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forasecondtherewedwon · 2 years

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Swimming the Sonoran

Fandom: Never Have I Ever Pairing: Devi Vishwakumar/Paxton Hall-Yoshida Rating: M Word Count: 5133

Summary: She’s here, taking her sweet-ass time meandering through every floor of every Arizona State dorm, because she’s too overachieving to permit loose ends in her decreasingly unravelling life. And because it’s hitting her that she really made Kamala drive nearly 400 miles for this and she might not be able to leave if she doesn’t get a chance to see his face.

You throw your mom one bone at the beginning of summer (basically promising not to abandon her by going to the Colorado Hippie School for Confident Dweebs), Devi thinks, and by the end of summer, she’ll let you do just about any goddamn thing you want. She wishes she’d figured this out years ago. She could’ve gotten a nose piercing way sooner! She could’ve gone to freakin’ Coachella or something, making flirty eye contact with drunk dudes with pretty contacts and scuzzy beards and swaying along to Rozzi with rich, bored, art-school burnouts on Molly.

At least she knows now—she knows the leash her mom’s had her on her whole life has the flexibility to stretch to multiple states if school’s involved. She knows that losing Kamala to the apartment complex from hell (indisputably filled with terrifying, convincingly demonic, child actors) has paid unexpected dividends. Who would’ve guessed a little bit of space would’ve made her mom trust Kamala that much more, and, more importantly, get her to entrust Kamala with Devi’s care for an entire week spent roaming the southwest?

With Mr. K along for the ride this weekend, flying into Phoenix to join them, the dynamic’s shifted, and though it’s disgusting to explore campuses while her cousin and teacher hold hands and probably make plans to befoul a hotel room later, it has its perks. With them focused on each other, Devi’s leash gets a little longer; they don’t hover as much as her mom would, instead allowing her to sit in on summer-term lectures and take residence tours by herself while they go off and stare at each other over iced coffee, or whatever passes for foreplay in Arizona.

Devi’s dream school is still Princeton, but ever since Shrubland, she’s tried to be more open to options she would either have dismissed or only fleetingly considered. These options include non-Ivies. They include remaining in states bordering the one in which her loveably overbearing relatives live. They include (and she thinks she’s being stealthy about it) visiting the colleges where her studly ex-boyfriends will be starting classes in about a week’s time.

…Ok, she only has one ex-boyf fitting that description (No shade, Des, she thinks, you were smokin’… just, like, on a level more familiar to humans) and she’s not even sure he’s moved into residence yet, and if they do bump into each other, she’s going to be bending over fucking backwards pretending it’s a funny coincidence, but still… she’s making the most of it. When in Arizona, check in on your ex to reassure yourself that he’s still hot and you once had the opportunity, though forever unseized, to hit that?

Though they are friends, or whatever. Maybe once upon a time they knew each other kinda carnally (Carnally LiteTM?), and maybe, in the extremely chill hours and hours she’s devoted to reflecting on it since the seniors’ graduation, she’s very casually come to the conclusion that Paxton shouting her out in a big way during his address to the graduating class was actually a huge goddamn deal. Like, there was a time when he didn’t want anyone to know he knew her, and he left Sherman Oaks announcing how important she is to him—announcing it to everyone. Even if they’re friends, which they are, that was sort of a masterclass, mic-drop, ball’s-in-your-court-Devi moment.

So she misses him! That’s allowed! There was an extended period of avoidance after their breakup, but with his best friend dating one of her best friends, they spent more and more time together over the summer. Always in a group, always exchanging quips that remained carefully on the safe side of flirting, but it was nice. It’s already not the same without him, and Devi expects the first week back at school to be hard, constantly remembering that she won’t run into him in the halls. They’ve come so far, gone through so much, and who’s to say that it’s totally over? Some stupid college? For Trent’s sake, she’s been smiling tightly and nodding along when he talks about the strength of his and Paxton’s friendship, how the distance can, respectfully, suck his dick (his turn of phrase). On the inside, she’s terrified that college is where high school friendships go to die. It’s like that fake farm parents tell their gullible kids their aging pets went to live on. Devi knows better. Devi knows nothing can replace proximity, especially when you haven’t said everything you could ever possibly want to say, or done everything you could ever possibly want to do.

She’s here, taking her sweet-ass time meandering through every floor of every Arizona State dorm, because she’s too overachieving to permit loose ends in her decreasingly unravelling life. And because it’s hitting her that she really made Kamala drive nearly 400 miles for this and she might not be able to leave if she doesn’t get a chance to see his face.

Devi doesn’t know his dorm or his floor, let alone his room number, and yet crazier things have happened to her than leaning against the wall for a breather (she’s been sitting in the car for a week—it’s not like she’s in marathon shape) and hearing her name said by just the right voice, in just the right way.

“Devi Vishwakumar?”

She springs away from the wall with wide eyes, turning to see Paxton striding up the hallway. She breaks into a smile, her eyebrows twitching upwards with hope and yearning and it’s-only-been-a-couple-weeks-and-we-texted-like-four-days-ago-but-hi. The way he moves has changed: his walk is a little less confident in this new school, but he holds his head high, knowing he deserves the chance to find his place here.

“Miss me already?” Paxton asks, his head cocking with the playfulness she’s missed and his own smile tugging up on one side.

The guess is so dead-on that it trips her up. Not knowing what to say, Devi just swallows and nods like she could be indulging him.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says. He looks stunned, but happy—really, genuinely happy.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have anything better to do.” She shrugs into the hug Paxton wraps her in, her hands light on the sloping shoulder blades she can feel through his t-shirt.

He steps back, brushing a hand over her shoulder in a gesture of above-average fondness, and Devi has to work not to grab it in hers. His hugs still fluster her. They’re friends, but he’ll always be the Paxton Hall-Yoshida. He’s a well-rounded volunteer and brother and former competitive swimmer and ASU freshman, but he’ll always be hot as fuck. Not everything changes.

“You touring the campus or…?” Paxton starts, squinting slightly as he tries to understand her. The hilarious thing is that he does, a hell of a lot better than most people.

Devi nods, again, agreeing to the spoken and unspoken assumptions. Or are you just here for me? Admitting that out loud would be… a lot. It’s not like that—that she’s pining for him in some romantic way. You can miss your friends! It’s super normal to have to repeatedly justify that fact to yourself, while staring at caring brown eyes and a mouth you used to kiss!

“I didn’t know you were looking at any Arizona colleges.”

“Might as well, right? It couldn’t hurt to apply.”

“Devi, come on.” His smile is criminally persuasive. “You’re getting into Princeton. How many backup schools do you need?”

She blushes and lowers her eyes sheepishly for a second. When she glances back up, she catches Paxton staring at her, his mouth held in this way that makes her think he was about to say something else, something unrelated to her overcautious approach to post-secondary education. But he presses his lips together and smiles and she dismisses the urge to anxiously tuck her hair behind her ear.

“You know what?” he says. “You know what you’re doing. Trust your own judgement.”

Devi grins.

“Thanks.” Her eyes dart to a sign on the nearest door, a sign that says his name. How the heck did she miss that? “So, you been here long?”

“Two days since my family dropped me off. Rebecca spent the whole trip telling me how she’s going to turn my bedroom into fabric storage.”

“Damn. That girl does not wait a minute. Respect.”

Paxton laughs, then his face softens into something more vulnerable.

“Maybe you guys could hang out when you have time. I mean, she’s busy, and she’s great at making friends when she isn’t insulting someone’s fashion designs to their face, but she likes you, and I…” He takes a second and then finishes, “I like knowing you’re there for each other when I can’t be.”

“Can’t be?” Devi yanks her head back, face scrunched with doubt. “We’re literally a text away. I can’t believe you’re making me of all people say this, but don’t be so dramatic.”

When he laughs again, the laugh is gentle with her, not critical or cruel. It’s another way to say that he knows her. It’s a promise that her more emotionally intense moments are not too much, like the recurring fear she confessed to her mom. For a moment, she gets lost in a way she hasn’t on this campus, ASU map pulled up on her phone: lost in the safety of him. She’s come 400 miles to feel like she’s home.

She jerks her chin towards the other name on the sign: Ethan.

“How’s the roommate?”

“Nonexistent.”

“Huh?”

“Turns out he withdrew,” Paxton explains. “The housing people have already got somebody else assigned to the spot that was his, but they’re only coming up from Tucson, so they don’t care about moving in early.”

“Nobody’s… home then?” Devi wonders, voice drifting high as she rocks up on the toes of her sneakers.

“You wanna see my room?” he teases.

“Yes.”

She says it bluntly because she’s had this guy on top of her, felt the press of his interest against her thigh even though he did his polite best to keep his hips at a hovering distance when they made out; she’s not gonna faint at the sight of his rumpled bedspread and a pair of boxers hanging over the side of a laundry hamper.

“If that’s ok,” Devi adds. “And if you don’t have to be somewhere.”

Paxton smiles and shakes his head.

“I have nowhere to be,” he promises.

“Great,” she says, the word sounding nervous to her, though hopefully not to Paxton. It’s not nervous like I’ve seen some horrible statistics about the things that happen to female college students in the dorm rooms of their male peers. It’s nervous like oh right, we haven’t been alone together in a while. Was the last time that night in her room? That opportunity for him to consider her lamp-scarf seduction tactics silly when he praised them instead? That minute or two that didn’t feel stolen until Des stepped into the doorway, face frosty with suspicion? If Devi’s voice is shaky, if her hands are twisting together and her face is getting warm, it’s because she remembers seeing the glow of candles through the tears Paxton tenderly swept from her lower lashes—and it’s not the tears she’s remembering so much as the touch.

“It’s kind of a mess,” Paxton warns with an apologetic smile, using his key card to swipe them into the room.

The room turns out to be a mini-suite, combo stove-less kitchen and living room when she steps through the door he holds open for her. There’s a door on either side of the personality-devoid couch that’s pushed against the opposite wall, and another one at the end. Devi assumes that’s the bathroom, and she excuses herself to use it when Paxton swipes open the door to his bedroom and she catches a sliver of the interior through the widening crack.

Inside, she pees, breathes, and checks her cheeks for mascara flakes. She looks at Paxton’s new tube of toothpaste and the disheveled, though coordinated, towels hung over the rail. This is different than waiting for him to climb through her window at home, or meeting him after school in his garage bedroom. Until his roommate arrives, this space is only his. Anyone who wants to come in has to knock, and he’s under no obligation to let them in. The wild freakin’ concept of total privacy!

“Friends,” Devi insists to her reflection. She walks out to meet Paxton in his bedroom.

Now that they’re in here, he looks about the same amount of nervous as she probably does (hella), standing awkwardly between the desk and the bed, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans with his thumbs hooked out. She tries not to stare at his hands, then realizes she’s forced her gaze to his bed instead. In a panic, Devi blinks and looks at Paxton’s face. Only his face.

“You wanna sit?” he offers.

They both make for the desk chair, then lurch away, making for the bed instead. When that happens, they retreat again, both headed back to the chair, until Paxton releases a short laugh and grabs Devi lightly by the upper arms, steering her towards the end of the bed and backing into the chair himself. He lets out a laboured breath when he drops into it and, yeah, she knows. There shouldn’t be this much tension.

He sits across from her and laces his fingers together, then clamps his joined hands between his knees, leaning slightly towards her. He doesn’t actually prompt her to speak, but the words fly out of Devi’s mouth—the very un-thought-out words that immediately make her want to go sit in his closet and wait for death by embarrassment.

“I almost had sex with Ben in June,” is her kneejerk overshare. “I never, uh, told you that.”

Paxton’s face flinches with alarm.

“Shit. Are you ok?”

“Yep. It wasn’t, like, bad or anything,” Devi hastily backtracks, waving her hands as though she can wipe the first attempt out of the air. “I’m not traumatized by the near-miss. Or, no more traumatized than usual.”

She gives him a self-deprecating smile that he doesn’t return, looking even warier thanks to her brush-off reaction.

“You said you almost did?” he checks.

“We don’t have to talk about this! It’s weird! Forget I said anything!”

“We don’t if you don’t want to,” he agrees slowly, “but it’s not weird. If you need to talk to someone about this, it’s ok if it’s me.”

“Yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes, “but you’re my…” She trails off.

“I’m just…” Paxton smirks and plants his feet, then pushes off, rolling his wheely desk chair in her direction. “…someone who cares about you.”

She offers an uncertain smile, sitting up straighter at his proximity. He watches her with an open, patient expression. Devi huffs out a big sigh. She hasn’t had a chance (she hasn’t made the effort) to talk this out with Dr. Ryan first, and maybe it’s not fair that she’s bringing this to Paxton, but she’s not asking him to be her therapist. She’s just telling him because… because when she was with him, he was the one to stop things when she was uncomfortable and, honestly, fearful of the potential pain of losing her virginity. It could be thanks to the example he set her then that she was able to stop things with Ben before they went beyond kissing. With Ben, she wasn’t afraid of being physically harmed—she was afraid of harming herself. Like, emotionally. In both situations, sex wasn’t the right call. Devi thinks for a minute, then tries to put it into words for Paxton.

