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merakiui · 2 years

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Yandere!Diluc, Childe, Pantalone (separate/you can add more if you want) & Prostitute!afab!reader

Hear me out, the darling is in desperate need of money & hey she has features and a body that can rival even the most beautiful of Goddesses but she can also be very bratty & spoilt although, kind too children and the elderly.

And maybe this is her first night working as one & coincidentally the Yandere just so happens to be her first customer. Then boom for the few weeks they have been their only customers for some reason & has been given extremely large sacks of cash or expensive things like jewelry or clothes from the Yandere before leaving.

And then oh no the Yandere got a lil too attached and basically asked the reader how much for them to be theres forever? Name your price they have mountains of money they don’t even use.

Oh? Your into rich men & don’t really give a f*ck what else happens just as long they have money?

My brainfart stopped there :p

-🌿

(cw: yandere, female reader, nsfw, baby-trapping/forced pregnancy mentions, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, implied kidnapping/captivity)

Diluc is always so stiff and cordial throughout every meeting. You’ve told him countless times to loosen up and that he’s allowed to be himself around you, but he never seems to fully let his guard down. Perhaps he’s fearful of getting too attached and possibly losing you once this obsession roots itself into his very bloodstream. He’s the type to present you with a bouquet of fresh flowers or a necklace with a gemstone that reminded him of your radiant beauty. His gifts come from the heart, and he’s always so gentle and kind around you—a true gentleman whose heart has been pierced by Cupid’s whimsical arrow.

Even in bed, he seems to regard you as if you’re a fragile sculpture who’ll crumble at the slightest touch. He worships you, hanging onto your every word, and he sinks deeper into infatuation every time he finds himself tangled in bed with you. Diluc knows that as one of Mondstadt’s few eligible bachelors anyone would be delighted to have him, but he’s not interested in any proposals or romantic outings with anyone who isn’t you. His eyes are reserved solely for you, and when he looks upon you and realizes you’re wearing the sheer nightgown he gifted you his heart warms considerably.

There are moments where he can’t bring himself to get out of bed and instead keeps his arms wrapped securely around you, burying his face in your skin and inhaling the perfume that clings to you even after he’s done everything to ensure you’ll smell only of him and no one else. Even if this relationship is devoid of true love and you’re only providing a service, he’d like to delude himself into thinking it’s real. For just a moment, won’t you humor his delusions? If not, he might just have to find clever ways to keep you by his side forever.

- - -

As one of the Tsaritsa’s elite Harbingers, Childe has always been wary when it comes to prostitutes and red-light districts. While he doubts anyone would be able to assassinate him, it’s still a thought that lingers in the back of his mind. After all, he’s not the most well-liked. With his involvement with the Fatui and his schemes in Liyue, it’s obvious that Childe would be outcasted. And anyone who might be looking to collect a bounty or a reward for his head might try their luck when he’s most vulnerable and prone to lower his guard in the bedroom.

And yet he finds himself trusting you. Only slightly, mind you, and he keeps his Vision close on his person should you prove to harbor malicious intent. When he realizes that this is your first time with such a high profile customer, he can’t help wanting to jeer and tease. It’s so precious to watch you fumble with the clasps of his belt. Even if it’s an act, he’ll play along, guiding your hands with his calloused and scarred ones. Cooing at you that you’re doing so well when you lower yourself onto him, gripping his shoulders so hard that your fingernails leave crescent-shaped indents in his skin. Oh, he’s absolutely enthralled with you. You’ve given him a taste of something he didn’t realize he was craving, and now the chase is on. He won’t let you go.

Childe will pry into your life in that usual casual fashion of his, conveniently crossing paths with you while claiming that it must be some stroke of fate that’s brought the two of you together. What started as late-night meetings in the dimly lit room of the brothel you work at soon evolves into the occasional nightly rendezvous in which he whisks you away from the city under the inky vastness of night. It almost feels like he wants more from you when he takes your hand in his and guides you through the shadows to a hilltop that’s perfect for stargazing and watching the moon as it’s veiled within wispy strands of cloud.

Surely he’s not seeking actual romance. It’s a thought you can’t help but laugh at. The both of you are very content with the relationship you’ve cultivated. You provide your body and in return he pays you a hefty sum of Mora, along with some other spoils and treasures he’s acquired throughout his travels. And yet when your body is pressed against his and your heartbeat aligns with his and you exchange heated breaths through smoldering kisses, it really feels like he’s a man starved of true affection. So you can’t blame him when he insists on cumming inside one evening, ignoring your slurred protests and pressing himself against you in a position that’s certain to get you pregnant.

And bathed in the reddish hue of the candles and lamps that surround you in this silken paradise of a room, he looks positively devilish.

- - -

Materialism is a concept Pantalone is intimately acquainted with. As a wealthy man with a position of considerable power and strength, he could throw his Mora at any pursuit that catches his fancy and he wouldn’t have to worry about losing anything. With an abundance of Mora at his fingertips, the world becomes his oyster. And you exist within that shell as his precious, perfect pearl. He’s not offended when you ask for expensive things in exchange for your services. If anything, he encourages your greed, wishing to see just how deep it runs within you.

For someone as rich as he is, there are no limits to the things he can covet. And despite this he finds himself unable to make you his. To claim ownership over you and to prove to you that you belong to him and him only. How exactly can one put a price on human life when yours is so priceless? You’re his missing puzzle piece—the sole person who makes him uniquely whole. It’s as if the entire world melts away when he’s with you, holding you against him as he forces you to eye your reflection in an ornate mirror, his cock buried in your gummy walls. He’ll lavish you with all kinds of gifts, but what he loves most of all is when you wear them with pride. He’ll drape finery over your shoulders, tie jewels around your throat, and dress you in gowns so lovely it’s almost a crime to dirty them in the bedroom—each luxury a step in making you his.

There will be no dreams of fairytale romance here. Not when Pantalone is so certain that you’ll return his affections eventually. And even if you don’t, no one will look into the disappearance of a prostitute—especially if her captor happens to hold the economy in the palm of his generous hand. Your prison cell may sparkle and your shackles may be silver, but confinement is still confinement no matter how opulently furnished it may be. Pantalone assures you that you’ll be content here. Though you may cower from him now, pressing yourself into the corner of the bed whenever he wishes to lie with you, he’s certain you’ll come to understand his reasoning.

After all, the two of you had such a genuine connection before. Why are you so frightened now? He’s always been dangerous; this isn’t anything new. You’ve just mistaken the devil for an angel in the intoxicating shroud that is bedroom whimsy.

#meraki thirsts #yandere childe #yandere diluc #yandere pantalone #n/sfw #🌿 anon #tw: baby trapping

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coralinnii · 5 months

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I had some people a little curious as to how I rated the TWST boys in my "TWST guys I would let date my niece (theoretically)" post in terms of personality only (considering they're fictional and my niece is 10). I can't completely answer everyone since there's only so many words tumblr would let me write as a reply, so here's for anyone who was curious.

The rating system was created alongside my niece on what she wanted in a partner (as much as she understood dating, anyway), compatibility with her personality, and my input as someone who has either met, known, or fortunately and unfortunately dated ppl with such personalities. With this in mind, maybe our list would be different from how you would categorize, which yea fair enough. This is all hypothetical anyway and it was interesting to see what my niece likes.

This does NOT mean I dislike any of the TWST guy. Seeing how unique each of them are personality-wise is honestly amazing and I want to believe that even if you have what people call "red-flags", "dealbreakers" or "turn-offs", that doesn't necessarily make you a bad person, just incompatible (with exceptions of like really toxic, destructive traits, like stealing someone's dog. Don't do that, guys).

Has my seal of approval

Trey responsible, good work ethic, loves to bake + the bonus of cute glasses (apparently me and my niece really like glasses).

Kalim fun-loving, open to new experiences, optimistic, and willing to learn if you're willing to teach.

Silver kind if a bit intimidating-looking, takes care of others, family-oriented,

Jack responsible, good lifestyle, works hard, kind while kinda grumpy, family-oriented.

Vil responsible, good life habits, works hard for success, not stuck on gender norms, kind if sort of stuck-up.

Lilia mature, fun-loving, open to new experiences, loves kids, not quick to anger. He does have his secrets, tho.

Neige kind, works hard for success, not afraid to be silly,

Ok…but I’m keeping an eye on you

Ace he's kinda lazy and willing to cheat in school but not a bad person.

Cater not willing to be vulnerable sometimes but is a responsible person that respects boundaries.

Azul a bit too opportunistic (in a sense he's also judging the value of anything, first) for me and may not vibe well with my niece but not bad.

Jamil not happy with how he sometimes lies and insincerely flatters others, but I don't think he does it maliciously so not a bad guy(?)

Ortho prone to violence if he thinks that's the best logical solution (i.e, hacking into security and blowing up the school??) so kinda worried.

Chenya a little too fickle and in-and-out physically which worries me, but he seems loyal and brave.

First, you and I are gonna have a talk

Riddle mainly his temper and impatience…and the in-laws

Deuce also his temper, and my niece prefers smart ppl (ooff)

Ruggie the 5-finger discount don’t fly under my watch

Epel also temper and prone to get into fights in the beginning. Also, my niece's not into the "gotta be manly" mentality, what are you gonna do?

Sebek it's mostly the temper and shouting…and tone down the Malleus simping

Jade don’t be bringing drama into my household

Rook it’s the creepy simping

Malleus kinda seen in early Book 7 and the spectral realm event, he doesn't communicate and talk things through with others and just does things on his own because he's powerful enough to do so, which is just...something we gotta talk about, first.

Oh, you and I are gonna fight, first!

Leona spoiled to high heavens, gives up on a lot of things, and is too used to having things done for him. I'm not letting my niece become his maid!

Floyd No...just no. He's the friend that I worry my niece will someday have to pick up at the police station. No

Idia Quick to judge others, kinda thinks he's smarter than everyone, and has a hard time communicating and socializing even with his friends and partners. I know this because I used to date someone like Idia, and currently have a crush on another person very similar to him.

Rollo Also (sorta) dated someone like him which is...an experience. Treated me as someone pure and sweet, but disliked my friends because she thought they were bad influences. Also really wanted me to join her kinda sketchy religious thing which I wasn't really into.

#there you have it #hope this answers some questions #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

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Hi, is it possible to have M6 hcs with an MC having a depressive episode please? Thank you in advance, I love your work <3

The Arcana HCs: M6 with an MC struggling with depression

~ apparently you guys' new favorite thing to do is send me requests that I can relate to a little too well. Have some comfort, my darlings, and remember to be kind to yourselves. Healing is slow but it is happening - brainrot ~

Julian

Caring for you during a depressive episode is more instinctive for him than the day-to-day part of living with depression

He knows what it's like to be really emotionally low, but he doesn't know what it's like to be permanently stuck there

And for someone who runs on emotional energy, not having any at all doesn't resonate with him

Which is why he's quickly becoming Vesuvia's leading medical expert on the condition. What he can't understand right away, he'll study until he does

And oh dear, the more he learns, the more he aches for you. It's the emotional equivalent of chronic pain/fatigue and nobody will make you feel more valid in that than he will

There's just one problem - he can't keep a schedule to save his life and he's sometimes more empathetic than is good for him

It's an important growing moment for him. He'll have to learn how to better himself to help you without feeling responsible for your troubles

He keeps a checklist to go over with you every day, somehow without ever making you feel judged if you didn't do everything

Healthy amount of food? Check. Healthy amount of sleep? Check. Sunlight? It was raining. That's okay, we'll go on a picnic tomorrow!

It's also his way of being able to tell if it's getting bad again

When that happens, he'll encourage you to give yourself the freedom of a few days of rest. No expectations, no to-do lists. A good doctor knows the value of bed rest

It's really good for him too - since he wants to check up on you regularly it means he's taking consistent breaks and actually getting enough sleep for once

You bring him so much joy just by being there when he wakes up in the mornings. Being able to help you keep that sparkle in your eyes means so much to him

Asra

They aren't very depression-prone themselves, but they know how hard it is to carry a heavy heart. It's why giving you half of theirs was one of the easiest trades they ever made

And it's also why he gets what you're going through better than anyone else does, because he can literally feel what you're feeling, if you let him

The first time you let them tap in to your shared bond on a fairly bad day, they said it was like trying to dance with fogged-over glasses and weights on every limb. No wonder you're tired!

