed.

“So how do you play this fantasy game?”

“It’s pretty simple, really. You create a character and then you make decisions as if you were that character. You roll dice with each decision and, depending on the stats of your character, your rolls determine whether you’re successful or not.”

As he explains, you step around him to approach the table. You lower yourself down so that you’re at eye-level with the surface. Each figurine is delicately and painstakingly painted. The attention to detail is incredible. You snatch one up, a tall green figure holding a giant axe between his hands. The figurine’s face is drawn into an angry frown, the long, pointed teeth gnashed together.

“Sounds a bit like theatre, actually,” you muse.

Eddie steps up beside you, placing his palms on the table. He leans over the surface, mimicking your position.

“In a lot of ways, it is theatre. In fact, there’s actually a class that would be perfect for you,” he says, reaching to grab one of the figures.

When his arm gently brushes against yours, you gulp down your nerves. The butterflies in your stomach are flipping over each other.

“Class? What does that mean?” you ask.

“Your class is like the type of player you are. Different classes have different abilities. For example, that,” he points to the green man you’re holding, “would be a barbarian. Barbarians are super strong but not very intelligent. They can inflict a lot of damage but they’re shit when trying to solve puzzles. This, however-”

He holds his palm out flat and, nestled in it, is a woman clad in a bright orange dress with a purple crown adorning her head. She holds some kind of musical instrument in her arms; it looks like some type of medieval harp. You move a little closer to him, peering down at the figure.

“This is a bard,” he continues. You glance up into his eyes for clarification. “Bards are magic users. They weave magic through words and music to inspire allies, demoralize foes, manipulate objects and minds, and even heal wounds.”

“Wow,” you nod. "She's so beautiful and elegant."

"Mhm," Eddie hums in agreement. "She looks a lot like you, actually."

You glance up at him with a teasing smile.

“So what is, like, their most powerful spell?” you ask, trying to distract yourself from the pounding of your heart.

“Bards have a ton of great spells. While not the most powerful, one particularly awesome one is Charm Person. That spell allows the bard to charm an enemy within their range. If the target fails to roll a certain number, called a saving throw, that creature is charmed by the bard until the spell ends. Super useful and very compatible with bards, since they’re extremely charismatic.”

“Oh? So…you think I’m beautiful, elegant, and charismatic?”

You allow the smirk on your face to grow across your cheeks. Eddie lifts his eyes, wide and round. He stares at you in surprise. You think you notice that blush returning to his cheeks. His eyes once again flick down to your lips. Yours do the same to his and you gently lean forward, anxiously waiting for him to make a move. For a moment, it seems like he’s giving in. But he suddenly jerks backward and clears his throat loudly. You heave a shaky breath and continue talking to dispel the awkwardness that’s festering between you.

“So, let’s say I am a bar..?”

“A bard.”

“A bard, right. How would I…cast this spell?”

“Through your instrument, whatever your character has. For a bard, their instrument is like a weapon. So instead of channeling your spells through a staff like other magic users, you would use an instrument.”

“Any kind of instrument?”

“Sure. Guitars, flutes, harps, drums-”

“What about a voice?”

“Sure, that, too. But you’d still have to have something like a microphone to channel it through.”

“Okay. And what kinds of creatures would the spell work on?”

“Oh, it could work on any. Doesn’t matter what type of creature you’re attacking. What matters is whether their stats are high enough to prevent you from succeeding. For example, in this case, creatures with low wisdom would be more likely to fail their saving throw, but a character of any class could easily fall under your spell.”

“And what class do you usually play as?”

“Well, I’m the DM, the dungeon master, so I run the game. I'm all the extra characters, the villains and anyone else the party runs into along their journey. But when I do play, I always go for a ranger or a bard.”

“Really? Wait, you don’t sing, too, do you?”

“God no. I think that’d be torture for everyone. I do play guitar, though. I’m in a band, actually.”

“Oh…” you say, perking up.

Your heart flutters. Everyone knows that guys in bands are way hot. Your gaze falls onto Eddie’s long, slender digits. Your mind momentarily drifts into a daydream of those fingers dancing across the strings of a guitar. You shake your head to snap yourself back into the present.

“Yeah, Corroded Coffin," he continues. "We play at The Hideout on Tuesdays. We get a crowd…of about five drunks.”

You laugh, shaking your head. He’s funny, too? You’re starting to think you should get out of there before he charms his way right into your life. Silence settles for a few minutes as you both waver awkwardly in the space between you. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to get out of there, and you probably should since your friends are waiting for you. But you can’t bring yourself to end this moment with Eddie. Something about him is drawing you in, begging you to stay a little longer.

“So would this charm spell…" you start, "would it work on say…another bard, perhaps?”

The hint of a smile tugs at his lips. He turns toward you, leaning against his elbow on the table. His head flops to the side, his jawline pulled tightly and sharply against his skin, the muscles in his neck taut. Your eyes snap over to appreciate his bone structure for just a second.

“Depends,” he says, his voice dropping to a low tone.

“On what?” you answer, embarrassed by the breathy undertone of your voice.

“Just how good of a singer are you?”

You haven’t really noticed, but you’re suddenly acutely aware of the fact that you’re standing so close to each other. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your fingers on the table. Your fingertips are just millimeters away from touching Eddie’s. Your eyes are locked in a trance.

“I’m unmatched,” you reply teasingly.

“Oh yeah?”

“I can prove it. If I have to.”

“Please, my lady,” he gestures to the space in between you, “the floor’s yours.”

You straighten up and clear your throat. You take a deep breath and center yourself, just as your voice teacher had taught you to do. Once you open your mouth, you forget where you are and who you are. Whenever you sing, you’re transported to another place and time, where everything in the world is right and safe and happy. You almost feel like you’re flying, like your soul has sprouted wings.

Over the years, you’ve been told that you have a nice, clear, strong voice. You’re no Whitney Houston by any means. But as you belt out the lyrics to Sandy’s melancholy “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” you can feel the way your voice moves through your throat. You know when you’ve hit a note confidently. After a few bars, you allow your voice to fade out, holding the last note for a few seconds longer than usual.

Once finished, you open your eyes. Eddie’s eyebrows are raised, eyes wide. He’s looking up at you like you’re a piece of art, like you’re a beautiful landscape painting. You feel heat immediately gathering in your neck and face. You chuckle nervously and drop back onto the table, hunching your shoulders over. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds and you gulp, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. His silence is making you second-guess your talent. Maybe you’re not as impressive as you thought you were…

“You sound like an angel,” he finally says, in a tone just above a hushed whisper.

You look up at him, your heart beating erratically against your chest. Your palms are growing clammy with every second. Your eyes drop down to his mouth. You can’t tear your gaze away when his lips part. He’s even closer now than you realized and his head is tilted down toward yours. His gentle brown eyes are focused hard on your face, trained on your lips. The veins in his neck are pulsing with his heartbeat. You can just barely see his collarbone peeking out from underneath his shirt. Your eyes start to flutter closed as he leans a smidge closer.

“I take it the spell worked, then?” you whisper, finally tearing your eyes up to his.

He doesn’t respond, his eyes still sewn to your lips. He dips down. You raise your head up to meet his lowering one. The moment your lips connect, you know you’re a goner. Your fingers curl into a fist on the table, your fingertips tingling to feel his skin. His lips are soft and warm, encapsulating yours comfortably. He pushes against you firmly and you love the feeling of the pressure. When your lips part, you both waver in the space between, the heat of your bodies mixing. Wasting no time, Eddie’s head juts forward and he kisses you again, a little harder this time. His hand finds its way to your waist and he grasps onto you, pulling you a step closer to him. Your hands slide onto his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt to hold his lips on yours. You tilt your heads to reach each other better and-

“Y/N, are you coming? I-ope!”

Your lips slip from Eddie’s and you whirl around with wide eyes. Your friend, Caroline, is standing offstage, her hands wrapped around her mouth.

“Caroline!” you shout. “Oh my god! I-I forgot you were waiting for me. I’m sorry.”

“Oh no,” Caroline responds. When she drops her hands, a wide smile is pulled across her lips. “No, that’s totally fine. I didn’t mean to…interrupt here. We were just wondering what happened to you.”

“What? Nothing happened. I…” you stutter, glancing back at Eddie.

He’s leaning against the table, his head dropped so that you can’t see his eyes. You’re feeling frazzled, totally caught off-guard. You shake your head. You can’t stop the goofy smile that raises to your lips. You can feel yourself growing hot again, the embarrassment of a teenage crush raging through your entire body.

“Eddie was just helping me find my jacket, and we were…uh…”

“I’ll tell them to wait up for a few more minutes,” Caroline replies. “But we can’t wait forever. We’re late as it is.”

“Thanks,” you reply, shooting her a grateful expression. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

Caroline just laughs, throwing up a dismissive hand as she spins on her heel and disappears into the shadows. Releasing a breath, you turn back toward Eddie. He lifts his head. His cheeks are definitely a bright pink now. His bangs are hanging in his face, covering part of his eyes. He looks adorable, like a bashful puppy, and you almost laugh at how strange his softness looks draped all in black and red.

“Well, I guess I’d better get going. Thank you for this,” you say, gesturing toward the jacket.

“Anytime. I think, uh, you’re missing a spot, though,” he says.

“What?”

You furrow your eyebrows, holding the jacket up to examine it. You peer closer at the fabric as you discover the awkward empty space he’s referring to. The pin that belonged there must have come unfastened and gotten knocked off. You groan, your fingertip running over the vacant holes where the pin used to be secured.

“If you wanted, you could, uh…you can have this one,” he continues, stretching his hand out.

On his palm is a pin. You swipe it from his grasp and smile when you see what’s printed on it. It’s a Judas Priest pin. You smile and hurriedly clip it onto the jacket.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He just nods. You waver awkwardly for a moment, unsure whether you should do something besides just saying goodbye. A thought suddenly occurs to you.

“Oh hey, you should come see the musical. Our first show is tomorrow night. And I am the lead, so I can promise a charismatic show.”

“Yeah...listen, um, musical theatre isn’t really my thing,” he answers.

You nod, your face falling, your heart crashing onto the floor. You feel stupid. Of course, it’s not his thing. Why did you even ask?

“But..” he continues. Your eyes widen in hope. “If you’re in it, maybe you’ll change my mind, Angel.”

You can’t do anything this time to stop the smile from overtaking you. His use of a pet name for you only makes you smile harder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. As long as you don’t use Charm Person on me.”

“I’ll try my best not to. But no promises.”

You both share a mischievous smirk, your heart fluttering with every breath you take. You clutch hard onto your jacket.

“Well, I guess, I’ll see you around,” you say.

You wiggle your fingers coquettishly, shooting him a flirty smile. As soon as you turn your back on him, you bite your lip hard, silently cheering to yourself. You only make it a few steps before his voice stops you.

“Hey, uh, Y/N?”

You pause and turn to glance over your shoulder.

“You should maybe come see the band, too. We cover a lot of Judas Priest, so maybe you’d have a good time. As it happens, we're actually in the market for a lead singer, too. If you're interested. I don’t know…”

You giggle softly and bite your lip.

“I tell you what, Eddie. If you come see me tomorrow night, I’ll drop by a show. You said Tuesdays at The Hideout, right?”

“Yep,” Eddie nods. “Corroded Coffin.”

“We don’t have rehearsals on Tuesdays,” you say. “Looks like you’re in luck. I’ll think about it.”

Eddie catches his lip between his teeth. There your heart goes, fluttering away again. Too nervous for a kiss and too excited for a hug, you settle on giving him a small peck. You quickly kiss his cheek and then dash away. You feel like a silly teenage girl but you love every second of it. You giggle as he shouts after you.

“See you tomorrow, Angel!”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Reblogs, likes, comments, and feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know!

[a3playshipbattleroyale]

WELCOME TO THE A3! PLAY SHIP BATTLE ROYALE!

"Holy shit, another Tumblr poll!?" you ask. Well. Yes. Why? Um. My friends brought up the idea and I have terrible impulse control. ANYWAY.

DO YOU LIKE A3! PLAYS!? DO YOU LIKE MAKING THE FUNNY LITTLE A3! PLAY CHARACTERS KISS!? BOY, DO I HAVE THE POLL FOR YOU!

Welcome, one and all, to the A3! Play Ship Battle Royale, where we pit our favorite a3 play ships against other people's favorite a3 play ships and hopefully spawn either a couple new ao3 fic tags, a silly crossover piece of art, a newfound appreciation for a3 plays, or...! I ran out of stuff. But you get the gist.

SUBMISSION RULES AND GUIDELINES

- The ship must be a play ship. The characters do not have to be from the same play! Extended playverse ships are allowed, provided that at least one person in the ship is a canon play character AND you can provide a visual of the extended play character/s. Ships between a play character and an actor are NOT allowed for the bracket at this time (but maybe it'll change in the future).

- The play ship in question does NOT need to be a main troupe/mixed play. Ships from other plays like Royal Blue or Inner Palace are allowed!

- Play characters must be within an appropriate age range with one another. I'll leave that to your discretion as to what counts as "appropriate", but as a general rule: no adults with anyone younger than college age. Also, please don't submit ships where the characters are related to one another.

- You do not have to ship the actors who play the characters, as long as you ship the play characters themselves. (Just as an example, you can submit Luke/S, even if you don't ship Citron/Tsuzuru.) Specifically, though, I will not accept ships played by Juza/Kumon/Muku, or Azami/Sakyo, even if the play ship is technically okay. I won't consider those submissions.

- In case I get a lot of submissions (like, a lot of submissions), I'll do my best to provide a mix of popularity in the poll. In case that a certain actor pairing has a lot of submitted play ships, I'll likely just choose two or three of them. If your submitted ship didn't make it, I'm really sorry! ><

- Submissions that don't follow the rules will not be considered. Also, if a certain pair makes me wildly uncomfortable, I probably won't consider it, sorry. Unless it's, like, really, really popular or something.

POLL RULES AND GUIDELINES

- Be nice to each other in the notes! If I see the shooters of any particular ship being nasty, I will give one (1) warning only. If you can't get your act together after that, I will disqualify the ship.

- Propaganda is allowed and encouraged! Silly crack fics are allowed and encouraged! Funny art is allowed and encouraged! I want everyone's brain juices to start flowing!

- This poll is run by one person, so please be patient! And please be nice, I'm fragile.

GOT THAT? YOU CAN SUBMIT YOUR SHIPS HERE!

(submissions will be open until may 19, or i'll close them if i get way too many submissions that i start struggling.)

Special shoutout to some of the other tournaments that inspired this! @weirdass-shiptournament and @a3rarepairstournament in particular! Heart emojis.

(last note, i won't be submitting any ships myself, but if you're interested in hearing my personal play ships, um. i guess you can ask, but it might take a while for me to get back to you because dms scare me, lol.)

[chaoscheebs]

Notes for a fic idea I will probably never write:

AU where Seto (Mokuba naturally goes with him, cannot separate the bros) ends up raised by Sugoroku and Yugi ends up raised by Gozaburo.

So, the gist of this idea that my half-asleep mind spawned is, apparently Sugoroku knew Seto’s parents somehow in this AU?  And he is  f u c k i n g  L I V I D  when he hears what happens to them and that the other relatives are about to dump their poor kids in an orphanage after taking their money, so he just sort of... takes them in himself, fuck those shitty relatives.

Meanwhile, Yugi is still, technically,  Sugoroku’s grandkid!  ... that Sugoroku has no idea about, because his son’s fuckin’ around and Yugi’s mom was a conquest he ditched.  After she dies for whatever reason, it’s Yugi that ends up in the orphanage here.  And, well, Yugi’s smart himself, and has a bit of an underlying mean streak that could be useful in business if properly utilized, so...

As you can imagine, the boys turn out kind of wildly different?  Seto is still... not necessarily great at emotions, that is just not happening?  But he’s also a hell of a lot happier and a bit more willing to reach out to others.  Mokuba still has Big Feral Gremlin Energy(tm), but is generally nicer about it?  And is also a lot happier, with actual friends and stuff and not the head of a feral child gang.

Yugi, conversely, becomes one hell of an actor.  He knows using the sweet interior he’s tried guarding for years as a mask will charm/manipulate most people and will use it to the fullest.  He’s also...  very, very more in touch with that mean streak, the one who will look at someone who fucked with him and goes “I am about to ruin this person’s entire life, short as it is.”  And.  He can and will.  Just ask Gozaburo.  If he was still alive, that is.

See, he comes across a very special program, which is the actual mind/soul(?) impression of a certain child that was supposed to be the heir, and Yugi does what Yugi does best: charms him, befriends him, sees him as a useful tool.  And then kinda...  team up to metaphorically (and also kinda literally) haunt Gozaburo’s ass until he jumps out the damn window anyway.  Also oh guess what, little big brother and another special guest (Yugi’s Lone OG Friend(tm) Anzu) kiiiiiiiiinda helped Yugi take over the company too.  \8D/

Yugi, being the lone character actually normal about card games, doesn’t go fully Willy Wonka about them, despite absolutely still turning KaibaCorp into a game-related company too because fuck the war machine and especially fuck Gozaburo’s legacy, doesn’t actually get into a dust-up with Seto!  In fact, he kinda has an awkward crush on him after playing some Duel Monsters with him.

But.  Um.  Being raised by one of the Kings of Shitty Dads means Yugi, bless his heart, is even more awkward about making actual, genuine friends and has even worse self-esteem than OG Yugi, especially since he’s damned well aware that the manipulation tactics and that cruel streak he used to survive are not really useful for making close relationships.  Also, in his mind, make him a bad person and no one wants to be around a bad person he doesn���t deserve friends why even try.

So it probably takes until Duelist Kingdom for him and Seto to... actually really interact and by then Yugi is in a blind panic because, since Mokuba isn’t getting kidnapped here, he’s freaking out about Anzu being in danger, and...  Well, while Yugi isn’t one to go jumping off of castles, he has his own fun self-destructive habits to contend with when he thinks he’s failed her!  \8D/;;;;;;;;;;

(What’s under the chunky wrist cuffs he wears?  It’s probably exactly what you expect.)

So yeah, this is what I end up coming up with when that role-swap picture I saw months ago still lives rent-free in my head and I’m half-asleep.

ETA: also the whole Solid Light Duel Monsters tech happens because Yugi is a smart rich kid with crazy tech at his fingertips with a crush and wants to impress his very not normal about card games crush.

ETA 2: Also penguin guy gets to stay on the board of directors because Yugi enjoys cute things and thus is more willing to compromise with him on the penguin thing.

[sonickedtrowel]

1, 2, 4, 10, 20!!

Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Oh boy so I’m sure I must have mentioned it at some point but I won’t turn down a chance to ramble about it again: me and @regalpotato​ are working on a Day of the Doctor rewrite and I’m pretty psyched about it!  Basically, Eight is there rather than War (although War does make an appearance!) and also River is there, because Duh, and there are other Things going on that are different from the episode/novel, but that’s spoilers and also still partially cooking in my brain, lol.  It’s at 11k-ish right now but still pretty early in the story, too early to probably say what I will love most.  But I’m having a ton of fun with it, especially the dialogue, and currently torturing Ten in every way I can think of.  You know, lovingly torturing.  For the most part.