“I think I just went over there because I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” he asks.

Devi shrugs.

“Come on,” Paxton presses, giving her knee a gentle shove.

A smile creeps up her face, which is a complete fucking mismatch for her words when she says, “Nobody ever loving me for who I am. Not like my dad did.”

“You thought having sex with Ben Gross would make him love you like your dad did? That’s really messed up, Devi,” he jokes.

“It’s just… Ben and I are friends now, and he obviously knows all my flaws and vulnerabilities because we’ve traded insults for years.”

“You know that’s messed up too, right? If you really thought he was a good choice because he’s been a dick to you.”

His expression is concerned, not judgy.

“But a perceptive dick,” she defends breezily, making Paxton release a light laugh. She grimaces. “Don’t make me say ‘dick’ when I’m trying to tell you my sex story. You’re muddying the narrative.”

“Sorry.”

“The point is, I didn’t do it, and I’m fine. I know I made the right decision.”

“So what do you need me for?” he asks. The question’s light-hearted, but the look on his face says he honestly wonders. Devi thinks that’s reasonable, since she introduced the topic. And yet… she hasn’t spoken to Dr. Ryan. No one’s made clear to her why she feels what she feels about aborting the almost-boink with Ben, why she would loop Paxton in at all when she truly is fine and, aside from being her friend, he isn’t connected to the incident—besides being the person she’s willing to drive (to get Kamala to drive) 400 miles to go see, only to fail to come to any real point, even if she tries to sound like she has. From Paxton’s semi-earnest question, she hasn’t fooled him. Damn.

Her mouth opens. I need the person who maybe, almost loved me, she has the wherewithal not to say.

“I guess I just need… you,” she says, wincing because maybe this watered-down version of her initial thought wasn’t less mushy or pathetic or intense. On top of that, she’s on the freaking debate team; was that seriously the most convincing response she could’ve come up with?

But Paxton says, “Devi, I’m here. I’m glad you came all this way.” And then he holds her hand, uncurling her fingers from the anxious fist she’s unwittingly made on her thigh. She gets goosebumps when his fingers accidentally skim her bare skin below the hem of her skirt. Maybe that’s why she does what she does.

Devi springs forward and stamps her mouth to his.

Paxton’s lips part in surprise, breaking from hers, but then he’s back and she’s keeping the whimpers inside because he cradles her cheek and kisses her. Like Ben “One Free Boink” Gross couldn’t manage. Like Des never quite cared enough to. This is that first kiss in Paxton’s car times ten, and it might actually be the first time since they broke up that she knows she’s grown; the girl she was then would’ve worried this was a pity kiss. Now, she trusts them both enough to know it’s not.

Her hands find the back of his neck, his shoulders, tugging him forward. The wheely chair brings him close to her smoothly. Her palm slips to the front of his shirt and she feels his heart, fast and strong.

“He wasn’t you,” Devi mutters between pulls of their lips. “I kinda had my heart set on my first time being with you.”

“Devi…”

Paxton’s voice is gentle, but not ok-that’s-enough gentle like he’s letting her down easy, not I’m-coming-to-my-senses gentle like kissing is nice but he doesn’t really like her like that anymore. She blinks, daring to meet his eye.

He reaches out and glides a fingertip over the curve of her nose ring.

“I missed this,” he says, wearing a small, nostalgic smile.

And then his hand is in her hair, not delicate but determined, plunging into the wavy strands, and her fingers are wrapped around his wrist, pulling him into that grip, telling him yes, telling him get your ass over here, college boy. There’s a clunk as Paxton tips forward in the chair and lets its wheels slam back onto the floor, his weight no longer on the seat; he’s hunched over her now, one knee on the bed as he allows her to draw him down. Devi shuffles backwards in what would probably look like a flailing backstroke to such a talented swimmer—if he weren’t too busy to look, reacquainting their tongues with his eyes shut.

There’s a pause once Devi’s all stretched out, head on a pillow that smells like him, Paxton hovering over her high enough to stand a ruler up in between their bodies. They look at each other.

When they were together, his go-to move was giving her exactly what they were both aware she’d always wanted: Paxton Hall-Yoshida, the popular hunk. He’d trot out the sexy head-cock-and-self-assured-smirk combo, say all the right things to make her eyes go wide and her cheeks go pink, advance swiftly to the moment where he’d peel off his shirt and reveal his abs. There was no waiting, there was no doubt, but, in the end, that had never really worked. He couldn’t be her unattainable fantasy forever. She couldn’t spend every second with him feeling utterly undeserving, like him kissing her was some act of charity.

So this is different. It’s different because they’ve both become so much more themselves, and it’s different when he lowers himself on top of her, sinking all the way down until his hips touch her hips. Instead of keeping themselves out of alignment with a thigh slotted loosely between the other person’s, they’re lined up, and Devi can feel through her skirt what Paxton was always polite enough not to nudge demandingly against her.

“This ok?” he asks.

“Super ok,” she says.

It’s also different because it lacks the ever-present threat of her mom downstairs. This is the first time she’s gotten to kiss anyone without sneaking around to do it. Well, ok, she still lied to get here. Like, obviously the whole scoping-out-colleges thing was a pretty sneaky pretense, but she technically has parental permission to be on this campus, even inside these dorms. For her mom, that would ideally be during a residence tour, but it’s close enough to approval if Devi mentally squints. And, squinting, L.A. looks a long way from Tempe.

They kiss slowly, but it heats up, Paxton reflexively rocking his hips forward as their mouths slide achingly together and apart. Devi’s making noises she’s never made before—quiet ones, but high and pleading—and after he shoves his own shoes off, he skims a quick, light hand down her calves and removes hers too. She feels surprisingly sexy, and she hasn’t even sanitized her PTA with an old takeout wipe! Also, calm. This time, she didn’t over-plan the encounter (didn’t have any real, tangible clue that it would happen, like a ham-handed sext or a rifle through Kamala’s lingerie drawer), and nothing in her wants to tense up at the feeling of Paxton on top of her. When Devi sits up to pull her shirt over her head, it doesn’t snag on her earrings. She doesn’t even think about that, doesn’t get bogged down by lingering, leftover fears, because Paxton’s mouth is on her the whole time—on her mouth, on her shoulders, high on her chest above her lacy turquoise bra. And his hands always hold her.

“You’re not, like, seeing anyone, right?” Devi freezes to ask, out of breath as Paxton’s warm kisses descend towards her cleavage. She doesn’t think Paxton would ever commit the same relationship sins she did, but she can’t help wanting to know that they’re 100% in the clear.

“I’ve been here two days, Vishwakumar,” he reminds her, smile flicked up on one side. But then his expression changes and he confesses, “I haven’t actually been with anyone since Phoebe.”

“Wait, really?”

Paxton sits back on his heels as he shrugs, and damn, she’d rather he stay on top of her, but she doesn’t want to ruin this moment with her category-5 thirstiness.

“When she and I got together, it was because I thought she was exactly what I wanted. After you,” he clarifies, which hurts like a bitch, but, yeah, Devi clocked the fact that she and Phoebe weren’t that similar, like, immediately. “I started to understand myself better—or maybe let myself understand myself better?—and I ended it with Phoebe. Since then, I’ve just thought more about the kind of person I’d want to be with. Somebody who makes me better, and who feels like I make them better too.”

Would it be overeager to let her hand shoot up like they’re back in class? Probably. Thankfully, Devi is the master of playing it cool, so she purses her lips thoughtfully and nods, steadily acknowledging the validity of his sage soul-searching.

“Word,” she says sincerely, and he laughs.

“And maybe this isn’t—” Paxton motions between them, the gesture a little bit nervous in its haste. “—exactly how we thought this was gonna happen, you know, since we’re not dating and you’re going home and I’m staying here, but…”

“But we care about each other. Nothing’s changed that.”

“Exactly,” he says with a relieved sigh.

“So maybe it can still be the right call? I guess we always were a little unorthodox.”

“We pretty much met because you walked up to me and asked if I’d have sex with you.”

“Sooo, like I said,” Devi prods.

Paxton doesn’t attempt to hide his smile as he shakes his head in pretend exasperation; she knows he’s not really exasperated with her because he tenderly cups her knee and says, “Devi Vishwakumar, would you be interested in having sex with me?”

“I’m aware that I’m a virgin,” she points out. “You don’t have to make it a big deal by being, like, extra sweet to me.”

“I was always sweet to you,” he says plainly. “Maybe you forgot.”

His expression doesn’t display criticism or hurt, just a gently nudging reminder that, yeah, they were good together once upon a not-very-long-ago time. She wasn’t ready for what she now believes they could grow into, and Paxton might not’ve been either. Her persistent, painful jealousy of Hayley, his procrastination with the college application process she’s been taking way too seriously for as long as she can remember.

And they still might not be ready!

But they aren’t trying to start from there—they’re starting from here.

From Devi’s “Paxton Hall-Yoshida, I would be interested in having sex with you. I take it you still wanna hit this?”

“Devi.”

“My bad. Would you be interested in having sex with me?” she asks instead.

Paxton grins and it’s a little of the old, self-aware sexiness, a little of the smile they shared over the summer when their gazes would cross from opposite sides of their friend group, everyone laughing about something dumb and fleeting and precious. Devi also used to see that smile too late at night, Paxton risking a backwards glance as he left through her window. She can still recall the soft darkness around him, only him bright, illuminated by the glow of her lamp, trying to climb out without making a sound.

“I’d be honoured,” he says.

And they’re still starting. From Paxton crawling over her again, from her adjusting the space between her knees until he has room but the clamp of her thighs around his hips is still urgent, from his sure hand guiding Devi’s to the hem of his shirt so she can peel it off this time. None of it scares her, except maybe in a good way, and removing items of clothing feels natural, not like something she has to offer because of some offensive, ill-informed rumour that Paxton dumps girls who won’t put out.

“I’ve never done it in this room,” he offers generously, lightening the mood as Devi takes a breath and unzips her skirt.

She stiffens.

“Oh shit. Does that mean you don’t have condoms?!”

Paxton laughs.

“No. Thanks to a very awkward moment where I caught my dad slipping a box into my nightstand… we’re good.”

“Nice. Way to come through, Mr. Hall-Yoshida.”

“Are you talking about me or…?”

“Your dad. But you don’t have to relay that message,” Devi assures him with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“I definitely wasn’t going to,” Paxton says.

Her skirt comes off, and then his jeans, and then, probably for the first time in her life, Devi forgets to talk for a while. What will stay with her later are the distinct moments when they help to strip each other of their final items of clothing. How she doesn’t feel inferior or inexperienced when he gets her bra undone on the first try. How he doesn’t tear his boxers off and start getting pushy now that they’re so close. She’s comfortable with his ease and he’s conscious of her need to take things slow—not out of dread, but because she’s savouring it all.

“Is this alright?” Paxton asks, before touching any part of her with his hands, his lips, his tongue. One time, it’s mumbled right up against someplace it makes her dizzy to see his face, but Devi hears him and forces out a verbal “yes” when the only thing she wants to do is nod and thrash her head back and forth on his pillow, dampening the pillowcase with sweat from her temples while his arms loop around her tremoring thighs so she can’t accidentally block her response from reaching his ears.

She’s thought about this. A lot. When he kisses up the center of her torso and murmurs the question again, she gives the same answer, clutching him close to her. Paxton sways forward and back, gasping into her neck, and Devi feels like one of those deep-space photographs. She feels like a windchime. She feels shattered yet glistening, silent yet musical, in tune with some very distant part of herself that’s almost been a stranger yet entirely present and susceptible to the environment: the light of an Arizona afternoon through Paxton’s half-drawn blackout curtains, the smack of a cheap headboard against a not-yet-decorated wall, the muffled sounds of doors closing somewhere out in the hall. Other people coming and going while Devi helps Paxton make dirty laundry of his clean, white sheets.

“Somebody,” Paxton pants, “is gonna love you exactly the way you want.”

Devi gets her eyelashes to quit fluttering; this is so much better than even what her horny brain imagined. She’s looking up at him through the wobbly shine of unshed tears—borne of overwhelmed intensity and pleasure and delight—when he suddenly meets her eye.

Oh, she thinks, as a tear slides down her temple and into her hair, you mean they already do.