He doesn't mind doing things a little differently (since when did he do them normally anyways?) so he likes getting the important tasks done with you

They get up with you on workdays and turn breakfast and dinner into daily dates. Wherever their whims take them while you run the shop, they'll always be back in time to help close and take you on a long sunset stroll

Baths used to stress you out - it was the last hurdle before finally getting to sleep - and now they're the highlight of your day

It's not nearly as overwhelming when the bath's already drawn with some new random luxury product to try out and a fluffy-haired lover who insists on lifting you in and out (it makes him happy, let him have this, MC!)

Weekends are for sleeping in, cuddles on the roof in the sunshine, and hours of reading books in the pillow pile

When a nasty episode hits, they'll take you on vacation to Nopal. They notice how much effort you put in, it makes sense that you need rest and they want to make sure you have it

So many hugs and snuggles, all the time, every day. He's so proud of you and he tells you that constantly

Because he doesn't need you to be happy or energetic or exciting for him to love you. He just needs you to know that you're loved.

Nadia

Nobody knows what it's like to feel stuck and unable to get one's life back like she does. She spent three years comatose like that

She's a little horrified when she gets a clear picture of what life can be like for you. She had a way out, and a Devil to blame and subsequently defeat. You're running on your own determination

She thinks you're one of the strongest people in the world for that

It shows her why you seemed to know how to pull her out of her sleep. And she's determined to do the same for you

She pulls you out of bed to do yoga with her every morning. If it's sunny (and it often is) she'll take it onto the balcony so you can kill two birds with one stone

It's okay if you need to go back to sleep after. Just let her do this with you

She has a reason to schedule breaks into her day now to spend half an hour with you and make sure you're both getting what you need

Because lunchtime gets so busy and dinner is often an important event, she makes sure to have a late morning tea with you every day, from 10-11 AM

Fresh fruit, some dried meats and cheeses, juice and tea, and the most delicious baked treats. It's light and filling and nourishing enough to get you through the day if you can't manage much else

It's easier to act like it's not getting bad again when you can save your energy just for your shared moments. It's why Nadia feels so guilty for the first few times she didn't notice until it was too bad for you to do even that much

Fortunately for you, there's a palace full of employees who have you to thank for getting a competent person in charge again

They want to see you flourish too, so one word from housekeeping is all Nadia needs to whisk you off to the seaside for some R&R

You pulled her out of her daze and are the strongest person she knows. Returning the favor for her beloved is her greatest honor

Muriel

Oh yeah, that thing where life feels like walking through sludge and all you want to do is hide and sleep, so that's what you eventually end up doing all day? Yeah he does that too

Or at least he did, until you dragged him down a continent with the scariest woman he's ever met on a wild goat chase

It's starting to make sense to him now. You knew to reintroduce him to the fun of comfortable clothes and good food and the safety of companionship because that's what you needed too

And he's not leaving that fog behind without bringing you with him

He doesn't want you to force yourself into a busy, colorful life of excitement and adventure. He doesn't want that for himself either

But he's learned the value of a life that can move as slowly as it needs to as long as it doesn't get stagnant

You can sleep in if you want to. But he's bringing you breakfast in bed. He won't say anything but he won't leave to start his day until you eat at least half of it

You don't have to go on a walk if you're not up for it. But he'll leave the door and windows open and move the bed right below them

You don't have to take a shower. But he'll hold you in his lap by the fire with a clean rag and a bucket of warm water and some soap and a big, fluffy towel

It's okay if you can't feel anything. It's okay if you can't stop feeling everything. Sit with it as long as you need to. He'll just be next to you with a glass of cool, fresh water from the nearby spring

Of course, things aren't always that bad. You have good days, and better days, and great days, and tired days, and gray days, and everything days, and nothing days, and quiet days, and loud days

Sometimes you're the one bringing him a glass of water and opening the windows

But you're both slowly having more good days than bad ones, and life is starting to get lighter. And neither of you are fighting alone

Portia

Depression and burnout can look pretty similar. The big difference is that one of them is something you generally bring on yourself, and the other one tends to show up uninvited and unannounced

She's plenty familiar with burnout. Depression not so much

She's quick to notice when you go several days in a row without smiling very much. And when you can't pull yourself out of bed one morning, she's so sympathetic and on board to help

But it's hard not get upset with her when her first question is, "so what were you doing for it to get this bad, MC?"

It makes it even harder to talk about, but Portia is the palace's honorary librarian at this point. Between the research she does there and the general medical description and advice Ilya gives her, she'll come back with plenty of notes

She will feel so bad about what she said earlier that you will definitely need to hug it out

She's such a get-up-and-go person that she doesn't have to think twice about helping you keep a schedule. That's how she lives already. Now she's just cooking a full breakfast for two, not one

She still takes you on her ambassador trips, but the plans she comes up with take your energy levels into account as well as hers

You're having a better day? Time to go sightseeing and find an adventure

You're not doing as well? Take a day on the boat. Nap on the deck in the sunlight. The crew love you too, they'll bring you fruit and she'll get all the boring meetings out of the way while you rest

It can be a little daunting being a partner to someone who is sunshine personified when you feel like mud most days

And it's tricky for her to learn how to sit with someone in pain without feeling like a failure for not being influential enough to fix it

She sees you as the best part of her world and thinks, no wonder you're tired. Take a rest. She'll keep things running

Lucio

At first he's worried that you're falling sick very, very slowly

You don't have energy for the things that he knows you enjoy, you're sleeping more, and the dulled look in your eyes makes him wonder if you're in pain

You're trying not to let it get to you because being an adventurer is fun! Exciting! And it's Lucio's fresh start on life, so you're scared of ruining it. You don't want to drag him down on his way up

But finally one morning you just can't get yourself out of bed. And he's increasingly worried, so you explain it to him

It ends up lifting his spirits more than anything. He could tell you were ill, but this illness doesn't seem fatal. It's just something you have to live with that makes some days a lot harder than others

He doesn't have a lot of intuition for taking care of sick people, but he's getting better and better at learning from his mistakes

You say taking care of your body helps? Every time he gets hungry he makes sure you eat something too. Every time he bathes he pulls you in. Every time he goes outside he invites you.

If you say no too often he will pout. Which will quickly give way to his unexpectedly adorable puppy eyes, because he loves you and doesn't want your sickness to hurt you MC!

Of course, healing is never linear. There are still times when the only thing you have energy for when you open your eyes is closing them again

And as much as he worries for you during those times, Lucio isn't burdened by them. It's a chance to show you he loves you and to return the favor you showed him by sticking by his side

It's also his moment to be the magnanimous, powerful Count he wanted so badly to be. He'll protect you, he'll take care of you, he gets to be your hero and let you be comfortable!

You are his best. If that means you need to take a break and sleep, then go ahead. Precious things are meant to be treasured

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fluff #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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randomnumbers751650 · 7 months

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Talking about a ship for me is complicated because the feeling that I might be missing something or extrapolating too much. But still, I want to talk about Kafka/Blade.

Since HSR is a gacha, the chances of playable characters having romantic relationships are very low, so the fans have to pick the crumbs. Sometimes it’s pretty much obvious the devs want certain characters together, but the hand of the gacha business model holds them back. Other times, not really, maybe the devs are really aiming for platonic or other. And, of course, fans are free to interpret their own. So, I’m here to give my interpretation of KafBlade, why it called my attention.

From their interactions, they are working together and they have a level of affection: Kafka calls him Bladie (and he’s upset if others call him by that), Blade loves hearing her singing and is receptive to her whispers; they also seem to have good synergy in the battlefield. It also works in accomplishing missions, with Kafka’s lack of fear making her prone to injuries and Blade acting as her immortal bodyguard. Plus, there’s the implication they had to fake being a couple for a mission, which I hope it never gets a full flashback because imagining how it went is funnier. How they complement each other is what makes them so interesting.

They are both fundamentally broken people. We know Blade’s story, but it’s pretty implied Kafka has some tragedy in the closet (with Blade commenting he doesn’t want to see her sad; would it really be surprising?). And, they are villains after all.

But still, what I see in them is how they can still experience with each other things that they couldn’t imagine to experience or that they thought that they’d never experience. For example, Kafka is a liar. It’s a strength in her job, to the point even when she’s telling the truth it still feels she’s lying. She uses her whispers to dominate men and then discard them when they’ve done their jobs. She goes full “nothing personnel, kid”, because for her everything is just a job.

And then, one day, appears a guy who’s like “can you do that again?” A guy who wants to be whispered, whose lies sooth and motivate him. And then she learns he’s an immortal that wants to die and then she decides that she’ll help, but that she will strive to make his life more fun until that day because he amuses you. She has no feelings for him, because she has no feelings at all (or are very different from what normal people think to be); either she wasn’t born with them or the organization she learned her skills remove them, but still she just wants to make him feel good about his journey to death.

Blade is similar: he wants revenge. He crafted his entire life and used all his bladesmith skills to pursue that goal; it’s easy to imagine him forgoing everything, his feelings, his self-care, eating whatever slop he puts on his face, a very miserable life. And then one day a woman appears saying “join me” and she’s actually…fun to be around. Sure, they are using each other to their respective objectives, but there’s something more to it. He starts to pick her habits and helps her whenever she needs carry her stuff. And then he starts to wonder that, yes, his life sucks, but it sucks a bit less with her around. The blade he crafted for revenge can be used to protect, unexpectedly.

It should be noted that the devs already had opportunities to portray their relationship as toxic and abusive, but they haven’t. I’m not sure I’d call healthy either, but there seems to be a mutual respect and trust about them. I mean, they are dangerous (along with the rest of the Stellaron Hunters, Silverwolf, Sam and Elio himself (it’d be really funny if he was the cat)), but still it’s not hard to imagine them as a found family. We have to wait for future updates to see how they’ll be developed, but their Team Rocket dynamic with the heroes is fun.

One last thing is how I think it’s funny that KafBlade is “what if Gojo and Marin (from My Dress Up Darling) were evil?”. Kafka is the extroverted girl that loves shopping and fashion, while Blade is the recluse artist, but that grew bitter - as Yingxing, he was one the best bladesmiths of the Xianzou, he knows what beauty is (also please read the fanfic “dal segno al fine”, it really captures this side of his) – and would be reluctant even if Kafka’s feelings were like Marin’s; Kafka would have to have a lot of patience, but I think she’s not one to give up once she set up a goal.

I didn’t really review their text and quotes, I’m remembering all of it in the game and some comments in the internet. Even so, I wonder if others share these thoughts on them, especially the fact they bring out things that were previously kinda buried in each other, so it has potential for a more mature love story.

#honkai star rail #kafblade #blafka #kafka x blade #blade x kafka #again this is how i extrapolate #but still i never understood the term comfort ship until now #of course it also has potential for their interaction even as platonic #or platonic in the lack of a better term #stellaron hunters

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spartanguard · 1 month

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when Emma falls in love [from the vault]

Summary: When Emma falls in love, I know that boy will never be the same | When she came to Storybrooke, finding love was the farthest thing from Emma's mind. Until she started to get to know Ian, the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole. A crush is the last thing she needs—not when she's in the middle of a murder investigation and her son keeps talking about curses. Or maybe it's exactly what both of them need. [Inspired by "When Emma Falls In Love" by Taylor Swift] A/N: This is the next in my series of fics inspired by Taylor Swift's vault tracks (mostly from Speak Now (Taylor's Version), but there will be more!). Wanted to post this before we all died from TTPD tomorrow ;) I think this is also my favorite of the ones I've written so far; hope you like it, too! And, as always, thank you to @optomisticgirl for being the best beta ever. rated T | 6.2k words | AO3

When the door swung open, Emma was half expecting it to be someone from downstairs yelling at her to stop her pacing; too many years living in crappy apartments had done that to her. But it was just Mary Margaret, coming home from work.