That is the really big thing I’m excited about, but I do still have two prompts left from a couple weeks back (I didn’t forget you, anons!) and those are milling around in my head too waiting for inspiration to strike. 2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

No secret that I love writing multi-Doctor / River stories, and in fact having somewhat recently finished an 8 and 11 / River fic I will have to be on my toes to not repeat myself too much haha.  But I just love getting everyone together and letting them yell at each other for a while - the best honestly - and then later we get Revealing Conversations about Feelings, as well as POV changing chapters.  Not to overhype it but!  I think it’s gonna be fun! Putting the rest under a cut because I am long-winded lol.

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Hmmm I’ll pick something I like from the WIP that’s all my writing - this is from Night of the Doctor with Eight and Ohila, but it’s diverged from the original script here and iirc pretty much all new dialogue for Eight.  I don’t normally write this sort of Doctor speech because I’m usually doing romance, but I can hear Paul McGann righteously shouting/soliloquizing in my head so I’m pretty happy with it: *** “What would you have me do?” the Doctor hissed.  “What does your broken prophecy foretell?  That I become one more loyal soldier in Gallifrey’s glorious army?  I can join this fight and take a thousand lives, die a thousand deaths, and this war will still go on.  The universe doesn’t need another soldier!” “Not a soldier,” said the Sister, “a warrior, with the power you’ve refused to wield.  You could have destroyed the Daleks before they were even created.” “Yes, I could have done.  And I didn’t, because I have no right!  Whatever it is you think you can turn me into, Sister, you’ll continue to be disappointed.  Because there’s one person who is always needed in a war: a good doctor, willing to help whomever they can.  No matter if they’re despised, or called traitor— no matter who they lose or how many times they fail!  There will always be more lives to save, and I’ll be there, helping, wherever I can.  I only hope I’m strong enough to carry on doing it half as well as another doctor I knew.” ***

(Yes of course we have Liv Chenka references!) 10. How would you describe your writing process? It takes me forever to get ideas, but once I have a sort of general amorphous direction for the story and an emotional starting point for the characters, I just jump in.  And then I keep getting shower thoughts about more and more stuff happening and what was supposed to just be some fun fluff starts growing a plot and getting wildly out of hand and this is just my life.  I am very much not in control. 20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?) Ohhhh this is such a good question!  Definitely going with There is a love I reminisce because there’s a lot going on under the surface in that fic and not all of it stated super explicitly.  So um, huge spoilers below if you haven’t read it!

Manhattan and Trenzalore (both times) are essentially retconned, through a combination of River’s innate abilities and Eleven going around the timeline trying to do better after being confronted with his shortcomings in TNOTD.  How the Doctor survived Utah is explained and it’s not because he was in a stupid robot.  It spawns an implied post-Library reunion with River, Eleven and the Doctor’s oft-referenced and never quantified or named children from Gallifrey.  It implies a different resolution to the Hybrid thing and an alternate series 10.  And of course it uses BF’s far-superior Ravenous 4 plot twist to preemptively annihilate the timeless children crap, and a combination of Ravenous 4 and Doom Coalition 4 to make River basically a time goddess.  But maybe my favorite thing was giving life to this headcanon of mine.  IT CANNOT BE REFUTED!  They’ve never said ANYTHING specific about his family so it’s free real estate baby!

*** “Yes, sorry to harp on about this, honey, but I think we can discuss the regeneration semantics later,” River cut in.  “You’re saying I came back from your future to your distant past and just… stayed?”

“Well… yes, I think so.  There were certain things we couldn’t discuss.  I had always just assumed that I’d reached the end of my last regeneration and you weren’t too pleased with that, so…  You know, describing it now, it does seem very irresponsible.  But I don’t recall having any complaints.”

“No, I shouldn’t think you would.”  River smiled, but her mind was racing.  “How would that even work?  Eventually, we’d come back round to when we first met on your end, and what, I wipe myself out of your memories?  Selectively, for your entire lifetime?  I think you might notice a little thing like that.”

“I suppose you must have had a plan for it, but I can’t remember it now.  I just remember the two of us, together through the centuries.” He smiled fondly and River felt like the ache in her chest would strangle her.  “I remember our family.”

“Our what?” she cried, as the older Doctor had a sudden choking fit.

“Our family.  Our children and…”  Dread slowly dawned on the young Doctor’s sweet face.  “Oh, please, no,” he whispered.  “Don’t tell me they’re…  No, this happened! It happened in both versions of my memories!”  He looked to his older self, panic-stricken.  “Tell me you remember!”

“You had a family,” River soothed, as Babyface stumbled over his own tongue.  “It just wasn’t with me.”

“What?” he laughed incredulously.  “Who else would it be?”

“Your first wife, sweetie.  I’m your second.  Well, the second one that counts.”

“No, that’s— I’m sorry, that’s nonsense.”  He turned to the older Doctor again. “You can’t tell her, is that it?  Because she hasn’t done it yet?  I’m sorry, River, maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“No!” Babyface shouted, finally collecting himself.  “Yes, we— I had a family, on Gallifrey, before I ever left.  River wasn’t there, obviously, because that’s not how anything works!”

“Who, then?” the young Doctor demanded.  “Who was your first wife?”

“I— I— she was—”  He opened and closed his mouth silently, looking increasingly horrified.

“You don’t like to talk about it,” River explained.  “She passed away.”

“Yes, but just between me and myself,” the young Doctor pressed on with an utter absence of tact that made it easier than ever to see this was the same man before her, “who was she?  And your children, what were their names?”

River hesitated, watching as the older Doctor wrestled with himself.  These were details not even she had ever asked him for.  She knew the general outline, of course, and that was enough.  It was a hurt so deep and so impossibly ancient, she couldn’t truly imagine how distant it must be for him now.  No sense in forcing him to open that door and dwell on it again.

“I, I don’t,” he finally muttered, looking almost fearful, “I don’t talk about it.  I don’t think about it.”

“You’ve forgotten them,” the young Doctor said, voice low and furious.  “How could you?”

“S-Susan,” Babyface stammered, wide-eyed.  “I left Gallifrey with Susan.”

A relieved smile flashed across the young Doctor’s face.  “And where did you suppose she came from?”

“No, she… I don’t…”  Chair legs scraped abruptly across the tile as the older Doctor bolted up from his seat, white-faced, and stumbled back from the table.

“Doctor?”  River stood, her hearts racing.  

His eyes met hers for a split second, the strange terror in them sending a chill through her, and then he was gone like a shot.  

“Doctor!”  She made to chase after him, but his younger version was still clasping her hand.

“He’ll be fine,” he reassured her.  “He’s just working it out.”

“Working it out?” she repeated, too stunned to reach out and grasp for the obvious.  She turned to him in a daze.  He smiled, and for a fleeting moment she fancied she could see the long contentment of a life she’d never dared dream of, etched in each little line on his older, younger face.

“I told you, River.”  He laid his other hand over hers, warm and steady.  “It was always you.”   ***

[konan-supernova]

WHOOOO WROTE THIS IN LIKE AN HOUR WITH NO EDITING HERE Y'ALL GO

WARNINGS: spoilers for the Steven Universe finale, (probably) inaccurate depictions of therapy, and mention of trauma (let me know if I missed anything)

---

Steven fiddled with the hem of his shirt, picking at the few loose threads he found hanging around. He was careful not to pull on them, though, as he was looking to avoid unraveling half his shirt during his first therapy session here. He wanted to at least try to make a good impression.

Speaking of which, he was already pretty sure this wasn't a fit for him. He'd already gotten a strange impression here. Connie had recommended he try out a few different specialists before settling on one…. Despite having not yet met the doctor, he was already uncomfortable in the space.

The sign in the waiting room had been flipped from "Quiet! Session in session!" to "Come on in, patient!" when Steven got there, so he had settled into the office room where he was supposed to meet his potential therapist. Nobody was there at first, so Steven waited for about a minute and a half, taking time to examine the room.

The office was way less serious than he'd been expecting: the bookshelves and desk were covered in cartoon and kids movie memorabilia, and the walls were bright and decorated with various animal stickers. It felt a bit too childish for Steven, who was trying to deal with his more adult problems as he grew older. He wasn't really looking to be treated like a child again.

So, yeah. He'd sit through the session and let Dad know that he wanted to try someone else.

He jumped as the door clicked open behind him, though the hallway outside was empty. Had the door opened on its own, or…?

"Tears of sorrow, tears of joy-"

What? That's… no way!

"-there'll be tears to the very end!"

Is my therapist singing...

"Food with feelings-"

...the theme song for…

"-Crying Breakfast Friends!"

Steven blinked as the doctor jumped into the office, swinging his arms wildly as he finished the song.

"Hello, hello, hello! My name's Dr. Picani, and you must be my new patient!"

"Um, yeah. Steven Universe, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Steven!" Picani performed a deep bow, bouncing upright a second later. He sat at his desk and pulled out a journal, adjusting his glasses.

"So, what can I do 'ya for?"

"Well, I had a pretty bad breakdown recently, and I wanted to talk about it, and, um, prevent myself from getting that bad again."

"Alright, Steven. That kind of thing is perfectly normal, especially for teenagers," Picani set down his journal, leaning back into his chair. "It can be very hard to deal with the powerful emotions that come with puberty, and-"

"I don't think it was just that," Steven sighs. And fine, he's really going to try, he's really going to be open and honest with this quack.

"Can you elaborate?"

"Um, yeah. Only if, uh, if you promise to believe me. At least to listen to me."

"It's my job to listen, Steven."

And he really was listening, by the looks of things: he was leaned forward now, arms resting on his desk with his journal in hand. He was staring at Steven intently, but not accusingly. It was a gentle, almost parental gaze.

Steven felt very, very safe then, for reasons he couldn't quite describe.

"I'll start at the beginning."

"It's a very good place to start!"

"Um, right. So, I'm only half human. I'm half Gem, which is a type of alien species that made contact with the Earth thousands of years ago…"

---

"...and then, I guess I corrupted. I didn't even think I could, but I did, and I did it to myself. Nobody got hurt that time, but I don't know how to…" 

Steven paused, grabbing another tissue from the box next to him. I don't know how to what?

"It's alright, Steven. Take your time." Picani's voice was gentle and reassuring, and Steven nodded. He took a deep breath, wiped his eyes, and tried again.

"I guess I don't know how to move on. I hurt people, a lot, and I hurt myself in a way, and I don't know how to keep going after that. I don't know what to do with my life now, or, or how to recover from any of this."

"That's a lot to deal with. I'm very glad you came to talk to someone about what you've been through. You shouldn't have had to deal with that on your own."

"Yeah, I guess." Steven drooped on couch, peaking at the clock on the wall opposite him. It had only taken ten minutes to completely spill his heart out and explain sixteen years of trauma.

At least Picani had believed him. To most humans, his story would have sounded like fantasy. He was lucky to have met a therapist who take at least that seriously.

"Steven, do you watch cartoons?"

The teen in question looked up slowly at Dr. Picani, eyes wide in shock at the complete nonsequitur.

He glanced around the office again. The same plastic figures met his gaze, and something clicked.

"Do you think I'm lying to you?"

Now it was Picani's turn to look shocked and confused.

"Lying to me...? What makes you ask that?"

"Oh, I don't know… I just told you my life story, and the whole reason I'm here, and you ask about cartoons?! Like, like you're going to compare my trauma to a kid's show?"

"Er, that's not quite what I was going to say," Picani says placatingly, voice soft and soothing. Steven glares at him, but remains quiet.

"Steven, I believe you. You showed me your gem and your shield and, well, I've always believed in the supernatural. I was going to compare your life to a cartoon not because your pain is comical, trivial, or inconsequential, but because we can learn so much from the medium that I believe would help you understand some of what you're going through."

"...what do you mean?"

"Well, there's a show I watch called Crying Breakfast Friends. Have you heard of it?"

"Um, yeah."

"Good! Well then, as you know, the show is comprised of very simple and similar episodes, where characters cry over their conflicts, and then cry as those conflicts are resolved."

"Yeah, all they do on that show is sing and cry," Steven scoffs, though he smiles a little - he grew up with Crying Breakfast Friends, after all, and could probably point out better than anyone the nuances and real important of the seemingly trivial cartoon.

"Well, let's talk about that. It sounds to me like you got to where you were because you couldn't talk or vent to anyone. I would say that the characters in CBF have some of the best support systems I've seen! Everyone can talk and vent to everyone, and everyone feels safe with everyone else."

"So, I need to cry more…?"

"You need to talk about how you're feeling more. Acknowledging and monitoring how you're feeling is the first step to controlling your reaction to those feelings."

"What's the difference between controlling the reaction and controlling the feeling?"

"You can't control how you feel, Steven. If you feel a certain way, it's because you're naturally reacting to something going on in your life."

"...but I can control what I do because of that feeling," Steven brought a hand to his head and began to tap his finger on his temple. "That's the hard part, isn't it?"

"Exactly right. It'll take time and work, but the first step is to be in touch with your feelings and to understand what you're feeling and why. The characters in CBF always know why they're crying - sometimes it's tears of sorrow, other times it's tears of joy. But they always know, and knowing is half the battle."

---

"Well, Steven, it was lovely to speak with you, and I hope you come back again soon. A lot of people overlook how beneficial counseling can be! Don't be afraid to get help for your issues."

"I think I'll come back again," Steven said quietly. "I wasn't really planning on it, um, seeing how obsessed you were with cartoons. But, you made a really interesting connection between my feelings and the feelings of animated breakfast foods."

"Well, that's my job!" Picani beamed at him, and Steven could feel an overwhelming amount of pride radiating from him. "You took this first session very well. You're a good kid, Steven. Let me know when you're free for another session."

"Thanks, Dr. Picani." Steven smiled, feeling happy for the first time in awhile. "I will."

---

NOTE: I based a lot of this after my own therapy sessions but I AM NOT A THERAPIST. I can't provide real medical advice and I don't mean this fic to function as such. If you need professional help, please seek a qualified professional. Stay safe!!

[userachilles]

2020 Fic Year in Review

I was tagged by the incredibly talented @martelldoran!!!!

Total number of completed stories:

8 on ao3 which is kind of astonishing especially considering uni

Total number of words:

19,482!!

Fandoms written in:

mcu (stevebucky, natsharon, sambucky)

dracula (mina/jonathan)

hemlock grove (roman/peter)

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

WAY MORE!! i dabbled in fic a couple years back but I lost inspiration and frankly I haven’t had much time but with quarantine and having to leave sweden I had a lot of emotions and I wanted to channel them into something positive!! also I read dracula and I fell in love with the characters which launched me into a creative streak!

What’s your own favourite story of the year?

that’s tough, I think my endgame fix it! I worked hard on it and used it as an outlet when classes were overwhelming. I think it really captures my love for the characters and my writing style well.  

Did you take any writing risks this year?

honestly just forcing myself to write again more regularly and putting it out in the world!

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year?

I’d really like to write something over 15k

also something with more plot, I write a lot of character studies but there’s never much of a story

maybe an au??

also more natsharon

Most popular story of the year?

maybe my hozier inspired stevebucky ficlet? my hemlock grove piece was also pretty popular which is really cool! I’m really thrilled people are still out there loving the characters even after the disaster final seasons!

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

I like what ali said! I can’t control how people resonate and I wouldn’t want to. I think the book dracula is wildly unrated as is jonathan/mina so by extension my stuff written with them is too? idk

Most fun story to write?

my weird little swedish/stevebucky story, i wrote it because I was homesick and I love them and it probably doesn’t make much sense to anyone but me but it was a delight to imagine them traversing stockholm and adding little easter eggs about the city!!

Most unintentionally telling story:

that’s tough…maybe my sambucky fic? it’s unintentionally telling of my touch-starved-ness and my love for sam wilson? lol

Biggest disappointment.

um nothing I think! I guess I really just wish I could crank out tons of stories/words but I feel like I can only write in a certain mood and sometimes I’ll write things that don’t feel right and I scrap them.  

Biggest surprise.

how amazing you all have been to me!! especially with the last two fics I’ve promoted on tumblr too! Everyone is friendly and warm and the comments you folks leave on my stories makes me want to never stop creating and work even harder. I don’t think I could’ve written half of what I have without the positive reinforcement I’ve received and it’s really lovely! 

I’ll tag @its-tortle @greyhavensking @the-hoziest @sunstarsteve no pressure!! 

[mothercetrion]

Fiery Firsts

Summary: The Fire Garden proves to be an excellent place for a first kiss.

Characters: Scorpion (Hanzo Hasashi), Sub-Zero (Kuai Liang)

Word Count: 1926

My first published subscorp fic!! Hope y’all like it. (If you wanna request a fic... stick it in my ask.) [Crossposted to AO3]

“I cannot believe you prepared tea for me, Hanzo.”

“It is the least I can do. You have traveled a long way for… for a special occasion. It’s important to me that you are taken care of.”

Kuai Liang smiled as he and Hanzo settled down at a table outside the Shirai Ryu temple, next to one another on the same side. The other members were in the front of the garden at Hanzo’s request, before Kuai Liang’s arrival. He wanted complete privacy, no interruptions unless it was an emergency… and even then, he wanted a peaceful intrusion.

A pair of porcelain teacups sat in the middle of the table. Pre-boiled hot water in a kettle, all ingredients required already laid out for their use. Hanzo wanted things to go well.

Kuai Liang, dressed outside of his Grandmaster uniform and in a T-shirt and jeans, gestured for Hanzo to go first. “Your tea, your honor of the first cup.”

Hanzo adjusted the sleeve of his shirt with a faint nod, then he grabbed the kettle and prepared his tea. He too was dressed casually, a sleeved shirt and jeans. It was a comfortable outfit to wear for Kuai Liang's visit.

He and the Lin Kuei had begun seeing one another more frequently than ever.

Were they dating? No. They never discussed it. No one was asked out.

Hanzo didn’t think they were dating, at least.

They had been on what he would consider dates. They sparred together, went out to a restaurant, even strolled through the Fire Garden together. But no one had been asked out romantically. They had not acted like a couple once. No hand holding, no poetic confessions, nothing.

Hanzo was certain that he liked the younger man. Very certain, in fact. Infatuation toward the man was an emotion that Hanzo knew that he felt. He deeply enjoyed Kuai Liang’s company in any type of setting. He found himself looking forward to every instance that they were together. They laughed together, had good times together; he would easily consider Kuai Liang a close friend. He had been teased by Johnny Cage for his behavior one evening, for the actor was surprisingly intuitive and caught on to things quickly, and he remembered that he punched Johnny in the shoulder after he accused him of “crushing hard on the popsicle.”

But he was. No doubt.

Hanzo knew that he wanted to pursue something more with the man. But he was rather cowardly with romance; he was the same with Harumi all those years before. Romance was never his forté, and that had remained the same throughout his entire life. He admitted he was rather blind to signs of being liked, but he was always certain of his own feelings and could act considering those. But reciprocation was something he failed to grasp, failed to recognize.