#my writing #Devi Vishwakumar #Paxton Hall-Yoshida #Devi x Paxton #Never Have I Ever #Daxton #Never Have I Ever spoilers #Never Have I Ever season 3 #NHIE #NHIE spoilers #NHIE fanfiction

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liviavanrouge · 7 months

Text

Styx Livia Au

Let me just start off by saying, it came as a shock to Diasomnia when they were informed that Livia had an accident

Ortho tells them that Livia got injured fighting Idia and it got worse when she suddenly coughed up a ton of blot

Livia is actually revived by Idia himself

The only downside is that she doesn't know who anyone is other than the Ignyhide students

She has to stay contained in a room for three days due to attacking some of the workers

Ortho is the one who teaches her emotions, learning with her as he learns about his new "heart*

Silver is the most devastated and ends up being silent much more often

Livia runs into him and informs him that she looked up cures for depression

It ends up confusing her when Silver walks the other way

Idia cannot handle Livia, she's too troublesome and threatens people a lot with her blasters

Livia on the other hand does instinctively get closer with Epel, Rozzie, Azul and Kalim

It confuses her as to why she feels care for these people

Ortho isn't able to answer her question, fearing that she'd short circuit

Mr and Mrs Shroud become unofficial parents to Livia

She enjoys being around them

Helps them whenever she can

And even makes them digital drawings she's thought up

She literally becomes an unofficial member, and they absolutely love her!

Livia spends more time at Styx than at NRC, due to Crowley fearing for what she might blow up

No matter what, Livia is always present during phantom testing

Most of the time she activates her defense mechanism and ends up destroying more dangerous phantoms

"Livia, you can't keep blowing up the experiments!" "He bad, he very bad! Needed blowy uppie!"

She leaves Styx more than anyone, even though she's the most powerful Android that has been created there

Something astounding happened one day while Livia was at NRC

She approached Silver and called him big brother

She's immediately taken back by Idia and Ortho to be analyzed

Everyone finds out that Livia regained memories that had Silver in them

The only other person she remembered was SILVER

Silver out of everyone in the school, she started to remember

Silver is allowed to keep Livia now that she knows who he is

"What now, big brother?" "Ah...we go back to the school"

He's relieved she remembers him, but is still hurt since he misses the alive Livia

The human Livia...his real sister

Things go back to normal, but Livia notices that Silver is a bit distant with her

She doesn't push

People need their own time to recover

Livia remembering him helped with his depression

But he's still mostly silent and distant with everyone

Mr and Mrs Shroud gift Livia a charging tree

She got so excited, the lights blew out

"THE LIGHTS!!!" "My, my, who knew such a gift could make her do that..."

Livia doesn't need to recharge daily

She can go four days without charging, but she's usually sleeping like a jaguar in her charging tree

As mentioned before, Livia spends a lot of her days at Styx

Which means Silver doesn't get to see her often

Livia does work like paperwork, guarding the workers during experiments, patrolling the halls, etc

She hangs around Mrs Shroud a lot, and even brings the woman food to eat

There are times where things poke at the back of Livias head

She says it's like her mind is trying to make her remember something

She shrugs it off though and continues working

She's surprised when she gets gifts sent to her by Leona and Vil

But she returns the gifts, leaving letters that say she has no need for them

Unknowingly she hurt their feelings

Leona is the one to snap first, yelling at Idia about this being his fault

Vil snaps afterwards, which worries Golden

Idia starts working on a way to restore Livias memories

No luck

Everything was lost

And Livia bring the most powerful Android in Styx

They couldn't afford to update her memory base

She might end up being too strong to control

Livia ends up singing Once Upon a December in front of Idia

It made Idia burst into tears

"I-IDIA?!" "I'M SORRY!! I'M SO SORRY, THIS IS MY FAULT!!"

Idia broke down due to the song, because....

It was the last song Livia sang to him before he himself killed her and caused the blot to appear

Livia had sang the song to him, trying to snap him out of his overblot state

The last words of her song made him freeze

It made him realize what he did

And Livia died because of his mistake

Livia comforts him as he cried, patting his back

He hugs her tight, crying and apologizing

She's confused about why he was apologizing to her but forgives him

Idia did not take it well...

"I-It's alright! I forgive you!" "NO!!!! YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO!!!!!!"

He screamed at her to get out

Ortho had to pull a startled and hurt Livia out of the room before Idia's hair busted into flames

Idia stayed holed up in his room for three weeks

She always dropped off food outside his door each day

And would even bring him new figurines

She does check to see if he got the items

He always did and left a thank you note

When he came out, he apologized for screaming at her

Livia easily forgives him and starts to hang out with him again

Idia just smiles and pats her head

Lilia offered Idia some of his cooking to make him feel better

Livia nearly blew his head off...........

It was lucky that Lilia dodged or he'd be missing a head

Something inside her deep within her memory made her react that way

As if someone screamed danger at her at the sight of the pot in the faes hands

Lilia does not take her hostility towards him well

To be honest, he visibly cried in front of everyone the moment he saw Android Livia

"My baby doesn't remember me...this is too cruel!!!" "Father...."

Livia at times ends up coming to see Lilia, bothering him with endless questions

She doesn't know why!

Whenever she has a question

He just comes to mind instantly

Her mind tell her that his cooking is dangerous

But it also tells her to go annoy him endlessly

Lilia genuinely enjoys her company

He answers her questions with amusement

And at times entertains her with magic tricks

"WOWIE! AMAZING!!" "I know right, wanna see more?" "Yes!!"

He sees the real Livia in this Android one

Even though she's different and doesn't remember him

She's still his precious baby girl

Even though she's not the Livia he once knew

The Ramshackle quadruple are visited by Livia a lot

She brings them blankets, groceries, clothes, etc, etc

She even helps fix the dorm up AND cooks them food

Grim at times stares at her but runs away when she moves to speak with him

Oz avoids her as much as he can but he does greet her when she visits

Aura is always seen reading a book on revival spells

Livia got totally freaked out

Ollie, poor sweet Ollie, bursts into tears whenever Livia gives her a daisy

Livia wonders why she cares about two humans, a bear beastman and a strange cat beast so much

Once again, she shrugs it off

She WANTS to remember these people

She WANTS to be around them

But something in her mind is telling her that she doesn't deserve to know

That she doesn't deserve happiness

That.....she's a danger to everyone

Everyone stops seeing Livia more often after those thoughts occur

Idia informs them that she started overworking herself at Styx

She refuses to leave....

#twst livia #twst lilia #twst silver #twst epel #twst idia #twst ortho #twst vil #twst leona #livia vanrouge #twst oc #twst ollie #grim twst #twst aura #twst oz #twst azul #twst kalim #twst rozzie #twst golden #styx livia au

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pesterass · 3 months

Text

twistedEcclesiastic [TE] began trolling tawdryCaricaturist [TC]

TE: I aM herE ouT oF purE fuckinG desperatioN. I aM minD-fuckinG fuckinglY fuckinG BOREd TE: mY matespriT iS DEAd oR likE probablY sleepinG anD I donT reallY talK tO anythinG elsE?? TE: anD yourE A faT stupiD fuckinG punchinG baG anD thatS FUn. NYEHEHEHEH TC: aww im really that entertaining to you? : P TC: i thought you had lots of other troll friends karmis! what happened?? TE: dO yoU havE dementiA?? wheN diD I eveR saY I havE trolL friendS I fuckinG HATe EVERYONe TC: well they all seem to know about you! i just figured you were all friends : ) TC: so if your lying your not really doing a good job of it right now : P TE: thatS jusT becausE I makE enemieS whereveR I gO NYEHEHEHEH TE: fucK thA haterS TC: haha true : ) TC: arent you a hater though? TC: just like in general TE: yeaH duH. fucK mE fucK yoU I donT givE A shiT! NYEH TE: whateveR. I donT carE foR labelS TC: thats cool me neither : ) TC: your friends are cool though i think you should hate on them a little less TE: ugH fucK WHo arE yoU EVEn TALKINg ABOUt???!!!! TC: ummm TC: well i met rozzie the robot and the guy that built him TC: he made it sound like your friends with him : ) TC: unless he was lying? TC: i dunno he sounded kind of tricky TE: STOp TYPINg!!! TC: WHAT? TE: STOp TE: rozziE iS NOt mY "frienD". fuckinG perioD! enD oF storY!! TE: itS A triggeR happY psychopathiC littlE freaK anD thaT nerD lukE needS tO keeP iT oN A leasH TC: his name is luke? TC: you guys are aliens and one of you is named luke? TE: welL youR namE iS ryaN. NYEHEHEH TE: hiS namE iS lukeiS anywayS TC: luke is what? TE: lukeiS TC: oh thats his name? TC: how do you even pronouns that TE: whaT iS fuckinG wronG witH yoU arE yoU actuallY braiN damageD? TC: no im actually normal!! sheesh TC: anyways LUKEIS (still weird) says that hes your best friend : ) TC: trust me! TE: whaT fuckinG eveR? I donT reallY carE TC: are you sure? TE: arE yoU stupid? TC: i dunno! TC: you came to me for entertainment so you dont get to complain TC: dummy TC: hey so whats a matesprit? is that another weird word your going to make fun of me for not knowing about TE: yeS iT iS! NYEH. lonelY loseR dickwaD TE: alsO I donT knoW whaT itS likE oN youR stupiD planeT buT oN ourS wE havE A littlE thinG calleD freedoM oF insultS sO I caN complaiN alL I wanT TC: yeah i guess we have something like that! its called bullying TE: "meeeH meeH meeH mY namE iS wayaN yourE bullyinG mE becausE iM sO stupiD anD I donT eveN knoW whaT A matespriT iS oR probablY eveN hoW tO spelL halF thE alphabeT meeH meeH" TC: i didnt say that! TE: yeS yoU diD looK yoU jusT diD, weirdO TC: how come your allowed to complain but im not? thats kind of stupid TC: if your going to try to be mean you might as well be fair about it! >: P TE: therE yoU fuckinG gO agaiN beinG thE mosT stupiD persoN iN thE fuckinG universE. itS likE yourE ADDICTED TE: I neveR eveR saiD yoU couldnT complaiN itS jusT youR complaintS arE 1.stupiD 2.dumB 3.bullshiT 4.pathetiC(verY) 5.donT matteR. NYEH TE: NYEHEHEH TC: i guess but you complain about EVERYTHING TC: literally every single little thing TC: i think that makes your complaints even more pointless TC: i dont really take you seriously anymore : P TE: diD I asK yoU thougH? TE: XP TC: hehehe TE: yoU caN takE mE seriouslY oR noT, aS lonG aS yourE stilL A stupiD nobodY I wiN X) TE: yoU arE fuckinG dirT undeR mY cooL shoeS, PATHETIc TE: NYEHEHEHEH TC: suuuuure karmis : P TE: lalalalalalalA I canT heaR yoU TC: yeah you can : ) TE: whaT? TC: okay if you cant here me then i guess you wont react to me calling you a STUPID JERK TC: karmis smells like AAAAAAAAAAASS!!! >: D TE: nyeH TE: NYEHEHEHEHEHEH TE: NYEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH X) TC: nyehehe! >: P TE: heY thatS My THINg TWERp TC: SEE you heard me : D

twistedEcclesiastic [TE] ceased trolling tawdryCaricaturist [TC]

#homestuck #pesterass #homestuck oc #fantroll #karmis gazmaz #ryan carter

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hollands4s · 1 year

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Crystal: No... She doesn't know me, she just needed a mom... Rozzie: Exactly. It's good that you understand that! Too bad it's late... Crystal: I'm really sorry that this happened, but I can't change anything! I made many mistakes and I will have to pay for them all my life ... Rozzy: Wow! Crystal realized something... What happened? This doesn't look like you! Crystal: I rethought my life... I don't want to do what I used to do and I'm not with Brandon anymore... I want to help Mia and you... Rozzy: Wow! Here are the changes ... I wonder how long? Crystal: For a long time... Damn it! Brandon: Good morning, sorry to interrupt... Rozzy: What the fuck?! What wind brought him here? You said you weren't together anymore! Crystal: God... I don't know why he came!

#sims #sims 4 #sims 4 story #sims story #симс #симс 4 #симс 4 история #симс история

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burnerblog333332 · 6 months

Text

twistedEcclesiastic [TE] began trolling tawdryCaricaturist [TC]

TE: "meeeH meeH meeH mY namE iS wayaN yourE bullyinG mE becausE iM sO stupiD anD I donT eveN knoW whaT A matespriT iS oR probablY eveN hoW tO spelL halF thE alphabeT meeH meeH" TC: i didnt say that! TE: yeS yoU diD looK yoU jusT diD, weirdO TC: how come your allowed to complain but im not? thats kind of stupid TC: if your going to try to be mean you might as well be fair about it! >: P TE: therE yoU fuckinG gO agaiN beinG thE mosT stupiD persoN iN thE fuckinG universE. itS likE yourE ADDICTED TE: I neveR eveR saiD yoU couldnT complaiN itS jusT youR complaintS arE 1.stupiD 2.dumB 3.bullshiT 4.pathetiC(verY) 5.donT matteR. NYEH TE: NYEHEHEH TC: i guess but you complain about EVERYTHING TC: literally every single little thing TC: i think that makes your complaints even more pointless TC: i dont really take you seriously anymore : P TE: diD I asK yoU thougH? TE: XP TC: hehehe TE: yoU caN takE mE seriouslY oR noT, aS lonG aS yourE stilL A stupiD nobodY I wiN X) TE: yoU arE fuckinG dirT undeR mY cooL shoeS, PATHETIc TE: NYEHEHEHEH TC: suuuuure karmis : P TE: lalalalalalalA I canT heaR yoU TC: yeah you can : ) TE: whaT? TC: okay if you cant here me then i guess you wont react to me calling you a STUPID JERK TC: karmis smells like AAAAAAAAAAASS!!! >: D TE: nyeH TE: NYEHEHEHEHEHEH TE: NYEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH X) TC: nyehehe! >: P TE: heY thatS My THINg TWERp TC: SEE you heard me : D

twistedEcclesiastic [TE] ceased trolling tawdryCaricaturist [TC]

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thereadingchallengechallenge · 2 years

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Review: Being Miss Nobody by Tamsin Winter Rating: 4/5

"There's a time for being quiet, and there's a time for speaking up."

Rosalind can't speak even though she definitely wants to. Her head is constantly clouded with words she wants to say to her teachers, her classmates, her therapist, but her mouth just won't co-operate. She's dreading starting secondary school and her fears are realised when she's met with nothing but bullying. So she decides to try writing things down instead of saying them out loud and thus, Miss Nobody is born.

This was a lovely story about how not being able to speak doesn't mean you have nothing to say. I loved reading about Rozzie trying to find the courage to speak and finding ways to get around it when she couldn't quite manage. Her second therapist, Octavia, was amazing and the perfect example of how a therapist should be, especially for kids.

It was interesting how Winter wrote about Rozzie being bullied, turning into a bit of a bully herself, and then learning from her mistakes - something her actual bullies never learned themselves. And it was great that Winter never tried to explain away Rozzie's selective mutism - it was just a part of her and it made her who she was, even if that made things a little difficult sometimes.

I also loved that we had a character with cancer, who died, but wasn't for one second turned into inspiration porn. The whole time I was holding my breath, waiting for the character to inspire Rozzie to start speaking or, later, to apologise for the mistakes she'd made, but it never happened. Rozzie's only inspiration was herself and her own conscience which meant the character with cancer felt more realistic and was allowed to have their own journey. Way more meaningful than when a disabled character dies so the other characters Learn a Lesson.

But having said that, I think there was a missed opportunity here. It would've been great to see a bit of a discussion about how different disabilities are treated differently by people in society. Rozzie's mutism is met with teasing and ridicule from almost every character in the book. But no one ever says a bad word about the character with cancer. I'm amazed that Rozzie was never annoyed by that double standard because I definitely was.

Regardless, this was a lovely middle-grade novel that I'm very glad to have randomly borrowed from the library.

Warnings: ableism, anxiety, bullying, childhood cancer, character death

#being miss nobody #tamsin winter #booklr #bookblr #book review #middle grade #disabled characters #trcc original #4 star reads #reviews

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blacksurvivalnostalgichanges · 2 years

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immortal soul:black survival characters as osp quotes

Adela: Brought to you by... basic arithmetic! It’s not that hard. I’m just stupid.

Adriana: Oh god. Oh buddy. Oh, oh, that is warm. Oh yikes.

Aiden: "I don’t know what I was worried about. She’s hundreds of miles away.” “There you are, you BARBARIAN-”

Alex: A gentleman who insists his name is John Johnson, esteemed doer of job at place.

Arda: Scrooge’s day goes from bad to worse to straight up Silent hill

Aya: Because once you leap over those pesky little speed bumps like the worth of human life, it becomes so much easier to solve your problems by just unexisting the people who disagree with you!

Barbara: THAT’S the story that made Sir Walter Raleigh go “I’ve never heard anything more legit in my entire life, let’s go!”

Bernice: No more joking, if you do this, I will hunt you down and slap you.

Bianca: Every day’s a party in Chateau Dracula.

Camilo: -For suggesting that Robespierre just guillotine everyone. Thought the sarcasm was obvious, but clearly he did not catch it.

Cathy: What-ho, fellow humans! Are you enjoying having skin today?

Celine: Or... Or... Blow up parliament!

Chiara: Look no further than- oh, good LORD! Where do you START?!

Chloe: “Heyy, Gregory. Want me to show you where I keep my amontillado?” “Do I?!”

Daniel: JUST MOVE AWAY!

Echion: Because he was basically a giant newborn baby, VICTOR.

Elena: But not just ANY beautiful princess, she’s a LONELY beautiful princess! Plot twist???

Eleven:Maybe they should’ve tried friendship. I’ve heard it’s the greatest treasure of all.

Eva: Crimes against nature 2:electric boogaloo

Emma: What an excellent goddamn soap opera.

Fiora: Of all the goddesses you could’ve chosen, way to pick ones who are 100% guaranteed to not be down with it.

Hart: The scariest part of the story is that the plan might’ve worked if the conspirators shared more than five braincells between them!

Hyejin: Well that’s not very zen of him.

Hyunwoo: That’s IT, that’s a wrap, I don’t care, I DON’T care, just let it be over, please, why is this book so much?!

Isol: ‘Cause even in death, Kukulein will ruin your day.

Jackie: But that’s no problem that a little strategic dismemberment won’t solve!

Jan: Overall, Victor’s life is about as good as it can get, except for that one bit where his mom dies.

Jenny: When this suh-sance business was just starting to be renai’d

Johann: Okay so there’s like five absurdities in that story, but THE POINT IS-

JP: Shock! Horror! Not at all predictably,

Laura: She’s pure evil because she lures you in by being hot, but then, like, she’s secretly a person underneath.

Lenox: Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead and the other one is cursed to only speak in spoonerisms.

Leon: What exactly those “base urges” are is literally never described, but given victorian standards of decency, it could be anything from cannibalizing orphans to doing drag.

Li Dailin: Have you considered... NOT studying?

Luke: But good news, sports fans! The mom may be dead, but the baby lived!

Magnus: For SOME. REASON, I don’t know, Lancelot is stupid.

Mai: That is a beautiful, classic, textbook love story (plus or minus a couple murders)

Nadine: So I may not be the sharpest knife in the Caesar,

Nathapon: This is terrible! Awful! We have to do something! ....in 8 to 13 business months.

Nicky: He and his buddy Pandarius, who was blessed by Demeter to never get indigestion- not a joke-

Rio: So Tantalus is a demigod son of Zeus, which at this point is about as exclusive as being left-handed.

Rosalio: And so, King Mithridates died as he lived. Not dying from poison.

Rozzi: Keep trying to shoot people in the head... And they keep... Not getting shot in the head by me...

Shoichi: “Loki, can we not do this? I’ll literally give you all my worldly possessions if you don’t do this.” “That sounds like something a poor person would say!”

Silvia: But Julius had ignored the golden rule of slow and steady gets the spaghetti

Sissela: Oh no, it seems that you have contracted Big Dead! You should... pray about it.. or something.

Sua: Think the lesson here is that the real monster was the english language all along.

Tia: Mysterious color, etc etc

William: “You are having a great time here?” “I’m distinctly not.”

Xiukai: His Highness the king does not have a poison addiction, he can stop any time he wants.

Yuki: The first instance of what I like to call Van Helsing Serious Face.

Zahir: Unorthodox display of hubris but very well.

#considered adding in the erbs characters but i went to listen to felix's english voicelines and i physically contracted like i was punched #so it's isbs exclusive baby #might add priya as the exception though. she's endearing #immortal soul incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #eternal return incorrect quotes #also yeah i got the motivation to redo it after tungle decided going to the back page isn't equivalent to an f5

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chimielie · 3 years

Note

ooh 💘 for "champagne" please

hope you've been well and don't stay up too late writing, rest is important!

HI i love interacting w u do u know that

i wrote champagne because i really wanted to explore what would happen if a character often hc’d as having commitment issues (kuroo) had a partner who hadn’t worked through those the same way. it’s probably my most personal fic and i felt super frustrated writing it often, i cut HUGE swathes of it and rewrote them like three times and wasn’t entirely happy with it even when i posted it. i think i cried trying to write it once LOL but seeing the responses to it have made me and my little heart so happy hahah and i actually reread it a while after posting and was like ... i wrote this?? this is good!

it was difficult to write so much from the reader’s perspective, but i felt like they came out relatable and likable. like i’ve said before, i believe that a proposal shouldn’t be totally unexpected. reader learns in the fic that growth is nonlinear— they think they’re ready to say yes, and learn at the last moment that actually, they might not be. they learn a lot about love, too, but that growth/healing aspect was actually more what i was thinking of as i wrote.

i also wanted that strong juxtaposition between the first and second proposal— the first proposal goes smoothly (except for the part where reader runs away), the environment is perfect and fancy and uptight, there’s a distinct lack of communication that seems casual at first and then snowballs into something big and bad. on the other hand, the second has mistakes (kuroo comes home early, the spacing is wrong, tetsuro interrupts), callbacks to the thoughtfulness of kuroo’s proposal, a familiar environment where their love was built, significantly easier communication with each other, and tangible proof of their efforts to grow and understand and love each other.

then in the final few sentences it reasserts that concept of nonlinear growth; even though reader’s come so far, their commitment issues haven’t disappeared overnight. however, tetsuro is ready to help them work through their fear and negative beliefs and self-deprecation too. it’s like... idk they have similar issues and are working through them at their own paces and helping each other and i think that’s a lot of love i’ve been lucky enough to experience.

also the title is from champagne by lia marie johnson even though it’s not really about the same thing the song is! i listened a lot to joshua tree by rozzi while i was listening, i think it informed the fic more than champagne did LOL

want the director’s commentary on one of my fics?

#ask n answer #user: kohi zeri #kohi!

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doctordiscord123 · 2 years

Note

All :3

1 & 2 and 9 & 10 were already answered :D

3. Favorite OC

mmmm probably Desmond or Ahperikaar....

4. Favorite OC design

....Probably Desmond XD or Leon ksjgf I think they're cute

5. Main Reason for Making OCs

brain go brrrr and has a brief drive of a desire to be original

6. Describe Your Character Creation Process

fucking around in picrew until I find something that looks good

7. Do you ship your OCs with someone else's?

Used to, but she was a cunt, so not anymore

8. Fav OC ship

I'm leaning towards the possibility of Lux and Demetrius XD

11. Would you consider yourself nice to your OCs?

In terms of background lore? Not at all. Actually writing them? Most of the time.

12. An OC you've killed

I haven't really killed any, not in any permanent way, but I guess I've technically killed Ahperikaar before

13. Are any of your OCs parents?

Yep! Vivian and Carlos are the Queen and King in the new batch, so they're Rozzy and Leon's parents XD

14. Are there any OCs you find yourself neglecting?

Pretty much all of them

15. An OC that's difficult to write/draw/rp

All of them at any given time, burn out sucks and my brain hurts

16. Tallest and shortest OCs

Tallest would be Demetrius I think, and the shortest would be I think Desmond or Kozmo

17. Oldest and youngest OCs

Oldest is Ahperikaar by a looooong shot, youngest is Rozzy

18. Do you dislike any of your OCs?

No, I don't think so

19. Have you ever made a self-insert?

I have! I'm just not big on the self-insert thing XD But her name is Summer Evergreen

20. An OC regret

so much

21. An OC you didn't expect to be popular

I don't think any of mine are popular XD

22. An OC you didn't expect to love

Man I did not expect to love Ahperikaar as much as I do

#ask discord #ask game #regalrain #my ocs #lux #demetrius #rosaline #leon #vivian #carlos #desmond #kozmo #AZ #ahperikaar

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studebakerhearse · 11 months

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Happy Pride Month

#catwoman #selina kyle #tim sale #the long halloween #batman #pride icons #I made the first one as a partial jest some months ago but I’m also 100% serious and feel earnestly about it #rozzie made something

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hollerace · 3 years

Text

The Hockey Fan--February 12, 2021

The bar was low. Dark, smoky, smudged, on the border of the North End. Thacher Street. I discovered it, via a Connecticut guy who had moved nawth. I avoided the fern-laden, brassy, high-end watering holes filled with people who spoke in chilled whispers, getting louder only to feign laughter.

That's how I found this place. It was faintly Irish—this was Boston, after all—but no shamrocks or leprechauns danced on its walls. A sooty Guinness sign blinked forlornly through the smoke. When I first saw her, she sat, or perched, on a bar stool. She was slight, almost petite, and, except for her porcelain skin, very black. Clothes, stockings, shoes, hair, purse.

The hair, I noticed first. Done up in a longish page boy. Luxuriantly raven, falling in even cascades, framing the bone face, landing perfectly. When she swung her head, I saw harpstrings moving in great sheets, in planned arpeggios. The luster was palpable; it mesmerized me. I wanted to smell her.

The second time I saw her, she approached me. It was a Thursday, I was off the road. The Bruins were on TV, with no sound, as always. There was no juke box. Clinkety glass, jangling silverware and strums of conversation were the backdrop.

“Do you like the hockey?” she said.

Her fragrance washed: icy and clean. Not like an applied scent, it was something she carried. She took the seat next to me and sat on its edge. Her hands fluttered.

“I do,” I said. Hawkey. The accent, richly Bawstin, the ah's, the aw's for short o's.

“I've never been,” she said. “I should like to go sometime.”

I mulled her way of speaking. It was halting, as if tethered, yet old-timey sounding, like that of a fussy maiden aunt. I wondered if she wore powder or had a hanky in her sleeve.

Her black boots gleamed as I stooped to pick up a fallen napkin. I fought speaking further; she was staring at the TV.

“May I buy you a drink?” I said.

“No,” she said. “Certainly not. But that doesn't mean we can't speak. Mercy me. You seem nice.”

“I like the Black Bush, rocks,” she said, naming the upscale brand of Bushmills Irish whiskey.

I grinned and opened my mouth.

“No,” she said. “Don't make light. Yes, I see the double meaning. But I don't think you are a man who'd make such a joke. Would you?”

“No,” I said. “I wasn’t going there. But it is good whiskey. It's aged in Spanish Oloroso sherry casks and bourbon barrels. Seven years old.” She said, “So, you are knowledgeable.” After coaxing one out of a black leather case, she lit a Virginia Slim.

I grinned. “Not really. You see, I have a buddy who works for the importer. I can even get you some product or glasses.”

She finally allowed me her first soft smile. Her mouse-mouth moved slightly. A hint of small, even, white teeth. The parentheses at the corners sidled slightly.

“And you are honest,” she said. “But I drink it only here. Never elsewhere. Allow me to buy you one, however.”

And she did. Should I tell her I was a drummer, having moved here for a gig that might take me elsewhere? I avoided this path.

We sipped quietly. Her eyebrows, perfect arcs, hunched over her glass. Dark eyes; perhaps the smallest of wrinkles dancing around them. She may have been older than I, early thirties. She wore many black layers. When she shifted, ever so slightly, hints of black, not-sheer-not-opaque stockings peeked between boots and skirt. I tried to imagine her legs.

I drank with her. Without touching me, she pulled me in, her gravity extending toward me, grasping, holding on. I think our stools moved closer.

A new period commenced; the screen snapped her head back. “Oh,” she would say every once in a while. An almost-goal. A breakaway. A skirmish.

“Oh,” she said, again. A quiet, mouse-oh, barely escaping her thin, reddened lips.

I turned at an oblique angle, seeing her in a little compartment from my eye-corner, pretending to watch the game mere blocks away, played by ant-men on ivory ice.

“The Bruins are going to lose,” she said during the third period. “Yes,” I said. “They are. Would you like to go to a game?”

“Very much. With you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Even better,” she said. “I come here on Thursdays.”

Her departure was also small and tidy. She shrugged on her coat (black leather) and said a hint of good-bye.

And was out the door.

Iggy, my friend the barkeep, rolled his eyes at me. “Not for you, boyo,” he said.

“Why?”

“Not for you.”

<><><>

I went on the road for a while. In New York, I leaned on a record-company guy I knew. He was crazily connected, especially for sports seats. I traded him a ringside table at Max’s KC for a pair of Bruins ducats, which he mailed me.

When that Thursday came, I had been away for a few weeks and knew I was taking a crazy chance. I made sure to stop in Rozzie Square for a few nips of Black Bush, which I stashed into the pocket of my pea coat.

I waited at the bar, hoping, nursing a Rolling Rock.

She came in, a wave of black. I smelled her first. A dress this time, suitably short, with black pumps. Leather gloves. Her legs were sturdier than her remainder, gleaming through the hose. I liked them. It was a different leather coat, a larger bag.

Her Black Bush was ready before she sat down next to me. That small smile, perhaps a hair wider, again. She carried the cold in with her; it added to her scent.

“We have time for just one,” I said.

“Before what?” said the eyebrows.

I slid the tickets onto the scarred walnut next to her coaster.

“Is it the hockey? Tonight?” she said. The hawkey. I loved it.

“It is.”

“And you would like me to accompany you?”

“I certainly would.” Now I was mimicking her without thinking. She didn't seem to notice.

She looked at me, almost schoolgirl-shy. “Then we shall go. I’ll leave my bag with Iggy. I was hoping to see you.” A bigger smile; the only part of her face that moved was her pinched mouth.

We walked the few blocks up North Washington Street to the Garden. The NY-connected seats were quite good. Near one corner, only a few rows back from the glass.

“We just made face-off,” I said.

“What's that?”

“That's how they start the game.” I tried not to sound expert or exasperated.

She looked at me, icy and stern. “I don't claim to know about the hockey. I just like it.” From thereon in, I explained only when she asked a question.

“Oh,” she would say from time to time, lightly tapping my wrist. She did this as she spoke--digital punctuation. “They move so quickly.”

“They hit the white barriers hard. Do they mean to hurt each other?”

“It's faster, louder and better,” she proclaimed.

During the first break, I asked her if she wanted Bushmills.

“You surprise me,” she said.

I showed her the airplane nips. “I can get some cups and ice,” I said.

“No matter. This way is fine.”

She took bird sips, her pinksilver tongue darting to lick her lips after each sampling. I found this alluring, sensual.

When the Bruins scored, she stood regally and emitted a small, “Yay.”

What affected her most was a fight. In the third period, Terry O'Reilly squared off against the oddly named Larry Playfair of the Sabres. Very close to our seats.

She stood with the rest of us and jerked left and right, as if a player had jumped into the stands and was pummeling her. I heard her grunt, just a bit. When the referees finally separated the combatants, she sat back down, seemingly exhausted, wrapped into herself.

“Have you ever seen such a thing?” she said. “Heavens. They were really fighting.”

“In a hockey way,” I said.

She said, “I abhor violence, but nonetheless, that excited me.”

She took my right hand and placed it between her breasts. “See?”

See? I think my pulse was outracing her gallop.

She then daintily situated my hand in her lap, where she held me gently. Her fingers were long and cool, her manicure seamless and perfect. We sat that way for a while.

“Have you any more Bushmills?” she asked, returning my hand.

She caught me staring at her once. A full profile. A puckish nose, the proper chin that extended just short of proud. Limned by the confetti, raucous crowd, she glimmered softly—with seemingly no edges. I felt succor. I lost track of the game.

We finished drinking just as the game did. Without discussing it, we walked back to the bar. She removed her right glove and took my left hand.

As I was about to walk into the bar, my hand on her upper arm, she delicately twirled away. She said, “I truly like you.” She gave me the smallest possible kiss on the cheek. Almost a child's kiss, innocent and wan.

Indoors, she said, “Come back by the coatroom with me. I need to fetch my bag.”

I followed blindly.

“I want to kiss you,” she said. And did so. Quickly. On the lips.

Outside, she flagged down a cab. And dragged me into it.

She told the driver, “19 Cornwall St., Jamaica Plain.”

Then she looked at me, “I can come over. If you want.”

I squinted. How did she know where I lived? This was not a time for rumination.

“Yes,” I said. “That would be nice.”

As I dug in my pockets, she paid for the cab.

I was thankful that my second-floor flat was somewhat presentable. I asked her if she would like a drink as I threw mail from the sofa and socks from the coffee table.

Then I turned to look for her.

“In here,” she said.

My bedroom.

“Join me,” she said. “Love me, please.”

It was angular and concise. It was fencing, thrusting, parrying, folding. It was quick motion, dekes and backpedals. It was gently primal. It was violent, then prim, wordless, tender, gruff, almost emotionless, yet simmering. It was engulfing, releasing, joining, separating. It was familiar, yet foreign. We moved in concert, then wildly out-of-tune. Finally a daub of a sigh floated from her. In the end, the music subsided, with no coda.

We drowsed. She broached the soft stillness. “I must go,” she said.

As I rose to protest, she was already wearing a black silk something.

She said, “I used your phone.”

I said, “Please. Stay the night. It's almost three. How will I get you home?”

“That has been arranged.”

She moved toward a window, parting the curtains, looking out over Flaherty Park.

She said, “Please kiss me good-bye.”

Then she gathered me in and kissed me for real. For the first time, it seemed. A whole, coiling, languorous, steamingly wonderful kiss. It lasted a minute or an hour.

Dressed, she moved toward the door. Half-turning, she said, “Janet.”

“What?”

She said, “My name is Janet.”

And was gone.

After throwing on my robe, I went to the window. I could see a large Lincoln Continental heading away. It was black.

<><><>

On April 1st, I called all over town, trying to score for the game that night. Just before lunch, my phone ...

“It's Janet,” said the voice.

“Janet,” I said. How did she get my number? “I've been trying to get tickets for tonight. It's the last home game and the playoffs will be impossible for me to handle.”

She said, “This doesn't matter. I cannot go, anyway.”

I said, “Then could we meet another Thursday?”

“Season's over,” she said. I heard a voice in the background.

“Thank you for loving me,” she said, and she hung up abruptly. I felt a chill.

<><><>

Like a religious zealot, I made the pilgrimage back to Iggy's place for a few Thursdays. There was no sign of Janet. I kept at it, wanting to worship at the altar again, wanting to celebrate the rite. Wanting to smell her, hear the tinkling voice, see the miniscule smile. The parentheses. Everything.

<><><>

That summer, another phone call changed my life. It was from Sammy McGuane, an old bandmate. He had managed a record deal and wanted me to bang some tubs. Along with some other projects.

In LA. The timing beckoned.

Before I left Boston, I went back to Iggy's and left him a forwarding address.

I said, “If she ever-”

Iggy cut me off. “Awright, awright. But I doubt it.”

<><><>

The letter didn't come until over a year later, in August. Iggy's name and the bar's address were scrawled, almost indecipherably, on the crinkled envelope.

It wasn't actually a letter, but a newspaper clipping. It was from the Globe, dated about three weeks prior. A brief story followed the photo. I read first.

REPUTED MOBSTER SENTENCED TO 15 YEARS

Johnny “Gigs” Giambalvo, seen leaving the Suffolk County courthouse, has been found guilty of seven counts of racketeering, and money laundering after a short trial. He was given a fifteen-year sentence by Judge Felix Herrera. Giambalvo, who will be serving his time in Walpole Penitentiary, is also due to be tried on two counts of aggravated assault, which could lengthen his sentence. He is alleged to have assaulted members of the Boston Bruins hockey club after he found his wife in attendance at a team party.

His wife of seven years, Janet Cutrone Giambalvo [pictured on left], had no comment. Despite rumors of the couple's estrangement, she sat with her husband every day in court.

It would be none other than The Hockey Fan in the photo, trailing a stout, grim, dark man out of the courthouse.

She wore black.

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incorrectunrulyprincesses · 3 years

Text

A Sister is a Friend for Life

"Ember?"

"Yes, Rozzie?"

"Are we ever gonna end up like Mummy and Aunt Mirana?"

Ember closed the book she was reading at the question her little sister had just asked. It had been less than a year since their mother and aunt had allegedly made up for the "tart incident" and decided to co-rule Underland as two different kingdoms, but the two queens were back at each other's throats again, and threats of war were being made, but it was unlikely that either sister would make good on her threat without her respective champion in the picture.

The question was absurd of course. Just because Ember was a redhead and Rosalind was a blonde and the two princesses were almost three years apart like Iracebeth and Mirana didn't mean anything. Rosalind was a naturally anxious person who tended to perseverate on the strangest of notions once they entered her mind.

"Sis, you know that's never going to happen."

"What about if we end up like the Aunties?" Rosalind persisted, referring to their three godmothers, the Sanderson Sisters. "Auntie Winnie always says she only likes Auntie Mary and Auntie Sarah because they're sisters and she has to like them."

"Are you serious!? No I don't only like you because you're my sister! You've been my best friend since you were old enough to speak!"

"Really?" Rosalind asked.

"Yeah. I remember the day you were born. I mean I wasn't even three yet, but I'll never forget."

"You were there?" Rosalind asked.

"Well I was there when Mum's water broke and she forced me to stay in the room to support her even though I was only a toddler. It was kind of a big deal. She threw your father out of the room. Not that he cared. He went out to pick a bar fight in town after she started screaming at him."

Ros "What happened then?"

Ember sat up on her bench in the rose garden to tell her sister the story "Well, it was a dark and stormy night in September. Mum was almost three weeks late when her water finally broke. I'm pretty sure the whole kingdom could hear her scream…"

Iracebeth gritted her teeth against the pain as she attempted to sit up in bed. Her contractions started almost four days ago and she was finally fully dilated. This time was nothing like what she remembered of Emberess's birth. This child wasn't planned, but from the moment she knew of its existence, she was hell bent on protecting it, even going so far as to kill her husband to keep him from finding out she had cheated on him a second time.

Emberess on the other hand was only a toddler and was seated on the bed next to her mother, watching bewildered as Iracebeth writhed in agony. She insisted her daughter, the only person she considered family at this point, be present to support her in Stayne's absence. The little girl absently wiped her mother's flushed face with wet rags. The only other sounds in the castle besides the queen's blood-curdling screams was the pounding of rain against the windows. In utter frustration, she ripped one of the heart shaped throw pillows on the bed in two and threw it at one of the midwives, who knew better than to answer back. A younger, less experienced midwife had made the mistake of telling Iracebeth to breathe and received a slap across the face that left a red handprint on her cheek.

"Don't you fucking dare tell me what to do! I'm the fucking queen, not you!" she roared. Iracebeth was normally too well bred to swear, but at this point, all bets were off and if she wanted to talk like a tavern whore, that was her right.

"Fuck!" Ember repeated innocently. Her mother was too distracted to reprimand her two year old for parroting her choice word, and instead chose to lash out at the army of midwives at her disposal.

"You're inept! You're all inept!" she shouted. "Especially Stayne, the bloody stupid fucking bastard deadbeat cunt…what the devil is going on down there!?"

"You're about ready to push, your Majesty." one of the women spoke up.

"I'll push you in a minute, you ignorant bunter!" Iracebeth snapped as a flash of lightning struck outside the castle, digging her nails into the sides of her heart shaped bed. Suddenly she felt a sharp lurch in her womb as she pushed for the first time.

"What the bloody hell was that?" she demanded. "I just felt something!"

"It's crowning…" the midwife positioned between Iracebeth's thighs assured, then frowned. "This can't be right, I see a foot. I think your baby did a flip in the womb."

"Oh that's just bloody fantastic!" Iracebeth snapped sarcastically. She used all the rage and frustration at these idiots placed in charge of the well being of herself and her child, not to mention her irritation at the child's absent father who was probably off trying to pick a bar fight at the moment, to push the baby out to its hips, all the while screaming bloody murder.

"It's a girl" the midwife shouted.

"Thank fuck!" shouted Iracebeth. She didn't even want to think about having a miniature Stayne running around the castle. She finally managed to expel the baby, but unlike Ember when she was born, the new princess was silent.

"What's wrong with my daughter!?" she shouted, falling back against the pillows as the wench she slapped cut the cord, which was wrapped around the baby's neck. The baby took in a sharp breath of air and shrieked. "She's got a set of lungs on her. " remarked the midwife, handing her off to her mother. "And a lovely head of hair as well. A pretty little blonde."

Iracebeth lay back against the pillows, exhausted, holding the new baby. The nurses were right, she had little wisps of hair like pure gold thread slicked against her scalp. Iracebeth couldn't help but think of her mother at that moment. She undid her nightgown and let her daughter suck. Ember watched with rapt attention. "Emberess, meet your little sister, Rosalind." Iracebeth chose the name because it meant "beautiful rose" in Latin. For a moment, she feared the two princesses wouldn't get along. Ember seemed indifferent to the news of getting a sibling as she was about Mirana and she didn't want a repeat of what happened between them. Neither daughter was planned, but both would be well loved.

"Mummy? May I hold her?" Ember asked her mother, and all of Iracebeth's fears of sibling rivalry between her two beautiful bastard girls vanished.

"Yes, darling, of course. But be gentle, she's very delicate." Emberess crossed her arms, mimicking her mother and held her sister. "Hi little Rozzie," she cooed. "I'm your big sister and I love you." baby Rosalind giggled and reached for her sister's finger.

"Wow…" was all Rosalind could manage after Ember's story.

"Yeah, that's why I'm never having children." Ember laughed.

"I don't know, sis. What happens when you become queen, though? I'll probably be married off to some stranger."

"I thought of that, sissy." Ember said, smiling warmly. "I asked Mum that when I take the throne, you and I can co rule. And it'll obviously work better than the current situation because we get along. She liked the idea too."

"You did that for me?" Rosalind asked.

"I'm not losing my best friend to some idiot from another kingdom." she said,

"I love you sissy." Rosalind wrapped Ember into a tight hug, then looked her in the eye with a deadly serious expression. "But can I ask you one more favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I stay in the castle with you and not live in Marmoreal?" Ember laughed.

"Of course."

#fanfiction #oneshot #a sister is a friend for life #princess emberess #princess rosalind #red queen #iracebethofcrims #alice in wonderland #alice through the looking glass

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spartanguard · 4 years

Text

(love will see us through these) Dark Days [CSRT; 2/7]

Summary: A century ago, the United Realms of Pomem had been a land of peace, prosperity, and magic. Until war tore the land apart, leaving behind cruel leaders and even crueler laws regarding the use of magic. And each year, the youth of each realm are subjected to a fight to the death, both for entertainment and to weed out anyone capable of wielding magic. In the 99th Magic Games, past victors Emma Nolan and Killian Jones find themselves serving as mentors, while Alice Gothel and Robyn West end up representing their realm. Everyone has secrets; everyone has something to lose. Who will win? Who will die? Just don’t forget: all magic comes with a price.

rated M | 7k words | part 1 | AO3

A/N: And here’s chapter 2 of my story for the CS Rewrite-A-Thon! (@captainswanbigbang) Thanks to everyone who read and commented on the first part! And eternal thanks to the best beta ever @optomisticgirl. Please don’t get too mad at me for the flashback at the beginning of this. Title comes from "Come Away to the Water" by Maroon 5 f/Rozzi Crane.

part 2: Come away little lamb, come away to the slaughter / To the one appointed to see this through

Twenty-three years ago

The falling rain should have been sign enough of what was to come. Nothing good happened on dreary, drizzly days—not since Mama had passed, at least. But all Killian was really concerned with was the way it was working its way through his threadbare jacket as he stood and shivered in the town square with his classmates.

He was nervous, too—who wouldn’t be at their first Reaping?

Liam had tried to calm him that morning, as he attempted to smooth down the cowlick on the crown of Killian’s head. “You’re only 12, so your name is only in there once. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“What about you, though?” At 18, Liam’s name was in there seven times.

“My odds are still good; don’t worry, little brother.”

“Younger,” Killian muttered under his breath.

His brother’s words, right as they were, did little to calm him. The Games had a way of making the worst things happen.

Killian’s heart rate picked up when the escort from Olympus reached into the bowl containing everyone’s names. The name he read out wasn’t familiar, thank goodness, and a guy from farther back in the crowd shuffled his way forward. His head was hung low; even if Atlantica was the reigning champion of the Games, and was generally considered to be a realm who did well in them, it didn’t mean that being Reaped was still anything less than a death sentence.

The kid was guided to the back of the stage, standing by last year’s champion, Milah Cassidy, and the escort turned his attention back to the bowl. Killian began to breathe deeply when he took out the next slip.

And then Killian’s heart stopped altogether.

“Killian Jones.”

No. No—it couldn’t be. Liam told him—his chances were so low—how? Just, how?

But it seemed as though his fate had been chosen for him, like always; no sense fighting it now. The crowd of kids his age began to part around him, and he straightened his spine and began to cross the short distance to the stage. But then something even worse happened.

“I volunteer!”

Killian turned and stared at the shouting voice, to see Liam struggling against Black Knights who were holding him back.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

He was once more stunned, speechless, and frozen in spot, as the guards let Liam go and he began to come to the front. Calm and noble—that’s how Liam always was.

But not Killian. His own fate he could have dealt with—but not Liam’s. As soon as his brain caught up with everything, he ran at his brother, who barely was able to brace himself for the impact of a gangly preteen slamming into him.

“Liam, no—you can’t; you can’t!” Killian cried in his ear; Liam would probably be just fine without him, but Killian—he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—

“It’s alright, brother,” Liam whispered, then somehow pried Killian’s arms off of him. Killian was too shocked to try to follow. He was vaguely aware of the Black Knights coming to stand on either side, but his gaze was transfixed on Liam as he took the stage.

“I’m Liam Jones,” he said, when asked for his name.

“Oh, then I bet that was your brother, wasn’t it?” the smarmy escort had said.

“Aye,” he nodded solemnly. The rest of the scene was blurred by Killian’s own tears.

He was vaguely aware, however, of being escorted by the soldiers into the city hall, where tributes were able to make their goodbyes. Killian was left in front of a door, and even though time was probably limited, it took a full minute for him to work up the nerve to open it.

In the small room, Liam was pacing, head down in thought—like he often was when trying to figure out how to make their last bit of food stretch enough for the two of them until they could afford more, or how to repair their roof, or one of the many problems that had been shoved onto his shoulders since Mama died and their father left.

He looked up when the door opened, though, and ran to Killian, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Liam, how could you?” Killian sobbed. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you!”

“Shh, you’ll be fine.”

“But what will I do without you?”

“You’ll survive; you always have and you always will.”

For what seemed like eternity, Killian sobbed into his brother’s shoulder. It was great that Liam was so confident, but he certainly wasn’t. “Why did you do it?” he finally asked through hiccups.

Liam took a deep breath. “Remember what I’ve always told you: that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. This is what I want.”

“You want to die?” he snapped back.

“No, little brother—I want you to live.”

There was nothing more Killian could say to that, so they just held each other tight until their time was up.

“You’ll try to win, though, right?” Killian asked.

“Of course I will.”

Sniffling, Killian pulled off the chain that hung around his neck. “Here—take Mama’s ring, for protection.”

Liam took the antique—one of the few things they had left from their mother—and slipped it around his own neck. “I feel safer already,” he said, though Killian was old enough to know it was an empty platitude.

“I love you, Liam.”

“I love you too, little brother.”

Black Knights arrived to escort Liam to Olympus, and it took every ounce of reserve in Killian’s lanky body to not cling to him; but he followed as long as he could, and watched as Liam walked down the long hallway to the train depot, then out of sight.

He managed to hold it together until then, but the door leading outside had barely closed before Killian collapsed on a bench, sobbing again. What the bloody hell was he supposed to do? He had no family, no money...honestly, Liam should have just let him go and freed himself from the burden of a little brother.

“Is this seat taken?” An older voice startled Killian; he looked up, blinking through his tears, to see a vaguely familiar man standing over him.

“N-no; go ahead,” he stammered, then wiped his nose with his wet jacket.

The man sat down next to him and didn’t say anything for a bit; not until Killian had calmed down (which he’d really only done because he had company). But eventually, he spoke up. “It’s Killian, right?”

“Aye, sir.”

The man held out his hand. “I’m Nemo.”

Politely, Killian took it, and the name jogged his memory: Nemo was a past Victor, who he thought usually served as a mentor. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to Olympus?” he asked.

Nemo gave him a half smile, and there was sadness in his eyes. “Not this year. And it seems that you aren’t, either.”

“No,” Killian agreed in a small voice.

“Forgive me if this is forward,” Nemo continued, “but I couldn’t help but notice your parents weren’t around today. They’re gone, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, seeing as neither of us have anywhere to be or anyone to be with, could I invite you to stay at my home for the duration of the games?”

Killian blinked; a Victor—who didn’t even know him—had just invited him to stay with him? “Why?” was all he could say.

Nemo chuckled. “I live alone in that big house, and I could use some company. Just until your brother gets back, of course.”

They both knew that promise was slightly hollow, and while pride and propriety should have insisted that Killian turn down the offer, he also hated the idea of spending the next few weeks (and however much after) on his own. “I...okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Nemo grinned, and stood; Killian wiped his face again and followed. “So, what’s your favorite food, m’boy?”

Looking back, there was no way Killian would have survived those weeks without Nemo. He made sure he had food; made sure he got his schoolwork done; and was there by his side each night when they had to watch the recap of the day’s events in Neverland. Nemo was the one who eased his fears on the first day, and all through the first week of the Games, as Liam managed to get into the top five; and Nemo was the one who held Killian as he watched Liam’s slow, painful, lonely death after a brush with the dreamshade plant.

Nemo was also there on the rainy day that the Black Knights turned over custody of Liam’s body to Killian when it came off the train.

“You can stay with me as long as you need, Killian,” Nemo had said solemnly after they buried Liam. Killian didn’t answer—didn’t even acknowledge the statement—he just...went with him. It was the closest thing he had to home anymore.

And he didn’t leave until the next time his name was drawn, six years later.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Present

Every ounce of self restraint that Killian possessed was in use as he stood on the other side of the door—and had been in use for the past few days, ever since the Reaping. His tributes were probably terrified of him, or at the very least worried for their lives (more than they already were), with his cool aloofness on the train journey to Olympus, even if Ariel, his co-mentor, assured them otherwise.

He’d just been trying to rein his raging emotions long enough to get here.

But now no one was answering his polite knock, or the buzz of the door chime on the electronic keypad outside, though he knew they were in there—tributes weren’t given free run of the castle that served as home base for the Games, and it wasn’t quite time for them to get ready for the parade. So why wasn’t he getting a reply from the Sherwood quarters?

Losing his patience, he banged on the door instead. That should get their attention.

Finally, he heard steps approach the door, and saw the green light on the peephole that let him know he was being watched. The heavy bolt unlatched, but it somehow sounded reluctant and unhappy—much like the reception he knew he’d get from the person on the other side.

“What are you doing here?” Eloise asked, annoyed, giving him a stern look with a hand on her hip.

“Where is she?”

“Getting ready.” Her tone was aggravatingly nonchalant, and had been as long as he’d known her.

“No, she’s not; don’t bloody lie to me. Where’s—“

“Papa?”

In the room beyond, Alice was standing and staring at him, still in the dress she’d been wearing at the Reaping. He knew Olympus’s stylists would doll her up and make her fit their standard of beauty, but he took a long moment—hopefully not the last—to memorize how she looked now: curly blonde hair framing her face, wide-eyed innocence in her blue eyes, and wrinkles in her skirt from where she’d been fidgeting with it.

“Alice,” he said on a breath, then dodged around Eloise to bring her into his arms. She wrapped herself tight around him as he hugged her close, cradling the back of her head like he had when she was a babe.

God, would he ever get to do this again?

He blinked back the tears pricking the corner of his eyes and continued to hold on until she said, in a small voice, “Papa, I’m so sorry.”

Sighing, he stepped back, but still held onto her shoulder. “Starfish, what the bloody hell were you thinking? You know what all this is like.”

“I know, but...I couldn’t let him go, Papa,” she said, sniffling a bit. “It’s like what Uncle Liam did. Nicholas...he’s too young; his mother needs him. And I...well, I…”

“If you think for one second that no one needs you, there are two people here who can tell you that you’re sorely wrong,” he refuted, brushing a falling tear from her cheek with his thumb, while mentally cursing the fact that she’d somehow inherited his brother’s bloody noble streak. “Alice, if I lost you, I…” gods, he couldn’t even voice it. He just pulled her back into his embrace, vaguely aware of the tears soaking his shirt (and not caring one bit).

He felt an electric charge on his back, where she was gripping his shirt. “Breathe, darling; breathe.” The last thing they needed was her magic setting itself loose and making her an easy target. He’d seen her do some amazing things with it, but now wasn’t the time.

“Uh, am I missing something here?” another young voice asked; over Alice’s head, he could see that the other tribute had joined them; she looked to be about Alice’s age, and also incredibly confused.

“This is Killian Jones,” Eloise introduced. “He’s the mentor from Atlantica.”

“Yeah, I know that,” the girl replied. “My mom always swoons over him. But why is he here? And...doing that?”

“Because—” Eloise started, but Alice interrupted.

“Because he’s my father,” she explained, stepping away. “And you can’t tell anyone, alright?”

The other girl gaped for a long moment, but then closed her mouth and nodded. “Wow; these Victor families are full of drama, huh?”

“Something like that,” Eloise muttered. That was all they needed to say for now. “Now, is that the only reason you came here, or is something else on your mind?”

It was a good thing they’d never actually been in a relationship, because it would have ended in spectacular fashion. “Actually, yes. I’ve spent the last two days trying to figure out just how I was going to be able to focus on protecting the tributes in my charge, when the one I’m the most worried about is here.”

“What, you don’t trust me?” she threw back.

In all honesty, he didn’t; there was a reason Alice spent so much time with him. Letting that on would only make things worse, though. “Let’s be frank, Eloise: you don’t exactly have the best resources here. But if anyone were to catch onto me helping you, we’d be found out.”

“Oh, like that even matters anymore. Look at where we are, Jones; it’s past time to be worrying about sordid secrets.”

She had a point there. They’d only kept Alice’s paternity a secret to keep her out of the Games; so much for that.

“But,” she continued, “if you want to form an alliance, I don’t think we’d be opposed.”

He couldn’t handle how calm she was about this. “I can suggest it to my tributes and hope they take it, but you know I can’t force it. I’ll do my best, though.”

“See that you do.”

He couldn’t hold back the roll of his eyes this time, but instead of picking another fight, he turned back to Alice. “I’ll try to find you again before you leave here; I promise,” he told her, then kissed her forehead. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Papa,” she said, and threw herself back at him. He let her hold on as long as she wanted—until Eloise said it was time to go.

He just gave Alice another kiss on the cheek, then left the apartment; he didn’t want to see the cool indifference on Eloise’s face anymore.

Letting the door slam behind him, he crossed the hallway to the elevator, punched the button for the ground floor, and as the door closed, leaned against the back wall and stared at his angry reflection in it.

If anything happened to Alice—anything—her blood would be on Eloise’s hands. And there would be next to nothing he could do about it.

He hated—hated—that so little of his life was under his control. It hadn’t taken him by surprise—he grew up with Nemo, after all—but he still loathed the hold Olympus had on him.

At least he could get a drink; the bar in the reception area would be open downstairs. Perhaps he could get one (or a few) in him before he had to make nice with anyone else. He wasn’t even in the mood for another Victor right now, even though that’s where he’d most likely find sympathy.

So, of course, that’s when the elevator slowed a few floors too soon. He groaned.

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Emma was expecting an empty elevator when she rang for it, assuming she was the only one crazy enough to be heading down for parade stuff already. She could tell her tributes weren’t enthused with her inexperience and hoped that she could reassure them by arriving early. (Or, at the very least, shake off her own nerves.)

She was not anticipating running into a brooding Killian Jones.

It took her aback at first—everyone knew who he was, Victor and citizen alike: the only person to survive being reaped twice. But seeing him up close in person was a bit of a shock. And honestly, he was even more attractive than he looked on screen, with his dark, tousled hair, neatly trimmed scruff, and bright blue eyes.

Eyes that were now shooting daggers at her. “Are you hopping on or not?” he barked.

Emma jumped, then scurried on; thankfully, he was headed down, too. The responsible part of her yelled that this would be a great networking opportunity, but the tense clench of his jaw and furrow of his brow told her not to say anything. The games hadn't even started; what was he already angry about? (Other than, you know, the entire concept. But they weren’t here to change the world.)

“Can I help you?” he growled, giving her a side-eyed glare; she jolted again at the realization she’d been gawking.

“Sorry; it’s just...you're Killian Jones.”

He smirked back at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes—it looked almost rehearsed. “It’s always nice to make an impression.”

“I’m Emma; Emma—”

“—Nolan. I know.”

She just nodded; given how little time she’d spent in Olympus, she had no idea how well-known she was or was not.

“I also know that your mother taught you better than to stare at people.”

Wow, he was definitely in a mood, and it was making her bristle. “Yeah; she also taught me not to be a jerk to people you’ve just met. Didn’t yours?”

She regretted the words as soon as she said them; it was common knowledge that his parents were long gone. Emma didn’t exactly go seeking knowledge about fellow Victors, but when watching the games was mandatory, you picked up stuff along the way, even if he’d won several years before her.

Briefly, fire gleamed in his eyes, sending a chill up her spine; the light glinting off the hook at the end of his left arm didn’t help. But then it dulled to something closer to resignation.

“How did your parents do it?” he asked quietly.

“How did they do what?”

“How did they watch their only child march into the arena, knowing full well what it’s like in there, and that there was an incredibly high chance they’d never see you again?”

She swallowed; he definitely knew who she was, then. Where the hell had that question come from, though?

“I have no idea,” she answered quietly. Because she really didn’t—she hadn’t asked and she didn’t want to know. And the thought of ever having to do that was both impossible to imagine and her worst nightmare.

He huffed and stared at the floor, shoulders slumped. It looked like he wanted to say something, but then a ding sounded as the elevator stopped.

Killian pushed off the wall, leading with his hips, then took a few swaggering steps out of the lift. She started to follow, but then he turned back, still looking at the ground.

“As you’re new, I should probably give you some advice,” he said. “It’s this: Don’t fuck up.”

And without another word, he headed off toward the bar.

What the hell had that been?

Her magic started to lick at her edges in response to her elevated heart rate; she did her best to squeeze it back before leaving the elevator.

But she was still mentally scratching her head when she reached the staging hallway for the parade; a line of chariots, each pulled by two sleek, white horses, was waiting for the tributes, though it would still be a while until the kids were done with the stylists and prep teams. Emma was never much for fashion, but was always curious to see what Olympus came up with—and was praying it wasn’t anything as bad as what she’d had to wear. Bark was not meant to be worn as a garment.

Graham was already by their chariot, brushing one of the horses; they were the only ones there so far. “Hey,” she said casually as she walked up behind him, then looked for another brush so she could take care of the other steed. Nervousness was seeping back in and she needed something to do with her hands, lest an involuntary shower of sparks fall from them.

He turned abruptly and pulled her close with his free arm. “Hello, darling,” he said softly, then pressed a kiss to her lips. She stiffened at first and almost recoiled until she remembered: everyone thought they were madly in love. And even if they didn’t have an audience, they knew better than to assume that no one was watching; the only place in the castle without cameras was each realm’s quarters.

If she was being honest, that was a big part of why she’d avoided Olympus, almost as much as Henry was. Emma was not a talented actor; thank goodness Graham was.

He at least gave her an apologetic look when he pulled back, then waved in the direction of the extra grooming tools. “Are the kids in good hands?” he asked as he went back to work.

“Good enough,” Emma shrugged, giving the other horse a gentle sweep of the brush. “I guess we’ll see in a bit. When do the other mentors show up?”

“Soonish,” he replied. After Emma’s games—which were only a couple years after his own victory—Graham had traded off mentoring with David every so often, so he wasn’t completely new; at least one of them had some idea of what they were supposed to do.

“And then we try to make friends?”

“I suppose.” He peered at her over the neck of the horse; she averted his gaze by focusing on the one in front of her. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied, but she didn’t need to look up to know he was giving her a look of disbelief. “It’s just...is everyone like Killian Jones?”

“In what way?”

“I just met him on the elevator and he was...well, he was kind of a dick. I know not everyone is going to be how they seem from afar, but I thought he was supposed to be some charming ladykiller.”

“He wasn’t?”

“No; he was surly and told me not to, and I quote, ‘fuck up’.”

“He’s not wrong.”

Graham deftly dodged the brush she threw at him, laughing.

“Calm down; it’ll be fine,” he assured her, ducking around the horses to stand by her. “I haven’t spent much time with Jones, but he plays fair—I know that. So don’t let him get in your head. Let’s focus on getting through tonight first; alright?” He grabbed her hands and squeezed comfortingly; there was a bit of static at his touch, and she realized he was helping tamp down her magic—again. Fuck, this was gonna be hard.

“Alright,” she sighed, but Killian had really just been voicing her own fears. It wasn’t that easy to shake them.

“So, were his eyes as blue as everyone says?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Prettier than mine?”

“Eh, different kind of blue.”

He placed a hand on his chest and gasped in mock offense. So she tickled his side in response. Even if they weren’t romantically involved, he was still her best friend, and she was glad he was here with her.

(But she wasn’t going to tell him the other thing she was thinking about: just how good it looked when Killian walked away. He might be an ass, but damn did he have one.)

They went back to brushing the already-gleaming coats of the horses, and Graham introduced her to some of the other mentors as they trickled in, even if she already had the general idea of who they were: Belle and Archie from Arendelle; Jasmine and Cyrus from Agrabah; Mulan from Erebor; Eloise from Sherwood; and Ariel from Atlantica, who was the polar opposite of her partner. Emma took an immediate liking to her—and the way Graham blushed when she placed a friendly peck on his cheek before running her bubbly self off.

“I see that,” Emma teased, which just made him blush harder.

“Piss off; she’s married.” Still—it was cute, but also a sharp reminder of what he’d given up when he entered the lie their lives had become.

Thankfully, their tributes arrived then, to distract her from any further sulking. Tamara and August at least weren’t wearing actual wood this year, but when your realm was also known as the Enchanted Forest—and responsible for most of Pomem’s lumber production—it was hard to get away from either looking like a tree or a lumberjack.

The stylists had gone with the former this year, weaving leaves through the kids’ hair and putting them in beaded brown jumpsuits. Not awe-inspiring, but not terrible. The tributes still seemed uncomfortable, though, and Tamara was clearly trying to avoid moving too much and damaging it. It was definitely the nicest, most expensive thing either kid had ever worn—something Emma tried not to think about too much, because she’d only get more upset at everything.

They got the kids settled in their chariot and then headed to their seats in the stadium that held the opening ceremonies. An entire building that they only used three days a year; ridiculous.

Misthaven’s escort, Tink, was already at their assigned seats and waved them over. For someone from Olympus, she was...tolerable. Possibly immortal, too—she’d been the escort when Graham won his Games, but somehow looked younger than Emma. Just another example of Olympus’s fixation on youth and beauty, probably, aided by their scientific advancements that bordered on magical (which was another irony Emma hated thinking about).

“Don’t the tributes just look fabulous?” she gushed as they sat down. “Probably the best yet from Misthaven!”

“Yeah, I think so,” Emma halfheartedly agreed (which wasn’t saying much—and she was pointedly ignoring whatever that said about her own looks).

“Oh, the parade is always my favorite,” Tink sighed happily.

From Emma’s memory, it was only the least stressful part. But again: bark itches.

Graham continued to introduce her to people—even the new head gamemaker, Jefferson Hatter, who was in his first year of designing the Games—until the house lights went down, leaving just the ones on the track at the center of the stadium.

Overhead, the voice of Sidney Glass, perennial event host, announced the start of the parade, and then the first chariot appeared with the tributes from Agrabah.

Ideally, the costumes the tributes wore had something to do with each realm’s chief industry; as the primary supplier of energy for Pomem, the kids from Agrabah wore costumes that lit up. Not original, but it worked. Over the course of 99 years, Emma figured some ideas were bound to be recycled.

The rest of the realms followed, in no particular order. Next was Stormhold, known for its agriculture; then Arendelle, the technological hub of Pomem. The Misthaven tributes were fairly well received, but the most enthusiasm definitely came from Tink. DunBroch’s tributes were almost identical to Stormhold’s, given that they were just a different kind of farmer (livestock); and Erebor’s tribute to mining was just confusing. The kids from Atlantica were dressed like mermaids; Emma doubted their fishermen found too many of those nowadays. Oz almost always wore something green and military, this year being no exception; and Phrygia was stereotypically covered in gold, being both the richest realm and the supplier of luxury items (that obviously only went to Olympus).

Sherwood brought up the rear, which honestly sucked for them, being the poorest realm, and likely meant the parade would end on an anticlimactic note; it was all about the spectacle, after all. But this year—wow. For the first time in the parade, Emma was actually invested. The realm was known for its textiles, and finally, someone in Olympus had put that to use. The girls wore absolutely stunning gowns, with capes somehow floating behind them that seemed to mimic cottony clouds. The tributes were holding hands and absolutely beaming at the audience, who was lapping it up. Even the rest of the mentors, Emma noticed, were staring in rapt attention; hell, it looked like Killian was crying (maybe he wasn’t such an ass, then).

“Well, that just complicated things,” Graham muttered as the chariot retreated.

“How so?”

“After a presentation like that, everyone is going to want to sponsor them.”

He was right, she knew. Which just made their job that much harder.

She cut her palms with her nails with how hard she was squeezing her fists to drown the sparks.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Alice’s heart was absolutely racing. To be fair, it had been like that pretty much ever since she stepped forward back in Sherwood, aside from when she was asleep. But now, during the parade? Faster than a rabbit.

Not because of the crowd, though that was indescribable.

Not because of her dress, even if it was gorgeous; Tiger Lily, their stylist, had done an incredible job.

And not because of the image of her mother on one of the stadium’s screens, actually almost smiling. That never happened.

No; it was because she was holding hands with Robyn. And Robyn was also smiling at her.

God, this was terribly inconvenient. But if they didn’t have a ton of time left, then she was going to enjoy it, even if she was still too embarrassed to let on her crush. She just really hoped she could keep enough control to not burn Robyn’s hand with the sparks of her magic.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

The first day in the tribute training center was done, and the Atlantica kids were waiting for dinner back in their quarters with their mentors. It was only the first day, he knew, but Killian didn’t like their chances this year. He’d never let that on to the teenagers, though; they were nervous enough as it was. Even in their lodgings, where they had the chance to relax and indulge in the luxuries that were standard in Olympus, they seemed on edge. Killian couldn’t decide, though, if it was due to the fact that they were being treated to more opulence than they’d ever seen before (although spartan by Olympus standards, the Tribute Castle was a literal palace compared to the seaside villages in Atlantica) or just the overall anxiety of the situation; he remembered feeling overwhelmed by both during his games.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think their tributes had what it took—the boy, William, was a decent fighter and clever, and the girl, Ursula, had a fierce streak that seemed to be a mile long. The whole point of the training center was to learn fighting and survival skills to use in the Arena. Most realms took advantage of it, and he could see that the kids were learning; but the tributes from Phrygia and Oz—who train year-round for the games, even though that was technically illegal—just used it as an opportunity to intimidate the others. Thankfully, Alice and Robyn were looking good, as well; it turned out Robyn was an excellent shot with a bow. (And, even better, Alice was managing to keep her magic under wraps.)

As they waited for the meal, Killian and Ariel began to discuss strategy with the tributes. Ariel was the first tribute he mentored who’d gone on to win. On the surface, she seemed sweet and demure; but when she had a trident in her hands, she was downright scary.

“It’s not a bad idea to form an alliance early on. It can really help you get farther in the games,” Ariel said. “Were there any tributes you noticed today that you’d want to work with? We can talk to their mentors and set something up.”

“Actually, yeah,” William said. “The pair from Misthaven—Ursula and I talked to them a bit, and they seemed pretty cool.” Ursula nodded in agreement.

“That’s actually pretty smart,” Ariel said, looking over at Killian. “Misthaven is forest, we’re water; that covers almost every arena scenario.”

“Aye, that it does. Good thinking, Will,” Killian said with a small smile. “It looked like the pair from Sherwood had a pretty good grasp on things, too.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ursula answered, though she sounded less than enthused at the idea. Ariel cast him a very knowing look; she was one of the few people aware of the situation, and had spent several hours on the train giving him a good, long hug. He could say she was his best friend, but the truth was, she was really one of his only ones—though she didn’t let that hold her back from saying the same about him.

(They had once very briefly discussed the idea of more; but after he lost his first love, he was pretty sure his heart didn’t work that way anymore, and then she met a handsome, sweet fisherman named Eric and that was that.)

“Just let us know, and we’ll talk to the Misthaven mentors tomorrow, or whoever else,” Ariel told the kids.

They glanced at each other, nodding, and Ursula said, “Yeah, we’d like that.”

“It’s a plan!” she exclaimed, then turned to Killian. “Do you want to talk to them, or should I?”

A general feeling of shame washed over him. “Uh, you should probably do that. I’m not sure I’d be the best one to make a case.”

She crossed her arms and gave him another look that reminded him just how well she knew him. “What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did anything? You wound me, mermaid,” he threw back, using the nickname he knew she hated (but would never live down on account of her strong swimming abilities—skills that helped her survive her games).

She just raised her eyebrows at him, unamused.

He sighed. “Let’s just say I got off on the wrong foot with Ms. Nolan and it’d probably be best if you headed that charge. I can handle anyone else.”

“Alright. I expect the full story later, though,” she warned, and likely only stopped persisting because of the arrival of dinner. Honestly, it was like having a little sister sometimes.

Down at the training center the next day, he saw his tributes approach the pair from Misthaven, and the little group stuck together, showing each other skills they had learned in their respective homes. He surveyed the rest of the room to see what others were doing (though it was a bit hard to distinguish them when everyone was wearing the same games-issued black top and pants). Phrygia and Oz were already in a pack, as could be assumed, and he watched Robyn continuing to work with an archery instructor; his brow furrowed when she nailed the center of the target. If she was forming a strong partnership with Alice, it was good; otherwise...he didn’t want to think about it.

Alice herself was learning how to set snares with rope; he’d taught her how to tie all the sailor’s knots he could, so it was no surprise she was having success there.

“Well, at least that seems to be going good,” Ariel commented as she stepped up to his side. “Sorry they weren’t receptive to your idea.”

“It was a longshot,” he answered, a bit more resigned than he probably should have sounded.

“How do you think she’ll do?” A glance told him she was looking at Alice, too.

“Honestly...I have no idea.” More Victor’s children died in the games than won; Emma Nolan was definitely an anomaly. He’d love to be able to pick her brain, or Graham’s (he was Emma’s mentor, if he recalled correctly), but that might give away too much.

“Well, she’s definitely resourceful,” Ariel continued. “If anyone can win out of sheer ingenuity and stubbornness, it’s her.” Despite his worry, he had to chuckle at that assessment; Ariel was probably right.

Movement at the other end of the room caught his eye; Emma and Graham had arrived. He nodded in that direction, saying, “Looks like you’re up, mermaid.”

She gently punched him in the shoulder. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.” If anyone could establish an alliance, it was Ariel and her effervescent optimism.

She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled nonetheless and then headed over to their hopeful teammates.

In the meantime, Killian fixed his eyes back on Alice, and racked his brain: he had to find a way to help her win. He had to.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Everything was abuzz in the training center in the hour or so leading up to the start of the Games. The interviews were done, tribute scores had been given, and the kids all said their goodbyes before being whisked away to the Arena, somewhere in the expanse of Neverland surrounding Olympus.

The training center had been transformed overnight, almost magically; Emma didn’t even recognize it when she walked in. Gone were the weightlifting equipment and educational stations; while she wouldn’t exactly call it cozy now, it certainly had all the necessary amenities: food, lots of plush seating, and screens everywhere. Along one wall, the largest screen displayed a map of the arena, with glowing dots indicating each tribute’s location; they were all still in a perfect ring in the middle. The myriad other screens across the room were focused on each tribute, in addition to panoramas of the forested arena and its central lake. If it wasn’t about to be the setting of so much death, Emma might have found it beautiful.

Saying goodbye to Tamara and August had been tough; trying to keep them alive would be harder.

“We’ve got this,” Graham murmured, squeezing her hand in encouragement. As if the task ahead of them wasn’t enough, she also had to keep up that charade, too.

“I fucking hope so.”

He tried to give her a stern look for her language, but it didn’t last long before melting into a grin. “Well, shall we join our alliance mates?” he asked, nodding to his right.

Off to the side, Ariel and Killian were standing, chatting with each other. The proposal shocked Emma, but it was hard to say no when two experienced mentors approached like that. It was hard to say no to Ariel, too—especially for Graham.

But Killian...she still wasn’t sure on.

“Yeah, let’s do this,” she answered.

Ariel, unsurprisingly, greeted them with a huge grin and massive hugs. Killian offered his hand to Graham, giving it a firm shake, before turning to Emma.

“I, uh, I owe you an apology for our first meeting, lass,” he said solemnly, eyes cast down. “Unfortunately, the Games have a habit of doing that sometimes.”

“I get it,” she answered. It was more of an apology than she had expected to get. “Think you can teach me how to avoid that happening here?”

“I can try,” he shrugged; that was probably a tall request on her part.

“Works for me. To an alliance?” She offered her hand to him.

He gently took it in his. “To an alliance.” Then, to her shock, he brought it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. She was definitely gaping again, but the intense way he was staring made it hard to look away. No wonder he had such a scoundrel reputation.

The moment was broken by an announcement: “Tributes, to your starting positions; the Games begin in one minute.” Sidney Glass was apparently ready; guess they better be, too.

They all turned their attention to the screens, glancing around to find their tributes. Graham quickly located theirs, which gave Emma a few extra moments to glance around and see what everyone else was doing.

Ariel, too, was focused on the screens with Atlantica’s tributes, but Killian’s attention was elsewhere—at Eloise, oddly enough. The woman was staring back at him, then gave him a nod before looking up. Huh; that was odd—but Emma could worry over what that was about later.

“Forty-five seconds,” Glass called out, and the platforms the tributes were standing on rose up into the Arena.

“Thirty seconds.” The platforms came into place, and everyone, tribute and mentor alike, got their first view of the Arena. Emma saw lots of trees—perfect for a kid from Misthaven.

“Fifteen seconds.” Graham found her hand again; this time, she was the one squeezing—both to anchor her emotions and to quell the sparks of magic that were threatening to escape.

“Ten.” Her eyes began to dart around in nervousness—just like they had when she was the one standing on that platform.

“Nine, eight...” Graham’s eyes were glued to the screen.

“Seven, six…” So were Ariel’s.

“Five, four…” Killian’s were, too…

“Three, two…” ...but why was he looking at the girl from Sherwood? (And why did it make her think of the rest of their conversation in the elevator?)

“One.” Emma’s gaze darted back to her own screens and she clenched her fists.

“Let the games begin, and remember: All Magic Comes With A Price!”

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thanks so much for reading! tagging some peeps @kat2609 @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @killian-whump @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes

#cs ff #captain swan rewrite a thon #csrt 2020 #my ff #the magic games #(love will see us through these) dark days

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