That said— “Uh, you okay? If you pace any harder, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” her roommate remarked.

“Ugh, sorry,” Emma answered, taking a seat at one of the barstools at the counter. “It was that or attacking the toaster again.”

“You didn’t get fired again, did you?” Mary Margaret asked as she set a bag of groceries on the counter. “‘Cause last I checked, you were your own boss.”

Emma scoffed. “No; just…other stuff.” She swallowed. “Boy stuff?” (She wasn’t sure why she said it like it was a question, other than the fact that she’d never been one to talk about relationships or anything—never had anyone she could talk to about that, so she wasn’t sure if this was the right way to start.)

“Well, that’s convenient,” Mary Margaret said, and reached into the paper sack. “I bought wine,” she finished, pulling out a cheap screw-top bottle of rosé.

“Might need more than that.”

“Good thing I got two,” she answered, producing another.

They curled up at opposite ends of the couch, not even bothering with wine glasses. After a few (hefty) sips, Mary Margaret looked at her pointedly and Emma was suddenly very aware of why her students respected her so much. “Okay. Spill.”

Emma sighed, but obliged. “Okay, you know the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole?”

“Not well, but I know who he is. Ian, right?”

“Yeah, Ian Johnson. He, uh…I mean, I…” She hummed. “I think I like him.”

“Oh my god, you sound like one of my fifth graders,” Mary Margaret replied. “You’re attracted to him? Or maybe a little more?”

Emma took another pull from her bottle. “Maybe a lot more.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

(His ass was fantastic, but that was beside the point.) “But…you know how I am. My history. It hasn’t really been that long since Graham…” She still had a hard time saying died.

“I know,” Mary Margaret said softly. “No one says you have to rush into anything. But if you’re feeling something, it doesn’t hurt to pursue it. Especially if he seems to reciprocate.”

Well, that was her other conundrum, wasn’t it: did he? Much like her, he wasn’t really prone to showing emotion—not noticeably, at least; he wore an air of apathy as well as he did his dark-wash jeans. In fact, she didn’t give him much thought after she first met him—when she’d been called to the bar to drag Leroy to the drunk tank on one of her first overnight shifts as a deputy.

She’d definitely seen him, though; Ian was certainly easy on the eyes—perfectly disheveled hair above light blue eyes, just the right amount of gingery stubble, and a hint of chest hair visible through the open vee of his appropriately tight henley—but her thoughts towards him didn’t go deeper than the surface. She also hadn’t missed the quick once-over he gave her, though she couldn’t tell if it was in appreciation or merely assessment.

It wasn’t until her following visit (Leroy’s next trip to the station’s overnight accommodations) that he did more than hum at her, but there was very little effort in the casual pickup line he threw at her (and she did her damnedest to ignore the lilt of his foreign accent).

She knew his kind—or so she thought: the type of asshole who hid behind a pretty face and a quick come-on and that was all it took to get into a girl’s pants. Frankly, that was something she’d fallen for a few too many times, but not here—not in Storybrooke. Not when Regina was constantly looking for a reason to send her out of town (even if she won that sheriff election fair and square, Gold’s involvement notwithstanding) or limit her time with Henry.

It wasn’t until the first time she got a call at the bar after Graham died that she exchanged more than passing pleasantries with him. Ian wasn’t the first to express his condolences, but he was the first to say, “It’s just not fair.” That was exactly how she felt, too. And that’s when things started to shift between them.

(Apparently, he and Graham went way back—he didn’t specify how far, but it sounded like a while, the kind of vague forever that seemed prevalent in such a small town. Graham had helped him out of a few scrapes, and vice versa. “He was a good man,” Ian had concluded. “Seems those always go too soon.” It felt like there was more to go with that statement, but then “Only the Good Die Young” had come on the jukebox and it was a little too on the nose and she had to get out of there.)

But it really took a turn the night he intervened while she was breaking up a bar fight, getting in the way of a drunken punch meant for her and taking it in the cheek instead. (That was also the night she finally noticed his left arm ended not in a hand, but a prosthesis, as she made the assailant wait in the squad car while she put together an ice pack for Ian’s face; she also found out that night that he mixed a mean whiskey sour.)

So they were…she wasn’t sure if they could really say “friends” after that—not quite a team, either; allies, maybe? Whatever it was, it was definitely something she needed.

She started to run into him at Granny’s after that. The first time, she was getting her morning coffee before heading into the station; he was getting some tea before heading home after closing the bar. Then they’d see each other at lunch hour; if the diner was full, they shared a booth. But then that became something of a habit, too, on the days he didn’t close and she didn’t work overnight (though they eventually started another of sharing a drink at the end of their late-night shifts).

Admittedly, it was a little awkward at first; Emma had never been great at the whole small-talk thing (and even worse at the making-friends thing)—but on the bright side, so was he. She found out little things, like when a favorite song would come on (“Behind Blue Eyes” was up there, unsurprisingly/heartbreakingly), or when she’d ask for a liquor recommendation (rum—always rum). She let slip at one point how much she enjoyed Motown, and he quickly picked up on her hot chocolate order.

More solid information came to light later; as she’d guessed, he was a loner, too—no family left, and had drifted around England and the US until he ended up in Storybrooke, somehow. He made an appreciative comment about her being a fellow jailbird over a beat-up copy of that awful article in the Mirror, but his face fell when she mentioned how old she’d been—a rare emotional moment for him. (But not as intense as when she’d commented on the tattoo on his forearm late one night, and the unmistakable look of loss took over; all they could do at that point was make a toast to living through heartbreak.)

It was…she didn’t want to say easy, but it was nice—there were no expectations, no responsibilities. Just the pleasure of each other’s company, and a sense of kindred comraderie.

She was also aware, but ignoring the fact, that the less she knew, the better. There was less chance that he was lying to her or holding something back; less chance for him to get disappointed in who she was. (Less chance to be hurt.)

“He does, right?” Mary Margaret’s question dragged her back to the present.

Which brought Emma to the downside of being attracted to someone whose walls abutted hers: it was hard to get a read on what was going on in his head, especially when he wasn’t outwardly expressive (more than when they first met, but it was still rare). All she could do was shrug at her roommate and take another pull of wine.

“Yeah, he’s always come off as kind of aloof,” Mary Margaret agreed. “Not altogether unfeeling—more like, not a lot?”

Emma was the last person to make any comments there. What was it she’d said to Graham? “Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you're feeling sucks.” They both had reason enough for that.

“But it looks like you’ve gotten closer to him than anyone in a while,” her roommate went on, “and vice versa?”

“More or less,” Emma conceded. “Present company notwithstanding.”

“I’m honored. And you know what I say about hope,” she answered.

Emma did, but wasn’t sure she was ready to say she was that far in. She extended the end of her bottle to Mary Margaret, who clinked her own against it in solidarity.

By the end of the night, she had no further clarity on the situation and the beginnings of a hangover. Maybe she was overthinking it—or maybe it wasn’t even worth overthinking; it’s not like these things ever worked out in her favor anyway.

But…she did keep thinking about hope.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Her friends eventually dragged her out to the Rabbit Hole for a girls’ night. They’d cited the fact that she missed all the excitement on Valentine’s Day, with Ashley’s engagement, so she needed to make up for it.

Despite still being new to the whole having-female-friends thing (having any friends, really), she had fun. Ian poured the drinks strong and sent more than a few small, sideways grins her way as he watched her dance with the others. She was hoping her subsequent blush could be blamed on exertion or alcohol, except—

“Oh my god,” Ruby yelled at her as they returned to their booth for a refreshment. “Just go screw him already.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been eye-fucking the bartender all night! Go do something about it!”

Well, now her cheeks surely matched her bright red dress—and, to make it worse (or better, Ruby would probably say), when she glanced over at Ian a moment later to see if he’d heard, he was smirking and raised an eyebrow as soon as she caught his eye.

(They hadn’t crossed that line yet but—it had been close. She’d been all too aware of the proximity of their lips when she was helping him shut down last week and they’d collided in the back hall—her hands on his firm chest, his coming to her waist, the dart of her eyes to his mouth—she’d basically sprinted out of there.)

There was definitely an itch to scratch, but she wasn’t about to go there with him. Because she knew, with him, it would be so much more than that. (And if he didn’t reciprocate…that would be even worse.)

“So I hear you’ve been hanging out with the bartender,” Regina asked her one day after she dropped Henry off at the mayor’s house.

Emma shrugged. “I guess,” she answered, downplaying whatever it was they had—if only because she had a feeling Regina would find a way to weaponize it.

(Also, he was good with Henry—like, really good, maybe even better than she was. For someone who didn’t appear to care much about…anything, he always seemed to brighten and engage so much more around her kid whenever they ran into him at Granny’s. He even indulged Henry’s theories about the “curse”, but her son hadn’t decided who Ian was in this supposed other life. Emma didn’t have any ideas, either, if only because that meant Ian was the one person safe from Henry’s childlike scrutiny.)

“Even with everything he’s done?”

That got her attention. “What has he done?”

“More like what hasn’t he done; you’re the sheriff—you could look up his rap sheet. He’s got some blood on those hands—well, hand. Has he even mentioned how that happened?”

“No,” Emma said stiffly. “He hasn’t.”

“I don’t suppose he’s mentioned anything about his ex either, then. Who was married.”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, maybe you should look into it—so you can be aware of just who you’re allowing around my son.”

The mayor pointedly closed the door at that, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts—never a good combination. She was mulling it over on the drive to the station—how much did she actually believe what Regina was saying?

But her curiosity was too piqued to let it rest. She felt like the biggest asshole, but after she got settled for the start of her shift, she ended up in the records room, particularly in front of the drawer labeled H–J.

As much as she didn’t want to—she had to know. She slid the drawer open and dug through the folders, until she found the one near the back labeled Johnson, Ian Brennan.

It was thick. His ‘jailbird’ comment from a while back returned to her; she thought he’d been joking at the time.

She didn’t look inside until she was in her office, with the door shut—not that she expected any visitors, least of all him (he was working anyways), but she still felt like she was doing something wrong, even if she had perfectly legal access to these files.

She took a deep breath and flipped it open.

Ian was glaring at her from the photo paper-clipped to the stack of forms—a bit younger, a bit angrier than the man she knew, with a fire in those blue eyes she’d never seen, even from behind a layer of guyliner and shaggy bangs.

Beneath it, typed out, it listed his name, birthdate (although the year was smudged beyond recognition), that he was born in England, and a charge for drunk driving.

The next sheet: illegal possession of a firearm.

The next several that followed included a handful of drug-related charges, mostly involving the transporting of them.

The last page said manslaughter.

She slammed the folder shut and threw it in the empty bottom drawer of her desk.

In vain, she tried to pretend she hadn’t seen it. Maybe someone planted it there? She wouldn’t put it past Regina, though as to why, she couldn’t guess. The comments about an affair, though—she’d done the whole dating-a-married-guy thing; it hadn’t ended well, but it still wasn’t something she was keen on.

For the next week or so, she managed to avoid him—took all her Granny’s orders to go; sent Ruby to deal with anything at the bar; and one time, ran down an alley when she saw him coming the opposite way down the sidewalk. (She didn’t say she was mature about it…or subtle.)

When she got home later that week, there were two bottles of rosé on the counter again. “My turn,” Mary Margaret said, handing one over.

Was infidelity just a thing here? Because now her roommate was dealing with it, too. Emma’s opinion of David wasn’t the highest at the moment—he couldn’t string her best friend along and stay with his wife—but the longer Mary Margaret pursued this, the more heartache it was gonna cause.

“Thanks for talking to me about it,” she said, halfway through the bottle. “What about you? How are things with Ian?”

Emma took a long, long drink.

“Gotcha,” Mary Margaret said knowingly.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

It came to a head when she was in the station one morning, having arrived to her shift early in order to avoid seeing him at the diner. She was dealing with some paperwork when she heard the front door open. “In here,” she called out, assuming it was Regina telling her off for something she hadn’t done right. Footsteps approached. “What would you like to yell at me about today, Madam Mayor?” she asked sarcastically.

“I hadn’t planned on yelling, but I did want to ask why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Oh shit. Ian was there in the doorway, a coffee cup and bag from Granny’s in his hand, and a serious set in his stare.

“I haven’t,” she lied, then turned back to the computer screen (not that it was doing anything—it still ran Windows 98, after all). “I’ve just been busy.”

“See, I’m actually quite perceptive,” he replied, then stepped forward to set the foodstuffs on the corner of her desk. “And this? This is avoiding.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yeah,” she had to admit. They’d always been honest with each other, even if they’d clearly withheld some things. And given how poorly her attempted lie a moment ago went, it would be dumb to try to again.

“What is it, love? Did I do something wrong?”

She opened her eyes to look up at him, and regretted it—he looked genuinely hurt. What she was about to do probably wouldn’t help.

Staying seated, she bent down to open the bottom drawer on her desk, and then pulled out his file. Then she carefully set it in front of her.

He immediately recognized it, she could tell. “Ah.”

“I’m sorry; I was talking to Regina and she said some things and—curiosity got the best of me.”

“I see.”

She couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt—or both—but either way, she felt like an ass. May as well throw fuel on the fire. “She mentioned something about your ex, too—specifically, her marital status.”

“She did, did she?” His words were suddenly emotionless.

“Is…is that all you’re gonna say?” she eventually asked quietly.

He blinked slowly, as when he opened his eyes, they were just a bit duller—a bit more reserved. (That was worse than anything else she’d seen recently.)

“What else needs to be said, Swan?” he shrugged. “You apparently have all you need to know right there, between that and whatever the mayor has told you.”

His gaze settled somewhere near the floor and silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Even louder to her, though, was the fact he was just…accepting it.

“Seriously?” she snapped. “You’re not gonna defend yourself, or fight back at whatever is incorrect in my assumptions?”

He furrowed his brow. “What good would it do?”

“Show me you give a crap!” she shouted, standing so fast it sent her rolling chair sliding into the wall. “Because I’m trying to figure out whatever the hell this is,” she went on, gesturing between them, “but I can’t tell if you actually care or not.”

Finally, something steely settled in his gaze.

“Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you’re feeling sucks,” he stated, plainly but pointedly.

She swallowed at the recitation of what she once had said to Graham. She already knew she wasn’t the first sheriff to strike up a friendship with him, but she was probably the only one Ian had thrown their own words back at.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it go away,” she countered.

“If you do it long enough, it does.”

“And then what? You just never feel anything for the rest of your life?” God, Mary Margaret was really rubbing off on her—though that didn’t mean her calling him out wasn’t a little hypocritical.

“It had been working well for me.”

“Fine then,” she spat. “You can go back to your lonely existence and I’ll fuck off to mine and we’ll just leave it at that.” She crossed her arms and curled in on herself; she was definitely pouting, but the alternative was flopping back in her seat and crying.

His face relaxed, almost going the other way into a frown. “Bloody hell, that’s not what—no, love, I—I just thought you knew me better than that,” he admitted, almost apologetically.

“Well, apparently I don’t,” she parroted back. “I’m wondering if I know anything about you. This is some serious shit, Ian.”

“And I thought you of all people might understand that,” he said matter-of-factly. “I remember the headlines after you arrived in town; just because you have a badge now doesn’t mean you’ve always been on the right side of the law, either.”

“I’m not pretending I didn’t!”

“Neither am I. I just don’t go broadcasting it, given that I still have the option not to.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d be telling people I killed someone either.”

“I—” He started to talk, but then closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Not that I really need to, but can I tell you the full story? Before you completely write me off?”

She nodded, but held back what she was really thinking: that she didn’t want him to write himself off.

“I did get into some bad shit,” he started. “My brother was gone, my ex had just died, and I was suddenly an amputee, so I was alone and spiraling. Fell in with the wrong crowd—classic story. Got in deep with a drug ring, and then I got caught. Killed a member of a warring cartel in the process. But, by some miracle, I had a great lawyer. They got a few of the charges thrown out for lack of evidence and I reached a plea deal on the others, along with a heavily reduced sentence for my cooperation in taking down much of the rest of the ring. Did my time, now I’m here. And I regret it every day.”

“Damn.” That was heavier than expected.

“Aye.” He scratched nervously behind his ear. “Anything else?”

She chewed her bottom lip; she was nervous to ask, but she had to. “So, your ex…”

“My ex was married when we met. But it wasn’t a happy marriage. And I didn’t lure her away, or whatever may have been said—she ran off with me. But I loved her, so I went with it. Until her husband found us and went mad. Tried to cut off my hand; stabbed her. Doctors had to take it the rest of the way off,” he explained, raising his prosthesis. “Add that to the list of reasons why I fell in with the wrong people.”

Fuck. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Indeed.” He toyed with the fingers on his false hand for a moment, and then looked back up at her. “But Swan, why couldn’t you just ask me that? Rather than take the word of a woman who we’ve all seen lie to you—to everyone—before.”

She swallowed. “Because I couldn’t take the chance I was wrong about you.”

“Were you?”

It took her by surprise. “Was I what?”

“Were you wrong about me?” He was staring back at her intently, like he hadn’t just asked a simple but potentially earth-shattering question—but also looked like he was bracing for impact.

She nearly stopped breathing. Not that she had planned any part of this conversation, but when she imagined talking to him again, she thought it’d be more about her figuring out whether he’d let her inside his walls. Logically, it was only fair that he did the same; it was just the first time anyone had followed her in—not to mention challenged her once they were there. (Especially not someone with intense blue eyes, bolder than she’d yet seen them.) And she didn’t know how to respond.

“Because I know I’m not the biggest catch or anything—I’m certainly not Graham—” he went on (and apparently knew where to sting her), “and yeah, I probably still drink a bit more rum than is advised, but other than this—” he nodded at the folder, “—I’ve been nothing but honest with you. So now it’s up to you to decide: whatever it is you’re worried about—were you wrong?”

It had been a long-ass time since anyone had been that bluntly honest with her. (And never someone she was interested in.)

He was right—her lie detector had never gone off with him, either. (It also hadn’t when Regina was gossiping, but it was a little less accurate with noticing exaggerations or omissions.)

He’d never really answered her earlier question, though. “I just need to know one thing,” she said as she stepped around the desk. “I’m not alone in feeling…this, right?” she asked, blatantly stepping into his space.

“No,” he confirmed on a breath.

“Then no, I wasn’t wrong. I think what I was actually scared of…was that I was right.”

“Right?”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and quickly found his lips, kissing away any further confusion. (As she was finding out, they were both a bit better at nonverbal communication.)

(And he did taste a bit like rum, but—she liked it.)

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

She wanted to say things changed from there—they took it fast, or slow, or whatever—but in reality, their relationship really didn’t change. There were still the meals at Granny’s, the nights at the bar. She’d never really been a date-night kind of girl. But emotionally—woah.

It was like she was seeing a whole other side of Ian—but at the same time, it felt like it had always been there, just hiding below the surface. It wasn’t a universal thing—he was still a bit reserved while at work, or around just about anyone other than her and Henry—which made what they had feel all the more special.

There were also more than a few makeout sessions sprinkled in there, too. (Being chased out of the back hall of Granny’s by said proprietress, giggling like teenagers, was one of her more cherished memories since arriving here.)

For a short while, it was simple and sweet and it made her happy. For a little bit, she maybe had the kind of life she’d always hoped—with her son, friends, and a guy she really liked.

But it was like the universe noticed or something—no, Emma Swan couldn’t simply have nice things. Shit always, inevitably hit the fan.

Starting with having to arrest and book her roommate for murder.

She texted ahead and he had a shot waiting for her when she got to the bar after, then a couple more after that. She was definitely loitering—and he could tell. “What is it, love? Aside from the obvious.”

One thing she’d realized: he was exceedingly good at reading her, like a book he couldn’t put down.

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” she admitted. “It’s not that I’m afraid to be alone, but knowing that she’s in a cell and I’m there—and that someone may have been in the loft—I just…it freaks me out a bit.”

He swallowed. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but…I could go with you,” he offered. “At least to make sure everything is safe.”

“I’d like that.”

The walk to the loft from the Rabbit Hole was short but filled with energy; there was literally no reason for her to be any sort of excited, but she never invited guys back to her place. Even if she had no plans of anything intimate happening, this was something of a big step for her.

Of course, it ended up being anticlimactic—there was nothing amiss in the flat—but she was still hesitant to want to leave his presence, while at the same time not wanting to seem needy or like she was coming onto him in a subversive way.

“I, uh, could sleep on the couch, if you’d feel better,” he offered, doing that adorable nervous scratch behind the ear. Right—it had been a while for him with this kind of stuff, too.

“Um, yeah, I would. Thanks.”

That was the night she learned he snored—but the sound eventually lulled her to sleep, too.

As it did for the next few nights.

Then came the one after she narrowly escaped that crazy Jefferson’s house with Mary Margaret. She was still shaking as she took the stairs to the apartment and almost didn’t notice Ian sitting on the landing, nearly tripping over his feet.

“Swan, what’s wrong? You never answered my texts so I got worried and came here and, well—I wasn’t sure who to call when the sheriff is the one missing.”

She invited him in—or tried to, but she was trembling so much, she could barely get the key in the lock. Not until his steady hand wrapped around hers and helped.

Once inside, she nearly collapsed just closing the door—both out of relief, and because her adrenaline was finally wearing off. But Ian caught her. And for the first time in years, she let herself be comforted by someone else. (She didn’t cry—she wasn’t ready for that kind of vulnerability yet—but this was kind of a big deal.)

“Do you want me to stay on the couch again tonight?” he murmured when she began to sway, fatigue winning over. She shook her head into his shoulder. (Also: he smelled good. Like, real good.) “Should…should I go?” She shook her head again.

Emma wasn’t a spooner. She took what she needed and then she left. But that was the night she understood why people enjoyed it so much. And waking up still wrapped in his strong arms was a kind of comfort she hadn’t known existed.

There was a brief—but weird—reprieve from the emotional heaviness when it turned out Kathryn Nolan was miraculously alive (despite her heart supposedly being outside her body), and then they held a party to welcome Mary Margaret back home. She shared (more than) a few drinks with Ian after the former; their first official outing as a couple, if it could be called that, was the latter. Mary Margaret arched an eyebrow and smirked at her as she and Ian moved around the kitchen getting ready. Emma just blushed—and then blushed harder when Ian pressed a quick kiss on her cheek as he stepped past her.

Then August kind of went crazy—his offer of help in dealing with the Regina-Sidney-whatever turned into another journey of emotional whiplash. She slumped onto what had become her usual stool at the bar, just a few minutes before close. Ian put some tea in front of her rather than anything stronger and took her upstairs after he’d locked up. He lived there, apparently, in a pretty spartan studio apartment.

“Tell me,” he said gently. Not long ago, she would have brushed something like that off—but not anymore; not with him.

“I’m just tired of all this crap. Not just Regina—the whole curse thing, too. It was fine when it was Henry and I could play along, but now August? And he just—expected me to solve his problem? Just like that? No—no way.” She sighed. “It’s like everyone wants something from me or to fit some role; no one wants just Emma.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” he teased lightly. “Because I do.”

Well. She couldn’t argue with that.

And it became all the more obvious when she attacked his lips—and realized the rest of him was in agreement. She’d hesitated to take their relationship to that level; physical relationships were what she was used to, but adding in the emotional layer was something else—something more.

But, as she learned, that was in a good way.

And while drifting off into a post-coital slumber while wrapped in Ian’s steady arms, she didn’t really care what went on in the outside world—as long as she had this.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Should have known that’s when it would all really, truly crash down on her. Henry—god—seeing him in that hospital bed…and not being able to do anything…but it worked: she believed. In magic, the curse—everything. (Especially once Regina confirmed it.)

So now she was on a mission, practically storming from the hospital—when she ran into a pair of arms she’d give anything to just be able to take shelter in right now. “Love—is Henry okay? What’s going on?”

For a minute, she just looked in Ian’s eyes: that now-familiar blue that carried a wisdom beyond his years and echoed his every emotion, so different now from when she’d first met him—but in a good way. The way his worry creased his brow, the weight of his hand on her waist. If the world was about to change, she wanted to memorize him—them—in this moment. “Is everything alright?” he asked again.

She rose up on her toes to give him a firm, but all-too-brief kiss. “It fucking will be,” she told him, then ran off to save the world—or something.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

An eternity later (really only a couple hours, but holy shit did it feel longer), she had fought a dragon and then apparently broken a goddamn curse with True Love’s Kiss. All that really mattered was that Henry was okay, but all around her, everyone was coming to terms with what had been done to all of them.

She’d never expected to find out the waitress was a werewolf, or the therapist was a freaking cricket—and really never thought she’d be reunited with her parents. It was amazing, but it was also a lot.

She left Henry with his grandparents—god, grandparents—so she could take a minute and just—breathe.

The salty sea air hit her nose and she realized her feet had taken her to the docks. The view of the sea was soothing, but then she saw someone else there taking in the horizon—someone familiar. He wore the same clothes—the same motorcycle jacket, the black sweater that fit him extremely well, atop his usual dark jeans. But rather than the hand-like prosthesis she’d come to recognize, there was a hook—a freaking stereotypical pirate hook—at the end of his left arm.

(Henry had told her the fairytale counterpart of just about everyone in town—except for Ian. The illustrations in his book were good but maybe not distinct and there were a few options. She had a pretty good idea who it was narrowed down to now, though.)

“Ian?” she asked as she approached, partly to get his attention—and partly because she wasn’t sure who she was talking to.

He turned at the sound of her voice, but looked confused. Until he blinked and shook his head. “Aye, it’s me,” he answered, moving toward her. “My real name, though—it’s Killian, Killian Jones; it…took me a minute there.”

Killian. Similar, but different. It suited him.

But also: Kill-Ian—was the man she held so important now gone, effectively killed by his new—true—self?

“So…how much was real? About you?” she had to ask.

“Some of it.” Apparently that nervous ear scratch carried over. “I am—was—am? A pirate, for decades, until I was caught.”

“Captain Hook?” she wondered, nodding at his prosthesis.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he smirked. It was similar to the one she knew—the same dimple—but it had a darker edge to it.

“Who hasn’t?” she replied, ignoring the bit of discomfort that was…well, adding to her overall sense of unease.

“The truth—my actual life—is a bit more gruesome than what I once told you. I wanted revenge for the murder of my love. That part was true—she had been the Dark One’s wife, and he killed her, then took my hand.” He emphasized it by toying with the (rather sharp) end of his hook.

Right; Mr. Gold was apparently—actually—a centuries-old sorcerer. “I’m not gonna have to lock you up for going after him, am I?”

“No. See, I got sloppy; I lost sight of things, and that’s how I was caught—by your parents’ kingdom, actually. Was about to be hanged when the Evil Queen’s knight rescued me. Graham.” Her heart skipped a beat. “In return, I offered them my services should they ever need them. Never heard from them again, and then got swept up in the curse.”

She swallowed. “Did she ever take you up on it? During the curse?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

“So, us…” God, she couldn’t even put it into words. If what they’d shared wasn’t…hadn’t meant…she couldn’t fathom.

He very quickly moved into her space and took her hand. “That was very real, Swan.” His gaze had never felt more intense as he went on. “It was my understanding that the curse twisted things—changed us. I had always been someone who felt things very strongly and deeply; it’s why I was so single-mindedly focused on revenge for decades. But then under the curse…I felt nothing—not a bloody thing, for years on end—until I met you, and it all came back. It was like my heart was turned back on—like you brought me back to life.” He rubbed his coarse thumb over the back of her hand. “I know you’re probably questioning things again—especially given that you don’t fully know me, the real version, now—but Emma, I still know you, and I still desperately want you.”

She sighed in relief and nearly sagged into his arms. “Good. Because I think I love you.”

He smiled; it started as a small thing, but he couldn’t hold back from turning into a grin. “That’s appropriate, because I’m fairly certain I love you, too.”

There was a lot she needed to figure out—her life was all kinds of a mess right now—but him—this—whoever he was, he was hers. Even if she didn’t fully know him, it still felt like her heart fit right in the palm of his hand (and vice versa).

She wasted no further time in wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his; he was equally quick to reciprocate.

And, actually? Killian kissed even better than Ian did.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

thanks for reading! Tagging some friends (including the fabulous and supportive Word Forge): @ohmightydevviepuu @shireness-says @iverna @thejollyroger-writer @wistfulcynic @phiralovesloki @initiala @idoltina @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @colinoeyebrows @pirateherokillian @annytecture @stubblesandwich @wingedlioness @scientificapricot @snowbellewells @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 and I know there's more I tend to include but tumblr is being weird about it rn.

#cs ff #captain swan #cursed killian au #spartanguard: from the vault #my ff

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hairstevington · 8 months

Text

songs that voices never share

Deaf!Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Summary: Everything's felt a little off since the Fourth of July, and no one's talking about it. Of course, one part of Steve's summer is a bit hard to ignore - he's losing his hearing. As luck would have it, a friend of Dustin's ends up playing a key role in Steve's adjustment to his new normal.

WC: 4K

Warnings: Deaf!Steve, use of ASL, angst/references to events of season 1-3, this fic will disregard the events of season 4 because I said so, canon universe, hurt/comfort, angst, platonic Stobin forever, Steve and Will are buds, some sad stuff but overall it's a love story like come on it's me we're talking about

A/N: Hello! Everyone loved my drabble about Deaf Steve so I'm expanding it into a full fic. The plan is 7 chapters, and I'll probably post them all both here and on Ao3. Please note that ASL is written in all capitals when notated in English, and the grammar is a bit different.

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

Chapter 1 - I'll take a quiet life

Steve was kind of prone to getting beat up. God knows Dustin never let him forget it.

After the fight with Jonathan, he felt more or less the same. Then, Billy beat the shit out of him, and Steve started getting migraines and hearing a ringing in his ears every so often.

But after being tortured by the Russians for a couple hours? That’s when the real damage was done.

Everything felt a little off since the Fourth of July, but no one talked about it. Even though so much had changed, Steve and the rest of the group all tried to get back to any normalcy they could find. Steve and Robin got a job together at Family Video and ultimately ignored everything they'd experienced together. It just felt like it was too big to talk about, so they didn't. They pretended like it didn't happen honestly - which might have been more successful had it not been for one fairly major thing.

The ringing became almost constant. Steve’s hearing was piss poor some days and kind of okay other days, but eventually the bad days were more frequent than the good. Steve knew he got beat up a lot, and he figured there were probably some consequences, but he never had time to think about it. Then, when he had trouble hearing one day, he figured he was just swollen and needed time to heal. And then he blamed it on allergies. And then he felt stupid for not taking it seriously, so he ignored it. And then, when he finally went to the doctor, he realized the full extent of it all.

They called it a perfect storm of injuries. At least, that’s what he thought they said. Apparently he’d had too much trauma to the area and not enough medical attention after multiple concussions and ruptured eardrums. He also apparently broke some of the bones in his ears??? They told him a lot of things that he couldn’t quite understand.

He wasn’t stupid. He just couldn’t hear so well anymore.

Steve had never been the smartest person in the first place. He wasn’t great at school, especially with English or history, and he never cared that much about it either. He breezed his way through high school and focused on sports and popularity.

So, when Steve couldn’t keep up in conversations with his friends, they didn’t really think anything was out of the ordinary. Classic Steve, always a few sentences behind.

He got away with it for much longer than he had any right to. Robin was the first to notice.

They worked together at Family Video most days that summer, and it was a good job because anyone could do it, really. They were never really that busy, so a lot of the time was just Steve and Robin getting paid to hang out.

A lot of times, Robin rambled at him about movies or music or how hot Molly Ringwald was, and he could just nod and smile and occasionally say something like, “yeah, totally,” and she would be none the wiser. If they were looking at each other, he could kind of tell what she was saying based on her lips, but only because he knew her well enough to do so. He couldn’t really understand anyone else, except maybe Dustin sometimes. Then again, Dustin used a lot of tech speak that went over Steve’s head even before his hearing deteriorated.

Steve was putting tapes back in the proper places, oblivious to Robin calling for him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when she tapped him on the shoulder.

“Shit! Hi!” he exclaimed, realizing he must have missed something again. “Sorry, I’m kind of out of it.”

Ah, his go-to excuse. It worked every time.

“Bullshit, Harrington,” she replied. Before Steve could defend himself, she continued. “You can’t hear very well anymore, can you?”

Huh. Okay, it worked every time, until now. Steve nodded, realizing he had no reason to hide it from Robin anymore.

“How’d you know?” he wondered. Usually, Robin paced back and forth and avoided eye contact during her rambles, but this time she stayed put and faced him head on.

“Steve,” she began. “You’ve always been a little oblivious, but recently it’s like you’re never listening to me at all. Plus, I’ve been throwing random things into conversation to see if you notice. Hey, Steve, just figured out that hamsters aren’t real. Dingus, I just got a tattoo of your face on my face. You know, things like that. You’ve never said anything about it, so at first I thought you were just stressed or depressed or - wait, shit. You can’t hear. Maybe I should write this down.” She went to search for a pen and paper, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.

��I think I got the gist,” he responded. Thankfully this was one of his better days, otherwise he never would have been able to follow. “Wait, hamsters are real though, right?” Robin’s face fell as she genuinely pondered whether Steve was being serious. “I’m kidding. Yes I know what you’re saying.”

“Okay, cool,” she replied, relieved. “Anyway, once I realized nothing was wrong with your psyche, I started doing other tests. But sometimes I’d stomp my feet and you’d react, so I worried I was making it all up. One time I snapped right by your ear, but then I accidentally flicked you on the temple.”

Steve remembered that. She said it was a bug.

He could hear some frequencies, and it also depended on the day and the season. It was best in quiet spaces where he only had to talk to one person. That’s how he got by so well at work, because it was a relatively quiet place.

Well, except for Robin and her constant rambling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. Steve shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t wanna admit it, I guess, but I think it’s just gonna get worse.” The prospect of losing his hearing entirely and permanently was on the table, especially if he was to get punched again or something. Considering his group of friends and their history of getting into trouble, that didn’t seem unlikely. Robin put a caring hand on his shoulder and gave a comforting smile.

“Well, I talk too much for you to not understand me, so this means we’re both gonna have to learn sign language.”

“What?” Steve winced at the idea. “No way. I took three years of Spanish and I only know how to ask where the bathroom is.”

(He actually forgot how to say that, too.)

“Yeah, but maybe sign language will be different. I mean, it’s visual, right?” Robin put her elbows on the counter and continued. “Come on, you know I love languages, and I’m soooo booooored.” As she spoke, her body slowly sank onto the counter until she was face down.

Steve chuckled. He wasn’t surprised that she was the first to figure it all out, and her reaction was incredibly on brand.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Steve picked up the alphabet pretty quickly. He already knew most of it from Sunday School as a kid. Then, for about a week or so, Robin drilled him by practicing different signs during their shifts together. There were only a few weeks of summer vacation left before Robin went back to school for her senior year.

Steve was grateful he’d already graduated by the time his hearing got worse. He would never have had the courage to ask for accommodations. Although, Robin probably would have bugged him into asking for it anyway.

Whatever, He didn’t need to think about that.

MOVIE, Robin signed to Steve during a standard shift at Family Video.

“Uhhhhh…cheese?” Steve guessed. Robin shook her head.

“No, but close!” she countered. Steve groaned.

“How is it close, Robin? How?” he complained. She laughed, then showed him the sign for CHEESE versus MOVIE. They were honestly not that different. “Oh. Okay, yeah.”

W-O-R-K, she fingerspelled next. Steve’s eyes lit up.

“I know this one!!!” he exclaimed, hitting one of his fists on top of the other to sign WORK.

“Yes!” Robin cheered. She quickly corrected herself and signed YES. Steve smiled. CANDY TIME.

When Steve got a sign right, she’d throw an M&M his way so he could catch it in his mouth. It was something they’d started doing together at Scoops Ahoy with various toppings.

M&M’s were much less messy.

Sure, the study and reward method was a bit juvenile, but it worked. Steve practiced, and he learned some basic signs. THANK YOU. PLEASE. SORRY. I KNOW. I DON’T UNDERSTAND. WHAT? AGAIN. He also learned random ones. BIRD. BASKETBALL. VAMPIRE. SODA.

And then, of course, the two of them learned the other essentials - words that they usually just had shared glances for.

HOT, for when an attractive customer came in. COMPLAIN, for when an annoying customer came in. FINISH, when their shift was over.

It worked. They started signing to each other instead of talking whenever possible. Robin let him have all the tasks he could do in the back room or by himself, and she handled a lot of the customers to cover for him. The pressure and stress Steve had been feeling started to melt away, and his headaches got better since he didn't have to focus so much all the time.

His parents knew about his condition, but they never talked much in the first place, so nothing really changed at home. He’d go to work and make do, and then he’d go home, and everything was alright.

About a week of study sessions later, Robin had an idea.

YOUR FRIENDS, she began. Steve stared at her and waited for her to elaborate. She took a deep breath. TELL-THEM YOU CAN.

Steve continued to stare at her quizzically. She was learning all the grammar and shit, and he was still on vocabulary.

MY FRIENDS…YES? He guessed, trying to mimic the one sign he couldn’t remember the meaning to. She shook her head.

C-A-N, she clarified. Steve thought about it. YOUR FRIENDS LOVE YOU, she continued, slower this time. SHOULD KNOW.

Steve sighed. He’d been avoiding Dustin a lot more these last few weeks, because he knew the smartass would figure him out in seconds.

Steve sighed, knowing Robin was right.

O-K, he agreed.

Dustin took it well. He had a lot of questions, but most of them Steve didn’t know the answers to. He quickly decided he would also learn some signs to support Steve. The support made Steve feel so relieved, he told all of his other friends. Well, he told the kids. Max. El. Will. Mike. Lucas. El and Will were planning on moving to California pretty soon with Jonathan and Joyce, so El decided it would be good for her to practice writing letters to Steve, since she’d be doing long distance with Mike and all. Lucas and Mike also made an attempt at learning signs, but they were even shittier at it than Steve was - which honestly made Steve feel even better. They treated it like a secret code they all were learning - kind of like the weird phrases they insisted on saying whenever they used the walkie talkies.

It was all very cute.

Since Steve wasn’t in school, he ended up practicing sign language during most of his free time. It felt good to be doing something for himself. It made him feel smart, and he didn’t feel smart that often. Robin also picked it up pretty fast, which was to be expected.

But then, all of a sudden, school was starting again, and everyone was busy. Steve continued to work and study ASL, but he didn’t have as many shifts with Robin. He would drive the kids to school and to their clubs and stuff, but it was impossible to communicate with a bunch of kids in the car. He went on dates, but the talking part of it all didn’t really work out. He wasn’t connecting with anybody, and he couldn’t understand them half the time. Plus, most of his date spots required loud noises - movies, sports games, etc. He’d go out with women, and he’d have a decent albeit exhausting time trying to keep up, and then sometimes they’d have sex, but if he was being honest - he wasn’t even really enjoying sex as much anymore.

Crazy, right? He couldn’t believe it either.

He was isolated, but getting by. He kept spending down-time at work watching videos about sign language that he’d borrowed from the library, and everywhere he went he tried to think of the sign for what he saw. TREE. CAR. LIGHT. RESTAURANT. BICYCLE. HOUSE. BOOK. STORE.

Eventually, it all started coming together.

It was October - Halloween season. Considering what had happened last Halloween, Steve wasn’t too thrilled about it. Neither were some of the kids, primarily Will and El. Times had been tough for El especially after losing Hopper, and Steve knew that. It seemed like she had a decent support system though. Jonathan’s mom had taken her in, and she was dating Mike as well. She’d be okay, Steve hoped.

Then came the big moving day for the Byers and El. Steve had to admit he was a bit jealous. He’d wanted to get out of Hawkins forever, but now he had Dustin and Robin tying him there.

Jonathan got to escape this town and he was dating Nancy? Such bullshit.

Not that Steve was pining over Nancy anymore. He’d always love her, in a way, but he’d moved on. They didn’t work together, and that was that. Over and out, as the kids would say on their stupid walkie talkies.

Anyway, El may have been alright, but Steve had his doubts about Will. He didn’t really know how to broach the subject, but he noticed that when he picked the kids up, Will was usually pretty quiet.

An outsider, kind of like Steve.

So, when moving day arrived, Steve offered to help. He knew that Nancy and Jonathan would be there and their farewells would be a whole thing he had no interest in being around for, but he was pretty strong and he could carry boxes and help the kids, at least.

But when he showed up, he saw Will in the backyard by himself. Steve gave a small wave, then slowly approached the kid and sat down beside him.

WHAT’S-UP, Steve signed. It was one of the signs he taught all the kids. Will shrugged. Steve watched Will intently as he waited for his response.

“I don’t want to move,” Will said. “I like my house. And my friends.” Will caught himself, realizing he knew an applicable sign, then added FRIENDS. Steve smiled.

UNDERSTAND, he replied. That was another sign he taught the kids. “This sucks.”

“How do you sign that?” Will asked. “That it sucks.”

Steve knew that one, obviously. He knew a lot of signs now, but that was one he used a lot. He brought the tip of his pointer finger to his chin and frowned. Will repeated the action, then raised his eyebrows. Steve nodded in approval. Will’s hands dropped back into his lap, and the forlorn look on his face came back.

“I guess I just -” Will began, averting his eyes from Steve and staring in the distance. “They’re gonna forget about me here. They’re already -” He sighed. “It feels like I’m being left behind, even though I’m the one leaving.” Steve nodded gently, understanding the feeling all too well.

Will was the member of the party Steve had interacted with the least, probably because the other kids were a bit - uhhh - louder. Dustin and Steve were like brothers, Lucas and Steve could talk about basketball, El and Max were by no means close with Steve but he still felt like a surrogate older brother to them, and Mike was -

Okay, Mike and Steve didn’t really get along. That was to be expected, considering everything. They weren’t mean to each other or anything, they were just awkward and mildly annoyed with each other most of the time.

Will was different. Steve had been filled in on what happened to Will through Dustin, and it was - well, yeah. Will had it rough. And no one ever really talked about it. It was like, Will went through this whole traumatic thing, but he was back to “normal” now, so everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine, and he was getting sick and tired of pretending it was.

Whoops. Okay. Maybe Steve was connecting with Will more than he anticipated he would.

That was probably where a lot of the disconnect came from with everyone in Steve’s life except for Robin. The two of them had been tortured together for hours underground. Steve got the brunt of it. And they were drugged and threatened and nearly killed dozens of times. But they escaped and got out and then they were fighting a giant monster and fireworks were going off and then people died and there was no space for Steve to talk about what had happened to him.

He probably needed a therapist, but if he saw a shrink his dad would never let him hear the end of it. Besides, how could he explain any of his trauma to them? He couldn’t talk about it with anyone except his close group of friends, and he didn’t want to burden them with it, so he just…didn’t talk about it.

Steve wanted to say so many things to Will, but he also felt like he had no right to give any advice on friends or happiness. Steve had left the majority of his friends behind, willingly, and he didn’t regret it, but he also was sad about it. He missed it in some weird, fucked up way he couldn’t explain. Especially Tommy. God, all they did was argue and get in each other’s faces, but they knew each other better than anyone else. The best and the worst of it - mostly the worst, though.

“Well, I won’t forget you,” Steve said, hoping the reassurance would provide some kind of comfort.

“You don’t know me,” Will replied. “And don’t you hate my brother?”

Oof. Valid argument, but still. Steve’s thoughts on Jonathan were…complicated, to say the least.

“I don’t hate him,” Steve responded. “And your brother isn’t you.”

When Steve spoke, he tried to translate it in his head. It had become a habit. HATE DON’T. YOU, YOUR BROTHER, NOT-SAME.

He was getting pretty good at the sign language thing.

“I’m probably just going to sit out here and be sad,” Will said with a shrug.

“Okay,” Steve replied. “Is it okay if I sit here and be sad too?”

Will turned to Steve, confused at first, but then his face relaxed into something different. He nodded.

Everyone inside seemed to be doing just fine without them, anyway.

The Byers (and El) moved to California. Lucas, Dustin, and Mike joined Hellfire club, which they were really excited about. The first few times Dustin had told Steve about it, the dipshit was so excited Steve only got like half of what he was being told. For example, he thought the boys were getting ready to drink champagne for the first time or something, which was weird, but whatever. Kids are weird. And then later he realized they were preparing for a campaign.

They had shirts. Steve recognized the shirts. Then, it all made sense.

He’d heard of Hellfire before. They were kind of hard to miss. They were the exact opposite of cool, even though Dustin seemed to think that wasn’t the case. An underground sort of cool, he’d explained.

Yeah. Sure, buddy.

Steve knew from his years at Hawkins High that those guys were not treated with any sort of respect. The only popularity they had was the negative kind. People knew who they were, and they stayed away. They were weird.

At the same time, Steve wasn’t surprised the boys had joined. It was a Dungeons and Dragons club, after all - Of course, Steve didn’t actually make that connection until Dustin had made him aware. He wasn’t sure what he thought Hellfire did back when he was in school, but it certainly wasn’t a nerdy roleplaying game. They gave off a different vibe. Like, a chaotic anarchist kind of vibe. Most of Steve’s perception came from the guy who led it - Eddie Munson, the school freak. That’s what they called him. Steve and Eddie had never really interacted, because why would they have? They were both seniors when Steve graduated, but Eddie was a year older. And he still hadn’t graduated.

Tough deal.

Anyway, Dustin was obsessed with Eddie. He worshiped the guy, basically. And Steve couldn’t help but be a little jealous - not that he’d ever admit that, of course. But Dustin was around Eddie more often, and they could talk about things they enjoyed freely and without having to stop every ten seconds to repeat themselves.

So, yeah. Steve was bitter about it.

He usually picked the kids up from Hellfire after school, because the “champagnes” (no, they never let Steve live that one down) sometimes went pretty late. Plus, Steve was the wheels in most circumstances - he drove Robin to school every morning, too.

He was probably at Hawkins High more often than he had been when he attended the damn school.

Anyway, one night in particular, Steve waited outside the drama club room for Lucas, Mike, and Dustin to walk out and hop in the car like they always did, but they were running late.

Again. Oh, joy.

Steve parked the car and headed inside, only to find everything packed up (thankfully), but everyone was still absorbed in conversation.

Steve couldn’t follow. They were all talking over each other and about things that he didn’t really understand well in the first place. Plus, there was music playing in the background, which muddied everything else in his brain. So, he waited and watched them interact. And then everyone was looking at him, and he didn’t know why.

“What?” Steve asked, totally lost. He turned to the boys, who all tried to explain what Steve had missed in their own way. Steve caught them flashing a few signs his way. JOKE. IGNORE. HE DON’T-KNOW.

Ehh, Steve kind of pieced it together. Eddie probably made some sort of comment about how awkward Steve was being without knowing why. It was probably for the best that Steve didn’t hear it. Instead, he turned to Eddie so he could share what was going on.

But then, Eddie signed to him.

YOU DEAF?

Steve’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He nodded. YOU SIGN?!

MOM DEAF, Eddie explained. Before Steve had the chance to ask a follow-up question, Eddie answered one of them. MOM DEAD NOW. Eddie turned away to face the boys, then pivoted back to Steve. BEFORE, COULD HEAR. RIGHT? HAPPEN WHEN?

Eddie’s signing skills seemed almost natural. Clearly he’d been doing it for ages. Steve nodded.

NEW, he explained. He was blanking on the sign for “recent” due to the fact that he was so stunned. MY SIGNING… Oh, God. Steve couldn’t remember how to say anything. He wanted to say that he was still learning, so he wasn’t that good. Instead, he did the universal hand gesture for “iffy,” which worked well enough. The boys and the other club members all watched this interaction in awe as Eddie processed this with a small nod.

O-K, Eddie replied.

And that was it. Eddie went back to talking to the boys, and presumably dismissed them as they all scattered away to collect their bags. Eddie wasn’t even looking at Steve.

That was kind of a bummer.

Up until then, Steve hadn’t met anyone else who signed (except for Robin), so this was kind of huge. At the same time, it was Eddie. Like, Steve had come a long way from his King Steve days, but the dude was a loose cannon. He was always drawing attention to himself and jumping on tables and shit. They had nothing in common, originally, but now they had two gigantic things in common - Dustin and sign language.

Steve took the kids home as he usually did, but he didn’t even attempt to focus on what they were saying. Besides, he was still thinking about, well, everything.

A part of him was annoyed, because of course the other older brother figure for Dustin was cool enough to know sign language. Of course. The other part of him was over the moon. He had someone to talk to and practice with. Although, that was only if Eddie was interested, which he very well might not have been. Plus, it was also kind of against the rules of the school. The jock and the freak spending time together? It just didn’t happen.

Then again, Steve wasn’t going to Hawkins High anymore. He could make his own rules.

He couldn’t wait to tell Robin about all of this. She was going to lose her damn mind.

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florencetypemaniacs · 3 months

Note

Say that Mc get pregnant how would the Ro's act, the Aunt, and maybe Dad (Devil Daddy)?

Thank you so much for the ask! Devil Daddy omg I LOVE THAT. To be clear, the fem MCs, or female ROs, are able to get pregnant. I have to say that it would depend on the relationship stage of all the characters. If the MC and the male RO's were in the deep relationship stage (and the pregnancy wasn't planned) , it would end up like this:

🏹 Zinnia

I honestly think that it would matter who MC's partner was—Zane and Owen—she would probably try to kill before the MC stopped it. Although, in the long run, she would be so excited to be a great auntie, she would be scared of the MC's health. Aster had a hard and tough pregnancy, so that worry would be there until the birth. MC would get handed small vials of weird things to help with the baby's development. She would buy the baby clothes and toys. Zinnia would plan a party and make sure that the MC relaxed.

🦁 Lazuli

If the MC had a good relationship with him (which you can decide in the IF), he would tear up with happiness. He was getting a second chance at being there for a child who had his blood. A second chance to make it up to the MC for not being there for Aster and them when they needed it. Laz would constantly ask if there was anything that the MC needed or wanted, and he would get it for them with a snap of their fingers. He would also have a talk with the RO's separately and give them a talk about being there for you, or he would rip their heads off their would be consequences.

💛 Marcel

Ecstatic! Marcel loves children; he has experience raising them, so he would make sure to tell the MC everything there was to expect and to not worry because he'll be there every step of the way. However, that doesn't mean he doesn't educate himself. Marcel would buy every parenting book on the planet since medicine has come a long way from when he was alive, even bothering Tai with questions.

❤️ Owen

He would think the MC was joking at first until he realized it wasn't a joke and was going to be a father, and he would get excited and spin the MC around in the air before sitting them down in a hurry because he thought he had hurt the baby. Although he does get more protective of the MC, I think he is better at hiding it than Tai. He would just always stay close to MC, just where he could see them, to make sure they were okay.

He would have a battle plan in place for probably every scenario. A lot of soft touches towards the MC and laying a hand on the curve of the belly on instinct. He would build his own crib and toys out of wood so that his child would have everything crafted just for them.

🩵 Tai

For the first time in his life, Tai wouldn't know what to say. Honestly, his brain would stop working for at least an hour after the MC told him until he snapped out of it. Tai would be worried all the time when the MC isn't by him that he probably gets a few gray hairs. He would be a total helicopter parent towards the MC, always by their side in case they needed anything or didn't. He would check the MC's vitals every day to make sure the baby was healthy. Make a list of the foods that the MC can't eat, and honestly, try to put the MC on a healthier diet for the baby's sake if the MC is prone to shove junk food in their mouth.

💚 Zane

God, I feel so bad for the MC because the first words out of Zane's mouth would be, "Can we still have sex?" He really doesn't have his priorities straight 😅, but he would be accepting of the pregnancy if this was something that MC wanted. I think that he would be smug throughout the whole pregnancy, especially as the MC's stomach grows, practically saying to everyone, "I did that." However, don't expect him to do anything on his own. Zane would get stuff done if the MC told him to do something like right away during the pregnancy, but if the MC doesn't speak up, he will continue to be out of the loop about what the MC is feeling.

I think that it finally sets in when he feels the baby kick or goes to see an ultrasound, and the doctor points out the baby. It would be right then that Zane realized that he was about to be a father. He was having a baby with the MC. Zane would have this feeling that he has never felt before that he freaks out and would have to leave for a day or two to get his mind around it, promising the MC he would be right back. And he is. It might seem like nothing has changed, but the MC would tell. Little things around the house start getting done (without asking him to do it). Maybe a pile of laundry or MC's pregnancy craving snack is on the table. Just little things to help MC.

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lockandkeyhyena · 4 days

Note

I have a bit more tips for anon for trans man stereotypes to avoid! Like you said, the big deal with trans men is a huge lack of representation at all, so stereotypes can be hard to nail down, but I've still got a couple more stereotypes to avoid AND some advice:

• Testosterone does NOT make you violent! If your dude is on T, be careful to not portray him as unusually rageful or violent unless it's another part of his character separate from his transness. And even then, just be aware that bigots out there see folks on T as uniquely prone to violence.

• Trans men are not always bottoms or sexually submissive! They CAN be, but if you've frequented fandom spaces, you'll see that a lot of authors seem to see trans men as shorthand for a bottom, sexually submissive, feminine guy. Basically, trans men tend to be seen as either violent aggressors or uwu precious bean softboys. Try not to play too much into one or the other.

• This is more of a trope than a stereotype, but avoid a whole big Secret Revealed scene about your trans guy. Specifically, the whole "someone who didn't know he was trans walks in on him undressing and sees that oh my god he binds! He's actually a she trans!" or any other kind of instance where your dude's keeps his transness secret only to get "found out" in a situation out of his control. This is a bit of an older trope that I haven't seen as much in recent years, but yeah. And again, as with any trope or stereotype, they CAN be done well but it requires care and acknowledgement of what might be problematic about it.

• Oh! And actually, on that note a stereotype with any trans person is that they're deceitful or uniquely good at lying. This all comes from the whole perception of trans folks as "traps trying to trick good, pure cis folks." Now, if your trans character is in an environment or community where they have to hide who they are to feel safe, that's a completely normal experience and might mean they ARE good at hiding that part of themself. It's just a fine line to toe so that you don't inadvertently play into that negative stereotype.

• Of course, my best piece of advice, my writing hack for avoiding stereotypes when writing any minority is this: have more characters of that minority! If you only have one character from a minority, than how they're written becomes a LOT more crucial to balance because, within your narrative, they're representing a whole group of people all by themself! They could therefore inadvertently be sending messages about that group just by how you write and how you treat them. But! Even having just one more character of that minority allows you to show off the variety of people within these groups! And even outside of that, they can be useful narrative tools, providing good comparison and contrast on who they are, what there experiences are, what their situation is, and how your narrative treats them. So maybe Arthur has other trans guy friends, or maybe he meets other trans men through the story, or it could even be as minor as his family or hometown having interacted with another trans guy in the past. Having other trans men be a part of the story would take some of the weight off of Arthur for representing trans guys! It's also a good tool for you in that, when you're reviewing your work trying to look for any signs of internalized bigotry in your writing, you might be able to pick up on things easier if you've got multiple minority characters. You might have an easier time picking up on any patterns of how you portray those characters if you have more of those characters in the first place!

oh this is all fantastic advice anon!!! here you go, other anon! haha

#yeen rambles #ask

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orangel0 · 1 month

Text

decided to try my hand at kid swap so

John Strider: an analysis

The base: John Egbert

john is the way he is because of a supportive and consistently supportive father. probably the most normal out of the guardians. (which. isn’t hard.) he has his pseudo openness because of a good life, a happy life. he feels free to embrace his dork because he thinks his father is as big of a dork as he is.

Strider Household

so, you put him into a strider house. sure bro SEEMS caring, but it’s more reckless than anything, more reckless than his fathers harmless pranks and insistent baking. sure, his interests will be tolerated, but will he have that open and vocal support? will he have that backboard that he ALWAYS seems to have?

John Strider: Front

john strider fends for himself. he knows he’s not cool, and he’s fine with that. he doesn’t idolize bro as much as he naturally appreciates what he does get from him, as much as he doesn’t want to. john lives having to support himself and uplift himself, even if it’s not exactly easy. he’s quick on his feet, fast with his mind, but slow with his trust.

John Strider: Core

what with having to look out for random sword attacks, you don’t exactly always feel like letting people into your mind. does this diminish his care for his friends? never. he cares for them, but there’s an inkling in his stomach that never knows how much he really feels like sharing. it’s almost selfish? at least he thinks it is. but he’s fine with that. he’s fine with the way he is. some people will like it, some won’t. he cares for his friends, but he doesn’t know if he could ever be close enough to let them in. he’s not so much confident in himself as he is just. self reliant. he’s had to learn to always just be okay with how he is. cause if he’s not, who will be? who will be okay with how he is?

Confidence, Ugh.

john wouldn’t think anyone would be okay with him. he’s closed off and dorky and a little loud and kinda annoying and nothing he’s done so far has warranted the support he’s needed- no. craved. john works off his support. his dad, rose, karkat, terezi, vriska. john can’t seem to do anything without someone telling him “yes, that’s right.”

so you strip that away?

how is he supposed to know he’s okay?

sure he knows it, but will he ever know it?

John Egbert = Trust

a part of john that people underplay is his trust. he trusts so easily. it’s how he first died. it’s how he second died. it’s been his downfall continuously. trust has led him to multiple horrible positions. but he just. keeps trusting. he trusted rose so continuously as his server player, even if it didn’t always work. he trusted terezi to lead him onto the rocket. he trusted vriska to put him to sleep on his quest bed. karkat POINTS THIS OUT to him.

john TRUSTS so much. he’s so used to that support that he’s so open to trust ANYONE. even with his LIFE. he never understood his mortality until sburb, until he quite literally faced it multiple times.

John Strider ≠ Trust

so what, what’s the point of this?

he’s like that because of support.

you throw him into an environment with minimal support, and consistent sword fights, and he is forced to face facts quick. him against the world. he can’t trust so easily. wouldn’t this be a good thing though? he doesn’t trust so easily, he isn’t so naive, he isn’t as prone to such stupid downfalls. he loves his friends. he LOVES his friends. but reality is always at his door. his reality. he can’t so easily trust his life with people that are supposed to love him too.

Support poisons him

while skeptical at first, support always leads john to trusting in whatever insane plan someone offers to him. from the most mundane and overlooked, to his deaths.

vriska assured him all he had to do was sleep on his quest bed, and he’d ascend! he’d reach a tier not many get to! only the strongest! the best! and he trusted that. he wanted to be good so he could help his team. so he could find his dad.

terezi assured him she knew exactly how to get to the next gate! how to finish the game all together! how to fix everything! so he could help his team. so he could find his dad.

Relationship with self

he thinks he’s so. INCOMPETENT. he KNOWS it. he KNOWS he’s not as smart as his friends, but that’s okay! it’s why he so easily ends up trusting people under the guise of them being more experienced, smarter than him.

but living under bro, he knows that’s not always the case. the people who are meant to be trusted aren’t always trustworthy. he has to trust himself. he has to believe he’s right. he has to believe he’s okay. that’s not something you can find in someone else. is he selfish? is he self reliant? he’s john.

he is john strider. he will live and die with that name. he might as well be okay with it. be okay with him. trust himself, no one else.

John: Core

trust is in john’s blood. part of me feels like he so badly wants to trust his friends. he wants to weep about his feelings and be met with warmth. he wants to thank his friends when they compliment his hobbies. he wants to open the dam and let his emotions pour out. it’s who he is. it’s written in the dna that makes up his body.

but he knows he can’t. john strider knows himself better than anyone.

if you made it down here, thanks!! i worked really hard on this and i hope it’s not too ooc :0)

#homestuck #kidswap #john egbert #dave strider #character analysis #text post #john strider #just in case i end up writing more about him

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sukifoof · 11 months

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I was thinking about Asriel as the Royal Scientist, and I remember in one post you said in the tags, how you considered drawing him as one for your Asriel survives AU, before saying you can't imagine him holding down any job without freaking out

Now, I'm not asking you to draw him anyway, I'll be fine either way. It is just important context cuz that's what gave me my personal thoughts right now about him, and I wanted to spread them because I think they're optimistic in the end, if cliché and generic (warning, I'm really bad at sympathizing with other people, so I might be just, completely wrong about what I say next)

I have little doubt Asriel would be very lost at first about what he is going to do with his life now that The Barrier is gone. Typical confusion after exiting a time loop, compounded by the years of untouched trauma and other mental health issues. Maybe spiralling further as he may consider himself a burden for all those problems he can't handle on his own

He would try resuming being The Prince, go back to what he thinks people want of him, but it's not going to work, he distrusts himself too much after everything he has done. When he inevitably fails, he hits a new low. But eventually, perhaps with Frisk's encouragement, he finds it in himself to open up about it, talk to other people, seek help

Alphys, who in a very real sense is his creator (slightly more metaphorical in this AU, but she's still the one who woke him up from his coma), and one of the few people who know how he works, might be one of the first people that Asriel speaks to about his problems, feeling that she'd understand. They talk to each other about the regrets that they have, bonding over similar troubles, and maybe shared interests (bonding as friends. Alphys is faithful to her wife, and Asriel is on the aspec, so it doesn't go further)

At some point one of them might just naturally suggest that Asriel help out around the lab, and while he's helping, and they're talking with each other, Alphys realizes just how much knowledge about all sorts of things Asriel has, and one day she offers that he become a full-time assistant at her lab. This freaks him out, and in the moment he rejects it and runs away, which both of them later despair over, in a sense of "oh god I was to hard on him/her, now I destroyed our friendship, I'm the worst, I can't do anything right"

But eventually they talk to each other about it (encouraged by their friends) and they realize that neither is harboring any resentment towards the other, and they make amends. Asriel starts out working with her part-time, and while it's initially very scary for him, and he probably has several other freakouts along the way, I think Alphys, being prone to freakouts herself, would be more than understanding. Eventually he becomes her full-time assistant after all

Hopefully combined with therapy which he really, really should receive, he eventually starts feeling good about himself again, even if it takes years to get there. And he realizes, yes, this is the job he wants to do. He can help people without actually having to be there, with a much more manageable amount of responsibility to handle. He's finally happy, as the Assistant Royal* Scientist (* although at this point it is possible that Asgore and Toriel would abdicate, seeing as their son won't take over from them, it might just be easier to end the monarchist government right then and there)

Of course, while Asriel is immortal, Alphys is not, and as the decades pass, she will get older, weaker, less able to do her job. The day when she resigns from her post to let the (physically) younger Asriel become the next Royal Scientist will be a difficult one for both of them, and even more so when she finally turns to dust, although I hope that by this point he would be better equipped to handle the loss of those close to him. It will still hurt, but I hope with new experiences and skills he's learned over the years, he'll be able to deal with that pain, or the pain when his parents or his other friends die, better than he did with the pain of Chara's death

Frankly, not being seen as royalty anymore, especially by the younger generations who won't remember monarchist rule, he might find life easier as he's no longer so isolated as he was as a prince, no longer has to reach the same standards as before

The trauma, and other pain that follows, they will never fully leave him, but he's got a quite literal eternity to learn how to live with them and not let them control his life. And if mortals can do it, then I think he too can, over the course of several years, or even decades, figure it out. I think, as fucked up as he is, at the end of this nightmare road there is happiness waiting for him, however long it takes him to get there. I just want him to be happy goddammit. And I think that a 30-or-40-something Asriel will be happy

Thanks you for listening to my TED talk, and have a magical day

HI IVE BEEN MEANING TO ANSWER THIS FOR SO LONG CUZ ITS SO GOOD AND IN CHARACTER!!! u are so right for this i LOVE this i dont have much to add on cuz ur points are all so good. asriel has so many issues and i think he would probably feel a Bit Better if he was able to put his knowledge to use to help people and it might help him come to terms with death a little better..... anyway they are siblings and they occasionally bother each other. extremely kind mayor who took over after papyrus and local freak scientist who is seemingly some kind of sludge <3 i may draw more of this when i get the chance cuz the idea of these middle aged freaks is so funny to me i love them dearly

#undertale #utdr #asriel #asriel dreemurr #flowey #frisk #livingprinceau #utdr analysis

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

Text

Over The Odds | Surprise

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - smut, angst, fluff, ceo!jungkook, sugardaddy!jungkook

Word count - 5.7k

You’re offered a life changing opportunity

warnings: mentions of mental health illnesses, mental health facility, toxic family members, oral sex (f receiving), passionate prone bone sex, soft jk & oc

FULL SERIES COLLECTION

Jungkook’s home has become your safe haven, a place to escape reality and catch a moment of breathing space when life gets tough. The familiar scent of musk and vanilla adds a certain nostalgia to the air, you miss him, he’s at work a lot of the time but has given you free reign of his place whenever sleeping in Jimin’s bed proves too much for you. It’s been one month since Ruth’s arrest, one month since Jennie had also been taken into police custody for her part in all of this too. Finally, fucking finally you’re beginning to feel like a ginormous weight has lifted from your shoulders.

Telling your parents what your sister had done was no easy task, your mum broke down in floods of tears and blamed herself: ‘maybe I raised her the wrong way’, ‘maybe I should’ve been there for her more’, and the one that stung the most, ‘I should’ve seen this coming’. Your father had a similar reaction, locking himself in his office for what felt like a lifetime to silently ponder all the parental mistakes he made, searching for the signs he overlooked before.

After a lengthy discussion with Taehyung you were advised that Ruth is probably going to be sent to a mental health institute to battle her demons rather than prison. A professional had conducted an examination on your sister, revealing that she is suffering with a collection of illnesses that alter her personality. As far as you’re aware she’s undergoing treatments and responding well to the medication, it’s hard to say for sure because you haven’t visited her yourself – only your parents have, initially to seek answers from their oldest daughter but you suspect they keep going back out of guilt.

Thankfully no legal repercussions came from Jungkook fighting with Namjoon, he’s assured you that there’s no footage of him ever being there and Taehyung has also advised that if anything is to creep up, he’s more than prepared for it with a catalogue of receipts proving why Joon isn’t a reliable source and any claims he makes shouldn’t be taken seriously by the law.

The hole in your heart from Namjoon’s infidelity has healed, however the betrayal of your sister is currently a working progress. If it wasn’t for Jungkook, Jimin, Taehyung and Yoongi god only knows how you would be feeling right now. Things are settling down some, you’re applying for jobs left right and centre but to no avail, not yet – Jungkook has been taking care of you in every way possible: emotionally, physically, financially, despite your frequent protests telling him he doesn’t need to.

It's a Friday morning when you’re sitting in your boyfriend’s kitchen, propped up on the counter top in short silky pyjamas with a coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. You’re mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, saving a few outfit inspiration posts that catch your eye when the device rings, displaying an unknown number.

“Hello?” You answer lazily, confused.

A woman who sounds to be mid thirties replies, “Hello, good morning, is this Y/N?”

“Who’s calling please?” You frown, sipping at your steaming drink.

“My name is Linda, I work for the BBC. Just to confirm am I speaking to Y/N?”

“…The BBC?” You cock your head to one side, “Yeah this is Y/N, what can I do for you?”

“Brilliant! I’m calling today to arrange a meeting with you if possible, I work in television and we’re currently looking into a documentary on cyber crimes against women in the UK. I’m very interested in sharing your story, with your consent of course. You’re quite the celebrity these days and I think with your platform we could really shine a light on this topic and the repercussions that come from stories like yours.”

Your jaw drops, you’re frowning, eyes wide, heart quickening.

“I-,” You’re at a total loss for words, this is something that you feel so strongly about and the chance to potentially help others who have gone through similar experiences is something you’re very much interested in doing, “That sounds like something I’d be interested in doing, when can we meet?”

“How does next Thursday at 2PM sound?”

“That would be great, thank you so much for calling me…” You’re wearing a surprised smile, already excited about the prospect of this new opportunity.

“No thank you for taking my call, take care Y/N we’ll see you next week and please feel free to brainstorm any ideas you may have, we’d like you to be as involved in this project as possible.”

“Thank you, have a good day.” You end the call with a single tap of the thumb, throwing yourself off the kitchen countertop with a grin to get ready for the day ahead.

BBC want your help sharing your story about cyber crimes against women? This could open up so many doors for your career, maybe you can even make use of your business degree and turn the hellish events of this year into something much, much bigger. Your brains doing overtime when you do your hair and makeup after a quick shower, deciding today is a day for celebration. You shimmy yourself into a champagne slip dress, a recent gift from your boyfriend, and grunge it down with some converse and an oversized black leather jacket.

The paparazzi are already waiting outside Jungkook’s building for you, as they usually are these days, so you offer them a small smile and wave before making your way to Jimin’s place to tell him your surprising yet very exciting news.

“Y/N? What are you doing here it’s not even 10AM.” Jimin rubs the sleep from his eye in his matching blue pyjamas, stepping to one side to let you in.

“Good morning sunshine. The BBC just called me, they want me to be in a documentary about cyber crimes against women.” You blurt in excitement which seems to wake your best friend up as he’s grinning just as widely as you are.

“Whoa, Y/N that’s amazing! Are you gonna do it?”

“Maybe? I think it could be a good thing to help them with this?”

Jimin pulls you in for a hug in the cluttered living space, you notice there’s cardboard boxes scattered about the apartment, “I think it’s a great thing, I’m so proud of you—”

“For having sex on camera?” You chuckle against his warm neck, “No but really, I wanna raise awareness for this type of thing, I already have so many ideas to tell them.”

“What’s Jungkook said about it?” He peels back and you catch a glimpse of Yoongi over his shoulder, shuffling around in pyjamas similar to Jimin’s.

“I’m gonna tell him tonight, they only called this morning.” You smile, waving at the newest member of your small friendship circle. “What’s with all the boxes?”

At this his face drops into something guilty, he turns away from you to boil the kettle and make everybody a drink, “Uh-, Y/N…”

“What?”

“Come on let’s sit down.”

And so you do, choosing to settle on the arm chair with your freshly made herbal tea as the couple take the small sofa along the next wall. Yoongi and Jimin, or yoonmin as you’ve affectionately labelled them, are the epitome of the perfect couple. They’re great together, in the time you’ve known them as a unit you’ve learned that their personalities couldn’t be more different even if they tried. Where Jimin is loud, sometimes overbearing and outgoing Yoongi is more reserved, introverted but his one-liner jokes always have a way of catching you off guard.

“What’s going on?” You quirk a brow, heart melting when your gaze finds Yoongi soothingly rubbing small patterns on Jimin’s thigh.

“The tenancy agreement on this place runs out next month,” