#like he just wanted to draw and do woodworking shit and be loved at the end of the day

[ronansslynch]

no cuz they rlly put jesse pinkman in a HOLE in the GROUND and those n*zi fucks YELLED at him and TORTURED (!!) and ENSLAVED (!!) him after he’d already been through hell and back like ????? the writers were genuinely so sick and twisted for that 😭

[wardenparker]

Alright, I have come out of the woodwork and I will now be A Nuisance. For your microfic celebration, please give me whoever you think will be the funniest with the prompt "I'm not getting you coffee, your order is ridiculous". You are my queen and I would die for you immediately upon request thank you for existing 😘

I know this prompt is very, very old, but let's have some fun with it! Co-written with the lovely and talented @absurdthirst.

Dieter Bravo. 1,173 words. "I'm not getting you coffee, your order is ridiculous." (Warnings: cursing, flirting, mention of drugs)

"There are a couple of things where I draw the line." Just because you had been assigned to be Dieter Bravo's assistant on set for this film did not mean you were going to make yourself a laughing stock for the Oscar winner. You're a professional and you have your dignity, dammit. That's why you're standing in his trailer having this conversation right now.

Dieter narrows his eyes in confusion and looks around. "It's a drink order, right?" He asks. "I didn't ask you to pick up my blow or order a hooker." He pauses, "unless you know some?" He waits for to you huff at him and shakes his head. "Never mind." He pouts. "It's just a coffee. A coffee I need." He groans. "I'm fucking hungover."

"I'm not getting you coffee, your order is ridiculous." Looking down at the sheet of allegedly useful facts about the star, you read off the insane, often contradictory order listed there. "Venti, half-caf, triple-shot, soy, no foam, extra whip, extra hot, upside-down, caramel drizzle, with seven pumps of caramel syrup and seven pumps of mocha syrup, double-blended Frappuccino." You heave a heavy sigh and look back up at him. "It's literally impossible, that order. You know that, right?"

Dieter gives you a skeptical look. "I order it all the time, what do you mean impossible?" He snorts, pushing up off the small sofa that is provided in his trailer and moves over to the trash can. "Where the fuck is it?"

"You can't order an extra-hot Frappuccino. Frappuccinos are frozen." Still, you are obligated to try to help this man, and you purse your lips watching him root around. "What are you looking for?"

"My cup." He looks behind him, shooting you a glare and then pulls out a wet wad of paper towel and tosses it on the floor. "From yesterday. Before the studio sent me a defective assistant."

"It was down to melted ice, so I threw it out." It's flat out annoying to find him hot when he growling at you like a pestered puppy, but facts are facts. "Make this order make sense, and I'll get you one four times a day with no complaint."

"It was on the cuuuuuuup." He whines, throwing out a paper bag that probably held the sushi he had ordered yesterday when he suddenly had a craving and insisted his character loved tuna rolls. "Where is it?"

"I have the order right here." Again, you hold up your clipboard to show him the sheet of neatly organized information about himself that his regular assistant had sent over to the production company. Why she wasn't here, you don't know. "But you can't have a drink that's both frozen and hot, so it makes no sense."

"Can you just order my drink?" He huffs, whirling back around when he reaches the bottom of the can and there isn't that cup in there. You must have thrown it away somewhere else, which irritates him.

"Do you want it hot or frozen?" This absolute nonsense needs to be taken care of right now, otherwise this entire shoot is going to be as ridiculous as this moment.

"I want an extra hot Frappacino." He throws his hands up. "What is so hard about this?" He demands, looking at you like you are a complete idiot. This movie is a piece of shit, so it's fitting they hired the same caliber of people to work on it that they did to write it.

You're starting to actually question whether or not you know anything about Starbucks coffees in the first place or if you've just gone around on this so many times that you're actually starting to go a little mad. "You're getting a frozen drink." You decide, putting a stop to all of this craziness before your head starts to spin.

"Extra hot." Dieter nods, looking almost happy that you have decided to get his drink. He turns back to the table to grab his script. "Now I can learn these shitty lines once I have my coffee." He flips open the page and squints so he can try to read the small font. He needs glasses, but his vanity wouldn't allow that.

Groaning to yourself, you turn on your heel and open the trailer door again, cursing your stupid ass decision to ever become an on set assistant in the first place. "No," you mumble once you're out of earshot. "A Frappuccino is frozen, not hot."

Why do the hot ones always have to be completely off their rockers?

There is a certain routine that Dieter goes through when preparing for a role. He loves to find the character's voice. Repeating the lines in different cadences and tones, throwing his pitch until he feels that it reflects the character's personality. "How do you do it?" He warbles, sounding a little like Christopher Walken as he runs through the lines and huffs as he finds it too pitchy and waves his hand around again. "How do you do it?" He growls slightly, dropping his tone and making his voice more gravelly.

When you come back twenty minutes later from the Starbucks on the lot, it is after a world of conferencing with the very sweet barista who apparently made his convoluted as fuck order yesterday before the other on set assistant refused to work with him anymore. The girl had laughed, told you she steamed the milk for the drink to aerate it before putting everything in the blender, and just shrugged. 'Movie stars' she had intoned like it excused everything at all. "Coffee is here." You announce in your most neutral tone possible, while Dieter is prancing around his trailer talking to himself in as many different voices as he can muster.

"Oh thank God." The script is practically tossed over his shoulder as Dieter rushes forward to take the drink, straw already in it and immediately taking a large sip. Groaning as he swallows several mouthfuls before he sighs. "Perfect." He praises, eyeing you with a new found respect since you had gotten his order right. Coffee was life and now you are the bringer of life to him. Dieter tilts his head, finding it rather sexy when you roll your eyes. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

There needs to be a girl version of the saying 'Never stick your dick in crazy', because for just a split second, you actually consider it. Instead, shaking off the haze, you swallow down the impulse answer and pierce him with your most withering expression. "If you behave yourself, I'll think about it," you bargain, wondering if what you've heard about him being completely submissive is true.

"Amazing." Dieter practically beams at you, his cock twitching in his baggy sweats and he takes another sip of his venti, half-caf, triple-shot, soy, no foam, extra whip, extra hot, upside-down, caramel drizzle, with seven pumps of caramel syrup and seven pumps of mocha syrup, double-blended Frappuccino. "I'll be a good boy." He promises, content with his coffee and now daydreaming of having sex with you.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[spooky-dice]

random specific dndads hcs that are canon To Me (content warning: brief discussion of mental illness)

carol and darryl’s house is very white + millennial griege with dark flooring, open concept minimalism. carol likes interior design pinterest, and darryl can’t stand clutter. they’ve got one of those portrait gallery walls. (stainless steel fridge house)

mercedes and henry’s house is super maximalist with busy, warm coloured patterns and plants and decor on every surface. it gets dusty sometimes but most of their trinkets are gifts from other people or handmade from a craft market so they refuse to get rid of anything. (coloured vintage fridge house)

glenn lives in an apartment, it’s very undecorated bc renting is Like That, and he’s a big believer in buying impulsive treats and luxuries over any investments. big dvd bookcase. intense stereo system setup is the centerpiece of the place. has a bunch of neon signs taken from bars. (white fridge house)

samantha and ron’s place is generally anti-big light. always natural light or little lamps. dark hardwood. periwinkle walls. has a big sliding door to the backyard that’s always open with the screen closed so bugs don’t get in. lots of bookcases and rugs. (black fridge house)

henry and mercedes will keep EVERY drawing or test and put it on the fridge “to celebrate both victories and opportunities for growth!” and teen sparrow gets really private abt his art and shoves it all behind his bed frame so they can’t hang it.

he also doesn’t draw for a year after getting sent to the realms.

lark sneaks out of the house and wanders the neighbourhood/park/gas station at pretty much any chance. takes a lot of buses to random places. henry used to fight with him abt it but eventually just agrees as long as he sends a check-in text after 5 hours. they still fight abt this.

grant has harm ocd. darryl never gets diagnosed with anything but it’s likely he had religious + contamination ocd. they don’t really talk about this.

glenn has the radio or tv on all the time because the silence freaks him out.

mercedes is really passionate abt all types of craftsmanship. she takes up woodworking and upholstery after she retires.

carol had subtly hinted that she wanted one of those fancy hair heat tools for christmas for 3 years straight before caving and buying them herself.

the first time nick smoked he did it alone on their balcony so glenn wouldn’t see if he coughed.

grant and carol go to comic con together. they both pretend they’re doing it to indulge the other person but they both really enjoy it.

terry is a several-hour-long-video essay fan, any topic. sparrow and grant are into those video game lore deep dives so they send each other links.

nicky’s texts are generally incomprehensible. he thinks emojis are unironically funny.

lark has bad taste in music, like folk punk and midwest emo shit. (folk punk fans know it’s bad. don’t complain. im one of you.)

ron does not know geography. like he just doesn’t know any places.

samantha leaves a place for terry sr. at their holiday dinner table. it helps all three of the stamplers feel better.

morgan got tattoos when she was in her early twenties. in the first timeline she got a few more, and in the second she didn’t. she had her tattoos touched up before moving to hell.

the marlowe’s fence has a really busted section where scary used to practice scoring.

link does all those summer library events. he doesn’t like reading he just likes the vibes.

taylor is highly susceptible to tiktok (or whatever the time period equivalent is?) ads. bought one of those electric pots where the guy cooks in his dorm room and never uses it.

normal will rewatch the same movie a million times. he’s also really into those mediocre shows where they run for like 10 seasons even though all the episodes are the same.

rebecca and sparrow are one of those “don’t go to bed angry” couples. it’s not really working but the unspoken agreement is there.

veronica and terry love going out for brunch. scary sleeps til noon. they leave her waffles in the fridge.

scary wants more piercings but veronica says she has to wait til her other ones heal. scary is not very good at taking care of them. her helix is perpetually infected and she keeps toying with her eyebrow bar.

veronica also keeps warning her that black box dye is a bitch to lift. veronica knows this from personal experience.

link has bad posture but worries about it a lot so he’s always correcting himself.

hermie keeps a ranking of his favourite B:TAS/timmverse shows/episodes. he’s also the guy who has to bring up the fact that it’s animated on black paper backgrounds in every conversation about it.

[amchara]

Baby Group - Jessa / Herongraystairs Family ficlet

Tessa, Jem and Kit all take turns taking Mina to the local baby group in Devon. Pure fluff (okay, tiny bit of angst in Tessa's section but it's mostly fluff!)

Tessa paused as she finished buckling Mina into her sling. The building in front of her was unassuming, a low white wood-sided structure, covered by a green roof. There were children’s handprints and rainbow decorations taped to the windows. She could feel Mina’s tiny, reassuring weight in front of her, as her daughter wiggled and let out a couple of happy baaa baa da’s as Tessa jiggled her, trying to weigh up whether she really wanted to go in.

‘Newton Abbey Surestart Centre’ read the colourful sign beside the wide path, leading up to sliding doors.

A couple of other women walked past her, chatting and pushing buggies that looked more like mini-cars, given all the bells and whistles attached. They didn’t pay any attention to her and Mina.

“First time?” A voice came from behind her. Tessa turned and saw a young, red-haired woman, who was smiling at her as she wrestled a chubby baby with similar hair into a smaller buggy.

“Yes,” Tessa said, and remembering her manners, gestured to herself and to a now-quiet Mina, who was taking it all in with wide, dark eyes. “I’m Tessa Carstairs and this is Mina.”

“Gemma Sampson and this is Charlee,” said the other woman cheerfully. “You have the right way of doing it,” she continued, pointing to Tessa’s sling. “I don’t know why I bother with all this baby shit,” she said, rolling her brown eyes and crinkling up her nose, as she pointed to her overflowing baby bag and packed buggy.

“I- uh, I tend to travel light,” Tessa said, but internally she cursed. Should she have brought more? Maybe she should go grab the extra nappy and wipes out of the backseat, just to show she was prepared? Mina was usually happy just observing the world, rather than being occupied by toys and Tessa was still breastfeeding her so they usually travelled with minimal supplies.

But Tessa had not done the baby thing in over a hundred years and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She wondered again, if this had been the best idea- but Jem had suggested if they were settling in at Cirenworth long-term they should probably try to integrate themselves into the community. Especially as they no longer had the monumental task of finding the lost Herondale, and they wanted to encourage Kit to find his own friends. It would be best to take their own advice, Jem had suggested, a small laugh erupting from him as Tessa had asked if he was about to join the local cricket team or the small village choir. “The choir, probably-” Jem had said, winking at her. “But maybe the local woodworking shop too.”

Gemma slid around Tessa with her buggy and gave a friendly nod. “Come on, love- they only let us in for the hour and then they kick us out. You want to get your money’s worth.”

“Isn’t it free?” Tessa muttered under her breath but she followed Gemma in, giving her name and Mina’s to the bored teenager at the door.

“She’s gorgeous,” the health visitor - who Tessa had been told was also a nurse - looked admiringly at Mina. Tessa relaxed fractionally. “Thank you. She takes after her dad,” she said, the smile growing on her face. Mina gurgled curiously and reached out for the rattle that the woman was holding out. She shook it happily.

“Is she your first?” the nurse asked, casually.

Tessa froze. She took a deep breath.

“No. I had two other children. James and Lucie. They… they’re not around,” she said and hated how her voice shook faintly. Normally it didn’t sting this much, the thought of her precious James and bubbly Lucie. But in this homely, warm place with the babble of babies’ voices and happy, smiling parents watching them, it hit her unexpectedly.

Tessa could see the nurse’s eyes sharply assess Tessa, taking in her youthful face but also, Tessa hoped, her smart denim skirt, yellow flowered collared shirt and the image that Tessa wanted her to see. “I see,” she said but noting the look on Tessa’s face she didn’t ask any further questions. She wrote some scribbles down on her pad, smiling politely and told Tessa to enjoy the centre.

As she walked away, Tessa cast a small spell to dislodge the note, which dropped to the floor beside her and Mina. She read: ‘children? x2 possible dec. or child servs?’ and her stomach dropped as she crumpled it in her hand. She followed up and cast a quick memory spell on the woman to also make her forget the last two minutes of their conversation. Maybe this had been a mistake… she thought, and when she looked up again, she could see Gemma had settled beside her and Mina, Charlee shaking a plastic tambourine in Gemma’s arms..

“They’re old busybodies,” Gemma announced, jerking her head at the health visitor. Tessa smiled wryly. The woman was maybe thirty at most.

“But also- you don’t have to engage with them to use the centre,” she said frankly. “It’s not a requirement.” She looked directly at Tessa and her look softened. “I’m sorry about your children though- it must be tough to be a warlock and have to watch them grow old.”

Tessa thought she was good at schooling her face to remain neutral, after so many years but Gemma just let out a small laugh and she let her eyes flash amber briefly. And Tessa relaxed, realising Gemma was a werewolf.

“We have a small group of Downworlders here at baby group,” Gemma said and she pointed to a small group off to the side. “Mostly werewolves, a couple Sighted women and one half-nixie. But we’ve never had a warlock before,” she said, her voice hopeful.

“Sounds delightful,” Tessa said, watching as Gemma’s smile widened. She picked up Mina, following her to the group.

--

“That’s it, clever Mina-mine,” Jem cooed, as Mina peeked her head out from the small, fabric enclosed tube that he had procured from the far corner. She smiled up at him, her cheeks squishing up into tiny peaks as she crawled further out. She rolled onto her back and then began chewing on her hands, tired from all the effort. Jem was so proud of her.

He looked around and was surprised at the large group of women and children that had gathered around him and Mina. It had been nearly empty in the baby area when he and Mina had arrived at the children’s centre, with only a couple other mums and babies around, likely due to the heavy rain they had had that morning, Jem mused.

But more must have showed up as he was playing with Mina and he hadn’t realised. Then Jem blushed and suddenly understood, as they all kept glancing over to him. “C’mon, Mina- we’re hogging the equipment! We need to let the other babies have a turn. Let’s go play with some other toys,” he said, lifting her up into his arms and made to move to another section of the room.

“Oh no- that’s fine,” said one woman, bouncing her baby on her knee, smiling at Jem. “We don’t mind waiting our turn.”

“She can play with these.” Another woman waved a couple of colourful scarves at him.

“Or this.” Jem found a couple of jingly bell-trees thrust into his lap, and the dark-haired woman held out a couple more, smiling at him. “My baby is finished with them.”

“Oh- that’s very kind of you,” Jem said, awkwardly trying to balance them and Mina in his arms.

He caught sight of a familiar figure coming towards them, and he grinned, dropping the toys to the side. He held Mina up so she could see. “It’s Mama!”

Tessa smiled her lovely, radiant smile as she approached them. As if by magic, the other woman and babies melted away as she bent down to give Mina a kiss on her forehead and Jem a quick peck on the lips. “Hello, my two darlings!” she said, settling herself on the floor beside them. “Did you miss me?”

“Always,” Jem said.

--

“We’re full for the session,” the older woman in a rumpled sweater gave Kit a bored look and turned away, to continue to talk to her taller, younger colleague.

Kit blinked. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” the woman said dryly, bending her head down to write in a log.

“Fine,” Kit muttered. Mina babbled and Kit could swear that he could hear the disappointment in her tone. “It’s okay, Min-Min, we’ll do something better than stupid baby group,” he said, hefting her further up on his shoulder and prepared to leave.

But then suddenly she was overbalancing on him and Kit struggled to hold onto her as she surged forward.

“BA BA NA!” she shouted excitedly at the dark-skinned woman with long braids walking past. She paused and turned towards the noise and her smile was infectious as she took in Mina. “Mina Carstairs!”

Ten seconds later, they were through the doors, the older woman scowling as the director of the centre told her to let them in. “Don’t tell anyone but she’s one of my favourite babies,” the director told Kit conspiratorially.

“She’s one of my favourite babies too,” Kit said, stifling a smile. Mina was smiling contentedly, or almost smugly, Kit thought, in the woman’s arms.

“And of course, your parents are also brilliant,” the woman said, handing Mina back to him. “Say hello to them from Sonya.”

“I will,” Kit said, as they headed further into the centre.

He plopped her down on a couple of cushions and stretched out beside her, taking in the scene. Kit idly wondered if his dad had ever taken him to a centre like this when he was young, before immediately scoffing and dismissing the possibility.

It did look like baby heaven, he thought, as Mina started crawling over to a rainbow-coloured arch. He watched the other babies and parents around, noting that he was likely the youngest one there or… actually, maybe not, he thought, as he saw a nervous, thin girl in the corner, playing with one of the chubbiest babies he had ever seen.

“Stay away from that baby, Mins,” he said. “He looks like he eats other babies for breakfast.” He looked down.

“I swear we’ve gone over this - we don’t eat socks,” Kit told her, an exasperated but fond manner. He grabbed a tiny bag out of his pocket and shook it at her. “I have much tastier snacks here.” He watched as Mina took her purple socked-toes out of her mouth and gestured in a familiar way. Kit handed her a couple of tiny baby puffs.

“No snacks on the play floor,” said the same, grumpy monitor as she walked past.

Kit rolled his eyes but put the bag away.

Kit didn’t rise to the bait when five minutes later she told him that he was being too loud with the xylophone.

He gritted his teeth when she snatched away the blocks that he had been planning to get Mina, informing him that it was almost the end of session and she was starting to tidy up.

And during the group singing time at the end of the session, when she told him to stop mumbling the words to the stupid nursery rhymes, Kit decided it had gotten personal.

“Oh, sorry,” Kit gave an angelic smile as he stepped away from the woman. She scowled at him, and turned away to button her coat up, her purse swinging in the air, unzipped.

Kit waited until they were out of the centre before looking down at his spoils. Sweet, he thought. A Cadbury’s Crunchie bar and two Twirls.

He shifted Mina in his arms, to one shoulder and holding the chocolate bar in the other hand, ripped off the wrapper of the Crunchie with his teeth.

“Don’t tell Mom and Dad,” he told Mina, after swallowing several bites.

She smiled placidly and reached for the Crunchie. “Not yet- in a couple of years,” Kit said. But then he reconsidered, and let her have a short gum at the stub. She giggled and burrowed her chocolate-smeared face into his shirt.

And then they got on the bus back to the village, heading back to Cirenworth.

(I don't know who to tag in my Herongraystairs family fics? @dontmindmyshadowhunting @sandersgrey @foxglove-airmid maybe? This is definitely the start of Kit bringing Mina into the pickpocketing life

Let me know if anyone else wants to be added in!

Previous Herongraystairs family fics:

Days Like These (day at the beach)

[innerchorus]

I couldn't stop thinking about my ArSen AUs and OCs and such and I currently have nobody to talk to about them so I've come to bother you about it! I apologize! You can ignore this ask if you wish to!

Kazai actually likes Narsus's art! Daryun disapproves. In the first AU they meet when Kazai and his clan are trying to run away from Pars with an eleven-year-old Arslan in tow— Arslan is Kazai's nephew and Kashi, Kazai's elder sister, was Arslan's birth mother— but in the second AU where Arslan doesn't become a Prince because Andragoras found another unfortunate infant, Kazai and Narsus only meet several months after the whole Ecbatana debacle.

Shapur's fate in the first AU is a bit up in the air since I don't know how to convince him to ditch Pars and accompany Kazai's clan to their long lost homeland and he'd die if he stayed. But in the second AU he lives, thanks to the tools and tricks he picked up from Kazai. (Let's just say… as a mage and a “mercenary” and the general sort who dwells in the shadows Kazai does not fight fair.)

The Marda clan does not believe blood is the end all be all for forming a family. If you want blood offspring, great, you do you, but inspired by their god-who-they-say-is-not-a-god Araya they honor, they have adopted a sort of “finders-keepers” mentality in regards of acquiring a child. They also firmly believe that children are precious and must be treasured, and parents and nurturers are respected in their clan. Which is why they will often “kidnap” a neglected or abused or abandoned child. It is not only Kazai who does it, but also many of the adults of the clan. Kashi took in a young Gieve whose own family died from a disaster— Ayunnen (Kashi's husband and Arslan's father) would have taken Isfan in if Shapur hadn't arrived and passed Ayunnen's “test”.

The Marda pride themselves on being able to create and/or nurture things, and a wedding tradition of theirs is that the marrying couple display what their creations they're proud of, whether it be embroidery or woodwork or crops or art or anything at all. They also plant a tree together as part of the ceremony.

Daryun and Narsus, who became part of the clan in the first timeline, marry some time after arriving at the ancient homeland of the Marda, after their rebuilding has made good progress. Narsus of course displays his ✨Artworks™✨. Daryun is not amused but Kazai is very pleased. After all, Kazai is— in Daryun's very exasperated words— “an enabling piece of turd”. (I still have not decided what Daryun could display though ahahaha…)

In the second timeline, Kazai and Shapur would marry— though only under the Arayan faith and not the Parsian since I'm pretty sure same-gender marriages didn't happen in Pars? Kazai is good at embroidery and painting and calligraphy and spell-array drawing (which could be considered a combination of art and calligraphy and magecraft I suppose), and I headcanon that Shapur might pick up some craft so that he can honor the Mardal tradition but again I have no idea what he'd actually learn, or if he had a crafting hobby from the start. Whoops!

For all that he is a force of chaos who don't give no shits about rules, for all that he can be seen as dishonorable or even cowardly due to his admittedly underhanded methods, Kazai is defined by the people he protects and loves. He is willing to compromise his morals and principles if it means the remnants of his clan can survive and be safe. Honor is for the strong. The weak simply survive.

Shapur and Kazai in the second timeline had a rough start, what with Kazai having zero trust in Shapur and Shapur feeling baffled and irritated in general bc Kazai is Like That™, but they come to make things work out between them (smol Arslan helped with that, but that's a topic for another time). Shapur has thought, on more than one occasion, that courting Shapur is like trying to tame a starving and injured feral cat who doesn't trust humans.

That's all for now! I apologize for dumping this in your askbox, but I really didn't have anyone I could dump this all on and I'm too shy to just directly make posts about it since I don't have actual fic and artwork to display for it (except an unfinished fic I had deemed unsatisfactory and is in the process of being rewritten)… I hope you have a fantastic day!

Ahh I'm really late to respond to his message but I have to share it here because this is some go౦ԁ sHit👌 and you should be proud of your worldbuilding! ...also I'm just sat here happily daydreaming about Shapur being married.

[woahajimes]

 i just think that even with powers, the team of young justice in the same high school is such a wonderful concept because they’re teens and they most definitely have the potential and right now i can’t place many words together but like.. i MUST elaborate on most aspects of these little shits being high school freshmen/sophomores.

Bart literally writes everything with just a pencil and then you have Kon who just likes to write in blue/red/black pens, tim is a mix of blue/pencil/ocassional-marker -he-steals-from-cissie, Cassie writes with like.... purple and blue pens,,, Greta just has a black pen but her notes are literal heaven because she steals everything from cissie and cissie is 1000% the sorta bitch that has her markers categorized by color but then bart borrows them and mizes up the caps and also cissie has gel pens and her handwriting is pretty af so like everyone copies of of her

As unlikely as it sounds, Bart does NOT cheat at tests, because then max would like... give him SO many lectures and it’s SUCH  pain in the ass so he just doesn’t (this does not limit chaos). Cassie doesn’t cheat because nO but then Cissie and Kon???? they’re buddies in that sorta thing and you know EXACTLY what i mean when i say that Kon has written answers in the skin that shows from his ripped jeans (the ones that he always gets in trouble for wearing, because as much as the school protocole just says ‘jeans’, they do NOT mean ripped jeans that have paint on them), and Cissie on her thighs and under the uniform socks, and they do the whole bandaid trick, and they even have their own weird sign language that takes WAAAAY too long to like even send the word ‘wassup’ because it goes letter by letter but its subtle so it works

fucking HOME EC is kon’s favourite subject and you’d think that kon would be in like... woodworking because most guys are in woodworking but NO kon went in home ec because ‘the chicks are there’ but NOOOO KON JUST LIKES BAKING AND HE GOT SHAMED ONCE FOR NOT KNOWING TO SEW A BUTTON ON HIS SHIRT SO NOW HE WANTS TO LEARN and guess what he absolutely LOVES it and he’s in with greta because cissie is with cassie and tim in woodworking, and besides, they don’t even have the same classes

they always make like cookies and kon hates it because he can’t eat his mf cookies in peace because he has home ec right after the lunch hour and while cassie does like to go out of class bart and cissie just eat all the cookies and leave kon to split with tim 

FUCKING VOLLEYBALL TEAM BITCH but also literally all sports the school has to offer because Kon LOVES his jock reputation (that also bakes cookies and is kicking ass at home ec) and tim desperately needs to deal off anger with sports because the big bad wolf drake demands he also gets involved

Cissie quit the cheerleading team like the first month but greta loved it, and cassie just hates it SO much but he likes watching practices because girls (oh and greta gets really excited all the time and they love it) 

,,,volleyball yj,,, is something i MUST HAVE OKAY PLEASE DON’T TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME I JUST SAW THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF ART SO I MUST ELABORATE OKAY also volleyball’s the only sport i semi-know how to play so like bear with me but i havent played in like a year so shut up (here’s the link)

KON JUST DOESN’T KNOW A LIFE IN WHICH HE DOESN’T SPIKE THAT BOY LITERALLY WILL SPIKE ANYTHING YOU THROW AT HIM OKAY i don’t make the rules (but you know who does? cassie. cassie makes the rules because she’s scary and the rules include no fucking powers on the court--unless they’re losing then kon can use his tAcTiLe TeLeKiNeSiS)

CASSIE IS MIDDLE BLOCKER because shes TALL and also she gets front view of the opposing teams and like. girls. AND ALSO YOU NEED CORE STRENGTH FOR BLOCKING AND LIKE cassie is close to having more abs than kon i swear im not making this up

TIM SETS BECAUSE he’s the only one that can mantain that boring position also he’s good at it (also he wears fingerless gloves because iT hElPs hIm but really he want to look badass

BART IS LIBERO ALL THE WAY THROUGH OKAY BOY LOVES DIVING AND also he can heal quicker from like hits in the face (he has his kneepads that he wears EVERYWHERE and he even has a headband for his hair and his arm thingies and everything and his jersey is just written with signatures because everyone loves him

CISSIE IS ALSO LIBERO OKAY SHE LOOOVES VOLLEYBALL and she can DIVE and sometimes she forgets to bring up her kneepads so you KNOW that her knees are broken but she doesnt care (she also switches with server and her serves are literally like from fucking hell its beautiful

greta doesn’t play she refuses to play and everyone respects that but she also has like the bags with water-bottles and the jersey ones 

EDIT: FUCKING DUMBASSES HERE GOT THEIR UNIFORMS MIXED UP AND TIM IS LIKE ONE SIZE SMALLER THAN KON AND CASSIE AND CISSIE AND BART ARE THE SAME (and tim but like bear with me) AND THEN ONE DAY THEY GOT THEIR UNIFORMS MIZED UP AND THERE WAS KON WITH MINISHORTS and dumbass didn’t notice but like everyone else sure did 

BECAUSE they’re in the same team they just... share a locker that wasn’t used, with a little dollarama (dollar tree? idk but the dollar store) lock and then bam that’s the team locker (team as in them not the volleyball team) and there they keep like... bags of chips and chocolate bars with like... gym clothes and sneakers (which if you ask me is a horrible idea to like... place around 12 stinky shoes with granola bars and snacks and gym clothes but like hey dont ask me its them)

AND I READ THIS ARTICLE BUT I ALSO SAW A POST ON INSTAGRAM ABOUT THIS GIRL, Erin DiMeglio, WHO PLAYS FOOTBALL AND IS THE ONLY GIRL ON THE TEAM AND ALSO HER GIRLFRIEND IS A CHEERLEADER SO LIKE.,,,,, TELL ME THAT YOU DON’T IMAGINE CISSIECASSIE (or plain old cissie and cassie if you dont feel like shipping them) but like... cissie quit the team... and she doesn’t want to go back... and cassie’s like wow okay i see you AND ALSO TIM IS ON THE FOOTBALL TEAM and kon doesn’t wanna join (tbh he’s more of a football dood yk?) and bart called cissie a chicken and went cheerleader for cassie himself (skirt and everything, max was proud) so like cassie has her own team of cheerleaders and then tim is just :/// (here’s the article go read it)

my brain is crying at me to stop but i want to KEEP GOING so PLEASE add more and if you guys wanna like draw 👀👀👀👀 PLEASE TAG ME OKAY THE YOUNG JUSTICE CREW IN THEIR LITTLE OWN SAME HIGH SCHOOL IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME 

[ratsoh-writes]

my first matchup, i hope its alright:

personality: very shy and anxious at first, but really loyal once i feel safe with you. im autostic and have to fight with ptsd and other health problems, so i dont habe a lot of energy to do things, so i need someone whos patient with me and my problems. despite that i try every day to live in the best possible way. i have a really strong bond with my sister bc of the shit we had to go through, nothing can get between us, so she will be part of the package. im patient with people i care about andy sister keeps on telling me im kind. i can only be touched, when im feeling safe with you, otherwise it will hurt really badly. also tumble a lot, not only with words but also with my cordination too, which can make for funny memories.

hobbies: i love learning no matter what and i like to listen to people talk about their interests. most of the time i get interested in it too and we can share it. im also very creative which spans from drawing to painting to knitting, and i would like to try other creative stuff like resin pouring or woodworking.

pet peeves: gaslighting and manipulation, not keeping my boundaries. it can happen once or twice, but if i tell you to knock it off and you still do it, it becomes a dealbreacker for me. other dealbreackers are not getting along with my sister, i will die for her so you better treat her right and not being accountable for your actions and blaming it on others. shit can happen, but take reaponsibility for it.

values: i value people who want to connect on a deep level. this means a realtionship with me takes a lot of work, but im willing to put the same amount of effort Into it. communication and cooperation is must, otherwise it wont work. also im a very slow burn kind of girl, i need time till i feel safe with you before i catch feelings. like fall in love with your best friend would be ideal. since i have a lot of anxiety and panic.

Physical: im between 5'6 and 5'7, chubby with no hair. but i have colorfull wigs, which my partner can also use ;)

Hmmm a tricky one but I think you’ll like him….

Let’s match you with…

Peaches!! (Farmtale sans)

What attracts peaches to you is how much you value family. He’s always wanted a large family and will welcome anyone in. Your sister included! He’s a very patient and gentle soul so it’s rare he doesn’t get along with someone.

Peaches loves a hard worker. That includes any type of work, not just farm work. You could have a physically light job but as long as you put your all into it, peaches admires your efforts.

Peaches is a pretty creative guy himself. He does photography and takes lots of pictures of the animals and wildflowers around the farm. He’ll probably sneak a few of you if you ever join him. He can’t help it. You look so pretty under the tree by the creek

Peaches is a slow burn guy as well. He’s got a shy side that’s well hidden behind his chill front. So he really appreciates you wanting to take things slow

[crossdressingdeath]

one fandom pet peeve of mine is when ppl bring up jc whenever anyone writes an interaction between jfm and wwx. god just because jfm and wwx are having a nice interaction in a fic does not automatically mean that jfm hates jc. fanon has warped these relationships so much that any positive emotion jfm shows for wwx is taken as evidence of his favoritism even when the author is not writing them this way. i was so neutral toward jc when i entered this fandom a year ago, he was not my favorite but i didn’t hate him either and i could grow to like him in fics but now i seriously am starting to hate him. almost everything surrounding how the fandom treats him is starting to become pet peeves for me

Honestly, that’s the thing! I genuinely would not give a shit about JC if it was possible to ignore him in the fandom! But you so much as mention someone related to him in a fic or a post or a drawing and it’s all “Oh, JC, let’s talk about JC!” No! No I don’t want to talk about how great JC is! Fuck off! Like, not to bring up my own fic again, but the fact that I got comments about how “Oh WWX and JZX just need to understand poor JC” on a chapter where JC is accusing them of incest is the perfect example of this thing where you just cannot get away from people expecting you to be super into JC, it is genuinely ridiculous. And yeah, you so much as mention JFM saying good morning to WWX and you get people crawling up out of the woodwork to talk about how sad it is that JFM likes WWX soooooooooo much better. I may be exaggerating, but not by much. It’s just... this thing where you can all but outright say “Yeah I hate JC with every fibre of my being” and as long as you don’t cross the line into actually saying that with words people will still expect you to be planning to make him a main character who everyone loves? I hate it. It’s bad. Let’s not do that.

[in-tua-deep]

tua s1 rewatch with my roommate

episode one (I forgot for the first episode oops):

I have been treated to pictures of a lovely cosplay of Klaus who won a cosplay contest my roommate was in !!

Klaus putting his arm in front of Five during the funeral fight is good shit

“I have heard like nothing about Vanya” “yeah that’s pretty much how she’s treated in show as well”

“I can see why he’s the fandom favorite” - about Klaus

“Istanbul is in the firST EPISODE?”

I forGOT about the “rapists can climb” line when he breaks into Vanya’s apartment omg but also like,, his dumb arm wound

Episode two:

HERR CARLSON

Aww baby fives first time travel his little smile. Baby. Baby boy. And the dawning horror in the apocalypse baby nO

Five: you got anything stronger

Also five: takes one sip and then fills up more, takes another sip, and then immediately puts it down ?????

The motel dude for hazel and cha cha just looks at them like “yeah these are serial killers” and just rolls with it

Also actually why tf doesn’t the commission spring for better stuff?? Why would they cut costs?? They time travel? They could game the stock market so hard ?????? Give the assassins their own rooms omg

Also why didn’t five like. Crush his tracker. Why did he just leave it whole and intact outside of the Griddys.

Forgot how much I love Agnes

(Oh man it is storming bad here it just BOOMED)

Also idk if Diego actually deserved that taser hmmmmm but also like,, communication lads five was literally right there killing people and Diego is like “hmm something is up here” like. Yeah Diego ur big brother “I can get my sibling in trouble for something” senses are tingling

Wow I really did repress all these Allison and Luther scenes huh. Also it’s still super cute that Allison read Claire moon books

Allison: dads heart gave out, which wasn’t how I was expecting to find out dad had a heart but it tracks

“SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE BEN... said with love 😘”

Did five actually sleep at Vanyas?? The sofa looks undisturbed but he had to wait for work hours to interrogate the meritech people,, five,, please sleep. The whole “IF YOU CALL ME YOUNG MAN ONE MORE TIME” interaction makes more sense with five on. Zero sleep.

I didn’t remember that Patch straight up knows about the umbrella academy oops. Like she clocks Diego as overcompensating for his childhood. Queen

Is that an umbrella adademy Diego cross stitch on Diego’s wall?? Did he buy that? Make it?? Did grace make it?

Vanya, walking into the academy: five??? five? pspspspspsps

Also like. Who was Vanyas therapist??? Clearly they did not help her

Aww the tow truck driver :(

I know the show wants me to dislike Patrick I KNOW,, and I think her fathers funeral is extenuating circumstance?? But still Patrick is valid for not giving an inch regarding his ex who mind controlled his child. Vanya didn’t really deserve Allison snapping at her but like. She had some good points. Allison arguably would have had to deal with vanyas book more than anyone else

Five smiling proudly at Klaus’s drama at meritech bless but also KLAUS DONT BREAK GLASS ON YOURSELF

Me, spotting Leonard: BASTARD

Love how everyone greets Diego in the gym and don’t question all his knives or anything like “yeah that’s Diego he lives here and loves knives :)”

Why could Leonard have not been like. A normal ass guy. Vanya needs friends who sympathize with her holy shit get this person some socialization

Pogo really did have to lead these kids by hand to the recording rooms because literally no one was super invested in reginalds ~murder mystery~

ahafahJAGSJWGAI MY ROOMMATE JUST SAID POGO IS THE BEST CHARACTER SO FAR,,,, I will probably never include pogo in my fics because I do Not Care About Him lmaoooo

Aww five does to see Dolores and being like “it’s been a rough couple of days :(“,,,,, baby,,,, but also tag yourself I’m hazel going “elastic wrist splint yesssssss”

Five I am begging you PLEASE get some sleep

OH FIVE SHAKING DIEGO IN THE APOCALYPSE TO TRY AND WAKE HIM UP OHHHHH OH :(

Episode 3:

my roommate is super faceblind which is an issue bc she identifies people mainly by hairstyle so seeing the s2 stuff on tumblr is tripping her over bc she keeps seeing diego and going ??? who is that again? bc she’s seen his longer hair

okay there is no way that the eggs that grace put in that pan are the ones that ended up on the smiley face breakfast plate,,, but also grace that whole scene was a mood honestly i would be like “okay maybe mom killed dad BUT he deserved it sooooo”

“what the FUCK” - my roommate about cha-cha’s shitty wound care where she holds a curling iron against her arm

i didn’t remember that five got shOT AT THE DEPARTMENT STORE did i just erase that from my memory?? i mean yeah it’s a graze but he stitches it up and then slaps a bandaid on it so he has a wound that needed stitches on his shoulder for the entire show ??????? is he okay???? that would make moving your arm,,, painful,,,,,

a bandaid just slapped over it i’m actively yelling

“Sometimes when I see a million gifs of a show before I watch I get really surprised when they talk but he is exactly what I expected” - my roommate, about five

“I noticed they’ve only really showed diego in really badly lit scenes so far” - my roommate defending her lack of ability to recognize diego

i’m still laughing about pogo literally having to point out the murder tapes and now allison and luther are investigating and just. allison is lowkey defending grace and i’m laughing

“why is he saying woodwork is embarrassing that’s like one of the most middle of the wood hobbies to have. you’re respectable to grandpas who used to carve wooden ducks AND twenty-year-olds who can’t make anything to save their lives” - my roommate on leonard peabody

“i think he’s already crossing some lines he’s met this lady ONCE” - roommate on leonard/vanya

five having flashbacks in the car :(

did allison and luther draw straws for who went to fetch which sibling?? allison was like “dibs on vanya” and luther was just like “aww :(”

five luther and klaus in the van - BOYS NIGHT BOYS NIGHT let’s go pick up diego

“the coat he’s wearing does have a nice swish to it” - roommate about klaus’s coat

luther being like “you’re just as messed up as the rest of us and we’re all you have” like luther,,, baby,,,,, you literally ARE all he has,,,,,, his family is the only thing he’s really cared about since he was thirteen and maybe before then :(

“I can’t tell if those are supposed to be cake or yeast donuts... i think extruded donuts are cake donuts but she said she lets them rise so maybe they’re yeast?” - my roommate focusing on all the things that i do not

sometimes i forget that hazel and cha-cha pretended to be private detectives trying to find a lost child in a potentially dangerous situation,,, five would be disgusted

“she shouldn’t get a vote” “i was gonna say i agree with you” “she should get a vote!!” this is peak sibling energy honestly i think i’ve had that exact interaction with my siblings voting for a movie or something

“hashtag android rights” 

“I want to be the tailor who gets a call one day that says ‘i want you to make clothes for a chimpanzee”

is it telling that only luther in the flashback didn’t really talk to grace at all,, i mean five didn’t either but i think he was gone by that point in the flashback ???? 

wait diego tells grace that she worked for him for thirty years,,, the kids are 29 and later it’s implied she was built bc vanya kept killing nannies when they were like four but maybe s2 clarifies that some more?? or diego just is rounding up

“that’s an interesting fabric to her skirt” - my roommate about grace’s outfit

forgot that hazel and cha cha broke the door to the manor busting in,, do they ever fix that?? we’re only at episode three do they spend the rest of the season with their door open to anyone on the streets

okay that bathtub is WAY too small to allow for klaus to be moving his elbows about like that underwater smh

“how is HE useful on mission??” my roommate about klaus

where is the SECURITY SYSTEM??? luther LITERALLY said that reggie was more paranoid and yet some assassin can just bust down the door and have unrestricted access????? he built a whole ROBOT but no security system????????

“maybe it was like,, practice for the kids? someone breaks in and they take care of it? wait no that doesn’t explain the thirteen years they’ve been gone?”

“why WAS he on the moon?” - about luther

“I want to see what she’s embroidering!!” about grace during the gunfight in the living room she’s absolutely ignoring diego getting shot at

what is a rope-a-dope,,,, diego yells “EVER HEARD OF A ROPE-A-DOPE???” at luther but like. no i haven’t. what does that MEAN diego

aww i forgot they played sinnerman, love that song

“what are you doing dude, rumor has it you’re not shooting at me that’s all you need to do” i mean. the roommate is not wrong. allison could just end the fight with a yell. i understand she’s pissed off and has rumor trauma but like cha cha is actively trying to murder them

how is luther not winning he literally has super strength. does hazel have super strength? just punch the man and knock him out jesus y’all suck at this smh

why is there such intense music we all been knew about luther’s strength - oH HIS BODY

forgot about that

is it allison’s fault that klaus got kidnapped because she didn’t literally just rumor them to give up?? like she literally has that power. she could have been like “i heard a rumor you left and forgot about us” it didn’t even need to be violent?? i understand she has rumor trauma but this i feel is allowable circumstances

diego showing his worry about vanya by getting angry which honestly i think all the siblings do that rip none of these idiots have even heard of healthy communication in their LIVES

you know,, i don’t think vanya can drive. she takes the bus. she took a taxi to leonard’s house. we see her walking a lot. does she know how to drive?? i imagine that the umbrella academy were taught bc of mission related stuff but,,, vanya wasn’t?? that’s just depressing tbh

[welllpthisishappening]

On This Night and in This Light (3/3)

Emma Swan knows she’s pretty good at what she does.

Helping the magically afflicted and affected find jobs in this realm isn’t the most glamorous thing in the world, and, sure, there’s a lot of paperwork, but she figures she’s helping people and that’s the important thing. It’s structured. Calm, even.

Until. It’s always until.

Killian Jones shows up with his stupid smirk and his tendency to lean against the door frame in Emma’s office and his distinct lack of magic. Or knowledge of what they’re really doing at Mills Personnel. Everything kind of goes off the rails after that.

—-

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 6.5K of magic and eventual happily ever after

AN: There’s some magic here. Some kissing. Some curses. And happily ever after, of course. Thanks for reading along with this little distraction from the legitimate stress of the real world. You guys are all an absolute delight.  

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the top

—-

“Are you good?” Tilting her head up to meet Killian’s vaguely crinkled forehead and passably confused expression, Emma almost regrets the question she didn’t plan on asking. That’s the problem with him. And them, at least in the abstract sense. 

Words tumble out of her without much thought to their meaning or collective, if not slightly metaphorical, weight. Defenses she’s spent a lifetime cultivating feel as if they’ve crumbled at her feet, which is impressive since she’s laying down, but the metaphor still checks out and Emma keeps asking questions. 

Without being wholly afraid of the answers she’ll get. 

“Be more specific,” Killian murmurs, and her heart does something stupid. Skips a beat. Sparks her magic. Threatens to leave her glowing in the tangle of sheets she’s absolutely stolen in the middle of the night. 

“Just—I mean with everything.” Nosing at her cheek, Emma can practically hear Killian’s smile. “‘Fraid that’s not any more specific, my love. But if we’re going to speak in the abstract before coffee—” “—Oh, we should make coffee.” He kisses her cheek, that time. “Then I am exceptionally good.” “Pretty vast adverb.”

“Well, you asked a very broad question. But I stand by my answer, particularly when you’re not wearing any clothing. Why, am I giving off not-good vibes?” “Maybe lame ones if you keep using the word vibe in actual conversation. I just—I don’t know, wanted to make sure, I guess. Working for Mills isn’t exactly the height of luxury and it can be a weird place, and I...we never really looked at apartments for you, because we can do that if you want to, but—” Stumbling over the words, Emma wishes her hands were free. She’d like to wave them around. Use them as a distraction to whatever has settled on her face and in the pit of her stomach, and this wasn’t really the plan. Granted, the plan occurred while she was overly exhausted and reeling a bit from rather large emotional realizations, but telling him the truth about absolutely everything is suddenly a bit more daunting in the light of day. 

And they haven’t even had coffee yet. 

Killian’s hand moves. Faster than Emma’s entirely ready for, his fingers brush a strand of wayward hair away from her eyes and then he’s kissing the bridge of her nose and pulling her against his chest and—

“This was not my plan. In some great expectation for my life, I’m not sure I could have ever imagined this is what it’d be like. But,” Killian adds, as soon as Emma’s magic shifts into something far closer to dread, “if all of this ended with your freakishly cold feet waking me up every morning, then I can’t be very upset about it.”

Swooning pre-coffee can’t be advisable. Emma’s heart doesn’t care. It flips and flops and does that possible explosion thing again, and she’s a little concerned the force of her smile will have adverse effects on the paint in her bedroom. 

“You don’t think Mills is weird?” “Do you?” Emma shakes her head. “Nah, no questions for questions. This is—” “—An inquiry?” Her shoulders slump. Under the blankets, and she’s really got a shit ton of blankets. “I don’t know, Swan. Mills is...a place, a job. One where you work, and that’s mostly why I’m interested in continuing to work there. Should I not be thinking that?” The last few words come with a bit of understandable concern and maybe a hint of frustration, and she should have said something earlier. 

It’s very frustrating to realize how much smarter the part-time cricket is than Emma.

She hopes he’s enjoying his job, too. 

“My feet aren’t really that cold.”

Killian scoffs. “I promise, they are like little ice cubes attached to your legs.” “Lucky you’re here to provide external heat, then.” 

Burrowing her face closer to the crook of his neck, Emma gives herself a moment to relish in that warmth, like he’s some sort of personal sun or a battery or another bit of science she doesn’t understand and David always likes to say that science is just explained magic. Emma wonders if it works the other way, too. 

Magic is something that simply hasn’t been explained yet. No rational reasoning, or anything except the kind of gut feeling that can change everything. 

“I am,” Killian says, and it probably isn’t meant to sound like a promise. “Are you good?” Dots of light appear behind Emma’s eyelids every time she blinks, trying to come up with an answer that won’t send him running and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he runs. Energy prickles at the tips of her fingers, curling around either one of her wrists and lingering in the slight bend of her left elbow because at some point her left palm has flattened itself against Killian’s stomach. “Mills can be kind of weird,” Emma mutters, trying to pick her words more carefully now. “And that’s...there’s a reason for that, and a reason I started working there and—” A phone starts vibrating. 

Loudly enough that it also immediately falls from the nightstand it was charging on, and keeps buzzing around on the floor. Killian sighs. 

“Hold that thought.”

Emma wishes she could. But her hands are already back underneath the blankets, and she’s all too aware of how bright they’ve gone in the last few seconds and the state of Killian’s shoulders make it obvious he’s not all that pleased with whatever he’s being told. “Yeah, yeah, I can—I mean, it’s like twenty blocks the wrong way, but—God, yes, Scarlet. I can come back for a few minutes.”

He doesn’t bother to plug the phone back in, and for like a solid half second Emma gets distracted by the lack of clothes before her eyes fly up and Killian’s sighing again and the weight in the pit of her stomach grows. 

“Coffee later?” Emma blinks. “Sure. Is everything ok?” “No idea, just that Scarlet said he had to talk to me and it couldn’t wait and—” Killian shrugs, fingers finding the back of his neck. “I probably won’t be that late, but if Regina asks—” “—I’ll tell her.” Something tugs at the back of her mind, a warning Emma can’t place, but she can sense a lie with almost startling accuracy and she knows Killian isn’t lying to her. She just can’t figure out why Will would lie to him. 

Halloween’s not her favorite day. 

People assume all magical and mythical creatures thrive on this one day of the year, but more often than not Emma finds that it’s just another busy day when those same magical and mythical creatures come out of the metaphorical woodwork in droves to get jobs. And sure, some of the rumors are true. There are certain times when the fabric between realms can be a bit more flimsy than usual. Both midnights, for example. Eleven-eleven’s another big one. So, teenage girls had that one right, at least. 

And yeah, ok, Halloween also means Regina bakes half a dozen apple pies for the whole office, but when the whole office is already overrun by inquiring applicants, Emma can’t find it in herself to be very excited for a dessert she only kind of likes. 

She’d never admit that to Regina. 

Self-preservation instincts, and all that. 

Plus, days like this are always cold. Fraught with that certain nip in the air, and leaves that crunch under Emma’s boots. Only to also get stuck to the bottom of Emma’s boots, and she has to twist her wrist to get rid of her leaf-based trail on her way to her paperwork-covered desk. 

The same one David’s leaning against. 

“You tell him yet?”

She missed one leaf. Figures. Emma never even went trick-or-treating as a kid. Halloween’s a sham. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” “Sure you don’t. It’s dumb that you haven’t yet.” “Voice your opinion a little louder, please.” “Nothing is going to happen,” David says, but Emma barely hears over the sound of sudden and complete disagreement that scratches its way from the depths of her soul. Maybe Halloween makes her a little maudlin, actually. She can’t believe she didn’t get to tell him. “It hasn’t yet.” “Why are you jinxing things like that?” “There is no such thing as jinx, and c’mon, if you guys can get through today with a hundred magically unemployed people, then sky’s the limit.” “Not even clever.” David shakes his head. “You’re impressed and swayed, I know it. Plus it’s not like you’re a bad witch or anything.” “I’m sorry, a bad witch?” “Yeah, you know. None of your intentions, even when lying to the guy you’re stupid into—” “—Opinions keep coming fast and furious, don’t they?” “Because he’s right,” Ruby calls, twisting around desks to involve herself in a conversation Emma doesn’t want to participate in anymore. “You really didn’t tell him yet? That’s nuts. And you’re a good person, Em. With a very good looking face. Who wouldn’t want to make out with that? Ad nauseum.” “I’m going to be honest, using a word that sounds like nauseous isn’t helping your case much,” Emma says. “And I’m going to tell him. I am, just—things got crazy this morning.” Ruby howls. With laughter. Drawing more than a few curious stares, and rather pointed glare from Regina’s direction. David pales noticeably. “Did they?” Ruby presses. “How crazy are we talking and was it also vaguely acrobatic, because I feel like Jones could move if he had to, but that’s strictly theorizing on my part, so—” Sentences without end are quickly becoming Emma’s least favorite thing. Only slightly edging out ringing phones. The one on her desk lights up, which doesn’t happen very often, but she can’t imagine the light is supposed to be green. 

David’s talking. She’s dimly aware of it — the soft hum that sounds more like Charlie Brown’s teacher than any of the human characteristics Emma is certain they both have, and that’s another quasi-Halloween reference. Rocks appear to have landed rather forcefully in her stomach, and that’s what she gets for optimism. 

“Swan,” Killian breathes, as soon as she pulls the phone to her ear. “Swan, Emma listen to me, you can’t—” Seriously, the lack of sentence structure is becoming intolerable. Killian grunts, the sound turning into a gasp almost immediately and a few shouted no, no, no leave them alone and Emma doesn’t remember standing. 

Only that she’s knocked her chair over in the process. 

“Is this Ms. Swan?” a new voice Emma almost recognizes asks. “Because it seems I’ve got something of yours, while you have something I’m particularly interested in. Let’s make a little exchange, shall we?”

It’s disappointing that her mouth goes dry. Emma assumes that’s because she’s all but panting, bent awkwardly over her desk while her eyes scan the room for something or someone and—it clicks. The voice. 

“Zelena. This is Zelena, isn't it?” Both David and Ruby make matching noises of disbelief, but the buzzing is back and Regina is moving and the line’s gone dead anyway. “She’s not supposed to be here,” Regina says with enough calm that it grates on every single one of Emma’s already-fraying nerves, “magical control sent her back to Oz.” Emma can’t cope with this. Any of it. All she wanted was to drink coffee with her decidedly human and very normal, if not ridiculously attractive boyfriend and they’ve never actually used relationship qualifiers. 

That’s disappointing. 

“Right, right, yeah, ok, of course” Emma mumbles, and she doesn’t bother to fix her chair. “Happy fucking Halloween, I guess.”

It takes her all of five minutes and one person dressed in costume to realize that running is absolutely and completely pointless. 

Emma’s a goddamn witch.

And it’s raining. 

Drops slide down her temples, drip down the back of her neck and work under her jacket because she never even got the chance to take her jacket off. Which is something of an exceptionally small miracle now, but she’s already cold and she’s always so fucking cold and—

He called her Emma. 

He called her—

“My love,” she whispers, entirely to herself and that part isn’t really true. Shadows hover just outside the edge of her vision, what Emma knows are her friends waiting for instructions or a plan, and she’s got to come up with a plan and she doesn’t know where Belle and Will live. 

She doesn’t have to. 

Reaching her hand back, Emma’s fingers lace through Regina’s, and her soft instruction of “all instinctual,” doesn’t get lost in the hum of the city or the bustle of a holiday that requires masks and chocolate-based gluttony. It takes root. In Emma’s mind, and those same pieces of her soul, finds the tiny bits of space between her stomach rocks and spreads out from there. 

Warming her from the inside out. 

She closes her eyes. 

“What the fucking fuck?” Will shouts, Emma’s feet slamming into hardwood floor that was probably highlighted in this apartment listing. Eyes bugging, he’s plastered to the wall opposite her, and Emma’s pleasantly surprised to find he’s not gagged, but she also kind of figures it’s because Belle is and there’s something inherently villainous about allowing the love interest to make noise while their partner is being tortured. 

By a woman wearing a pointed witch’s hat. “Kind of cliché, isn’t it?” Ruby muses, and Emma’s not surprised they’ve started their rescue mission with sarcasm. She also can’t respond. Her eyes are too busy trying to take in the scene. 

Stacks of books litter the floor, half the living room furniture on its side as if it’s been knocked over in a fit of inevitably-magical rage, and Belle doesn’t look as scared as annoyed that she’s been bound in one of the few upright chairs. Emma’s heart stutters. Catching her breath is impossible, head on a swivel as she tries to find—

“Killian,” she exhales, and he’s not gagged either. No visible restraints keep him a few feet away from Will, but Emma can feel the magic rippling off him and it smells strongly of bitter lemons. Or expired key lime pie. 

Neither of those things are inherently Halloween, or all that magical. But then Zelena’s turning slowly and the green splotches on her face ensure any attempts at passably funny metaphors or desperate attempts to maintain her sense of reality disappear. 

“Huh,” David says, “that’s new, actually. We ever see anyone change color before?”

Regina clicks her tongue. “She’s not changing color. She’s giving in.” “To what, exactly?” “Jealousy. Isn’t that right, Zelena? Been the crux of the problem forever, hasn’t it?”

Emma’s head is spinning. She’s not moving. “Wait, wait, what the fuck is going on?” One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up, amusement in his gaze and that can’t possibly be right. “You are stuck to the wall, idiot!’ “Oh, Swan, you do know how to flatter a man.” “What is happening?” He can’t shrug, but Emma knows he tries and that should not be as charming as it is. Mary Margaret squeezes her hand. The one that’s almost neon. “Turns out Scarlet didn’t actually want to talk to me this morning. We definitely could have had coffee.” “Is that a euphemism for—” Ruby starts, only to snap her jaw closed when Regina gapes at her. Emma’s starting to lose feeling in her fingers. 

And she sees the exact moment any sense of teasing and entirely false bravado leaves Killian. Lips going thin, his shoulders still don’t move, but Emma swears his fear reverberates through her and that’s not the emotion she was interested in sharing that morning. “You’ve got to get out of here, love. Now, it’s—” Zelena’s hand moves so quickly, it’s not much more than a passably-green blur. Nothing else comes out of Killian’s mouth. His jaw moves, working against a shield none of them can see, and Emma’s stomach is somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. 

Even with all those rocks. 

“How did you get back here?” Regina asks, stepping towards the front of their ragtag group. Fire bursts from her hands, flames that flicker up her forearms and draw another grunt out of Will. Whether it’s surprise or just the generic sound of being impressed, Emma’s not sure. 

Bits of green cling to the end of Zelena’s mouth when she smiles. “Shall I start at the beginning, then?” “God yes, please,” Emma sighs. 

Zelena doesn’t take her hat off. Really, she’s almost making it work for her. As far as costumes go, this one’s kind of basic, but there’s no cape or a broomstick and Emma’s never met a witch who was interested in flying a broom anywhere. 

“Wanted to stay conspicuous, you understand,” Zelena says, “Draw too much attention to myself and—ah, well, that’s not what’s important now.” “What?” “Why you, Emma Swan. Obviously.” “This isn’t the beginning,” David mumbles, and both Emma and Regina shift before Zelena can so much as lift her chin. One of the windows on a different wall flies open, half a dozen pigeons descending on the living room and nipping at the ends of Zelena’s hair. They pull on the sides of her dress and peck at the green spots that are growing on her cheeks. 

Whistling, Mary Margaret jerks her head and the pigeons fly away, looking a little like an avian synchronized swimming team. “Leave him alone.”

“Shit,” Ruby says, “that was impressive and aggressive. Ignore the rhyme.”

Emma tilts her head. “Slant rhyme, right? Can’t rhyme matching sounds.” Someone makes a noise — it comes from the general direction of Killian and Will, but it can’t be Killian and Emma wants it to be him anyway. Zelena doesn’t look very impressed with any of them. That’s fair, it’s probably frustrating to have your monologue interrupted so often. 

“If you don’t mind,” she sneers, Emma waving her free hand like she’s capable of giving the bad guy permission to keep talking. “It had been quite some time since I’d been in this realm, and plenty of things had changed. More magic, a certain kind of power that hung in the air. Energy that could change the course of everything, strong enough that it could probably rewrite time itself if it wanted to. And I want it to.” “To what?” “Were you not listening? Rewrite time.”

Breathing out of her mouth is not attractive. It’s loud and makes Emma’s tongue feel larger than it actually is, especially when she has to keep using it to lick her lips. “That’s—that’s insane. You’re insane. You didn’t just want to get a normal job? I mean...you were at Mills. I saw you.” “Power of the Universe at my fingertips and you think I’d be satisfied with a normal job? No wonder you have no idea what you are. Which,” Zelena glances meaningfully at Killian, “means you, Emma Swan, are the reason I’m here.” “Speak English!” Zelena huffs. “I am. What I felt when I returned to this realm? It was you, my dear. Your power, your magic, your ability. And, yes, I could have given into the hum-drum existence of this place and the structure of Mills Personnel, but where exactly is the fun in that?”

Emma hopes she’s not expected to answer. She doesn’t have one. It’s entirely possible she’s going to snap several of Mary Margaret’s fingers in half. 

“Anyway,” Zelena continues, “locating that power wasn’t easy, but Regina Mills’ ability to make things happen is legendary. Finding a person’s niche, that’s her greatest talent. And so I did come to Mills, looking for a position that would help me get the rest of the requirements.”

Ruby keeps shaking her head. Emma can’t seem to move. Or breathe. Her eyes keep darting back towards Killian, trying to make sure he’s breathing or reacting in a way that doesn’t threaten to make her cry. Nothing. 

He’s plastered to a wall with magic, of course not. 

“You see, a time spell is one of the more complex out there. Need all sorts of things in addition to the kind of magic that can fuel it. Which is what I wanted when I got to Mills. Hoped I could get placed in a hospital or something of the sort.”

On the increasingly small scale of things that surprise Emma, that somehow makes the cut. “You need, like, an IV drip or something?” “A baby,” Zelena replies easily, and Belle whimpers against the gag. “Pure of spirit, you understand. Other things too. Courage, wisdom, maybe a heart if I could get lucky—” “—An actual heart?” Will balks. “Spend a lot of time in Wonderland, did ya?” “I mean, she could probably get the heart in the hospital too if she wasn’t picky about her choices,” Ruby reasons, and this whole thing is absurd. Maybe that’s the theme for Halloween as a whole, though. 

More of Zelena’s face is green. 

“I had hoped I’d get someone competent who could help me. Or even the source of the power. Naturally,” she jerks her head in Killian’s direction, “I ended up with this sot. Who suggested working at a clinic or agreeing to something called an orderly position. Well, I knew he wouldn’t help me, but I did get something out of it. I knew you were there, Emma. And—” Zelena’s eyes rove towards Belle, and the hands collapsed over the front of her stomach. Realization crashes over Emma in waves, the rocks disappearing only to be replaced with a bone-deep chill that douses any bit of light in her. “So I do have a few options for you all now.” “What are you trying to fix?” “Hmm?” “Fix,” Emma repeats, “or change, I guess. I mean—that’s not how life works.” Zelena hums in what can only be passing interest and something almost like an agreement. “Seems unnecessary to tell you my whole plan, but when it works it won’t make much of a difference. I want to get rid of the girl. That nasty little thing that fell in Oz and ruined everything. Robbed me of my chance to prove myself, claimed there had to be good witches and bad witches and you’re absolutely right, Ms. Swan. That’s not how life works. Nothing is quite so cut and dry as all that.”

Words hang off the tip of her disgustingly dry tongue. Want to be said and proclaimed, and for all the mistakes Emma has made — good and bad, right and wrong, trusting and the opposite, she’s happy to find she’s not particularly interested in changing them. 

Not if she ends up here. 

Well, maybe not here—with her boyfriend, they’ll get to that eventually, magically silenced and Belle doing her best to glare daggers at the half-green witch who commandeered her living room, and Ruby’s teeth are definitely getting longer. But maybe here-adjacent. With people who care about her, who followed her without question or thought and the guy who is still somehow staring at Emma like he’s got every intention of keeping her feet warm. 

Ad nauseum. 

“I’m not really interested in anything you need.”

Disappointment flashes across Zelena’s face, only to immediately morph into something much closer to fury. “Hero types, always so sanctimonious. That’s why I said several options. It’s one now, but—” Flicking her wrist, Killian slides down the wall in what Emma knows isn’t actually slow motion. Still, the amount of time it takes for his knees to crash to the ground seems to last forever and Zelena doesn’t try to stop Emma from rushing forward. 

Eventually, she’ll realize why. 

“Regina discovered what I was trying to do,” Zelena explains, “my fault. Kept coming back to Mills, demanding better placement and as much as it pains me to admit she’s smart...well, she sent me back to Oz.” “So how are you here?” Mary Margaret demands.

Emma doesn’t need that answer, either. Halloween is a bullshit, overrated holiday. Pulling Killian close to her, he’s far too limp and impossibly silent, and Emma barely spends a moment thinking about either of those things before she’s kissing anywhere she can reach, mumbling apologies and half-explanations into his skin and—

“Ah, I’d be careful if I were you,” Zelena says, a soft lilt to her voice that rattles down Emma’s spine. “See, your option is to give me your magic, Ms. Swan. If you won’t do it willingly, I’ll take it by force.” “I don’t—” 

Movement catches Emma’s attention, the soft flutter of fingers across her back and she has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. At first. All it takes is a few seconds, and that’s probably another sign. She hopes so. Tracing letters on her jacket, Killian’s eyes flutter shut like he’s exhausted and determined not to sleep and— “No,” Emma exhales, but Zelena’s smile looks victorious. It’s too late. They’re too late. And there’s nothing they can do to change that. 

Slumping against her, Killian’s eyes don’t open again. His breathing evens out, and Emma supposes that’s something of a very twisted victory because he isn’t dead, but he’s even more obviously sleeping and sleeping curses are notoriously hard to break.

“Especially when they so often require a kiss,” Zelena grins. “True Love, and all that. So let me ask, Ms. Swan. Do you think what you and the plebe have is True Love and, more importantly, will you be willing to sacrifice your magic for it? Because the only way he’s waking up is with a kiss and the next time you kiss him, you’ll lose your magic.”

To suggest that it kind of all goes to shit after that is something of an understatement. 

Light pours out of Emma, unsteady legs under her even as she juts her chin out. To her credit Zelena doesn’t back down. She stands there and she turns a bit more green, and magic is so goddamn weird. Emma’s also never been in a magic fight before. 

Spending so long hiding that part of her — certain it was going to be the reason everyone left, the opportunity never really presented itself. Fighting for the sanctity of time itself and Killian’s consciousness seems as good a reason as any to flip the script, so to speak. 

Heat races through Emma, wind swirling at her ankles as frames clatter to the ground. Shards of glass fly on the manufactured breeze, Mary Margaret darting towards Belle and David sprinting towards Will, and it’s something of a confidence boost when they’re both able to pull them away from the battle. 

Although Emma can’t really believe she thought the word battle, even in her head. 

“Not exactly the magical dominance you were bragging about, huh?” Emma quips, twirling a finger in the air. Bands of light circle Zelena’s calves, twist up her legs and turn her answering laugh into a gasp that also does dangerous things to Emma’s ego. 

“I never—” Zelena grunts, twisting against bonds that don’t even flicker. “—You were the powerful one, I thought I made that blatantly obvious.” “I mean,” David shrugs. 

Ruby nods. “She did kind of, Em. That’s true.” “Whose side are you on?” Emma snaps, but the retreat back to absurd is almost comforting in a familiar, banter-filled sort of way. 

“Please,” Regina sighs. Her hands are on fire. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I know you claimed you didn’t have to tell Killian the truth before.” “Yeah, well, cat’s pretty much out of the bag on that front, don’t you think?” “Flew out on pigeon’s wings, I think.”

Laughter has no place in a moment when Zelena’s entire face has turned green, and her own fireballs are threatening at her palms, but Emma can’t help herself and maybe the dumbest thing she’s ever done was suggest Killian shouldn’t have worked at Mills. Or that she couldn’t be head over heels in love with him. 

That helps, honestly. 

“You’re not getting my magic,” Emma announces, all too sure she sounds as ridiculous as she feels. Heroic soliloquies are also overrated, it seems. “And you’re not getting Killian or—God, were we actually talking about Dorothy that whole time?” Zelena snarls. That must be the response. 

“Well, you’re not getting her either. Sneaking back here on Halloween was dumb. Trying any of this was ridiculous and threatening Killian was the worst of all your ideas. Because—” Emma takes a step forward. Nothing shakes. If anything her knees almost lock out, the hair falling over her shoulders noticeably brighter than usual and Zelena recoils. Seriously, her confidence is through the roof. “Magical job placement might be boring, and it might have a shit ton of paperwork, but it’s also a chance to help people and that’s...that’s the point, isn’t it? Finding that sense of belonging? Giving a person a chance. Being able to—” “—Fall in love,” Mary Margaret cries, scrunching her nose when Regina and Ruby shush her. “I mean…that’s what it is, isn’t it? Love’s not a weapon. It makes Emma glow.” And that makes Emma curse. “Maybe we phrase it differently?”

“Maybe we worry about language once we actually defeat the witch, huh?” Regina challenges, and that seems like a legitimate plan. 

Balls of fire fly through the air. Ricochet off Emma’s lights, and every window flies open as Mary Margaret calls upon not only pigeons but what look like several sparrows and a few nightingales if the sounds they’re making is any indication. Leaves swirl around the room, partially from the actual wind and also from whatever Emma is apparently capable of. 

A lot more than she thought, honestly. 

Warmth rises in her spine, sets her shoulders in a straight and determined line and she gives Will an appreciative smile when he pulls Killian out of the fray. Only to immediately jump back in, ducking and twisting and there’s a lot more cardio involved than she thought, but then a flash of magic nearly singes her ear and Emma’s thankful for her own agility.

She moves. Refuses to back down, ignoring the growing ache in her muscles and the weird popping thing her hip is doing. And Zelena starts to cower. In an especially villain-type of way.

Backing into the nearest wall, she stumbles over her feet as light tightens around her. It pins her arms to her side, curls around her ankles and guarantees she can’t run away when Emma stalks forward. 

With a smile on her face. 

Oz authorities appear at eleven-eleven, which seems to suggest it is somehow still morning and Emma cannot rationalize that at all. 

They thank Emma for containing the fugitive, nod towards Regina and well—that’s that. Leaving the rest of them in a slightly singed apartment with pillows that somehow haven’t burst, and what feels like a distinct lack of oxygen. 

“So,” Will drawls, “what do we do now?” He doesn’t have to look at Killian. The still-sleeping form is the far-more-attractive-than-an-elephant elephant in the room, draped across a couch that David had to lift on his own. One of his feet is hanging over the side. “True Love’s Kiss isn’t a real thing,” Emma whispers, but the words taste like ash on her tongue and Regina makes a very obnoxious noise. 

“Dumb, dumb, dumb.” “Do you think I’ll lose my magic?” “Do you actually care?” Shaking her head, Emma doesn’t bother saying the words. Not when she knows they’re so obviously painted on her face and sudden realization is almost as annoying as not ending sentences. She knows what he was tracing on her back. 

Maybe she is the idiot, actually. 

And for a moment, Emma’s mind falters. Remembers that other moment, standing frozen as a different set of lights threatened to blind her and metal snapped around her wrists and she’d been so certain then. Never again. Nothing else would get through the defenses. No one else would know. No more mistakes. 

This isn’t a mistake. 

Careful to avoid the glass on the floor, Emma tiptoes forward and crouches next to Killian. She brushes her fingers over that scar on his cheek, the ends of lips that are somehow still tilted up into half a smirk and—

“God, just do it already,” Belle shouts. 

That’s that, again. 

Kissing at this angle isn’t particularly easy, and Emma’s knees aren’t particularly pleased with the amount of pressure she’s putting on them, but it does allow her to basically drape herself across Killian and that also makes it easier to get her hand under the hem of his shirt. And nothing else really happens. 

No sharp inhale. No tilt of his head. Absolutely no sign of his tongue, which Emma has come to find herself almost obsessed with in the last few months. She doesn’t care. Doesn’t allow herself to stop, not when there’s a flicker of hope and all that want simmering between her ribs, mixing with her magic and how ridiculously in love she is and it’s annoying that she’s the one who gasps. 

As soon as arms circle her waist. 

Emma can’t really tumble when she’s above him, but the edge of the couch digs into her thighs and Killian’s doing an admirable job of trying to get her parallel to the rest of his body. Her fingers find his hair when he arches up, his own hand roving the expanse of her back before his arm curls tightly around her like he’s trying to make sure she’s still there. Leaning into her palm against his chin, Killian’s lips drag across the back of Emma’s wrist, sparking another round of magic and even more glowing. “Oh shit,” Emma mumbles, not able to pull herself away from Killian. Because of his arm. And...other reasons. 

“Was that a response to me, or—” “—No, no, I just—well, there’s still magic. I’ve still got magic. And, uh, I’m a witch.” He laughs. Throws his head back and lets his body shake under her, which really isn’t helping Emma’s state of mind at all, but she’s admittedly preoccupied with the overall volume of the laugh and how wide his smile is. “Swan, Emma love, did you honestly think I didn’t know?”

She—

Has absolutely no idea what to do with that. 

Ruby might fall over. Regina’s eyes bug, Mary Margaret using David to stay upright, Belle covers her mouth with her hand, Will cackling loud enough for the both of them. 

“Did you,” Emma starts, but Belle and Will shake their heads and Killian’s tongue click is awfully put-upon for a guy who was just cursed. 

He taps on her jaw until she’s able to look at him. And his stupid blue eyes. “I could feel it, love. Also you have a tendency to...glow. Which I'm assuming is a compliment, for me. Or us. There's an us, right?" She nods. Can't do much else. "And you’re not very subtle. Extra cinnamon in the cabinets, moving the remote so I don’t have to look for it. Working at a job placement agency that helps the magically afflicted. Plus there was paperwork. Was Freddie really a gold statue at one point?” “Yeah, but they un-statue’ed him with water from Lake Nostos. Not True Love’s Kiss.” “So we won, then?” “Competitive weirdo.” “Absolutely,” Killian nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I figured you’d get around to it at some point and then you were talking today and—” “—We’re not such shitty friends that we’d demand Killian show up back here before nine,” Will reasons. “Plus, it’s been kind of nice to have a free couch.”

Killian gags. “Did I say congratulations yet?” “We were busy.” “Wait, wait,” Emma sputters, and she’s going to go into cardiac arrest. Or magic overload. “So this whole time. You knew.” “Well, not the whole time,” Killian objects. “Most of it though, yeah.” “But you’re still here.” “Where else did you expect me to go? Aside from your apartment now that we’ve defeated the wicked witch? I’m assuming we defeated the wicked witch.” Emma nods. “Well, then I’ll apologize for drawing you into that, too. She was half the reason I started to suspect anything, honestly. Told Regina about her and the last thing I expected when I got here was to see her, or to have her demand I get you here. I tried to avoid that.” More nodding. More aching muscles and poorly performing hearts, and Emma wouldn’t mind if Killian traced several other sentiments into a variety of different areas, but they’ve got an audience and a pregnant lady and they never did get coffee. So, it makes sense to ignore that for a second. Or several. 

“I love you,” she says instead. Shouts, really. “More than I realized I could and I—” Any other words get lost in the feel of Killian’s mouth on hers and the ability of his tongue to incite butterflies in her stomach, and she hardly hears him say I love you back. It doesn’t matter. She hears it on loop for the rest of the day, once they’re ushered unceremoniously out of Belle and Will’s apartment. Neither of them think much about getting coffee. 

And she’s just on the cusp of sleep, eyelashes fluttering and blankets halfway to stolen when Emma hears something else. Pressed into that one spot below her ear. 

“I’ve got no intention of leaving,” Killian whispers, “not because of the magic or the power that comes with it, only because I love you. A ridiculous amount, honestly.”

Sleep seems kind of pointless after that. 

He decides to leave Mills, eventually. 

“I don’t have magic,” Killian rationalizes, and Emma supposes that makes sense. “But I will need some help finding a job.”

Sliding a file with his name written in swirling script across her desk, he’s got the gall to smirk at her and Emma resists the urge to magic him into her chair. “Luckily I do have other skills, including a job offer—” “—If you’ve got a job offer, you don’t really need my help.” “Yeah, but you’re very pretty and I hear you’re real good at what you do.” “Which is?” “Moving in with me,” Killian says, which isn’t the last thing she expects but it still manages to catch her off guard. Lights erupt at the end of several strands of hair. “The reaction I was going for, absolutely.” “No, no, that’s—that’s dumb.” “Is it?” “I was going to ask you to move in with me. First.” “Competitive weirdo.” “I have an apartment,” Emma argues. “With laundry on site.” “Ah, yeah, that is a marker in the pro column. Plus, you’ll be there right?” “In my apartment? Yeah, probably,”

Pushing back on the chair he’d never really been sitting in, Killian leans across Emma’s desk. To kiss her. Hard. Magic flares in the air around them, causing bulbs to flicker and more than a few cries of get a room . “What I’m trying to do,” Killian mumbles. “If you’re asking me to move in, Swan, I’m going to accept.” “Make it sound less like a warning next time.”

He chuckles against her mouth, either ignoring the desk that must be pressing into his stomach or not bothered by it at all, and Emma tries not to throw herself at him too quickly when he brings a whole box of recently-bought blankets with him.

“So you don’t get cold, love.”

[cornerficus]

Picking Up Strays 8

Summary: Din picks up a babysitter for the child and guess what, they fall in love.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Part 8: It’s gettin hot in herre

--

He truncated her name once, accidentally, when he was distracted with piloting through an asteroid belt. He wasn’t sure why she was beaming after they made it safely through to the other side, so he decided to conduct an experiment. 

As he suspected, calling her Kai produces the same slow grin every time, and so he uses it, even when he doesn’t need to.

--

It occurs to him that she doesn’t shrink away from arguments anymore. She questions him, makes her opinions known and when she feels strongly about something, like the bounty she wanted him to release once she realized it was just a poor kid trying to make ends meet for his family, she doesn’t back down. 

The row they had in the corridor sounded much worse than it actually was, and instead of feeling irritation or anger, all he felt was pride in her, flattered that she trusted him enough to question him and--a little worrisome--aroused. The way her cheeks flushed, her eyes burned. He wanted to push her against the wall and strip the clothes off her.

Instead, he caved. He released the bounty, lost the credit reward. But he got his own reward. Kai had snagged his hand and pressed his gloved palm to her face, then stretched up onto her tiptoes to place a kiss on the side of his visor, just beside his lips.

--

It’s a little bit exhausting, Kai thinks, being so keyed up all the time. The ache to have his hands on her doesn’t leave her, not even in sleep. It’s enough to make any red-blooded woman grumpy, this tingling frustration. It doesn’t help that he moves like a wild cat, graceful and powerful, whether drawing his blaster lightning-quick, or plucking the child out of her arms with uncommon gentleness.

She knows he’d oblige her if she asked him to touch her again. After living so long alone, she thinks he’s glad to have someone to touch. Trouble is, she’s not interested in being just someone to him. Not when he’s her whole universe.

--

Kai hates the docking station. There’s no sunshine and the air is filtered. She wants to leave as soon as possible and Din agrees. The city is teeming with gangs and corruption, like a festering wound. 

They don’t leave quickly enough before it infects them too.

The wrong person told the wrong person a Mandalorian was docked at the station and the chief the police, who also happens to be leader of the major gang, threatens to turn him in to the Imps.

“Don’t mind if I take that pretty little woman you’ve got with you too,” he says. He’s large, but not too large. If it were a matter of a simple fight, it wouldn’t be a problem. But the man has backup and Din has so much to lose now.

The best course of action he can think up in the 8-hour window he’s been given to either pay up or be trapped, is to get Kai out of harm’s way. If it turns out alright, he’ll find her again. If not, she’ll be able to find her way off the docking station to somewhere safe. 

She’d never agree to it anyway, so he doesn’t tell her. Instead, he says the cruelest things he can think of, to get her to leave of her own accord. Calls her all the things Cara Dune had accused her of being. She means nothing to him, nothing but a tag-along and a worthless one at that.

She blinks, shocked, before her eyes fill with tears. She yells something cruel back at him and storms off the ship. Din stands there for a long time, unable to form a single thought. Then he gets to work.

He’s been in worse firefights. The lines of sight are shit though and there are more of them crawling out of the woodwork than he counted on. But a second line of red blaster fire begins picking off enemies that get too close to him and when there’s an opening, he retreats to the Razorcrest. He turns to provide cover fire for Kai as she runs aboard behind him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, as he maneuvers them defensively away from the remnants of the smoldering city.

“What do you mean? You obviously wanted me out of the way for something.”

It was a pretty transparent ruse, in hindsight. 

“Come on,” she cajoles, when the silence of space crackles around them. “You didn’t think I’d buy any of that bullshit, did you? I know you better than that, Din Djarin. You’d never be so cruel.”

She has too high an opinion of him. As if she can sense his doubt, she cants her head and says with authority, “Never. Not to me.”

--

She’s worked out a kind of sign language with the child, which is useful, especially for Din. But Kai usually anticipates the child’s needs before he has a chance to use the hand signals she taught him anyway.

Though there is harmony on the Razorcrest more often than not, sometimes there are hard days.

He finds Kai leaning against the crates in the pantry, rubbing her eyes. Without opening them, she says, “He must be growing or something. He was wild today and I had a helluva time getting him to stay put and go to sleep.”

She blinks her eyes open to find him pulling off his gloves and coming toward her. She takes two steps to meet him. Under the pretense of rubbing away the tension in her temples, he smooths his hands over her face. Her eyes slide shut again and she sags in to him more and more until she gives up and leans her cheek against his beskar and wraps her arms around his waist.

This is new, but the Mandalorian is nothing if not a fast learner, so he places his hands on her back and strokes up and down the length of her spine. She’s wearing a dress spun in lightweight purple threads, in the style of the last planet they visited. It falls to her ankles but slits on each side reveal her legs when she walks. She pairs the dress with thick-soled boots he’d bought her, to replace the slippers she’d given away. He feels the straps of her beskar chestplate under the scarf she wears wrapped around her and he wants, very much, to remove them.

With her small fingers she finds openings between the beskar plates at his ribs and feels his homespun wool undershirt. This seems to please her. Her hum vibrates through his armor and straight to his heart.

He feels tipsy, almost incoherent with the buzzing in his ears. He loses control of his hands and they dip low over her hips. Next he loses control of his tongue.

“Are you trying to tempt me in this dress?” he murmurs.

Surprisingly, she laughs. “Not everything is about you, you know. I happen to like this dress.” Her voice sounds a bit dazed and he wonders if she doesn’t feel a little drunk on him as well. “Are you trying to tempt me, touching me like this?” she shoots back.

“Is it working?” 

She tips her chin up to look at him, but movement from the doorway draws her attention around his shoulder. She sighs bodily, with disappointment and hapless laughter.

Din looks over his shoulder to find the child waddling toward them. Kai slips out of his arms and bends to scoop the child up. 

“Let’s get you back to bed,” she says. 

Din plucks the child from her arms. “I’ll take him.”

She shakes her head. “It’s my job.” She reaches for the child again but Din steps backward out of her reach.

“I’m the captain and I order you to go sit down. Eat a pearito. I know it’s you who likes them, not him,” he says, nodding down to the child, who’s already almost asleep in his arms, damn him.

Kai laughs guiltily. “He does like them. I just happen to like them too.”

“Go on,” he says, nudging her shoulder toward the door. “Get off your feet.”

She salutes him with a lazy, “Aye aye captain,” but gives him a burning look before she goes. 

When the child is finally, actually asleep, Din goes to her room without thinking too hard about why. Perhaps he’ll tease her about the pearitos some more. 

She’s asleep on her cot, but has left the door open. An accident surely, not an invitation. He closes it for her and goes back to his own room to lie awake thinking about the warm softness of her.

[sparkkeyper]

We Don’t Have to Be Perfect

Sneaking in just before the deadline, this is the first of my three submissions for @itsthearoway‘s Aro Way Challenge, which highlights Good Omens fanworks with an aromantic light. I love how versatile the bonds in Good Omens are, and how they lend themselves so well to a number of a/sexual and a/romantic and a/gender identities. As an aro person myself, it’s nice to see some representation in a fandom that I love. 

We Don’t Have to Be Perfect

Prompt 34: At a woodworking class

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Aziraphale+Crowley

Warnings: none

Summary: Aziraphale takes up a new hobby and tries to make something meaningful with it. It doesn’t quite go as planned, but maybe that’s okay. 

--------

“So this is where you've been disappearing to.” 

Aziraphale held open the door he'd just walked out of so a young woman could exit the woodworking studio after him, barely sparing a glance toward the gangly form of the demon on the sidewalk. “I haven't been disappearing anywhere. I told you the dates and times of this class and even gave you the address.”

“Looking for a new hobby, are you?”

“One can always learn new skills. Now that I'm not reporting to Heaven anymore, there's no reason I can't try something new when the whim takes me.”

“Not that that's ever stopped you before,” Crowley grinned, falling into step beside the angel as he started the walk back to the bookshop. “Well let's see it then.”

“See what?” Aziraphale fidgeted, fooling exactly nobody.

“Last I checked, when somebody signs up for an art-based class they usually make some sort of art-based thingy to take home. Let's see it, come on.”

“I, ah...” Aziraphale glanced everywhere but at Crowley, looking rather embarrassed. “It's not up to standards.”

“Whose standards?”

“Yours. Mine. Anybody's, really.”

“I think I can be the judge of my own standards, angel.”

“Oh very well.” And from a bag at his side he pulled a wooden oval, roughly eight inches at its widest point, and the demon plucked it from his hands to study it before he could protest.

It looked, quite frankly, like a child's drawing rendered into wood: a very rudimentary snake wiggling around the outside of the frame with two pairs of feathered wings inside. Bumps and gouges dotted the surface and it seemed not even the final sanding could take care of them. The width of the snake was hilariously inconsistent and the wings were missing more than a few feathers each where Aziraphale had clearly misjudged the carving process and accidentally chipped them off.

Crowley snorted before he could stop himself. “Is that me? And wait, the bit inside, is that supposed to be the two of us?”

Aziraphale grabbed it back, his expression somewhere between a scowl and a pout, and he refused to meet Crowley's eyes. “As far as I can tell, we have the longest-running friendship on the planet, you and I. It seems to me that that's worth commemorating, and for something of that magnitude it really ought to be magnificent. Perfect. But it isn't. I intended to hang it in the bookshop, now that I don't have to worry about anyone connecting us or not. But...well look at it.”

Beside him, Crowley began to laugh. Aziraphale glared at him in affront. “Let me get this straight. You wanted something utterly perfect to celebrate sixty centuries of knowing each other, and your first go-to was woodcarving?”

“I wanted something more durable than paper, and I have no desire to put the time into metalworking.”

“So you went with woodcarving.”

“I went with something I thought I could learn and enjoy, yes!”

“How long have you spent in that class?”

“Nine sessions. It's more difficult than it looks!”

“Clearly.” The demon shook his head in amusement. “I wouldn't be surprised by an illuminated manuscript, I think, but I never expected something like this from you.”

Aziraphale's eyes flashed. “Well, if it's such a ridiculous notion, perhaps I should just forget the whole thing.”

“Wait-”

But he'd already slammed the piece down into the metal rubbish bin next to a bus stop.

Crowley rounded on him. “What the heaven did you do that for?!”

“I tried very hard for that poor result, I'll have you know!”

“And? Looks like a snake, looks like wings. Seems like you succeeded.”

“Does that look like succeeding to you, Crowley? Because if that is your idea of success, it certainly puts your failures in a whole new light!”

A wall slammed down over Crowley's expression. He spun without a word and marched away down the street. Aziraphale regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth but it was already too late.

“Crowley, wait! Crowley- Oh...” His fists clenched. “Drat everything!”

Aziraphale plopped himself down on the bus stop bench and glared out into the traffic. 

It was several minutes later that the demon sat down beside him.

There was a feeling between them like tension releasing. Crowley melted into a slouch across the back of the bench. “I can respect a clever insult when I hear one, angel. Well done. That one was quite good.”

“You'll be disappointed to hear that I'd like to retract it, then.”

“Mmm, pity.”

The silence between them grew more comfortable as the seconds passed, rather than awkward.

Aziraphale sighed. “I was hoping to make something worthy of what we have. It ought to be intricate and lovely and grand. Something worth six thousand years. I don't have nearly the skills to make it how it deserves to be.”

Crowley nodded just a bit. “Wasn't telling you to stop, by the way. I just never pegged you as the woodcarving type.”

“Well...I suppose I'm not.”

Crowley held a hand over the bin and the remains of the woodworking project leapt dutifully up to his fingers. Being slammed into metal had snapped it into several bits. He tried to fit the pieces back together again to get another look at the picture. “It's...good,” he tried.

“No it isn't.”

“No it isn't.” Crowley turned it upside down. “We were never really perfect, though, were we?”

Aziraphale sighed. “No, we weren't. I do wish I could reach back into the past and fix things. All those times I said no. All those times I insinuated we weren't friends, or that I didn't like you, or that you were somehow less than I. It wasn't fair to you and...we could have had so much more, Crowley. More time. More drinks and dinners and conversations, seen more plays together, gone to more concerts together.”

Dark sunglasses watched the traffic. “And yet it worked.”

“What?”

“I'm still here. You're still here. Somehow we muddled through it all, that's my point. It was never perfect. It started with bad small-talk and veiled insults, and only went downhill from there for a few thousand years. It was rocky and awkward and suspicious. It took time to become worthwhile.” Crowley turned the pieces over in his hands. “And it broke. And we had to put it back together again. Yet it's still going. If I had the choice to do it all over again, I would in a heartbeat. Because...” He trailed off and covered his mouth with a hand. “Oh shit, you've got me doing the mushy stuff.”

Aziraphale glanced at him curiously. “No, go on. Because...?”

“Because...it was worth it. Because...I appreciate it more, I think. I know what it's like to not have anybody. And to have your only connection to somebody be built on mutual distrust. And...I don't take any part of this friendship for granted now because of that. It means more because we had to work for it, you get me?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said softly. “Yes, I think I understand.”

Crowley offered the broken pieces back to his friend. “A little wood glue ought to put it right. Maybe one of those little picture hangers on the back, could hang it from a nail.”

The angel looked at him skeptically. “You'd really want this hanging in the bookshop?”

Crowley shrugged, a hint of red colouring his cheeks below his glasses. “I mean...I've never had a picture of me on someone's wall before. Thought it might be nice, you know?” Nice to be wanted, said the spaces between his words. Nice to be able to say, aloud or through symbols, that we do have a friendship, that it doesn't need to be a guarded secret. “What I'm saying is, maybe it's fine that it's not perfect. Because neither were we.” 

Aziraphale regarded the pieces of the project with the same warm look he usually reserved for Crowley. “I'll patch it up and hang it in the shop,” he said decisively. “Over the till. And when I get a little better at the whole woodworking thing, I'll make another one. And another. And each time it'll get a little better. Stronger. Hopefully more detailed.”

The demon was trying to maintain his casual facade but Aziraphale still caught the pleased smile fighting for purchase on his lips. “I’d quite like to see that, angel. I really would.” 

[achtung-attitude]

Two unarmed African-Americans gunned down in broad daylight, in their own vehicle, on a public highway, by a white police officer. Not only that, but they were a well respected attorney and his wife, the key witnesses being their two young children. An open-and-shut case.

Things happened very quickly.

Distant relatives appeared almost out of the woodwork, eager to take Knowles and Toto in. Alongside them came a number of lawyers, who were quick to tutor the children on exactly what to say, how to say it, what testifying really meant. This wouldn’t be some little case swept under the rug, they would take it to the state level, maybe, God willing, even draw a civil rights case from the Department of Justice.

In the end, their preparations for war came to naught when the young policeman pleaded guilty.

“I’m sorry.” That’s all he says to Knowle as he’s led out of the courthouse to serve his sentence. He dares not to look her in the eyes when he says it. She stares at him as she goes past, oblivious to the dissatisfied chattering of her relatives. He won’t look at her. She can’t make him look at her.

Almost as soon as the sentence was declared, the lawyers and relatives that were so eager to care for them disappeared, but not before dividing all their parents’ assets and holdings between themselves, leaving nothing but a house that was sold for pennies. Knowles and Toto were alone in the world. 

With no other alternative, the State of California entrusted the care of the two orphans to their only remaining relative: an aunt in Oakland, their father’s sister Janet. A woman they had never met, but of whom they had heard much, in a way. It was Toto who realized it first: When their father spoke about the envious people who wanted their lives, he was referring to his sister.

“Your daddy was scum,” Aunt Janet explains to Knowles in her squalid kitchen. “It’s time you understood that, sweet thing.”

Knowles stares at her aunt, her mouth agape as if someone had just smacked her across the face. Aunt Janet only ever spoke to her, never Toto. Any question he’d ask, she would act as if he wasn’t even there. After a while, he got the message and fell into a deep silence that hadn’t broken in the 6 months they had spent in their aunt’s care. He stared at her too, with this newest declaration.

“He was born in this here house, he ever tell you that?” Aunt Janet continues, her words dripping with venom. “Nah, I bet he didn’t. I bet he never even mentioned me, did he? He liked to act like he was so much better than this, than us. Than me.

“And look what that got him, huh? He did everything he was s’posed to do, got a good job working for white folks, got the good house, got the trophy wife. And the pigs shot him down like any other street rat.”

“That isn’t true…” Knowles whispers, despondent.

“You need to learn this while you young, so that horseshit about responsibility your daddy taught ya doesn’t stick,” her aunt goes on, leaning close to her so she can smell the rot in her teeth. “That cracker cop took one look at your daddy and decided to pop him. He didn’t care about no job or house or money ‘cause he already made his mind up. That’s what men do. It’s what they do to each other… and it’s what they do to us.

“You probably loved your daddy, right? He probably told you you could whatever you wanted to be. Well, girl, quit dreaming, ‘cause what he meant was you could be whatever he wanted you to be. To a man, you ain’t nothing but a hole to fill. That’s all you were ever meant to be. They already made up their minds about us. That’s why your daddy deserved what he got…”

“That’s not true!” Toto shouts, standing and throwing his chair back. After being quiet for so long, his voice sounds hoarse and rusty. “Daddy loved us! He was somebody! He made something of his life! He-!!”

Whatever Toto planned to say next was bifurcated by a swift backhand across the jaw. He falls sideways to the ground, and his aunt continues to batter him from above with open hand and fist.

“Who do you think you are!? Who the FUCK do you think you are!?!” she shrieks throughout her assault, “YOU THINK YOU CAN TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, IN MY HOUSE?! YOU WANNA BE LIKE YOUR DADDY!?! I’LL SHOW YOU WHERE YOU BELONG, YOU LITTLE SHIT!!! YOU’RE NOTHING!!”

Knowles doesn’t watch her brother’s beating or attempt to protect him. She remains frozen where she is, sitting on her chair, trembling lightly. She looks straight ahead and thinks about the cop who killed her parents and his apology. 

More than her parent’s death or her aunt’s abuses, that apology is what keeps her awake, what plays in her mind over and over. With each replay, something ugly and dangerous festers inside of her. 

Throughout their stay with Aunt Janet, the woman’s endless diatribes found purchase in this dark thing swelling in Knowles’ mind, until she too began to emulate her. She hated her aunt because she was malicious and cruel, but her rage was enticing to her. There was power in the rage. Power she desperately wanted.

She wouldn’t ever sit or stare again. She would never be the victim. And she would never apologize.

                                                        ***

One night, when Knowles was 15, she crept into her brother’s room at night and shook him awake from his herb-induced haze. “Get up,” she commanded. “We’re leaving.”

Toto stared at her with sleepy eyes. “Huh…? Ok…” He started to get up, until Knowles lost patience and started dragging him out of bed. She clings to his wrist all the way down the stairs and out the front door. “Smells funny here,” he notes absently.

“It’s gas. Gimme your lighter,” Knowles answers. He fishes the Zippo lighter out of his sweatpants and hands them to her. She lights it, then tosses it back into the house. She shuts the door behind her roughly just as the hallway goes up in flames.

They walk to the edge of the neighborhood, then Knowles stops and turns around to watch the house go up in flames in the distance. She’s still clutching her brother’s wrist.

“Hey, Knowles…?” he asks after some time has passed.

“Yeah, what?” Knowles responds.

“Where’s Aunt Janet…?”

“She’s back at the house, still inside.”

“Oh… Is she comin’ too?”

“No, she’s dead. I smothered her to death with a pillow before we left.”

“Huh… Why’d you do that?”

“Because we don’t need her,” Knowles declares, turning to face Toto. She releases his wrist and takes both his hands. “We don’t need anybody. Nobody but each other, alright? No matter what, we stick together. There’s nothing holding us back.”

She gazes into her brother’s face, and sees a flicker of lucidity return to his eyes. “Alright…” he says simply, nodding. They stand facing each other in the night, When the wailing of sirens approaching can be heard, Knowles finally breaks eye contact. She releases his hands and walks confidently through the benighted streets. 

Toto takes one final glance back at the burning house, soon to be surrounded by fire engines. He reaches into his sweatpants and produces a set of rolling papers and a small amount of weed. Reaching into his other pocket, he freezes. “Oh, shit… Knowles?” he calls, jogging to catch up with her.

“What?” she replies.

“You got a light on you?”

“Of course I don’t!”

When the fire was put out, Aunt Janet’s burnt body was recovered, but no trace of the two children she warded could be found. After a rushed and sloppy investigation, the children were simply declared missing.

END of CHAPTER 41

[antiquecompass]

Untamed Winter Fest Day 17: Bells

The Jiang Holiday Extravaganza was an entire fortnight of excess that even after four years still shocked Xichen in the five minutes of peace, quiet, and reflection, he got to himself at Lotus Pier. At least he’d learned how to avoid all those damn demon elves on their shelves, especially since Jiang Cheng always exorcised their room of them when they arrived. He also knew which  bathrooms to avoid (near the library and off the living room with their Santa and Mrs. Claus toilet seat covers respectively), and how to kindly suggest a theme to Madame Yu for the Christmas tree in their bedroom. The first year had been a tree full of teddy bears, and while not offensive in any way, half of those ornaments sung in voices eerily reminiscent of The Chipmunks. Many were motion activated. He’d come out of a sound sleep his first night here, terrified, as Nutmeg tried to climb the tree and a freakish high-pitched voice sang ‘Up on the Rooftop.’ This year Madame Yu had apparently found some mercy and picked deer. Glittery deer, but just deer. None of them sang or played music, though the large light-up display on their fireplace mantle did. It was a compromise Xichen embraced. Mostly because he’d easily found the off-switch on the musical Santa train.

The sheer amount of food and all its richness? That was still a struggle. He had consumed far too many desserts at the Christmas Eve party and now regretted it as he laid on their bed, waiting for Jiang Cheng to return with Sugar. Honey, their new puppy, was already in her bed in the corner, fast asleep. Cinnamon and Nutmeg had claimed the library as their territory, but Pepper was on the bed beside Xichen, stretched out over all the pillows.

He truly wanted nothing more than to roll over and sleep with her soft purrs lulling him into dreams, but there was one Christmas tradition he had come to fully embrace and he was going to stay awake for it, even if the sugar crash in his system was demanding sleep.

This was why Uncle had always forbid food excess, especially sweets.

He smiled as their bedroom door opened, Jiang Cheng carrying the crisp, cold scent of the outdoors on his skin and in his hair. He carefully placed Sugar on the bed, then sat down between her and Xichen, stroking Xichen’s hair.

“The great Lan Xichen. Defeated by fudge,” he teased. His fingers moved to his belly and rubbed it in warm circles. “How far you have fallen.”

“It was very good fudge,” Xichen said. “I know you still have your problems with him, but Jin Zixuan is a talented baker.”

“It’s one of his few good traits,” Jiang Cheng agreed.

When he leaned down to kiss Xichen, he could taste the remnants of peppermint and chocolate. Xichen wasn’t the only one who had an excess of sweets tonight.

“I’m going to grab a shower while I can,” he said. He ran a thumb over Xichen’s lips, a soft smile on his face when Xichen caught it and gave it a sharp bite. “I’d ask you to join me, but I don’t think you’re capable of moving.”

“Probably not,” Xichen admitted. “The spirit is willing, the body refuses.”

Jiang Cheng sighed and patted Xichen’s belly again. “This is what I get for hitching myself to your old, broken down, wagon.”

“I am four years older than you,” Xichen said.

“And yet one of the oldest people in this house,” Jiang Cheng said as he slipped off the bed.

“We can’t all be sat at the kid’s table,” Xichen said.

Both Jiang Cheng and his brother had been placed there to watch over the younger cousins and their nieces and nephews. That was the story at least. Xichen had experienced enough Jiang family dinners to know it was more to do with Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng, two grown men, always being on the verge of a food fight.

“Can you honestly say you enjoyed your time at the main table?” Jiang Cheng asked as he pulled out his pajamas. “Enlightening conversation with Uncle Yi about different wood grains?”

“Each day brings a chance to learn something new,” Xichen said.

“Baby, you are so full of shit,” Jiang Cheng said with a laugh as he walked out into the hallway.

**********

Xichen had fallen asleep despite his best intentions, but when he woke up from his dessert-induced nap, Jiang Cheng was beside him, hair down and loose, reading glasses on, with his Kindle in his hands.

Xichen still couldn’t believe he had the good fortune to fall asleep and wake-up and live beside such a man.

“Sorry,” he said.

Jiang Cheng startled, but set his Kindle to the side.

“You were fighting a losing battle,” he said. He slid down to press up against him. “I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

“Did I miss it?” Xichen asked.

This was their tradition. On Christmas Eve, late at night, when the house was quiet and nothing could be heard but the sound of the bells and windchimes on the porch, they exchanged their gifts to each other. The private ones. The sentimental ones. The ones they wanted to keep just between them without the eyes of the entire family on them and without any running commentary from certain vocal parties.

Wei Ying and Madame Yu both had very pointed opinions on gifts.

“It’s 11:50,” Jiang Cheng said. “You woke up just in time.”

He reached under his pillow and pulled out a slim box.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Xichen reached under his own and pulled out the slim wooden chest he’d commissioned to hold the small glass figurines inside.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

It was Jiang Cheng’s year to open his present first. Xichen eagerly waited to see his face.

“These are--” Jiang Cheng’s voice went soft. “These are our pets.” He looked at Xichen, fingers carefully trailing over the glass figurines inside the box. “How?”

“I ran into a few old friends from college when I had to chaperone that school trip to the Renaissance Festival. One of them is a glassblower, the other a woodworker. I know they’re not like the tiny crystal ones you collect but--”

“They’re perfect,” Jiang Cheng said. He pulled Xichen in a deep kiss. Then another. And another, before finally turning back to the box, the softest smile on his face. “You even got Honey in here.”

“A last minute addition,” Xichen said. The little glass Honey had arrived days before their departure.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng said. “I love them.”

His fingers danced over the tops of the five glass figures again before carefully closing the box and setting it on his nightstand.

“Your turn,” he said.

Xichen picked up the slim box and heard a slight rattling inside.

“Not a necklace,” Xichen said.

“No, you don’t wear those,” Jiang Cheng said, fingers unconsciously wrapped around the jade lotus pendant hanging from his own neck.

“A bracelet?” he asked. “A fountain pen? A letter opener?”

“Stop guessing and just open it,” Jiang Cheng said.

“The guessing is the fun part,” Xichen said. He carefully started to unwrap the paper.

“Just open the damn thing,” Jiang Cheng said.

Xichen deliberately opened the present even slower, just to see that frustrated furrow between his boyfriend’s brows.

When he finally opened the box, he forgot how to breathe.

He’d resigned himself to the fact that there would never be a wedding for them, even though he knew they’d be together for life. Jiang Cheng was very vocal about his hatred for weddings and a general apathy towards the institute of marriage when legal ties and an agreed life-long commitment was just as valid in his eyes. So Xichen knew he wouldn’t have an engagement or a wedding or a marriage in the legal sense.

But this--this was--this was the Jiang Bell.

A silver bell engraved with the design of a nine-petal lotus hung on a royal purple tassel. It was sacred to the Jiangs. Similar to the Lans and their forehead ribbon. And was meant only for family members.

“Legend has it,” Jiang Cheng said in the wake of Xichen’s silence, “that the bell can calm the mind and clear the spirit. I don’t know if it’s true, but it’s a family tradition. I’ve been lobbying to get you one for years now and my Great Aunt finally gave up the goods.”

Xichen was still at a loss for words. His fingers shook as he removed the bell from its box. A soft ringing filled the room.

“You’re my family. We’re our own little family, cats and dogs included,” Jiang Cheng said. “And it was time you had your own.”

“You,” Xichen said, laughing even as happy tears filled his eyes. “I got you little glass animals and you give me--”

“What is rightfully yours,” Jiang Cheng said.

He kissed the tears on Xichen’s cheeks, his fingers wrapping around Xichen’s own where they held the bell.

“I love you,” Xichen said. All he could say when words truly failed to express what he was feeling and the depths of the emotions running through him.

An excess of love, of devotion, of trust, of dreams fulfilled and even more hope for the years ahead of them.

“Of course, I’ve now fucked myself over,” Jiang Cheng said. “No present is ever going to top this one.”

“No,” Xichen agreed. “But I somehow think you’ll still beat me, again, like you have, every year.”

“We’re going to disagree on this one,” Jiang Cheng said. “You gave me the menagerie in tiny glass form that I can have forever.”

And Jiang Cheng had given him his family, completely, fully, now.

“A draw then,” Xichen said, even if they both knew who had won this year.

“A draw,” Jiang Cheng agreed.

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Joyce picking up Billy for fighting in school. And than having to explain to his Dad when they get home. But the only reason Billy gives is ”i was mad.” So frustrated And clueless Hop sends Billy to his room and tells him to stay there until he tells him the real reason for fighting. But Joyce tells Hop they need to work on Billys anger issues. Because she tells him Billy did give him the real reason - he was angry. So they need to work on that. As a family.

YES okay this is so damn valid bc Billy most definitely has anger issues. I feel like we can all agree the poor boy was never taught any constructive ways on how to help w/ his stress and so there are times where the anger and the frustration and all of that emotion just bubbles up inside of him and he breaks. And more significantly, breaks on OTHERS.

(And i was going to include them buying Billy a stress ball but i looked it up and found out that stress balls weren’t invented until ‘88 so jk)(but I’d also like to say that Billy would 100% love and benefit from having a stress ball from the late 80’s bc apparently they were made to be thrown and it would sound like breaking glass so he could throw it against the wall and get the satisfaction of getting his frustration out while also not breaking anything!)(anyway)

When Joyce gets the call from the school, she’s super confused. She almost never gets calls from the school, the only time is when Will is feeling under the weather and seriously has to come home. Other than that, even through bullies and headaches and whatevers else, her boys will stay in school. Even if she tells them they can always call if they need to come home, they’re just not the type to do that.

So getting a call from the school is strange, but when she hears it’s about Billy, her heart hurts a little.

When she gets to the school, Billy is sitting in a little chair in the office absolutely fuming, chest rising and falling fast, eyebrows knitted in tight. Once he gets a look at Joyce though, his expression turns a little sheepish. The principal explains to Joyce that they think Billy needs to go home for the day to calm down and is allowed to return tomorrow “if he feels he’s able to be a respectful young man.”

Billy growls at the words, but keeps his head down. Joyce nods, but her face is disapproving. She doesn’t like the way the principal said that.

She walks with Billy out to her car.

“Sorry for making you come down here on your day off.” Billy says with what he seems to be trying to pass off as a disinterested sniff.

Joyce shakes her head. “It’s fine sweetie. Do you need to talk about anything?”

Billy shakes his head no.

“Are you hurt?”

Billy shakes his head no.

“Did the other kid say anything to you?”

Billy shakes his head no.

Joyce is confused, but lets Billy be. “Alright, well we can talk with your dad about it when he gets home.”

And so Joyce makes them up a couple of sandwiches for lunch and makes him drink a glass of milk and tells him he can hang out in his room if he wants to. She thought she’d have to be strict with him but she can’t find it in her. She can see in his body language that he’s exhausted but still tense. The muscles in his shoulders flex just from sitting and staring at the table. He grabs his glass so hard she’s afraid he’s going to break it. His eyes have been tight and hard and maybe even unseeing since he got home. His muscles keep flexing and unflexing like he’s getting ready to protect himself.

Joyce doesn’t understand it. She never even saw this kind of behavior with Lonnie. Lonnie was more careless than he was tense and frightful. He would lay back and kick his feet up on tables and be quick to irritate. It wasn’t until he got older that he started getting tight like this, and even then he was still too lazy to be this bottled up and clearly struggling.

She lets him sit in his room and play his music out loud. She listens to the familiar sound of weights being dropped on the ground. She sits and wonders what to do. Her boys were never like this. Jonathan gets a little tense sometimes but he’s always been so emotionally mature. He only blows up if it’s something really serious, otherwise he sits still and lets people pick on him. He always has.

When Hop comes home, Joyce tells him what’s happened, and they ask Billy to come out and talk to them about it.

“He really didn’t tell you a reason?” Hop asks, hushed.

“No, he didn’t wanna talk. I didn’t wanna force him.”

Billy walks out, mouth a little twisted up but otherwise looking for all the world like his normal self. But when Hop sets him down and asks “What happened?” neither of them get the answer they’re expecting.

“I beat someone up.”

“Why?”

“Because I was mad.”

… and that’s it. He says it like he would say his eye color or his age. Like it’s a fact. Hop blinks hard and leans forward a little.

“Did he hit you back?”

“No.”

“Did he say something to you?”

“No.”

“Did he do anything at all?”

“I dunno, would you call being in the wrong place at the wrong time doing something, because if you would then yes, he did something.”

And Billy looks and acts defiant, leaning back, legs spread, eyes piercing Hop with a stare that dares him to reprimand him.

“Then why’d you hit him?”

“Because I was mad.”

Billy gives another shrug, seems a little exasperated at having to repeat himself, still daring Hop to do anything at all. Hop huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Go to your room. And when you come out I want a real answer.”

At that, Billy bristles. Hop doesn’t see it, but Joyce does. He gets defensive, stands up with a shove of his chair back and gives a sneer before walking off to his room and slamming his door with a loud bang.

Joyce feels it in her heart: this is wrong.

She sits where Billy just was.

“Hop… we need to listen to him.”

Hop gives her a disbelieving look, gesturing to Billy’s now shut door.

“I was listening just fine, were you? That wasn’t a real answer!”

“Yes it was.”

“Where was the answer?”

“He was mad. That was the answer.”

Hop scoffs, leaning back and putting his hands over his face. Joyce leans forward to gently pull them away by his wrists.

“I think Billy has a real anger management problem.”

“Well I could have told you that.”

“Okay, well what are you doing to help him?”

Hop doesn’t say anything, just stares at Joyce in confusion.

“Exactly. We need to help him out here.”

Hop is so confused, so lost, so curious as to how this woman who’s known Billy for far less time than Hop has would just know what to do. Then he thinks maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she’s as confused as Hop is but she knows that help is the answer, not frustration and tiredness. Not giving up. They can’t give up.

“Yeah. Fine. You’re right.”

And so they work on it. They help Billy work on himself. Hop tells Billy it’s okay if him being mad is his only answer, but that they need to work on him not getting mad so often.

And so they help him find little hobbies!!! They give him a good, safe space for him to do actual constructive things. Billy’s really good with his hands so he helps Hop out around the house if things ever need to get fixed up. He picks up woodworking and makes little wooden figures around the house. They start off simple and get increasingly more complicated. Hop and Joyce beam when they say that the lovely decoration on their mantle was handmade by their son.

They buy him his own sketchpad and watch happily as Billy sits at the table and sketches and draws stuff out with Will and El. He admits to having always liked drawing as a kid but mumbles about how his dad had told him it was a prissy thing to do. He mostly sketches trees and plants and landscapes. He’s always really loved plants. He tells them that.

So Hop gets him a couple of plants to tend. Steve buys him a little potted plant to keep on his window sill. Billy helps Joyce with the landscaping around their home. Joyce admits that she was always a little jealous of Karen’s flowers in front of her house.

“Mrs. Wheeler’s garden can eat shit. Ours will be better.” Billy says with utter determination and a little dirt on his cheek.

When he gets too stressed and needs to go outside and do something relaxing, he’ll tend to the garden, watering and weeding. Joyce will help if she’s not busy.

And while these help release some stress in general, sometimes school is just too riling, too draining, too emotionally tough that they have to figure something out for him.

But Jonathan figures out what’s going on and tells them he’s got this. And when Billy’s birthday comes around, he opens up a little present from Jonathan and finds a walkman. Jonathan explains that he knows music helps him greatly, any time he’s stressed he puts on music to drown the bad things out, and Jonathan can understand the feeling. He feels the same when he’s upset or nervous. so he figured being able to listen to music in the hallways will be a good way to keep the anger at bay.

Billy nearly cries. He hugs him tight before punching him lightly. Jonathan rubs his arm and mumbles an amused “you’re welcome”

And so Billy is happier! More free! Has more space in himself to do things he loves bc all of that pressure is leaving his system and yeah, he’s still a firecracker and a brat but he’s finding more things to put his mind to! More things to put his energy into! More ways to be constructive!! And when I tell you the rest of the family is so happy for him, MAN it’s an understatement! They’re just so overjoyed at Billy having an easier time being happy♥

[sally-mun]

Do the old grumps have any hobbies or interest? Could imagine they gotta, can't just work as Guardians all the time lol

Yeah, there’s plenty of downtime to being a Guardian. To be perfectly honest, most of their actual Guardian duties revolve around monitoring and patrolling more than anything, with training and practice coming in at a close second. They don’t actually face battles and conflict terribly often, it’s just usually VERY intense when they do, so they have to stay prepared.

But in the meantime, yes, there are hobbies.

I believe I’ve mentioned here and there that Spectre likes to do puzzles. Not only does he genuinely enjoy the intellectual exercise, but it’s also something that helped him when he was still living in Moritori’s custody, as it was something he could do very quietly to avoid drawing ‘Tobor’s’ ire. That aside, he just generally enjoys quiet activities, such as reading and jigsaw puzzles. Nowadays in the RP his mobility is extremely limited and he’s REALLY getting up there in age, so he spends a lot of time using a tablet to entertain himself.

Sojourner’s ‘hobbies’ when he was younger mostly revolved around going out and trying to find validation among his peers, since he didn’t believe he was getting it from Spectre. (If you want to be particularly vicious I suppose you could say getting girls pregnant was a hobby–)

OKAY okay that was mean. Anyway, he was a party boy as a young man because he wouldn’t admit how miserable he was, so a lot of his free time was spent playing drinking games with “friends.” Once that phase passes, I can only infer that he likes serial dramas; at the present in the RP he spends a lot of time grumpily watching soap operas.

Thunderhawk, unsurprisingly, likes group activities. He’s the most eager to play games (especially board/card games) or to want to host a family movie night. He’s also the most interested in cooking, although I would say his skill level is average. Thundy in general is the sort of person that will try to make whatever he happens to be doing into something he can enjoy.

Janelle was definitely the most sports-y of the group. Since she had to work twice as hard as anyone else to be taken seriously, it required her to stay VERY fit to stay on top of her game, plus she had a lot of siblings to play with, so athletic hobbies came very naturally to her. It’s worth noting also that she was competitive and ALWAYS kept score, because she and her siblings constantly wanted to one-up each other and would shit talk each other if they were doing even marginally better than one another.

Athair, like Spectre, also enjoys puzzles, but he doesn’t get as invested in them; if he’s having trouble solving one, he just kind of shrugs and moves on, whereas Spectre will get stuck on it and can’t leave it alone until he figures it out. Honestly, Athair half-asses most things if it’s not important for him to follow through. There’s probably an endless list of hobbies he picked up and quickly abandoned; he’s tried artsy things, like painting and pottery, he’s tried practical things, like woodworking and whittling… Like I said, it’s a pretty long list. If he loses interest, he just drops it.

Sabre, as we all know, took to blogging really well, but I don’t know if we could necessarily call that a hobby since he only did it to accomplish a goal he already had. He definitely reads a lot, and he likes keeping up with news and politics. At the present in the RP he’s actually taken up a lot of gardening; at the home the Brotherhood currently lives in Sojourner had started a small vegetable garden, but he kind of abandoned it following an incident, and Sabre’s been keeping up said garden ever since.

Much like Athair, Locke in his youth would try anything and everything, and this only intensified after he and Lara started living together since she was experiencing so much for the first time. As we all know, this unfortunately ebbed away over time as his illnesses gradually consumed him. At present in The Brotherhood, Locke really only has one hobby: Obsessing over Knuckles.

Speaking of Knuckles, he does have hobbies presently in the RP, but at this point in time in The Brotherhood he doesn’t (largely because Locke doesn’t leave him any time TO have hobbies). As an adult, though, Knuckles really likes making origami and other papercraft, as it helps keep his fine motor skills fine-tuned and helps him control his strength. He’s also got a strong love for retro video games, as he enjoys the simpler goals and graphics.