He had no idea if they were dating or not. He wanted to assume they were. It would make him very happy to date someone as wonderful as Kuai Liang. But he was, as Johnny Cage would put it, a weenie.

Hanzo finished preparing his tea and passed the kettle to Kuai Liang, who took it with quiet gratitude. “The Fire Garden looks magnificent,” he said as he poured. “The autumn brings out the leaves. Stunning.”

“Thank you.” Hanzo looked around the garden with a faint smile. “We try year-round to keep it maintained… This is the time of the year that the leaves truly stand out the most.”

“Indeed.” Kuai Liang prepared his tea quickly, wasting no time getting it ready so he could enjoy it. Hanzo watched his hands as he prepared the tea, trying to focus on something to keep his heart still.

Kuai Liang was more stunning than the garden could ever be.

The way he moved was always graceful. When they sparred, he was light on his feet and quick to block any attacks directed at him; he was a good partner to help Hanzo with his skills. Outside of sparring, he was endlessly kind to Hanzo, always offering aid in any way and by his side at the faintest sign of a need for assistance. He was never angry at Hanzo for anything and he was always level-headed. He was reliable, resourceful; he was smart and knew many things about a variety of topics and could answer almost any question Hanzo asked.

The way he smiled at Hanzo made him weak. His smiles were kind and never forced, natural to his face. He had a beautiful smile, in Hanzo’s eyes, both his small smiles and thrilled grins. His eyes sparkled, and his lips always pushed out a warm phrase of some kind shortly after, or a laugh.

Hanzo was smitten.

“...Hanzo?”

He was snapped back to reality at the sound of Kuai Liang’s voice. He looked to his face and saw his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a faint frown on his face.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?” Kuai Liang gestured to him with a hand. “You seemed zoned out.”

“Oh.” Hanzo nodded quickly, picking up his tea and taking a drink. He regretted it; the tea was still wildly hot. He attempted to hide his anguish from the younger man with another nod. “Yes, I am alright. Just thinking.”

Kuai Liang smiled lightly and nodded. He gently blew on his tea and took a sip, quickly taking a larger drink immediately after. “Mm… This is good, Hanzo. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I always try to get good tea.” Hanzo blew on his own tea and took a sip, thankfully not burning himself that time.

The two began an idle conversation about a variety of different things. They talked of their clans, the upcoming autumn season, their allies, and even their favorite animals at one time. Kuai Liang admitted his long desire of getting a cat; he wasn’t sure how well off a cat would be at his temple. Hanzo assured him that with the right search, he could find one who would prosper in the cold and be a good companion.

Kuai Liang then asked Hanzo if he would like to go out to his temple for tea soon. It had been a while, and with Frost away for the next few weeks, things could occur in peace. Hanzo agreed, but he had questions deep down. Was it a date? Was it a platonic meeting? Was it an occasion that he would have to dress casually for? Would he just wear his uniform?

Would he ask these questions? No.

He did not know what he was so nervous about. It was Kuai Liang, one of his good friends. He would be more than happy to tell Hanzo these things; he would not hesitate to tell him what he wanted to know, and probably more beyond that.

“Hanzo.”

He looked Kuai Liang in the eye and saw a worried expression on his face. “You’ve zoned out again. Are you ill?” he asked. He went to raise a hand to feel his forehead, but it was swatted away.

“No.” Hanzo quickly shook his head and looked back down at his own tea. “No, not ill.”

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Hanzo looked back up to him to see that Kuai Liang’s full attention was on him. His tea was placed on the table and his entire body was turned towards him. “You’re nervous. Tell me why”

Hanzo furrowed his own brows in thought. Kuai Liang catching on to his nerves was not good. He would want to help him; Hanzo had no choice but to tell him. “Okay.” He let out a heavy sigh and put his tea down on the table, and he turned his body to face Kuai Liang, their knees touching. “I, um… I want to know if we’re… together,” he mumbled.

Kuai Liang tilted his head. “What?”

“I want to know if we’re together,” Hanzo repeated, louder, “because we have been on what I would consider dates. We have gone out several times, but no one has asked anyone out. It’s not official.”

He grabbed one of his own hands and began to fiddle with his fingers, maintaining eye contact with the younger man. “I know that I like you. I know that I like you a lot. I have not felt this way in many, many years. After all these years of doubt, all these years of being afraid of moving on from my past…”

He stopped a moment and let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “You make me feel happiness that I have not felt in a long time.”

Kuai Liang’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and a smile filled his lips, but he did not speak. Hanzo continued, “and I do not know how you feel about me. I would like to think that you feel the same toward me, but I… I am blind. I am blinded by you. You make me feel things I have never felt, new and exciting things that I know I want to pursue. You…”

He slowed down a little, letting out a nervous chuckle and making Kuai Liang‘s smile grow. “You make my heart race. Being near you rejuvenates me in ways I cannot explain in words, but in… in actions.”

Hanzo forgot how to think at that moment. He let his heart lead him.

“I must… I must do this before my racing heart makes me change my mind.”

He reached forward two hands and gently grasped Kuai Liang’s cheeks, closing his eyes, and he pulled their faces together and kissed him.

He immediately regretted it. What was he thinking? What if Kuai Liang did not feel the same way and he was forcing himself upon him? He would never live with himself if Kuai Liang was unhappy in any way. How could he—

His thoughts ceased when he felt Kuai Liang begin to kiss him back.

The man’s lips were cold, but they were very soft and, he soon learned, very kissable. Kuai Liang’s hands moved to Hanzo’s back, pulling the man closer to him. Hanzo felt goosebumps form on his skin at the touch, and he kissed him deeper than before, his heart guiding him once again.

They kissed for what felt like an eternity. Kuai Liang was the first to pull away, and both men opened their eyes at the same time, making eye contact. Hanzo felt his cheeks burn with a blush, and he noticed Kuai Liang’s ears turning a faint pink.

“Wow.” Kuai Liang let out a laugh as he grabbed Hanzo’s hands from his cheeks and held them in his lap. He seemed speechless. His mouth stayed open, he looked like he wanted to say something, but words did not come out. Hanzo felt himself blushing harder, and he tilted his head away from the man.

“I apologize for—”

“Don’t.”

Hanzo looked back to him with his eyes, and Kuai Liang was still smiling. “Do not apologize. I am… I am glad you did that.” He squeezed Hanzo’s hands. “I have wondered the same thing, to be honest.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” Kuai Liang let out a light laugh. “I feel the same way about you, Hanzo. Those outings we took, I would consider those dates. That…” He grinned. “That amazing kiss was confirmation for me if it is for you.”

Hanzo found himself smiling too. “Are we together, Kuai Liang?”

“We are together, Hanzo.”

The two shared a second kiss in celebration, and Hanzo felt his heart soar.

[kinetic-elaboration]

April 25: Thoughts on The 100 2x10

Twenty years later, I return with Ep. 2x10: Survival of the Fittest.

This commentary is NOT pro-Grounder or pro-Lxa.

I last watched in January and I have literally no idea what’s happening lol. I mean, I do because I’ve seen the whole thing enough times but still. Like specifically.

One of Netflix’s warnings for this show is “fear.” I CANNOT.

The idea of Arkers and Grounders perhaps meeting in certain ways pre-canon is interesting (the suicide by earth idea) but then the story just becomes one of yet more Mindless Grounder Brutality and I get bored. Like I’m sorry this is truly the most boring civilization ever imagined and I cannot believe we’ve been asked to care more and more about them with each passing season.

The lost possibilities of Bellamy & Lincoln. Also of Lincoln, in general? Someone who tried so hard to be something other than what he was taught to be.

Also, his story is basically confirmation that he became obsessed with Octavia because he was illegally spying on the cool Sky People and then ran into a Pretty Girl and that was just that on that.

The underworld. They’re not subtle.

Mmm-mmm my favorite set. Indra looking badass as per usual, giving her warriors a pep talk. And Kane with friendship heart eyes like “I’ve found my new BFF!!” (This is truly how I read the expression on his face.)

“Only our Guards are armed here.” Lol okay but does anyone really believe Indra travels with ONLY two knives on her person?

I’m generally a Jaha apologist but I cannot stand him in S2, primarily because his whole thing is based around him caring about “the Grounders’ land” in this realllllly awkward native peoples parallel, as if this was supposed to make him sympathetic when (1) there is literally no evidence at all that the Sky People occupied Grounder land in s1 or are occupying it in s2 and (2) he is advocating abandoning the main characters to death, the main characters are a bunch of teens, and literally no one calls him out on how disgusting that is. The only thing he’s right about is that the Grounders are terrible and Kane’s boner for them is ridiculous, but still.

Is there a Grounder named Michael? Lol.

“My shock baton’s got your back” probably isn’t intended as wildly inappropriate adult man hits on teen girl flirting but........ I dunno how else to read it.

Murphy > Grounder I said what I said.

That woman in the background of the fight with her eyes wide like ‘oh heavens! oh my!’

Kane’s here trying to be like stern dad keeps his kids in line for the sake of peace and Indra and the rest of the Grounders are like... fucking crickets. So ridiculous. So immature. Keep your own bitches in line Indra.

I completely forgot that Mountain had multiple airlocks and thus just, you know, opening the doors wouldn’t do anything. Makes sense, I’m just dumb.

Clarke > All Grounders and seeing her show respect to Lxa or anyone, even if it makes sense in context, just irritates me.

Clarke: *gives several very good reasons why sending large numbers of Grounder warriors into the Mountain will do literally nothing but lead to more casualties.* Grounders: *raaaaa I hate being told no, let’s just attack!!! ATTACK!*

“He shouldn’t have attacked my ship.” Honestly I think part of why S2 Clarke is my favorite is because I really identify with her, surrounded by idiots, just doing her best to get fucking anything done and done right.

“You’re very brave under the Commander’s protection, aren’t you?” DUDE. DUDE. You literally just reminded everyone that this five foot tall blonde teenage girl roasted your brother and several hundred others alive and you think the commander’s protection is why she’s brave? She’s brave because she’s smarter and tougher than you, duh.

And after all this Lxa’s like “Quint’s right.” Um he’s truly not though??? Ugh, the stupidity irritates me.

“Hook up” for “alliance” I am DYING.

Kane is absolutely the worst faux-father figure. Encouraging Octavia to get her ass kicked by idiots who are training for no reason...

And then this bitch (Quint) tries to kill Clarke as if that were even remotely a good idea... what if you were successful? What then? Lxa would torture you for like 100 days and then kill you start thinking things through.

I miss Byrne in that she was annoying but at least had, like, a perspective and purpose, BUT that was a cool death scene. A good sort of shock.

“Work detail” is such an odd phrase, like... one would think....everyone works?? It seems to be code for “mop some floors.”

I’m gonna be honest, the search for the CoL was the clear weak point of S2 for me but Murphy & Jaha are an interesting pair to share screen time.

Murphy: hesitates to accompany Jaha to Wells’s grave until he sees the possibility of getting a firearm of his own, then falls in love. You had me at ‘can hold a gun!’

They really are wasting bullets. Those are...kinda a finite resource? Also you’d think that these literal members of the Guard (based on their jackets) already know how guns work.

Kane really is devoted to this I’m Your Daddy thing, huh? “Look at me, shooting this gun, I’m so cool--don’t you want to be cool like me? I can teach you.” (And O in the back sharpening her sword like she knows what she’s doing.)

I don’t get how Mount Weather could influence Grounder legend given that they’ve known about Grounders for less than a generation, and they tend to destroy anyone they capture, not, like, release them back into their villages? Cool idea though!

Octavia, the secret weapon, exploitable by both sides because she knows both sides, is an interesting path SOMEone at SOME point should have gone down, or should go down, like in fic. Just putting that out there.

See, literally, what did I say? Quint does not even succeed in killing Clarke and he’s sentenced to death in 0.5 seconds. You gotta think ahead man!!

Lol I’ve seen this how many times and only now am I hearing that the word “Pauna” (which I’ve also been mispronouncing) is in fact in the episode. I always thought that was extra-canonical.

Pretty hilarious that Clarke, attempting to run away from the Irradiated Gorilla, leads everyone right to...the home of the Irradiated Gorilla. AKA the National Zoo.

Look the only thing I really have to say about this entire story line is that it’s pretty clearly only here to make sure Clarke, the main character, has something to do in an episode that isn’t really about her, like it’s straight up Filler just like the Bellamy Scales a Cliff episode, and it’s dorky and laughable and awful CGI and I get that--but I still maintain that the concept of “animals from the zoo survived and are still out there in mutated form” is cool and we should do more with that, as a fandom.

Also....moose? How’d that get there??

“Leave me” Lexa says, as if it weren’t incredibly easy for Clarke to save her. Like...why do you give up so easy all the time??? Grounders are weak. The slightest thing happens and it’s either “Time to kill you” or “Time to die.”

Murphy, unimpressed by the beauty of Earth.

Completely forgot that elder Murphy’s name was Alex. Put that one in my back pocket.

This Jaha and Murphy scene at Wells’s grave is the best of a fairly lackluster episode. “Clarke sugar-coated it for you, didn’t she?” “Good can come out of even the darkest acts, John.” “Camp You is that way.”

(Also...when did Clarke get a chance to talk to him? Was this over video in S1? I guess it must have been since she’s been busy in S2.)

When Kane lets Octavia fight the Grounder he is 100% doing it for himself and the alliance. He’s using her.

And somehow this is the ONLY time Octavia lost a fight. I wish the show had acknowledged more, as it does here, that tenacity is a great virtue but it’s not the only virtue. Also the Grounders truly are canonically terrible at what they do.

My favorite O characterization is when she’s just a blank slate for people to write on because she never was able to create a personality for herself. Because I think it’s the most true to her backstory, which seems only intermittently relevant imho. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” “I would like to be stronger,” hence “I shall get beaten up.”

*Sings* Lxa is a terrible leaaaaaader!!! Getting all up in Clarke’s head trying to tell her that caring about not constantly killing people is..............somehow.....................bad??? Lol.

This scene here where Lxa provides the groundwork for the Ai-in-Commanders thing, is probably where the show began its downhill slide. Don’t get me wrong, I love S2 as a whole--most of this nonsense didn’t really come up until S3--and S3 itself has good ideas, including the AI thing, but they were just realized so badly...... Makes me sad. We could have had so much more!

“Don’t be afraid, death is not the end,” is like......the least helpful thing to say. Yet again, Clarke uses her brain and figures out an actual plan, as opposed to “die heroically” which is really all the supposedly genius Lxa ever has. “Die heroically” or “Save own ass at others’ expense I said what I said.

I’m so salty.... I can’t even believe myself.

I enjoy the Indra and Octavia relationship.

So I’m going to say that I always assumed, and still basically assume, that the reason Indra chose Octavia for a second is that she really did think there was something special in her when she saw her fight. Like that’s all. Just like she would with a Grounder kid who wanted to be a warrior. But I think it would be interesting if she’s thinking just as Kane is: that Octavia is a useful bridge between the two peoples, that perhaps, she could get something from her. (Counter spy?)

“No one gives anything without expecting something in return.” Early John Murphy philosophy synthesized.

What the fuck is Jaha eating? Little...food pellets.

It’s true that he’s being cynical but it’s ALSO true that Jaha is withholding important truth from him and ultimately, arguably, using him.

“You didn’t give a damn about us. You still don’t, that’s why you’re not fighting for this kids in Mount Weather.” SOMEONE FINALLY SAID IT. THANK YOU MURPHY. MVP of this ep.

“I was pardoned, slate wiped clean, I’m still treated like dirt.” The treatise of the Ark AU thanks.

More patented Murphy nose rubbing.

Murphy and Raven, both pulled in, to some degree, by cultists.

Murphy and Octavia, both manipulated by more powerful adults for their own ends.

Jaha is so... he has all these peace and love, everyone is accepted, nice ideas and beliefs and faith, but he also does not care at all about sacrificing a few here and there. He may remember Alex Murphy but he doesn’t really care, he’s not really haunted. Remembering is like a courtesy. He may miss his son but he still ultimately believes, even hearing how utterly stupid Wells’s death was, that it was worth it for some unknown greater good. And he’s willing to give up on people who aren’t even dead yet, just write them off as an acceptable loss, even though they’re his people and a subset of his people to whom he owes a particular debt, and still consider this sacrifice, not even yet made, to be worth it for this bigger plan. There are a lot of things I respect about Jaha as a leader, and surely in a universe of terrible leaders he is not the worst, but this is his fatal flaw, what keeps him from being good. Real leaders do accept that losses will happen, as Lxa says, but they don’t seek out losses and they don’t merely catalogue them and then move on. They feel them, and accept responsibility for them, and carry them forward.

No I am not talking about Clarke, although within this universe, she comes closer to the ideal.

The story line with Lincoln, Bellamy, and the Reapers is like nightmare fuel if I think about it too much.

Indra, with the tiniest slice of meat possible on a huge plate: “Eat! Get strong!”

Kane, trying to be sexy and seduce a new friend: “Thank you.”

Kane and Octavia are talking and Indra is just in the background, sitting on a tree stump, brooding in the most photogenic way possible, very ‘google earth, always taking pictures’ of her.

I’m sorry but I can’t stop seeing Kane’s whole demeanor in literally every scene of this episode as like “Attempted Daddy.” Not in the paternal sense.

“You’re asking me to be a spy?” / “I’m asking you.......... yes, to be a spy, that’s exactly it.”

Objectively ridiculous for Octavia to think the Grounders are her people but, I get it, she’s desperate for people of some sort.

“There’s a million ways to die out there” should have been the title of the series. More accurate than “The 100.”

“If it’s not your time than nothing can kill you” IS everything infuriating about Jaha in one line. Saying ‘it’s just what was meant to be’ is a pretty easy way to avoid responsibility for anything, ever, and it’s extra sketchy from someone who, as a leader, knows or should know that his actions have consequences for other people, sometimes life or death ones. I mean...everyone but he and Murphy did die searching for the CoL.

We REALLY need more fic that utilizes Jaha as a weird guru type.

“You wanna stop being treated like a criminal then you have to stop thinking that that’s all you are.”

Here, Clarke comes up with yet another smart idea. How many is that in one episode? She’s too smart, guys, just too smart.

That said, the first time I watched this ep with my mom (the second time in general for me, the first time for her), when Clarke explained her ‘release the Grounder prisoners’ plan, she was like “...Duh? I thought that was already the plan? Isn’t that what Bellamy was going in there to do?” Basically most people on the show < Clarke < my mom.

The tragedy of Lincoln’s addiction story line really does get to me.

I’m a little insulted on Bellamy’s behalf that he was marked Harvest lol.

I just watched the episode and I heard them explain their plan... but I still don’t really see how it was going to work. Like just... cause chaos and let Bellamy run inside? Kind of feel like someone would have caught him at some point, and also--doesn’t that run a significant chance of getting Lincoln killed? Oh well. It all works out eventually. Mostly.

Anyway, not the greatest episode, but it had its moments. The Jaha and Murphy story line was good, and I actually enjoyed the Octavia, Kane, and Indra stuff more than I thought or remembered. But it’s always kind of a bummer when one or both mains get lackluster filler plots--and in this case it really was both--I mean, Bellamy’s was important, but it wasn’t very long. And none of my faves: no Mount Weather, no Jasper and Monty, no Raven.

It still fucks me up that Liz Phair wrote music for this show.

[searchingwardrobes]

Natural Opposite: 13/16

Happy New Year's Eve, everyone! Thanks as always to the best beta ever, @distant-rose. I encourage you to go read all of her own fics because she's fantastic. My artist @optomisticgirl has once again made wonderful chapter art for this . Please check out her blog to see all her art (not just for this story) as well as her own fanfics which are some of my favs. Also head over to @captainswanbigbang if you haven't already. There were so many amazing fics written for this event; we are a blessed fandom!

Summary: Dance is more than Emma Swan’s career; it’s practically saved her life on more than one occasion. But when it comes to reality TV shows, she’s always danced in the shadows of her twin brother David and her sister Elsa. Her first season as a pro on Dancing With the Stars was a disaster, and she enters her second season determined to prove herself. All she needs is a good partner. Hollywood bad boy and ladies’ man Killian Jones isn’t what she had in mind.

Rating: M for mature themes, steamy dance routines, and sexy times (But NOT smut)

Trigger warnings: discussions of online solicitation of a minor, bullying, statutory rape, and emotionally abusive/controlling relationships; stalking; anti-Rumbelle, anti-Neal

Chapter Art by @optomisticgirl: Four| Five| Six| Seven| Nine| Eleven| Twelve|

Can also be read on Ao3

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be added to my tag list) @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @bethacaciakay @teamhook @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @winterbaby89 @onceuponaprincessworld @followbatb @hollyethecurious @ohmakemeahercules

Chapter Thirteen: Hook

Emma reached down to pet Graham’s service dog as she headed to the kitchen for another helping of orange chicken from the take out containers. Elsa and Graham had graciously allowed Emma and Henry to join them for their impromptu celebration for getting voted off in today’s eliminations.

“I still can’t believe we’re celebrating,” Emma commented as she settled back down on the couch.

Elsa turned to Graham, who had her tucked against his side, his hand resting on her hip. She traced his jaw and smiled. “We don’t have to hide that we’re together anymore,” she said, and Graham pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then Elsa turned to Emma. “Besides, now we don’t have to compete against you and Killian in the semi-finals. Now I can just cheer on my little sister.”

“You and Jones are going to win,” Graham told her confidently as he took a sip of his beer.

Emma sighed as she speared a piece of chicken with her chopsticks. “I hope so.”

“He sure beat me in that dance off,” Graham chuckled.

Elsa pressed her face against Graham’s chest as a blush stained her cheeks. Emma’s own face burned. The show had only aired on the east coast a couple of hours ago, and already the salsa dance-off between the two couples was being dubbed “The Chest-Off.” It already had thousands of views on YouTube, and everyone was in a heated discussion on which was hotter: chest hair or a smooth chest? While they were dancing, Emma and Elsa couldn’t see the meter recording the live votes, but when they watched the footage later, they laughed hysterically as the little bar at the bottom of the screen spiked wildly in Graham’s direction as soon as he took his shirt off. But then Killian had taken off his, and the meter surged in the opposite direction. In the end, the vote had been clear: Killian’s chest hair had won the salsa. There was no way of knowing, of course, if losing those extra points had cost Graham the semi-finals or not, but it had certainly helped Emma and Killian. The other couple voted off had been August and Jasmine. Emma tried to feel bad for her temporary partner, and when she couldn’t, she felt slightly guilty.

“It’s down to two athletes, Killian, and Belle,” Elsa commented as she grabbed a fortune cookie and cracked it open.

“Yeah, it’s shaping up to be a great end to the season,” Emma said.

“Aw, look,” Elsa gushed, showing Graham the tiny slip of paper from her cookie, “it says The end is sometimes really the beginning. Isn’t that perfect for today?”

Graham’s face softened. “It’s perfect for us. For a while, it felt like everything that mattered to me was ending, but it all led me right here. To you.”

Graham then cupped Elsa’s face and gave her a soft kiss.

“Ugh,” Henry complained, pretending to gag on an eggroll, “kid in the room, remember?”

Graham and Elsa both chuckled. “Sorry,” Graham apologized, but he didn’t let go of Emma’s sister, simply tucking her head beneath his chin and tugging her a bit closer. Elsa softened against him with a contented smile on her face.

As she watched them, Emma tried to keep her mind from dwelling on a certain blue-eyed Brit with soft lips and strong hands. She stared into her plate of Chinese food, willing her blood to cool and her mind to cease replaying that kiss. It’s not like it would lead to the same place Elsa found herself in with Graham. Killian wasn’t a retired Marine with multiple options before him. He was an actor. How many times had she reminded herself of that fact? The thing was, since there kiss it was getting harder and harder to remember.

*********************************************************

Emma hadn’t even made her way out of bed yet the next morning when her phone dinged that she had a text message. It was from Killian.

Can we meet, Swan? Away from the cameras?

Emma worried her lower lip as she contemplated his request. She had a feeling she knew what he wanted to talk about, and while it was a conversation she really didn’t want to have, she also didn’t want to risk the situation blowing up in their faces while the cameras rolled.

Sure. Same cafe as last time? Just not outside this time.

She hit send, and Killian quickly sent back a reply.

Ha ha, definitely no. I’ll be in a ball cap again just to be safe.

Emma texted back with a time for him to meet her then slipped out of bed. She skipped a shower, figuring it was pointless anyway since she’d just get sweaty at rehearsals. She put her messy hair in a ponytail, then shoved it into an Angels baseball cap that August had given her. She brushed a kiss across the cheek of a bleary-eyed Henry as he shuffled from his room.

“I thought you didn’t have to practice as early now that Neverland’s on hiatus,” her son grumbled.

“I know, and starting tomorrow morning I’ll make you breakfast every day till New Year’s, okay kid?”

He shrugged his acceptance as he grabbed a box of cereal from the pantry, and Emma dashed out the door. She knew he was responsible enough to catch the bus on time, and Elsa was still home. Still, mommy guilt sometimes felt like her constant companion. Even with all the help from her siblings and Mary Margaret, being a single mom wasn’t easy. She pushed such thoughts from her mind as she made her way through LA traffic. She was early enough that rush hour hadn’t begun yet, but the streets were still a bit congested. In the end, she was ten minutes late meeting Killian.

Emma kept her sunglasses on just in case as she stepped into the cafe. She wouldn’t have recognized Killian if not for the bright blue eyes shining from under the brim of his Dodgers baseball cap. He was wearing a plain gray hoodie that seemed to be his standard uniform when trying to go unrecognized.

His phone was pressed to his ear, but when Emma reached the table, he smiled up at her. “Um, sorry Robin, but I’ve got to go. Emma’s here,” he paused, giving Emma an apologetic look for being on his phone. “Aye, mate, I look forward to it. . . I will . . . bye.”

As Emma sat down, she noted the way his smile reached his eyes, crinkling the skin around them. “Must be good news.”

“It is,” Killian replied, excitement coloring his voice. They were interrupted by a waitress taking their order, but as soon as she left, Killian continued eagerly. “You know the movie musical The Greatest Showman, right?”

Emma nodded with a shrug, “Who doesn’t?”

“Well, the same producers are developing a new movie musical about the rise of the punk music scene in London in the 70s. They want me for the lead.”

Emma smiled broadly. “That’s great!”

He ducked his head with that bashful smile of his that she never would have expected him capable of three months ago. “I have you to thank,” he told her.

Emma shook her head. “No, Killian. All I did was teach you some dance steps. You’re the one who proved to the world that you’re a triple threat. So who’s the choreographer?”

The waitress brought their orders out, and Emma stirred the whipped cream and cinnamon into her hot chocolate as she watched Killian take a bite of his breakfast sandwich before answering. When he did, his eyes were bright with excitement.

“Tabatha and Napoleon D’Umo.”

Emma almost knocked her hot chocolate over as her hands flew to her mouth. “Nappy Tabs? Seriously?! I’m so jealous. I never got to work with them on So You Think You Can Dance.”

Killian’s grin was broad as he took in her reaction. “Their lyrical hip hop is the style they’re going for in the film.”

“Oh, I’m so jealous,” Emma sighed as she broke apart her blueberry muffin and popped a bite in her mouth. “Put in a word for me? I sing you know.”

“That’s right,” Killian nodded, “you did Broadway.”

“Just in the corp. It was a steadier life for Henry than touring the ballroom circuit. Ingrid and Anna went with me to help with Henry. I missed Elsa and David, especially David, but I still got to dance and Ingrid kept working with me to get me back in competition shape.” Emma shook her head as she stared into her mug of cocoa. “Why am I babbling on about me? This is great news for you!”

“Aye. The casting director and producers want to meet me in London after the show wraps.”

Emma felt her stomach drop. “London?”

Killian eyed her with that intense look of his. “They want actual London landmarks from that time in the film. Sort of like how LA was a character in La La Land.”

Emma bit her lip, her eyes darting away from Killian’s face. “London . . . “

Killian cleared his throat. “But that’s not why I asked you to meet me. Emma –“

“Is this about Liam leaving?” Emma cut him off, locking her eyes on his again.

Killian arched one brow and gave her a half smile. “No, it’s not that either. I knew he’d have to go back home sooner or later. He’s got a job, you know. Pretty brunette bookworms can’t distract him from that reality.”

Emma laughed nervously. “Right . . .”

Killian leaned across the table. “And you’re changing the subject.”

Emma swallowed hard and fiddled with the napkin in her hand. “What subject?”

“The kiss, Emma.”

Emma scoffed even as heat crept up her neck. “Why? It was just a kiss.”

“Not for me,” he said, voice laced with conviction. He reached across the table and stilled the nervous motion of her hands by covering them with his. “Emma, when I was just starting in the industry, I was so focused on my career that I didn’t take the time to pursue any relationships. Then I got the role on Neverland, and I got carried away with partying and all the attention from women. Until one day I realized those women were attracted to my fame, not me. I never thought I’d actually find someone I could truly love . . . until I met you.”

Emma pulled her hands away abruptly and stared at her lap. She wasn’t sure what she could say to any of that.

Killian added in almost a whisper, “That’s what the kiss revealed.”

Emma lifted her head finally, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. “You just told me you’ll be moving to London, Killian.”

“But we –“

“No,” Emma cut him off, standing abruptly. She shook her head. “Please don’t make empty promises, Killian. You won’t keep them, believe me.”

Killian just looked at her silently for a moment. Then he gave one nod of his head; a nod of acceptance. “Okay, Emma. I won’t push it. Whatever we become, if anything, it’s up to you just as much as it is me.” He reached out and took her hand. “Just don’t leave. We’re still partners. And . . . friends? I hope?”

Emma gave him a tentative smile as she sat back down at the table. She squeezed his hand before releasing it. “Yes, definitely friends.”

She picked up her fork, slightly dazed when Killian smoothly changed the subject and started to tell her how he decided to grow his hair long at seventeen, much to Liam’s horror. She laughed between bites of her omelet, the tension from moments ago melting away. His patience with her walls meant more to her than she cared to admit. She honestly didn’t know that there were men out there who would actually take “no” for an answer.

*******************************************************

“What’s with the box?” Killian asked when he entered the studio. Emma had asked him to wait ten minutes at the café so they wouldn’t show up on set at the same time. The cameras were already rolling.

Emma smiled brightly at him and accepted his casual hug despite the electricity she felt every time he touched her. They had to dance together this week, after all, and this was being recorded.

“I don’t know what’s in the box,” she told him honestly. “We can’t open it until we look at the input from fans on Twitter. It’s people’s choice week. The viewers get to pick what we dance.”

Emma sat cross legged on the floor and powered up her laptop. Killian plopped down next to her, scooting close so he could see the screen. His leg was pressed against her knee, and she felt like a ridiculous teenager as her pounding heart reacted to it. His head was inclined towards her, too, and she kept her eyes glued to the device in her hands lest she turn her head and tumble headlong into those blue eyes of his.

“Okay,” Emma said as she scrolled through the tweets the producers had sent her, “this one says, With Neverland on hiatus, I’m going through withdrawal. I want to see Captain Hook on the dance floor! And this fan wants you to dance to the theme from Neverland.”

Killian leaned closer as he read the next tweet. “I want to see him dance with the hook!” He turned to face her, and Emma was forced to meet his gaze. “Doesn’t this all go against the very reason I did the show? To help people see me as more than Hook?”

Emma smiled softly at him. “You have proven that. But your fans love your show and the character you created.” She bit her lip to stop from adding that the show was ending. That wasn’t public knowledge yet, though rumors were all over the internet. Emma had a feeling those rumors were fueling the tweets a little.

Killian rubbed his jaw and sighed. “Okay. So what’s the dance style then?”

Emma leaned against the wall, crossing her arms and thinking. In the past, the audience voted on the song, style, and theme. The result had sometimes been disastrous when the three didn’t complement one another. So this year they were leaving the dance style up to the pros.

“Well, I think I’ll have to listen to the Neverland score again before I make that decision.” She went to her dance bag and pulled out her phone and her earbuds. She pulled up the music and closed her eyes as the notes flowed through her. Her whole life, even before she was formally trained, she imagined dances in her head whenever she heard music. The light and playful melody of the Neverland score was no different. She smiled as she opened her eyes. “A quick step, definitely.”

Killian was looking at her with such intensity, it almost put her on edge. A soft smile filled his face. “Dance and music are in your blood, aren’t they, Swan?”

Emma turned quickly as she yanked her ear buds out and stuffed them back in her bag. It was disconcerting the way he read her sometimes. She cleared her throat as she pulled her iPhone speakers out and set them up.

“Well, let’s get started.”

“As you wish.”

*********************************************************

The box, naturally, had contained Killian’s hook and brace that he wore on Neverland. Three hooks, actually. Killian explained it to her; one was rubber and used for stunts so no one got hurt accidentally. The second was a light aluminum hook with a blunted point that he wore for the majority of scenes, and the last one was made of actual steel and had a real, sharp tip. It was used for close ups or when the script called for him to hit or cut something with the hook. The last one, the sharp one, clearly couldn’t be used for their dance. The rubber one seemed like the most logical choice, but when they started working on the routine, it kept bending as they moved. Even to a TV audience, it would be obvious that it was fake.

Killian frowned. “Stunts are always edited so you don’t notice that it’s rubber. I guess I didn’t think of that.” He rubbed at the straps underneath his t-shirt. “I’m used to wearing that heavy leather duster and sweating under these straps, but dancing in this is giving me blisters. I hope I still have hair on my chest after this is over.”

“You better,” Emma laughed.

“Why Swan,” Killian grinned, “are you saying you like my chest hair?”

Emma’s face burned even as she swatted him with the back of her hand and rolled her eyes. He’d had to remove his shirt to put the brace on, and the sight of that again hadn’t exactly made the “just friends” thing easy to remember.

Emma let out a long breath as she pushed wisps of hair out of her face. “I guess we’ll have to try the aluminum hook then. The end is blunted, right?”

“Aye,” he told her as he unscrewed the rubber one from the end of his brace, “I won’t hurt you, love.”

He winked at that, and Emma’s traitorous blushing started again. What was her problem? He’d been flirting with her from day one. She should be used to it by now.

Unfortunately, switching hooks didn’t help. If anything, Emma was struggling even more with the choreography. She would have Killian turn a certain direction, but when she went to take his hand, the hook was there instead. She felt like a complete novice as she struggled to figure out turns and holds when Killian, essentially, only had one hand. The longer she struggled, the more frustrated she became.

“Fuck this!” she growled, yanking at her ponytail in frustration as she paced to the far corner of the room. Well, the editing room would have fun bleeping out all her swearing this week.

“Hey,” Killian said gently as he came up behind her. He rested his hand, and his hook, on her shoulders. He was obviously used to the prop that he spent the majority of his days wearing. But Emma wasn’t used to it. “We’ll figure this out, Emma. The way we always do . . . together.”

Emma, who had also been trying so hard all day to hold back from his casual affections, gave up and leaned back against him. He wrapped both arms around her, dropping his face to the crook of her neck. The cool metal of his hook felt odd against her hip.

“Can we call it a day?” she asked wearily.

“Sure,” he mumbled against her hair. Was that a kiss he just brushed to the side of her head?

When they parted ways, Emma wasn’t sure what had her shaken more: her struggles to choreograph this routine, or how natural it had become to be in Killian’s arms.

*******************************************************

The next morning, Emma had only just greeted Killian when her phone buzzed with a message from Regina. Emma’s brow furrowed as she read it.

“Something wrong, Swan?”

Emma shook her head. “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just . . . “ she looked up at Killian, then glanced over his shoulder at the camera crew, “they’re sending someone to help us choreograph around the hook?”

Killian’s confused expression mirrored her own. “Who could that be?”

“I don’t know, I mean –“ Emma was interrupted by a knock at the studio door. She glanced at the camera crew again, then at Killian, who shrugged. “Come in?”

The door was flung open and a petite, energetic blonde burst into the room. Rose; Killian’s co-star. He laughed with delight and rushed to embrace her.

“Emma!” Rose squealed, pulling her into an eager hug. When she let her go, Rose winked at Killian. “So, I hear you’re having trouble working around this guy’s hook.”

Emma swallowed down the sudden irritation that had welled up within her. The cameras were rolling, so she plastered on a smile. “Yeah, I’m not used to having to choreograph with just his right hand.”

“Why don’t you show me?” Rose asked eagerly, motioning with her hands for Emma and Killian to partner up.

Emma nodded and stepped into Killian’s hold. She counted out the beats as they went into the opening sequence of the syncopated choreography. The quickstep’s quick-quick-slow rhythm was difficult enough, but when they went into the quarter turn, Emma found herself grabbing for Killian’s hand only to find that it wasn’t there.

“See?” Emma said, pressing both hands to Killian’s chest to stop them both. “If I turn one way, I’m grabbing for the hook, but if I turn the other way, he can’t grab hold of my waist.”

Rose shrugged. “Why can’t you grab his hook?”

Emma shook her head. “What?”

“On Neverland, I hold his hook all the time, like it’s a hand.”

“The aluminum one?” Emma asked.

“Of course,” Rose explained, “the rubber one would bend if I grabbed it. When Hook and Tink danced at that ball in season two, Killian and I did that waltz with the aluminum hook.”

Killian arched a brow at Emma. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, Swan.”

Rose brushed past Emma and grabbed Killian’s arms. Emma hated the way it made her bristle. Rose put Killian’s right hand at her waist, then grabbed his hook and lifted his arm. Her frame was terrible, but she and Killian waltzed around the room in perfect rhythm just like Emma remembered in the episode Rose had referred to. Then Killian lifted Rose’s arm over her head, and the tiny blonde did a tight turn perfectly, still holding on to his hook. Then he spun her out and back in, his hook now at her waist.

“See how he holds it?” Rose showed her. “Whenever the script calls for him to hug me or embrace me, he keeps it sideways like this.”

Emma nodded, and she suddenly felt foolish. “So what you’re saying is I should just choreograph the way I normally do?”

“Well, not necessarily . . . “

Rose stayed with them the rest of the day, and slowly, as time wore on, Emma found she actually enjoyed having her there. Rose and Killian were obviously close, but now that she really paid attention, she could see that it was a very casual and platonic relationship. They teased each other almost like siblings would, and Rose gushed over Emma’s partnership with Killian, calling them “adorable” and “the cutest thing ever.” Rose helped Emma tremendously with the choreography, showing her which side to stand on if she needed to clasp Killian’s opposite hand, and how to execute the dance’s one spinning lift safely. At the end of the day, she and Rose grabbed the other two hooks from the box, and the three of them posed for a selfie with them.

As Emma gathered up her things and stood with her dance bag slung over her shoulder, Rose was next to her with an impish grin on her face. “Can I talk to you for a second now that Killian’s gone?” Rose asked.

Emma glanced over to the corner where the camera crew was packing up their gear. She let out a relieved sigh. “Sure.”

“I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but I’ve been watching the show . . . ” she hesitated, her brow furrowing.

Emma lifted her hand. “Not you too, Rose! I know everyone talks about our chemistry, but he has chemistry with you, too. Frankly, he seems to have chemistry with everyone.”

Rose shook her head. “Not like with you. And it’s not just when you perform. He’s been . . . different. Happier.” She took Emma’s hands in hers. “He deserves more than shallow women grasping for fame.”

Emma broke eye contact with her, shaking her head. “Rose, I think you’ve misunderstood –“

“No,” she interrupted, “I don’t think I have. You were jealous of that other dancer, Jasmine. You’ve been jealous of me.”

Emma’s head snapped up, her eyes blinking. “That’s ridiculous!”

Rose’s face gentled as she let go of Emma’s hands. “Is it? You care for him, I can see that you do.”

Emma gave her a wry smile. “Is this where you warn me not to break his heart like his fangirls do online?”

Rose shook her head. “I think you’re more worried about your heart. That’s what I wanted to tell you. He’s a good guy, so don’t be afraid to give what you two have a chance.” She gave her another smile, patted her shoulder, and left the room.

Emma groaned and let her dance bag drag the floor as she left the room wearily. Couldn’t the universe just let her protect her heart in peace?

********************************************************

The semi-final episode actually involved two dances, just like the finals would. For this one, they had the people’s choice dance and then a re-do of their lowest scoring dance. They were slated to dance next-to-last for both. They did a re-do of their week three salsa first, getting two tens and a nine from Blue. Killian was definitely better at shaking his hips than he had been when the competition started.

Then they took the floor for their quickstep. Killian was dressed like Captain Hook, only this costume was made of light, stretchy imitation leather instead of the heavy garments he wore on his TV show. Killian also joked that his pirate duster on Neverland wasn’t bedazzled like this one.

The studio audience cheered when Rose showed up in the rehearsal footage. Emma actually smiled as it played; the three of them really had a great time together that day. She glanced over to the studio audience where Rose was sitting in the front. She winked at Emma and gave her a thumbs up. As the package wound to a close, Emma turned to Killian, stepping into his embrace. Her hair was done up in a loose bun and she wore the green tunic dress as Tinkerbell.

The bright, light, and airy piano notes of the Neverland theme began to play, and Emma and Killian began their routine. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was different tonight. She was painfully aware of Rose in the audience; painfully aware of the costumes they both wore. She usually could slip into a role so easily, but tonight she felt like an imposter. The Captain Fairy fandom was in the back of her mind the whole time. How were they receiving this dance? Emma was frustrated with herself when the final notes faded out, realizing she had been stuck in her head the entire time.

Killian put his arm around her and pulled her close as they turned to the judges. The results were a big surprise; for once, Tiana was their toughest critic.

“I don’t know what it was, but I felt a disconnect,” she told them.

In the end, she gave them a nine while Teach and even Blue gave them a ten (for their flawless quickstep technique). Emma’s shoulders slumped, even though Killian told her he was thrilled with the performance. She hated it because she knew who was at fault for the disconnect Tiana had mentioned. Emma could blame no one but herself. With so few dancers left, time was brief, so she didn’t have the luxury of slipping backstage to nurse her wounds. But Killian caught her hand and squeezed it. When she looked up at him, his gaze was soft.

“You can do this, Emma.”

She blinked. “Do what?”

“Anything,” he said huskily, brushing at a stray curl that framed her face, “for I have yet to see you fail.”

She pressed her lips together, trying desperately not to let him see how deeply those words touched her. She was rescued from having to respond when an assistant director barked at them to take their places downstairs before the commercial break ended.

Emma and Killian took their place with the rest of the celebs and their dancers: figure skater Aurora Briar, football player Lance Knight, and finally, Belle. Killian was still in his pirate garb and hook, but he still wrapped his arms tightly around her. Emma leaned back into him, her eyes closed tight. There was still no guarantee they had made it into the finals, and if that lackluster performance had been their last, Emma would kick herself.

“The first couple dancing in the finals is . . .” Marco paused dramatically, “Belle French and her partner Jefferson!”

Belle let out a loud squeal and almost knocked Jefferson over with the force of her hug. Emma smiled up at Killian; they both adored Belle and were happy for her. Honestly, Emma felt that whoever in this group made it into the finals, they would deserve it.

“The next group to make the finals . . . “ this time it was Ashley dragging out the suspense, “Aurora and Sean!”

Sean Herman, her brother David’s best friend since the eighth grade, shouted and lifted his partner off her feet, spinning her around. Sean had been on the show since the fourth season and had never made the finals. David would be thrilled for him.

The lights dimmed in the entire studio, and two spotlights shone down on Emma and Killian on stage left, and Lance and Gwen on stage right. Emma bit her lip and shifted so she could wrap her arms around Killian’s waist. They had been dancing strong all season, but Lance was an NFL football player, and football players had always done extremely well on Dancing on the Stars. Many of them had won the mirror ball.

“The final couple...“ Marco intoned, “performing in the finals...is...“

Emma grasped Killian’s forearm in a vise-like grip. Couldn’t Marco just get to the damn point?

“ ...Killian Jones and Emma Swan!”

Emma felt her knees buckle beneath her, but Killian kept her on her feet as he squeezed her tight. She didn’t know whether to shout for joy or cry. Finally, the mirror ball might actually be hers.

Emma was so excited, she couldn’t help but go on social media before bed that night to see what Killian’s fans were saying about him making the finals. And, she had to confess, she probably was also craving some positive feedback after their lackluster quickstep. Emma was shocked when the buzz online wasn’t about the Neverland dance, or Killian’s hip-shaking in the salsa, or even their place in the finals. No, Killian’s fans were demanding one thing and one thing only.

When are they going to kiss? @piratelover

Kiss already, Captain Swan! @neverlander

I know the disconnect Tiana was talking about. They just need to kiss! @trueloveandpixiedust

Dear Captain Swan, can we please have a kiss in the final? @fairytaledaydreamer

When Emma showed her sister, Elsa just laughed.

“And you were worried his fans would hate you for pretending to be Tinkerbell,” she quipped with a wink.

[sourskittlesberryjuice]

Club Raven: Chapter Two - Anemone

Fic AO3 Master Post Link: https://thesquidliesthuman.tumblr.com/post/175723803062/fic-ao3-link-master-post

Bill sat in a circle with his friends, Bev and Eddie, in the living room of their small shared apartment. They were just sort of talking about whatever had come to mind. A new movie that was soon to release, a test that they had just taken in one of their many courses, or maybe even an odd dream that one of them had had.

That’s one of the things Bill loved about his friends, was that he could talk to them about anything under the sun. Like that jackass, dark haired kid with the coke bottle glasses from one of Bill’s classes who frequently sang a song about ‘you and your johnson’, claiming it was actually from a boat commercial. Another favorite among the many annoying things he happened to do was talk about his ‘peanut butter ayds’, which was supposedly a weight loss candy. Of course, that’s a story for another time, a tale for another day.

As they were sitting in their circle and just letting words fall out of their mouths, the conversation bouncing around back and forth, the attention soon turned to Bev as she started gushing about a man named Ben.

“He’s so sweet, and kind! I can pretty much talk forever and he just sits there with this fond smile on his face and watches,” Bev went on, her cheeks lightly dusted with a rosy pink as her hands waved wildly.

Bill wasn’t exactly sure who Ben was to Beverly. She never mentioned a relationship with the fellow but with the way she talked about him she might as well be a lovesick girl in middle school all over again.

Beverly went on a little longer and then looked over to Eddie, lightly elbowing their shorter, tanner friend in the side. “So, Eddie, what about Mike? How’s he?”

Eddie flushed a cherry red, looking down in his lap and twiddling his thumbs for a moment before looking up again, “he’s very charming, but I kind of expected that, I guess. He’s patient, definitely. And he has this like, look in his eyes. I don’t know how to explain it, exactly, it’s like he’s an old soul. It’s cute.”

Bill looked to both Eddie and Beverly with confusion, “who’s Muh- Mike? And why haven’t I he- heard about him before?” Bill wasn’t exactly sure why Eddie had only told Bev about this person. He decided to assume there was some reason behind it, he must be really special if they felt they had to wait to tell him.

“Oh, uh…” Eddie was the first to answer, he and Bev looking to each other with a certain look that seemed to read, ‘where do we begin?’

Bill found it odd, as usually they always knew what to say. This time, however, they both seemed to be at a loss for words. It almost made the situation awkward, and he decided to take back his question. “You guys do- don’t have to talk about it if y- you don’t want to, I w- was just curious.”

Bill’s stutter had improved over the years, unfortunately for Bill it still lingered. However, his friends were kind about it. They never pushed him to finish a word or try to speak for him. Especially around new people, where his stutter worsened.

Bev and Eddie looked to each other a moment longer before Beverly spoke, “I don’t think we’re allowed to talk about it. At least that’s what somebody said to me when I first asked about it.”

Eddie nodded in agreement, “same here. We can get someone who can talk to you about it? But that’s up to you, Billy.”,

Bill was quite intrigued. What could possibly be so secretive that his friends couldn’t tell him about it? “Uh- um- yeah! Sh- sure. It seems in- interesting.”

Eddie and Bev both nodded looking again to each other before Beverly changed the topic. They talked to each other for hours, before Bev and Eddie both went back to their respective apartments.

-

A few weeks later, Bill had just run out to the store to pick a few things for his apartment. He was walking back to his apartment, letting the warmth of May fill his spirits. As he walked, he was tapped on the shoulder from behind. Bill turned around to face a tall, sort-of lanky gentleman who almost looked familiar. Could it be that kid from his literature class?

No, it couldn’t be. He wasn’t wearing those thick, retro style glasses, for one. His usual thick, unruly mop of hair was nicely styled, and not nearly as frizzy. So who was this guy then, and what did he want from Bill?

“Hello there. Are you Bill Denbrough? Yes? I hope so. I’m Richard Tozier, or Richie depending on who you ask, charmed I’m sure. A little birdie told me you might be interested in a club I’m apart of.” The man, Richie, spoke before Bill could even ask what he needed. Richie’s stance was filled with confidence and self-assurance. He talked and presented himself in such a way that Bill couldn’t help but ask what he meant.

“Uh, y- yeah. I’m B- B- Bill. What is th- this club y- you s- sp- speak of?” Bill mentally curses at himself for stuttering, though he should be somewhat used to it by now. But there’s something about this Richie character, Bill didn’t want to stutter in front of him.

Richie said nothing about Bill’s stutter, this also proved he couldn’t be that kid from lit as he would’ve said something. He spoke smoothly with a charming gleam in his eyes, though the words that came out of his mouth seemed a bit rehearsed. “You see, Bill, I come from a place we call Club Raven. There we take care of pretty boys like yourself and help them to relax. We give them a drink and an ear and help them forget about their cares for a while.”

Bill is handed a black business card with intricate silver details. He looks over the card before looking back at Richie, “s- s- sounds like fu- fun. D- do I just s- sh- show up?”

Richie nodded, flashing a charming smile, “yes, sir. Just walk right in and we’ll get you set up.” He waved goodbye, then walking away. He turned back for a moment, blowing a kiss to Bill with a wink before disappearing behind a corner.

Bill stood there for a moment, frozen. He blinks himself back into reality, swallowing before continuing his walk back to his apartment.

-

“Still other mythology connects the anemone to magical fairies, who were believed to sleep under the petals after they closed at sunset. Perhaps it’s because of this magical and prophetic tales that today in the language of flowers, anemones represent anticipation.” ​

A/N: Hey, here are some fun links that go along with the chapter.

- You and Your Johnson: https://youtu.be/fxVH5sKUlPg

- Ayds Candy: https://youtu.be/yfFs0o6pCxc

- Anemones: https://www.teleflora.com/meaning-of-flowers/anemone

[maxattack-powell]

Winter Break - Christmas

Winter Break - Christmas (1-17e)  NSFW

***This is an original fic that fits in between the Luxury Date special and Book 2/Chapter 1 in my masterlist)***

Masterlist - go here for other chapters and related original fics

Disclaimer: The following are fics (adaptations from actual game chapters AND original works) to Choices: The Freshman and The Sophomore stories. It is a fictional adaptation. I do not work for Pixelberry Studios, the game developer or own the rights to the characters Chris Powell, Nicole or any other IN GAME character. All of the ORIGINAL characters, storylines and events were developed for my adaptation of The Freshman story.

Comments: I enjoyed playing Choices The Freshman… and then I found this awesome group of people and their works - I’ve loved it all, very much so. Deciding that I wanted more interaction than the options allowed, I’ve gone through the first book, chapter by chapter (omg painfully slow) to follow the story (95-99% I’d say) and add to it as I felt would benefit. Now I am doing the same to Book 2 as well.

Basically, I wanted to include certain things that weren’t really full fic worthy, adding more substance to the story. However, I did add some full size fic moments also… some are included in cannon chapters and some are their own full chapters in between. I wanted to see MC and Chris through their freshman year… with more angst, fluff, sweetness, real life and overall detail. So, if you like that pairing then you’ll be satisfied, otherwise sorry James & Kaitlyn fans lol. I even added some parts from Chris’s POV, so that we have a chance to see what he’s thinking, knowing what she experienced.

NSFW moments in this chapter - Mature Readers Only Please

Paring: MC x Chris

POV: ~MC~ or ~Chris~

~Chris~

Chris wakes suddenly due to a loud crashing sound. He turns his head and focuses on his door for a moment, not entirely sure if it was real or he dreamed it. After a moment he hears a pair of pounding footsteps flying by his door, followed quickly another set.

The second, slightly heavier set is also accompanied by his younger brothers angry muffled shouts. “MOM! She won't leave me alone! And she took my Captain figure, again! MOM!”

Chris shakes his head and lightly laughs as he hears his little sister’s cackle from further down the hall as both sets of footsteps fade. He stretches under the covers, suddenly realizing something. He reaches down to adjust himself, finding it futile. He rolls over onto his stomach, attempting to pin his hard length under his weight as he groans into the pillow. He knows it’s not the normal morning bodily function test that he and every other male has learned to deal with since their adolescent days.

No. This time it is from a dream. Or dreams really. Visions of MC are still flying through his mind, even now as he breathes into his pillow. Usually, dreams start to fade the moment a person wakes, but not these. The images, the feelings, the smells, they were all too real. Chris grabs his phone and opens his photos, scrolling through months worth of images, mentally selecting his favorites of her.

He contemplates taking a very cold shower and trying to put it behind him, or the alternative - taking care of it himself, which he knows would probably feel much better that the first option. He thinks about it though, and looks at the time on his phone. It was a few minutes after 10 a.m., which makes sense as to why his younger siblings were just making so much noise. He knows better than to assume he can sleep in while at home, but after last night, he still had hoped.

Deciding against both previous options, now knowing the time, he decides to send MC her morning text, still laying face down on his bed. ‘Merry Christmas Eve, beautiful’

He shifts on the bed as he waits for a reply, knowing she won't make him wait long. He groans as the friction from his movements don't relieve the pressure, but increase it.

He sighs. “Damn it.”

Chris begins to think he should have gone to the shower before he sent her a message, now unsure if he can make it through any interaction with her in his current state. He really wants to talk to MC, but at the moment he hopes she will just send a text so he can fix his grave mistake.

However, Luck decides to watch him squirm instead, as he receives a request for FaceTime. He sighs and hesitates, but only for a moment, knowing he doesn't want to miss the chance to see her eyes. He quickly adjusts again, thinking he may have made it better this time as he slides the screen to accept the call. While it connects, he leans the phone against his headboard so she has a decent view of him as he stretches down the length of his bed.

MC comes into view, her form still curled up under her covers as she waits for him to answer. He can tell she propped her phone up on her nightstand while she huddles under the warm layers. She doesn't notice the call has connected at first, so Chris takes the time to enjoy the wonderful vision in front of him. He even takes a picture of her bundled up form, her face peeking out just enough with her hair covering most of it as she looks down her bed and speaks softly to her dog Max.

She eventually realizes that the ringing has stopped, finally looking up into the screen. Chris was already smiling as he waits for her eyes to meet his, making her startle slightly from his intense yet humorous expression.

“Jesus, Chris. Even from Maine you can sneak up and scared the crap out of me.” She gasps out, her startled eyes wide.

Chris laughs and looks at her defensively. “Who called who, woman? How is this my fault?”

“You should have said something!” She accuses him, a small smile threatening to split her face as she mock glares at him from under the covers.

“What, and ruin my view? No way. I was enjoying myself.” He winks at her and she snorts in response.

“You're incorrigible.” She narrows her eyes at him playfully, peeking out a she tucks her nose under the covers.

“You like it.” He laughs.

MC doesn't respond with words, but rather lowers the covers momentarily as she hisses at him like a cat, her smirk simultaneously annihilating her attempt at a threatening response.

~MC~

She watches as he laughs through the phone with his handsome smile. His hair is disheveled in just the right way, making her want to reach through the screen and run her hands through it. She watches him shift slightly on his bed, causing his brow to crease with concentration as he looks away from the screen for a moment. Confused, she raises an eyebrow and waits.

He finally looks back at the screen and sees her expression. “What…”

“Um, what are you doing?” She scoots a little closer to see his face a little better.

She watches as he blinks a few times, looking anywhere but the phone as he attempts to answer. “I’m… uh, trying to get comfortable.” He lets out a short single laugh, almost more of a scoff directed at himself.

Her eyebrow reaches higher. “Can't you just roll over..? I’m usually not comfortable on my stomach either.”

He closes his eyes and tries not to laugh. “Yeah, that won't help.”

Still confused, MC looks at him questionably. She watches as he becomes highly embarrassed, rubbing his hand roughly across his stubble as he lets out a huff of air.

“Do you want me to show you why… why rolling over it won't help?” He looks at her in a very particular way, trying to get his point across.

After a moment something clicks inside MC, her face flushes hot immediately. “Oh…” She quickly pulls her covers over her head and begins to laugh with her own embarrassment.

Even with her blanket over her head, she can clearly hear him through the covers. “You're laughing? Really? I’ll have you know, MC. This is all your fault.”

She instantly rips the covers off her face, causing her hair to fly wildly around her as she looks at the phone astonished. “What?! How could it possibly? I’m in Connecticut!”

He shakes his head as he lets out a rough sigh, smashing his face into his pillow. She can barely hear his muffled response when he speaks.

“No, you weren't. You’ve been in my head all night. And every time I reached for you, I ended up with a cold pillow.” Chris’s frustration shows as he balls his pillow up, wrapping his bare arms under it as he lays his cheek down to look at her again, his expression one of pleasant surrender as he searches her face.

MC doesn't know how to respond right away, so she just watches him for a second. She absorbs the way his muscular arms are stretched out and under him, making his arms tight as they pull at the muscles down his side, watching as they flex with each breath. Her eyes make their way down his side and then back up his rippling back, finally seaking his eyes again.

“What did you dream about…” She says in almost a whisper, her eyes unwavering as they lock onto his.

“Uh... “ Chris lifts his head up and looks towards his headboard, a nice red flush sliding up his neck and coloring his cheeks enough to be noticable. He clears his throat and swallows hard as he focuses. “You… you really want me to tell you?”

MC feels her face flush to match his when he turns his eyes back to her. “I…” She stammers, now unsure of her question as he watches her contemplate.

Chris shakes his head and looks away again, “I don't want you to think I’m a creep, MC...” He trails off, embarrassed as he face plants back into his pillow.

“I don't.” She whispers. “I’m curious… I want to know what happened in your dreams that affected you so strongly…” She feels her mouth go dry as she acknowledges her wicked thoughts.

His gaze whips back to her steady eyes. “What?”

She gives him a little smirk. “You heard me Powell.”

He lets out a exasperated laugh as chews on his tongue as he tilts his head, a small smile trying to take hold. “You’re killing me.” He groans out.

She waits patiently for him to continue.

“It was just… It was a series of memories, and uh… “ His eyes flick to hers briefly before he shifts them down, suddenly very interested in some fuzz on his pillow. “...thoughts, I’ve had.”

“Like…” MC gently prods.

He shakes his head and looks at her again. “Like… when we first met… when we kissed that night, and every time after… when you were all at my game before I…” His face falls for a moment, but he shakes it off and grins.

“The ‘C’ you painted on your stomach… I have a lot of dreams about that. Apparently my subconscious knew to watch for you, way before the rest of me did.” He laughs at himself, almost in a scolding way.

“Those moments affect you that much..?” She gently asks, feeling her heart rate rise as butterflies fill her stomach.

He clears his throat again, looking down at the offensive fuzz. “Kinda, but… It was probably more the repetitive memories of us in L.A., on the field… and the way my mind continued the night, as if we weren’t interrupted…”

~Chris~

Chris feels his flush burning hotter and higher as it creeps up his chest to his neck, covering his cheeks. He suddenly feels very uncomfortable with her gaze on him. He's not embarrassed that he thinks of her that way, not at all. He can tell she's attracted to him, and he most assuredly knows how he’s attracted to her in return, so it makes sense to him what he's feeling physically.

He is worried though. Worried that MC will think just that - that he’s only interested in her physically, that he wants to use her. He’s thoughts are adamant; that’s not who he is. It never has been, even when he thought he might try it, because of what Nicole did to him. He shakes his head and swallows, worried that he’s possibly someone he doesn't want to be.

“Chris…” He hears her soft voice speak his name, so he takes in a breath and slowly meets her eyes.

“Yes?” He responds tenderly.

She pulls in her bottom lip and chews on it slightly, searching his face for a moment before she speaks. “That’s kinda a turn on…”

He just stares at her, unblinking, for what feels like an eternity. He finally swallows hard, her words completely registering. “Wait, what?”

She’s so still on the screen that he grabs the phone, pulling it close, thinking it's frozen. Then he sees it. The slightest curve at the end of her lips, slowly turning upwards. He lets out the breath he has been holding in a huge rush, his forehead falling onto the mattress while still holding his phone out in front of him.

MC speaks again, almost like she's been holding her breath underwater. “It’s exciting, to know you’ve been thinking about me--”

He groans into the mattress and cuts her off. He lifts his head enough to rest his lips on his left bicep, biting the taut muscle while keeping his eyes closed. “MC, I need to call you back later.”

Without looking he can hear the worry in her voice. “Chris, I’m sorry… I didn't mean--”

He shakes his head violently and opens his eyes, giving her a reassuring smile. “No ma’am. You didn't do anything wrong. I just need a shower. Right now.”

Chris stares at the screen until he sees her posture relax, letting him know that she understands everything is fine. “I really need to go though, talk to you later?”

She gives him a reserved smile, making him wink at her before he ends the call.

He tosses his phone on the bedside table and slams his fist into his pillow, his frustration reaching a new high. He groans and rolls out of bed, quickly grabbing a set of clothes and his phone before he leans out of his door, making sure the coast was clear as he jumps across the hall, hiding his erection behind a handful of clean clothes.

Chris quickly shuts and locks the door, making sure his siblings don't interrupt his time in the bathroom. He was used to them popping up just about anywhere, and this was not a good time for that to accidentally happen. Throwing his stuff on the counter, he turns on the water, but instead of cold he lets it become warm, almost hot.

As he waits for the water to heat up, he removes his boxer briefs and grabs his phone. Steam begins to fill the room as he scrolls through pictures. He looks for MC, some from their first quarter at Hartefeld, such as random times around the suite and on the roof. Others from the formal where his eyes scan up and down her curves wrapped in that perfect dress.

He scrolls again, to more recent pics. A few from their trip to L.A., where he can see her sexy football outfit and a picture he snuck when she was asleep on the plane back to Hartfeld. Her lips were slightly parted as she slept. He remembers her soft breath running across his neck when she was tucked against his chest. He groans as he thinks of those lips, wishing he could taste them now.

Chris continues to scroll, looking at pictures of her she's sent or he’s saved during their conversations on break. A few times she sent him somewhat flirty pictures, where he could see a little cleavage or her exposed hip, like that one from the first night. The memory makes him quickly scroll to that specific picture, knowing the moment he had opened it, that it would be one of his favorites. Forever.

His eyes drift along her fair form, her tousled hair covering half of her face while part of her eyes and smirk remain exposed. He shifts his gaze down her smooth arms, her halfway visible cleavage, her sloping waist into her sharp hip bone, showing just enough of her panties before the photo cuts off. He tosses the phone onto the counter and quickly checks the water, the temp hot enough to almost turn the room into a sauna.

After turning the water temp down slightly, he steps in and leans his head against the wall as the water beats his back. He turns slightly, facing away from the water stream and closes his eyes. He starts imagining being there, in that moment, on the bed, with her. He groans and reaches down, getting a bit of conditioner in his hand before grasping his hardening length. He starts stroking it as he imagines her shifting in front of him, running her hand down his neck and onto his chest. Her touch light on his skin, but heavy enough to build the anticipation as she gives each sculpted muscle its own adoration, slowly making her way down to his lower abdomen.

He fantasizes her running her hand across his hip, down his leg to his mid thigh. Once she runs her fingers down the closest leg, she slowly moves her fingers back up. This time closer to the inside, brushing exceptionally close to his manhood as she goes back up, circling around his belly button and playing with the area above at his elastic band, before trailing back down the other leg. Chris squeezes himself more firmly, slightly speeding up his rhythmic movements as his breathing frequency increases.

He can see her clearly, feel her touch as he imagines her smell, the one he's come to know so well, making him want to taste her. He knows what her lips taste like, what her neck smells like, but he wants to taste her. All of her. He wants to kiss his way down her neck, sucking on her pulse and nipping at her tender flesh until she shivers under him in pleasure. He wants to make her pant with his calculated touches.

Chris imagines moving down her chest before moving to her adorable stomach. The stomach where he always visualizes his red ‘C’, but only for a few moments before he moves even lower. He grunts as he tugs harder as his erection, the heat in his lower abdomen pooling up, making him sweat, even in the shower. He envisions her hand moving back up his other leg, this time directly crossing his extremely hard length as it strains to break free from his restrictive underwear.

Chris gasps in the shower, clenching his eyes tighter as he imagines her reaching up and pulling the edge of his uncomfortably tight boxer briefs down. He would raise his hips slightly, helping the fabric slide over his tense hips. He envisions her running her hands up around his midsection, tracing the V shape his muscles make as they head to his ridgid length.

He speeds up his actions, increasing the friction on his engorged member, now breathing hard as he imagines her hand on him, stroking him with her smaller but firm grip. He knows it would feel a thousand times better than his own calloused hand, but he makes due, and pretends it’s her instead. As he increases the frequency of his strokes, Chris’s eyes close tightly as he fantasizes her warm hands grasping him, pumping feverishly as she gives him a sultry look.

“Ah, MC...” he groans huskily.

He imagines her slowly leaning down, her breath tickling the inside of his thighs as she looks up at him. Her big hazel eyes sinking deep into his. He shakes his head though, knowing that's not what he would do with her first. He would flip her, laying her comfortably on the bed before he removes all of her clothes. As he frees her from the offensive materials, he would run his hands and lips over every square inch of her body until she was writhing under him, begging for more.

That's what he wants.

hat imagery is what does him in, as he continues to stroke himself repeatedly, panting with his eyes closed as he sees her face. Her expression filled with pure pleasure, her lips parted as she arches her back and she flexes towards him, gasping his name. Only his name. Chris suddenly bucks his hips into his hand. He reaches his climax before he actually realizes it’s near, his mind still on her soft skin and engorged lips, while her body moves in waves under him.

He grunts a few times as he pumps through his climax, sighing when he finally finishes, keeping his eyes closed as he envisions her doing the same from his reciprocal touches. After a moment he lets go, turning to face the wall. He leans there for a moment, his forehead still resting on the cool tile as he lets the hot water soothe his tense muscles. After a few minutes he feels his heart rate finally level out, his breathing becoming even and balanced once again.

Chris leans back and lets the water rush through his hair and over his face. He quickly scrubs his body and washes the mess of hair, knowing he has been in the shower too long already and doesn't want to raise any suspicion about it.

When he steps out, Chris wraps a towel around his waist and leans towards the counter to grab his toothbrush. Once Chris finishes with his normal routine, he attempts to dry his hair as much as possible. He knows it's Maine Cold outside. Meaning, the house will have a chill no matter what the temperature inside is set to so it would benefit him to limit his exposure. After he gets dressed, Chris tosses his dirty clothes in his room and pauses in the hall, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.

He thinks back to how quickly he cut MC off, feeling bad about it, and immediately sends her a text. ‘Sorry about earlier, can we FaceTime later - when it turns midnight..? I have a surprise.’

Chris puts the phone back into his pocket and heads to the living room. He finds his little sister on the piece of furniture deemed the ‘timeout chair’ ever since he let their old dog run through the house, completely covered in mud when he was eight. She had the same look on her face that he had on his back then, making it hard for him to hold his laugh in.

The small blonde snapped her gaze towards him, narrowing her eyes at the sound of his laugh.

He shakes his head. “What did you do, Jo…” He asks, more of a statement really, knowing his little sister all too well.

She crosses her arms and juts out her chin towards the kitchen. Chris turns to look in the direction she's glaring in, seeing his brother and mother. His mother looks up from loading the dishwasher, her eyes meeting his with a frown. She sighs as she glances at them both. His brother Kyle is sitting at the kitchen table, shooting daggers back at his little sister. Chris walks over to the counter, keeping an eye on them both as he approaches his mom.

“What is going on? I woke up to crashing sounds and what I assume was a high speed chase down the hallway.” He juts his thumb behind him, towards his room.

His mother reaches for something on the counter and tosses it at him. He easily catches it, his football handling skills coming in handy. He turns it over and realizes that it’s his old Captain America figure.

He turns to them both, his brows creasing with irritation. “This is what I heard earlier? You guys are fighting over this?” His eyebrow arches up as he holds it up for them to clearly see.

When they dont answer and look away from him, Chris becomes a little angry. He’s only been gone for a few months and they are acting like wild animals. He knows his mom doesn’t have the energy to deal with them if they keep it up, not with the hours she has at work.

“Seriously you guys? I leave for one quarter and you both tear the house up and give mom hell?” He sees them both shift uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze.

“Don't make me lock all the cool stuff in my room before I leave.” Both sets of eyes snap up and look at him wide eyed. Finally having their attention he continues, calmer now. “You guys know I’ll do it. I'll go see Kenny at the hardware store and put up ten different locks to keep you jackasses out if I have to.”

Kyle and Jo both look down, regret crossing their faces. Chris just stands there and waits, letting it sink in that this behavior has to stop. They were bad enough when he was around, he knows it has to be tough for his mom without his interference.

“Well? Do I get to spend the rest of my winter break with my sista and brotha, or am I stuck with two hellyans who won't give their motha a break?” His his accent becomes a little more pronounced as he raises his voice slightly, determined to get his point across.

They both look up to him, then to each other, silently agreeing to a truce with a nod. Chris nods as well when he sees it, putting the Captain America figure back on the counter.

“Alright. Get your freaking jackets on you jokers. We’re going out in the snow.” He claps his hands and turns towards his mom, receiving a thankful smile in return.

“Ah, I’ve missed you Christopher.” She laughs and gives him a kiss on the cheek when he comes around the counter and gives her a hug.

Kyle and Jo jump up from their spots and speed walk towards the front door, avoiding causing more trouble by tearing through the house again. Chris grabs a homemade blueberry muffin from a stack further down on the counter as he passes, ingesting it in less than three bites.

He hears his mother cluck behind him as he heads to the front door as well. “Chew your food, Christopher.”

Chris quickly swallows and nods. “I did… three whole times.” He grins at his siblings as they stifle their laughter behind their gloved hands.

He hears her sigh, following with a faint. “I swear…”

Chris gets his jacket and boots on in record time, easily catching up with his younger siblings. He playfully bumps Kyle as he's trying to steady himself as he adjust his pants over his boots. “Come on man, we’ve got some snow to enjoy.”

Kyle laughs and stands up straight, but only for a second before he uses all of his force to shove Chris back. Chris shifts his weight to adjust, but otherwise doesn't budge, making Kyle grunt and push harder against him.

Chris laughs and pats him on the back, noticing that his little brother is becoming noticeably stronger, but almost nothing can move Chris if he doesn't want to. He quickly bends over and grabs his younger brother, tucking him under his arm like a bundle of wood and walks outside as his sister opens the door with a grin splitting her face in two. She sticks her tongue out at Kyle as Chris passes. The oldest doesn't miss the behavior and quickly grabs her the same way, walking outside with them both tucked under his arms, each sporting matching glares.

He turns his head around and yells, “Hey Ma--” But instantly stops when he sees his mother already at the door, grinning at them all as she gives a small wave and shuts it behind them.

Chris walks over to a deep snow drift and drops both his younger siblings in the middle. They let out matching shrieks as they flail around, sputtering as they wipe the snow from their faces.

He keeps walking, towards a specific area of their yard that has forever been the Snowman Section. “I told you two to cut it out.” He yells over his shoulder, not turning to look as they collect themselves and run to catch up.

When they reach his sides he glances at them both, his face turning serious again. “I mean it you guys. Mom doesn’t need this. If I hear that you start acting like that again, we’re going to have a problem. I’ll drive the six hours to prove it too.” His eyes narrow slightly. "You hear me?"

He looks at them both and receives two conformation nods, this time knowing they clearly received the underlying message. He kneels and pulls them towards him, wrapping an arm around each of them. They hug him back, the three of them staying like that for a moment as Chris holds them tight.

“I miss you guys. Do me a favor and behave like I’m here all the time, okay? It’s not easy for me either.” They both nod against him and he pats their backs before he stands again.

He claps his hands and looks around for a good starting spot. “Alright, what's the plan? One huge snowman? Every man for himself?”

The three discuss their options and finally make a decision. Each will create their own snowmen or objects in the snow. His siblings head over to the shed and dig out their different snow tools and decorations. Chris remembers he had sent MC a text a while ago and pulls out his phone. He has yet to receive a response though, making him frown a little, thinking back to all of their conversations so far during the break. She usually replies fairly quickly, until today that is. He starts to wonder if his abrupt reaction ending the call earlier had upset her in some way.

He stares at the screen for a moment, trying to decide if he should say something else or let it go for now. Noticing his sister running back towards him, he decides to wait for now and stuffs the phone into his back pocket. He wasn't ready to tell them about his friend MC. He knows, even at their ages, that his siblings won't take kindly to the news, still having some memories of his behavior shift during his senior year at Cherryfield High. Its just now been over a year since he started down that ugly path.

He definitely wasn't going to bring MC up to his mother, knowing she would probably deeply frown and ask him a lot of personal questions. Questions he didn't know the answer to yet. Questions he and MC would need to cover before he felt comfortable bringing her up to any of his family. Not because he was ashamed or scared to be connected to MC, but because he knows what his behavior did to his family, his friends, his school… the entire town. He sighs and shakes his head, trying to lose the guilt that is starting to creep in.

Chris makes himself busy, helping his siblings collect snow for their projects as well as his own. Halfway through their builds, a black Ford Bronco pulls up. Chris immediately straightens, recognizing his friend Ryan’s ride. He and Ethan step out and walk towards Chris, the three of them giving their typical greeting nod.

Chris looks at Ethan, then the Bronco, and back to his redheaded friend. “Where’s the truck?” He looks at Ethan curiously, knowing how much his friend loves his truck, rarely seeing him without it.

Ethan shrugs it off. “It’s at the shop, radiator went out so Mr. Johnson is replacing it for me. I gotta pay for the part and he’s letting me clean up the shop for the labor.”

“Need any help?” Chris offers, still packing snow into his creation.

Ethan shrugs again, “Nah, I’m almost done with it actually. Thanks though.”

Chris nods and flicks some snow off his glove towards Ryan, hitting him in the face as he watches the kids squabble over whos snow was whos.

He sputters when some makes it into his mouth and brushes off his face. “What the hell man…”

Ethan turns his humorous expression to his slightly shorter friend and snort laughs. “Maybe it will teach you to shut your mouth, standing there looking like a damn Cusk.”

Chris chuckles as Ryan finishes wiping the snow from his face, so he can shoot Ethan a glare. “Don't make me pack snow in your asscrack.” He forcefully points down for emphasis.

Ethan just stands there with a smirk as he crosses his arms, daring his feisty friend to follow through. Chris watches as Ryan attempts to let it go, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths as he contemplates his next move. He actually does better than Chris would have thought, making him wonder if Ryan has been working on his reactionary behavior during his first quarter at college.

Unfortunately, Ryan only lasts about a minute, maybe a full 90 seconds, before he lunges at Ethan. The slightly taller and wider redhead locks arms with his stocky raven haired friend. They start grappling right there, both digging their legs into the snow and leaning into each other.

Chris sighs and turns to look at his snow sculpture, suddenly worried of their proximity, knowing how quickly things could go south. He decides to move them away, quickly taking a few fast steps in their direction, wrapping his arms around them both and pushing them away, making them lose their footing and tumble over into the snow.

They could care less though, still grappling with each other, now on their sides and completely indifferent of their new perspective from on top of the snow. Chris laughs and turns back to his unique snowman. He doesn't want anything bad to happen to his idea as he has spent a lot of time on it already, and he needs to get it right.

After five exhausting minutes wrestling in the snow, his friends get up and brush themselves off. Both finally conceding to a draw, the usual outcome. They split and head over to Kyle and Jo, offering assistance to Chris’s siblings. Kyle had decided to build a giant snowman, so Ethan helps him collect and roll large snowballs over to add to the ones he had already created. Ryan asks Jo what she’s working on, causing her to put her hands on her hips as she makes a face when he can't tell.

He scrambles for an excuse, telling her that he’s not very creative and can't see what things are until someone tells him. She seems to buy it and relaxes as she shows him what she had been working on. Turns out, once she tells Ryan it was a shark, he could actually see it. Chris just laughs to himself, trying to hurry with his snowman so he can help his siblings and friends.

A few minutes later he steps back, assessing his work. Something was missing. He turns and heads to the flower beds around the house, picking out two tiny and one medium size stones, all black. He walks over and carefully places them in the right spots and steps back again, this time accepting it as done. He pulls out his phone and takes a few pictures, the last few selfies with his work. He pulls up his messages and shoots a few to MC before he heads over to his brothers and sister.

It doesn't take long to receive a response, the message almost unreadable. ‘OMGwhatdidyoumakeisthataSNOWMAX?!’

He laughs quietly, to not draw attention as he replies. ‘He forgives me. Hope you do too.’

MC’s response is a picture of her and Max, both smiling together in front of her Christmas Tree. ‘Nothing to forgive. Thank you for my Snow Max.’

Chris types a reply without thinking. ‘Anytime baby.’ The moment he hits send, he feels instantly cold, his eyes staring at the text while it mocks him from beyond.

“Shit.” He says under his breath.

Ethan is the only one to hear him as he looks at Chris questionably while arching an eyebrow. He receives a quick shake of the head from Chris, brushing it off, while he’s trying to forget what just happened.

Chris tried, but he couldn’t let it go. He wasn't sure how MC would feel about it, and that bothered him a little. Honestly, he wasn't exactly sure how he felt about it, knowing that they weren't officially together, he didn't want to appear like he was pushing himself on her. He was concerned it may come off a little too forward.

He thought about texting something to recover from his slip up, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he stares at the screen. He finally decides to let it slide, hoping she won't notice, and if she does, that she wont have an issue with it.

He sighs as he walks over to his friends and distracts himself with the artworks in front of him.

~MC~

MC is still looking at the pictures Chris sent. Zooming in and looking at all the work he put into the snowman of her beloved dog. It makes her smile. Then of course, she spends some time looking at the selfies he sent. On those she really zooms in, smiling harder as she sees his face. He looks happy, but then… there's something else there. He almost looks apologetic.

She frowns as she ponders why that might be, then she realizes as she scrolls that she missed a text from him earlier. MC immediately feels bad, realizing that he may have thought she was ignoring him after his abrupt departure during their call earlier in the morning. She knows he was already feeling awkward about that conversation, making herself frown.

She wasn't mad or upset about that, at all. Actually, it was more of the opposite. She felt… flattered. There was something about knowing that he wanted her, yet was sticking to his word and giving her control over what they did and when. It helped her feel more and more comfortable around him, knowing that he wasn't going to try anything. She used to think she could trust him, and now he was proving it, making her feel comfortable with the idea of them as exactly that… them.

MC starts typing an apology for missing the text. ‘Sorry, I didn't see your text earlier. I'll be there at midnight. Don't forget about me.’

But before she can hit send, his reply to her thank you for the Snow Max comes through.

‘Anytime baby’ Her breath catches in her throat as she reads it, and rereads it, and rereads it. “Baby…”

He said called her ‘baby’, again. It makes her wonder if he did it on purpose this time. Her body begins to tingle at the thought. After the way he was talking this morning, she hopes it is intentional, the idea becoming quite trilling to her. However, since she isn’t sure, MC decides to send her previously typed response and wait to see if he does it again.

Only a second passed before he sends his reply. ‘Impossible’

She grins and grabs Max, hugging him tightly. She loves her dog, but she can't deny that she’s wishing it was Chris she was hugging instead. Max doesn't mind.

Hours pass as she visits with family members on Christmas Eve. Her mom made a big dinner and invited her Uncle and his family over to join them. Basically the same thing they do every year. She had a great time playing with her cousins and joking with her Aunt and Uncle, but she was eager to talk to Chris. She can’t stop her curiosity from growing all evening, needing to know what he has planned.

Eventually her Uncle’s family leaves, his kids passed out and slung over his shoulders as they walk to their car. She hangs out with her parents for a while, watching different Christmas Specials that are playing such as The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, Frosty The Snowman, and Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. The last is her favorite. She wonders which special is Chris’s favorite, knowing that someone as excited about Christmas as Chris had to have at least one.

She sends out texts to all of her friends. Including the ones here, at home, and the new ones she's made at Hartfeld. Some respond right away, others take their time, but they all tell her something similar in return and share stories and pictures of their holiday. She smiles as she misses her Hartfeld friends.

Especially Zack, as she has grown even loser to him over the break through their many texts and calls. Sometimes he would ask her about Chris, how things were going with him, if he was behaving. She always picks up on his protective tone or comments, making her smile and feel beyond happy to have such a loyal friend watching her back.

As the time passes, the communications slow, eventually leaving her alone with her thoughts again. Another hour passes and she leans forward on her spot on the couch, checking to see if her parents are still awake. When she determines that they are in fact not, she takes the opportunity to quietly creep around them and slip into her room. Max, of course, was right on her heels, being more stealthy than she ever could.

The time is 11:50 p.m. and she glares at her alarm clock, wishing for the next ten minutes to hurry.

At 11:55 p.m. she fidgets with her phone, still scrolling through FaceBook to burn the time as she looks at pictures of her friend’s holiday experiences. She sees many posted by Kaitlyn and Abbie right away, each sharing multiple albums of images. A few from Zack, Tyler and Brandon cross the screen as well making her grin at their selections to share.

However there were none from James, not that she actually expected to see any. He barely knows how to log into Facebook, forget about uploading pictures or making posts. She laughs at the visual of him struggling with the website for hours, mentally making a note to try to get him more active on the social networking site.

A loud ringing shoots out of her phone as a FaceTime requests pops up, making her jump and clench the phone tightly. “Seriously…” She grumbles, mad at herself for letting it startle her.

She quickly checks her appearance in her dresser mirror and jumps back onto her bed, sliding her thumb across the screen to accept the incoming call. Her eyes eagerly search the screen as she waits for it to connect. When it does, she doesn't see anything except his empty bed. Chris is nowhere to be seen.

A crease forms in her brow as she frowns slightly and looks around the small screen for the person she's been thinking about all day. There's no sound, so she starts to think the call is frozen and reaches to reset the phone, until she hears it. A guitar. A very familiar guitar.

She cant stop the smile from escaping and taking over her entire face. MC does however stop herself from bouncing on her bed as she continues to wait. “Chris!” She finally shouts, unable to wait any longer.

She hears him laugh, a beautiful sound she knows she would never get tired of. He comes into view then, still strumming some cords on his guitar as he settles in front of his phone. “Can you see me alright?”

When she nods he asks another, “How about the sound? Am I clear?”

He flashes her a big smile as she nods again, her eyes glued to his. “What are you up to Powell…”

He shakes his head and winks at her as he raises a finger to his curled lips, instantly silencing her. He adjusts on the bed and clears his throat as his hands find the correct starting positions. MC watches as he starts strumming a familiar sound. She feels her chest swell and pain in her cheeks from smiling as she hears his voice. It’s slow and deep as he looks into her eyes.

“I don't want a lot for Christmas. There's just one thing I need.”

His smile grows, and MC bites her bottom lip, trying to control herself.

“I don't care about those presents, Underneath the Christmas tree. I just want you for my own...”

Chris takes in a deep breath before he continues, his eyes looking deep into hers.

“More than you could eeeever know. Make my wish come truuuuue. You know that all I want for Christmas is yooooou...”

He draws out the last word, his cheeks now tinted a slight red. He continues strumming for a minute before he misses a string, making him laugh as he stops, “I told you I need more practice…”

Chris bites his cheek and focuses again as he picks back up where he left off, his hands moving around hesitantly on the guitar.

“I won't ask for much this Christmas, I won't even wish for snow...”

They both start laughing at that, each having at least 12-14 inches on the ground outside already. He quickly clears his throat and continues.

“No I'm just gonna keep on waiting, Underneath the mistletoe...”

He turns his head and looks behind him slightly before turning back to flash her a huge grin. That's when she sees it. Chris had pinned a piece of mistletoe to the wall behind him. She breaks into a huge gaping smile, making sure to keep quiet as she happily watches his actions.

“There's no sense in haaaaanging stockings”

His voice gets a little husky as he raises it slightly, closing his eyes as he emphasises the words with more feeling.

“There upon the fireplace… cause… Santa he won't make me happy, With a toy on Christmas day.”

He looks at her with a sad but cute pout as he shakes his head. She covers her mouth as she smiles, making herself stay quiet so she can hear.

“I just want you here tonight...”

He nods with much enthusiasm and looks around the room quickly with a ridiculous grin as if he was searching for her. MC squeaks as a single laugh pushes its way out between her hands.

“Hooooolding on to me so tight!”

He closes his eyes as he says sentence with force, his jaw clenching as he shakes his head and lifts his shoulders, pretending she was there doing just that. MC bites her thumbnail as she watches his antics.

“Girl what can I doooooo…”

He opens his eyes and stares into hers as he stretches the sentence out.

“You know that all I want…” He pauses, tilting his head down and lowering his voice slightly. “...for Christmas is…” A smirk appears on his lips, “...you”

Chris loses his place as he stares at her and starts laughing again as he lightly smacks the body of his guitar with mild frustration. “Ugh, okay I really need to practice more…”

He laughs a bit more and shakes his head before continuing, looking up to lock his gaze to hers again, his expression is back to performance happy as he flashes her big smiles.

“And all the lights are shining, So brightly everywhere. Aaaand the sooooound of children's Laughter fills the aiiiiir. And everyone is singing...”

He shrugs as he gestures to himself in a humorous way.

“I can hear those sleigh bells ring~ing...”

Chris nods and scrunches up his face as if he's at a metal concert. MC starts laughing and bobbing her head with him. His expression changes as he quickly tears his eyes away from MC’s and looks down at his hands before he sings the next lines.

“Santa won't you bring me the one I really love, Won't you please bring my baby to me~eeeeeee….”

MC feels the butterflies as they come back in full force, making her stomach do flips as her eyes move back and forth, waiting for him to look up again. She swallows, then a second later he does the same before slowly raising his eyes back to meet hers.

“I don't want a lot for Christmas, This is all I'm asking for. No I just want to seeeee my baby…”

His neutral expression turns into a tiny smirk as he sucks in a deep breath and crushes his eyes closed, his voice becoming louder and more intense as he grinds out the next line.

“Standing right outside my door!”

His eyes slowly open and lock on hers, his expression almost pleading.

“I just want you for my ooooown… More than you could ever knoooow”

Chris gives her a soft warm smile and nods faintly as his pleading eyes stay on hers.

“Make my wish come truuuuue, You know that all I want..” He takes a deep breath, not breaking eye contact, “...for Christmas, Is yooooou…”

His cheeks rise higher as his smile grows. MC feels her face flush and her lower body tingle with the look he's giving her. His voice grows softer as he slows down his guitar.

“Is yoooou….” He strums the last few cords and lets out a small nervous laugh after it becomes quiet again.

~Chris~

Chris leans back a little, stretching his back from its folded position around the guitar as he looks away for a moment. He suddenly feels very self conscious as the silence takes over. He finally gets up the courage to look back at the screen, and is pleasantly surprised.

MC is searching his face, her eyes moving all over as he shifts awkwardly on the edge of the bed. He gives her an anxious grin, and laughs through his nose, unsure of what to say.

Thankfully for Chris, she takes care of it and speaks first. “I wish I was there…”

He lets out a huff of air, making his bangs move a little with the force of it, before he runs his right hand through the tousled mess. Chris clears his throat again and rubs the back of his neck as he watches her, his voice a little shaky and unsure. “Yeah… me too.”

She presses her lips together and gives him a small demur smile. “Merry Christmas, Christopher.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he gives her the biggest smile. “Merry Christmas, beautiful.”

She playfully arches an eyebrow. “What, no ‘baby’?”

He blanches for a moment, sucking in a breath as his mouth falls open. He sees her grin grow and he recovers with a warm smile, his confidence in full swing. “I thought you liked beautiful…”

She laughs softly. “I like them both, actually.”

He laughs through his nose and nods. “Well, then… baby...” He pauses and places emphasis on the last word, looking up at her with his head tilted down. “...have a good night, beautiful.”

[philosopherking1887]

I wonder what you mean with "Loki’s Jewish-coding". Loki is a Norse god, of Scandinavian origin, not Jewish/middle-eastern. I hope I just misunderstood your fandom tropes because making him a Jew all of a sudden seems extremely weird. Scandinavians can also have VERY curly hair and straighten it because we don't like it.

Um… I’m sort of confused by the assumption that I’m an idiot that seems to be underlying this question. Pretty clearly, I hope, I was talking about Marvel’s Loki, not the original Loki of Norse myth. In fact, in the post you’re talking about, I referred to it as “[MCU] Loki’s Jewish-coding.” The reason “MCU” is in brackets is that I didn’t want to exclude the Loki of the classic Marvel comics—who, I think I recall @fuckyeahrichardiii​ telling me, is even more intensely and problematically Jewish-coded than MCU Loki. I read and write fanfiction about MCU Loki primarily; writers do draw on the myths that inspired the comics and films, but for the most part the more recent fictional representations are the basis.

Because I am not an idiot, I do know that Loki is a Norse god of Scandinavian origin, and it would be absurd to claim that the Loki of myth has Jewish or Middle Eastern characteristics. I have read, in connection with the controversy about the origin of Loki’s name, that he may be a holdover from an earlier, perhaps pre-Indo-European pantheon that was replaced by the Norse one. The Jotnar in Norse myth, like the Titans of Greek myth, do seem to play the role of “old gods” that might represent the gods of the pre-Indo-European populations that were conquered and/or displaced by Indo-European settlers just as the Jotnar/Titans are conquered and displaced by the Aesir/Olympians. Loki is unusual in being a Jotun who is accepted into the community of the Aesir – perhaps an older native god being borrowed into the invaders’ religion? So Loki is already an Other, an outsider relative to the rest of the Norse pantheon.

Despite the fact that Marvel was using Norse gods as the basis for their Asgardian characters, the comics originated in 20th-century America, which was, ineluctably, subject to a number of other cultural influences. Mainstream American culture has been primarily shaped by Christian European culture, and the Other par excellence of Christian Europe has always been the Jew. In European culture, Jewish men have been feminized and, especially around the turn of the 20th century, have been compared to or associated with gay men in light of their shared status as outsiders, as an alien and inscrutable Other, and presumed untrustworthiness. (This is brought out in an especially poignant way by Marcel Proust, a gay man and the son of a Jewish woman, in In Search of Lost Time, particularly in his treatment of the Dreyfus Affair, which was THE political event of the 1890s and left a deep scar on French society that still hadn’t healed when Proust’s books were published 20-30 years later.)

Marvel’s Loki hits many of the points associated with the figure of the Jew in European culture. He is the eternal foreigner in Asgard, his loyalties constantly in question. He is portrayed as sly and manipulative, always pulling strings from behind the scenes, forever plotting to take power from the rightful rulers of Asgard. He does tend to be queer- or feminine-coded, which on its own isn’t necessarily evidence of Jewish-coding, but reinforces the rest of the image. Aside from having dark hair while most Asgardians are blond/golden-haired—a standard trope for emphasizing the “Oriental” origins of European Jews, though many (like myself) are blond or (like my mother and grandmother) red-haired—the Loki of the classic comics also tends to have a hooked nose. (Which is pretty common among cartoon villains, especially sly and conniving ones…)

I first became aware of the implicit Jewish-coding of MCU Loki—which might have been unintentional, or just a consequence of the adaptation from the comics—when I happened across a couple of videos setting footage from Thor and The Avengers to songs from The Prince of Egypt, including “All I Ever Wanted” and “The Plagues.” I realized that Loki’s position as member of a foreign enemy group, rescued from death as a baby and raised, in ignorance of his heritage, as the second prince of the society that conquered the society of his origin, was very similar to that of Moses in The Prince of Egypt. (That movie doesn’t adhere exactly to Moses’s story in Exodus; Moses did actually know where he came from because his sister Miriam volunteered his birth mother as a wet nurse for him. But then, in some versions of the comics, Loki does know that he’s either adopted or Odin’s bastard, so that doesn’t necessarily spoil the parallel.) Then I noticed some of the other characteristics that set Loki apart from Asgardian society at large and his adoptive family in particular… I actually had Loki comment on it in my first Thorki fic, Desert Flowers, which takes place after Loki visits Berlin in the 1920s. (I doubt Antagonistic Anon will care, but some of my other followers might be interested.) It’s easiest for me just to quote that passage. Here Loki is explaining Midgardian racism, including antisemitism, to Thor:

“There are a few characteristic physical traits, though they’re not consistent. Long, arched nose; dark curly hair.” Loki stopped short, his lips pressed tightly together. “In general, they don’t look any more different from other Europeans than I do from you,” he forced himself to say good-humoredly. “In fact, I was given rather shoddy service at a few restaurants—and even turned away from one inn that I was certain still had vacancies—which was very puzzling until I realized that they thought I was Jewish… a member of this group, I mean.”

“Huh,” said Thor disgustedly […]

Loki cleared his throat. “At any rate,” he continued, “the animus toward them centers on their supposed character: greedy, ambitious, deceitful; physically weak, but clever and devious enough to gain power through indirect means.” Me again. Too interested in scholarly pursuits, not enough in manly physical activities; prone to neurosis. All too quickly, the list of antisemitic stereotypes that he had heard tossed around in Berlin had turned into a catalogue of Loki’s own inadequacies. While Thor is the very embodiment of the ‘Aryan ideal.’

Pretty obviously MCU Loki’s hair is naturally curly because Tom Hiddleston’s hair is naturally curly and they can’t always keep it under control. But in combination with its unusual color, the unusual texture and his apparently intense desire to slick it into submission spoke to me. I’ve struggled with the frizzy texture of my own hair, and a lot of other Jews I know try to tame it in various ways, while others go natural and embrace the “Jew-fro.” I’m sure Scandinavian people can have curly hair, and I’m not ruling out an interpretation of Loki’s dislike of his curly hair that has nothing at all to do with his status as Other. But for me it just fits in with everything else that I’ve mentioned.

Jeez, I kind of can’t believe I wrote that much in response to what clearly was not a friendly question. I’m honestly kind of puzzled as to why Anon was so bothered by an offhand comment about Loki being Jewish-coded. (Like, is there a problem with Jews “appropriating” Scandinavian culture…? Don’t worry, folks, Jews have absolutely no interest in replacing you.) Actually, this is the second hostile anonymous “question” I’ve received in the past two weeks, both with decently good grammar (unusual for anon hate) but premised on a wildly uncharitable, deliberately obtuse interpretation of something I wrote (my response to the first is here). If the second didn’t regard a pretty widely shared post of mine, I might suspect a single unfriendly blog-stalker. This is kind of weird, since I never used to get obnoxious anonymous comments; I guess the cost of gradually increasing exposure is assholes.

@darklittlestories, @incredifishface, I thought you might find this whole thing mildly entertaining… Oh, and @andreashwood, because you're a "Prince of Egypt" fan.

[americangodsimagines]

Reader and Mad Sweeney have always had a flirty relationship, but it's never crossed the line. Fed up and frustrated the reader decides to give him a lap dance (for whatever celebratory reason) and smuttiness ensues. 🙈🙊

Hello there! So um…while there is some implied smuttiness and all….this ficlet sort of turned into over 1800 words before I’d actually gotten to the actual sex so…. I decided to leave it here, unless people ask for a part two or whatever cos otherwise it’d never get finished, haha. 

I made no reference to whether reader was a God or not, and there are no gender terms used within to describe the reader, though the reader has a female body starting from the lap dance scene~ 

Warning: both characters have had a bit to drink in this fic, so you know…  

Anyway, I wasn’t sure what type of reader I was writing for so have a flirty, self-confident reader who has lots of booze at their house for some reason. 

You were brooding in your kitchen over a cup of wine. 

It wasn’t sad if it was wine. You weren’t a pathetic person if you were having a cup or two of wine after dinner. You were a sophisticated person. You should be congratulated, honestly. 

You practically oozed poise and perfection. 

You were also onto your second bottle of wine somehow, so maybe the whole eliteness of it had worn off after the sixth or so cup. 

Besides, alcohol rarely affected you. You stared morosely into your cup. Maybe you should move onto something stronger. Something that would…actually affect you. 

Not that alcohol would cure your problems. 

Problem. Singular. 

But before you could rehash your problems over another cup, your apartment door swung open, a loud slam accompanying the way it hit against the wall as if thrown by Hercules himself. 

Your eyes fixate on the man sauntering through half-drunk, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Close enough. You lean your elbows on the kitchen bench. “Sweeney,” you enunciate, trying to keep the smile from your face, trying to act as if your wall was more important than the man who probably just broke a hole through it. It really, really wasn’t. 

“Hello love,” he said easily and your stomach rolled in protest. You had moved into cute nicknames a few months earlier, his Irish lilt making each new name he tossed at you something special, something to be cherished. Maybe. If you weren’t reading too much into this. After all, what did years of flirtations mean, really? When it all came down to it. He dropped a bottle on the bench. “Another one, dear, and pour one for yourself too.” 

You roll your eyes and flick him on the head, right between the eyes. “I’m not a bar.” 

He grinned and leant closer to you, his breath reeking of alcohol, with that hint of something…meadows maybe. “I know that,” he protested. Your eyes dart down to his lips, so tantalisingly close. In a second you could press yours against him, steal the whiskey from his tongue and find out just what a leprechaun tasted like. 

He pulled away sharply. “Besides,” he announced to your empty kitchen. “I’m celebrating.”

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring the disappointment that came with his subtle rejection. “And what are you celebrating, my King?” you ask as you pull out the good liquor you’d been studiously avoiding all night. 

He shrugged and rested his back against the counter. “Oh some cunt or other thought he could take me down.” He looked around smugly and you finally noticed the bruise on his cheek. “Didn’t even get one hit in.” 

“Looks like he got a hit in,” you commented dryly as you place the alcohol on the bench and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer. You press the ice against his cheek and he winces in return. 

“Forgot about tha’ one,” he said, his accent all the more pronounced with the disappointment in being caught out. You roll your eyes, and take the opportunity to trail your eyes along his face, letting your fingers run across his beard. 

��Of course you did,” you agreed. Your free hand reached up to trace a cut on his forehead. “And this one too I suppose.” You grinned up at him. “I should probably ask….you didn’t get a concussion and just forgot all the times this guy hit you, right?” 

He stuck out his tongue at you, his hand grabbing the one on his forehead. “I came here to celebrate,” he reminded you, pulling you close in a single move. The breath left your body as you were pressed up against the solid wall of muscle that was your Leprechaun. 

There was a moment of silence as the two of you looked into each other’s eyes. Do it. The words were in your head, on your lips, a hairbreadth away from shouting them at him. Let’s stop with the games, start with the fucking.

And then, because he always did, he pulled away. “I asked for booze,” he reminded you with a slur, reaching across the bench for the alcohol you’d laid out.  

You let out your breath in a huff. “Well,” you said, not quite sure where the idea had come from, half-certain you’d somehow gotten drunk off his breath, “if we’re celebrating.” Then again, it could be all those cups of wine. You took his arm and led him to the couch. You pushed him down and grabbed the bottle from his hands, taking a big swig of it. Then you dropped yourself down onto his lap. 

His eyes widened in mild shock, his hands fluttering wildly around your hips as if torn between cupping them and pushing you off. It was cute, seeing those walls of his break down. 

You bite your lip in your most seductive manner, glad to have chosen a very short skirt for your wine binge. 

He narrowed his eyes at you in return. “You’re drunk,” he accused.

You tilted your head and rolled your neck, enjoying every click as you bared your neck to him. “Have you ever known me to get drunk?” Before he could answer, you moved on. “We’re celebrating, remember? Some cunt tried to fight me,” you repeated in a fake Irish accent. 

His nose wrinkled. “That’s offensive,” he told you, his voice getting as frustrated as it did whenever anyone mocked the Irish. Apparently all those years of being demonised as pathetic drunks hadn’t exactly endeared the Irish Stereotype to the leprechaun. Maybe he was just upset everyone thought he was short. Hard to tell with him, honestly. 

You leant in and pressed your forehead to his. “I’ve always wondered,” you admit slyly. 

His breath catches in his throat. “Wondered what?” he finally manages to choke out. 

Your lips are hovering against his again, but if you’re going to do this, if you’re going to be the one to finally push those barriers the whole way, you’re damn sure going to make him work for it. 

And, you know, make sure he actually wants it. 

“What it’s like to give a lap dance,” you finish, raising your ass off his lap and grinding it back down against his thighs. 

The strangled noise he made in return was not human. You smirked back at him in satisfaction. 

“Can I?” you ask in mock innocence. 

Mad Sweeney swears at you before nodding vigorously. “Fuck, yes.” His hands finally come down on your hips and he gives them an experimental squeeze. He even leans in, maybe for a kiss, but you turn your head to look down at his hand and instead his lips brush your neck. He chuckles darkly against your skin, maybe noticing the mood you’re in, figuring out how you want this to go. 

“Finally,” he mutters and your head darts up to face him, a glare forming. 

“Me, finally?” you demand in voice that was close to a screech. “Why do I have to do all the work?” 

He blinks at you before slouching back casually on your couch, hands leaving your hips to sling over the couch’s back, an evil grin forming on his face. “Maybe I like being chased,” he tells you and you growl back in response. 

You let yourself slid forward on his lap further, your breasts pressing against his chest, hips pressed against his. Sweeney was trapped now, between you and the couch and you were going to wipe that smirk off his face and make him beg with every ounce of his body, and then maybe, finally, you might just let him get what he wanted. Maybe. 

You ground your hips down against him slowly, making sure he could feel every inch of your ass as it trailed from the top of his knees all the way down to where that bulge in his pants was forming. 

You feel a flush of heat yourself, all too suddenly becoming real to you, you were straddling Sweeney. 

You looked into his eyes then, needing to make sure that this was alright. 

He smiled at you, the heat between you fizzling out for that second. Something genuine touching his eyes. His hand reached up to cup your face and he pulled you closer to him.  

“Perhaps we should start with a chaser,” he commented, before pulling you in for that long-craved kiss. 

You probably could’ve written an ode to what he tasted like, all those different beverages clashing in his mouth with the dusty taste of tobacco, but you were too busy trying to memorise this moment. When you pulled away panting, resting your forehead back against his, noting distantly that this was the first time you’d even seen the top of that red mountain of hair of his, the first time you’d ever been taller than him. 

“A chaser comes after the main drink,” you point out finally. “To ‘chase away’ the bad taste.” You glare at him again, with no heat, hoping to convey the joke that he was critising your amazing dancing skills. You get distracted by the pinkness of his face, the way his lips have swelled ever so slightly under your administrations. The way he was trying to hide how he was just as desperate for breath as you were, both of you having pushed your limits just to keep tasting each other. 

He shrugged and you could feel it, feel the way his face scrunched slightly with the movement, the way his whole body adjusted to that small movement, and warmth pooled through your body. You were in control now. You had him right where you wanted him. Your leprechaun was literally between your legs as he said, “I’m non-traditional like that.” 

You laugh and your hands clutch at his suspenders. How could your leprechaun, red haired and muscular, wear such disgusting clothing out in public? You intertwine your fingers in them. “I’m afraid I don’t know many lap dance moves,” you whisper into his ear. 

He was too busy nibbling at your neck to notice, his hands back on your waist, fingers trying to slide up under your top while simultaneously pulling you back onto his chest. 

Oh no, you were not going to let him take this moment away from you. You’d let him trick you out your prized kiss, you weren’t going to let him change the dynamic too. 

You pushed him away with one hand, flipping your head forward and then quickly back to let your hair arc into place before running a hand through it to make sure it was adequately sex-strewn already. You lean in and bit his ear before whispering, “I thought you liked being chased.” You steal the words of retort from his lips with another kiss. He tasted more like you now, the wine from your lips mingling pleasantly with his taste. “My turn.” 

~Send me American Gods prompts, headcanons, or even just a ship name and I’ll write you a little something~

[velcr0kitty]

What If?

Title: What If? Summary: You indulge yourself in a harmless passion, following a train of thought, but when Mikey catches a glimpse it may not be so harmless after all. Author: Velcr0Kitty Characters: Mikey (2016) x Reader Word Count: 1846 Warnings: Angst, fluff, body image… issues? I guess? Author’s Notes: Welcome to my first fic, I’m so sorry. I seriously didn’t expect it to become so sad my original idea was so happy ;-;

You drift to the bottom of the sketchbook and scrawl a title of sorts.

What If - Mikey

Under it, you put your signature. It’s hard to deny your feelings for the charismatic turtle, but with that whole “different species” issue complicating things you doubted the feelings would ever be mutual. That hasn’t stopped your daydreams yet.

You never imagined you’d be in a situation where you even could think that. Once upon a time you could only imagine yourself with your beloved art degree in a pleasant flat somewhere other than NYC. You would be a master of your passion and your passion, a career. Before you got your chance, however, your best friend fell very ill. You spent your time with her, being supportive. This was the snowball that became the avalanche.

Your friend was released after a few weeks. Then in succession, like a machine gun of shit, your mother died in a car accident, you were hostage in a bank robbery, your new apartment building out of town exploded (You didn’t honestly believe the landlord at first). Three foot clan attacks and a load more bull-shit later, you were broke, homeless, family-less and living, quite literally, under a rock (a storm a few months prior had upturned it in central park.) That’s where the turtles found you. Dirty, starving, and huddled up under a blanket some random do-gooder’s gave you. Though you suspect it was mostly Donnie’s doing, for whatever reason, they took you in and welcomed you into their home.

That was three years ago. Over those three wonderful years, they nursed you back to health, welcomed you, and loved you as one of their own. It didn’t take long for feelings to develop for the youngest. You spent day in and day out with all of the brothers, of course, but most of your time was with Mikey. Donnie always patched you up and made sure you were okay, but Mikey sat with you and made sure you were okay. He quickly became your best friend.

He comforted you, stayed up with you when you couldn’t sleep, you two have more inside jokes than you’d care to count. The only thing you don’t know about him is how much the guys have been hounding him for months, just small remarks during training or while on patrol, to get him to “just turtle up!” and ask you out or something.

For some reason, you kept your art from them. As close as y'all were, having even one thing to yourself can do wonders for your sanity. Sometimes, while the boys trained or for the hours Splinter had them in the Ha'Shi, you snuck out to buy supplies. Nothing too big, just sketchbooks and pencils that you stashed under your bed when not in use.

You often drew the brothers, for good reason. They had both ridiculously interesting lines and unique shapes, as well as always being around. Plus you had found a few well-hidden hidey holes to draw from if you wanted a live reference.

It’s only natural when crushing on a giant talking turtle to, even just once, imagine what he’d look like as a human, right?

Today, you ran with that thought. So, as you finish the drawing, you scan the page for any last minute fixes. You run your fingers over the sketch, being careful to not smudge. You feel the bumps and ridges of your pencil marks travel underneath you like a road map. As you move over his face, your hand reveals his brilliant and goofy grin, but you can almost see the way his blue eyes light up and glint with mischief when he laughs, the way the green of his cheeks shimmer in the light with his constant smiles and grins. You soften and fall into a lazy smile.

Your hand continues over his torso, your mind wandering to the endless amazing hugs, his muscular arms, his surprisingly comfortable plastron. Hesitantly, you move left, over a man. Lean, but built, muscle hidden under a wildly patterned t-shirt. His mid-length blond messy hair falls into his eyes, but the mischief and brilliant smile remain. He stands with his arms crossed. His pose screams youth, confidence and energy. Your eyes flick back and forth between the drawings. You are nowhere near as familiar with this man, but your curiosity is sated.

The sounds of training float from the dojo as you come back to reality. Heavy grunts and dull thuds tell you how far into training they are and, not realizing how late it really is, decide it will be some time until they’re done. You abandon your art supplies on your bed for the makeshift shower down the hall that Don whipped up last year.

When you emerge toasty and clean in your favorite PJ’s, you waddle towards your room and revel in the silence. You’re nearly winded when just how silent it was hit you like a freight train and you took off for your room. Mere footsteps away from the right corner and a soft hiccup of a sob makes you freeze, your heart dropping. You stop, inches from the door. You know what’s coming. Something in you tells you to run. What's around this corner? You know it will break you. You can leave. You don’t have to see those baby blues hating you. Thinking you’ve betrayed him.

You run a hand through your hair. Ruined.

You wring your hands. He hates you.

You take a step into the room, almost trembling. Looking everywhere but where you need to. His eyes are burning into you. Your room is dull. Face this. You could have run, but you didn’t. So, FACE. THIS.

When you make eye contact, you couldn’t and will never be able to accurately describe the sheer betrayal in his eyes. He’s gripping your sketchbook, the drawing. His eyes are red, his mouth agape. He opens and closes it a few times, searching for words.

———

“You know, we were almost human once?” You drop your controller and shift on the couch to look at him better. Disbelief paints your face.

“No kidding?”

———

“… What,” his voice breaks, as does his eye contact, which drops to the paper in his hand. “Y/N, what is this?”

———

“Seriously, Angelcakes. It’s crazy, Donnie had this ooze that we got from…” As he tells you his story you can see how important it was to him to find some normalcy. He wasn’t cracking jokes, he was barely moving. Just talking. This became the most personal and serious night you two had ever shared. He spoke of growing up with ninja turtles. You, of school, of bullies, of humans. You shared worlds.

———

You couldn’t find the words. You knew you had hurt him. Badly. It was just a drawing and a thought to you, but to him… to him it meant you didn’t like him for him. Maybe even not at all.

———

You swapped so much about each other that night, not just talking but learning. He finally opened up wholly when he wouldn’t look at you.

“I wish…” His hands suddenly become very interesting. “I wish I was human, you know? It would just be…” he searches for the word. The word he finds will break him. As he says it, he will cry through his half-hearted smile. You will hold him until you both fall asleep, cradling him to your chest, TV still on.

He looks up with pain and resolve.

“… Easier.”

———

“Y/N!” Mikey slams your sketchbook against the wall searching your eyes for an explanation. For the first time you’d ever heard, your best friend raised his voice. He was pissed.

———

The next morning he woke up embarrassed. He remembered your sweet coo’s and soft-spoken words of comfort from the night before as he took down a wall he never knew he had, for you. He never realized how much he wanted to give you the life you deserve, and just how much he couldn’t actually give you. A certain melancholy took him. He felt so bad as you talked about your life. As far as he knew no one in his family knew anything about you from before they found you, just that you had suffered a great deal and had no one left, but last night? He hadn’t thought about how much had to have happened for you to end up that way. For a moment, you had both bared yourselves, completely.

As these thoughts ran through him, the grogginess of waking up left him. He watched your eyes move behind your eyelids, your mouth open slightly as you breathed through your dreams. He pushes himself up so his full weight isn’t on you and with the loss of heat, you stir. Your sleepy eyes captivate him and he feels like he’s really seeing you. You have no idea. “Morning,” you quietly utter, not wanting to break the peace. Running a hand down your face, you sit upwards slightly. Noticing the vibe rolling off your normally talkative terrapin you sober up and give him a questioning look.

He hovers over you effortlessly, arms holding him up on either side of your hips. He has yet to move his gaze away from you, drinking in your features like a dying man. The only thing he can think of is kissing you until you melt, of running his hands down your waist. Steamy images fog his vision as he disappears in the thought of you. All you see is his expression softening until he closes his eyes with a small sigh.

“Um… Mikey, you good?” This snaps him out of his trance. He’s blushing and burning up but, lucky for him, you don't notice a thing. He coughs.

“Uh, yeah babe,” the nickname that had been used countless times felt heavy on his tongue, “I’m fine, just uh… tired. Do you mind if I…?” He slowly lowers himself back onto your midsection, eyes asking permission.

“Oh yeah sure,” you stammer, concerned. “Go for it.” He snuggles into you further, wrapping himself around your stomach and breathing in your smell, suddenly feeling like a brand new person.

———

When you don’t say anything for a few seconds he storms off, taking your sketchbook with him. You yell a helpless ‘No!’ after him. The room swarms around you and you feel like the floor left without you. The air leaves your lungs and you land on your knees. Soft, wary footsteps pad into your room and pair with your light sobs. Leo reaches down and wraps you up in his arms rubbing your back, speaking calming words, soothing you.

You can faintly hear Raph yelling after Mikey but as your own sobs wrack your body you lose all concentration on them and instead melt into Leo. He picks you up, carries you to your bed and lays you down. He hesitates, wanting to ask about what just happened but not wanting to push your already fragile state.

(THERE WILL BE A PART 2 :D )

Tags: @another-tmnt-writer @darkumbreon9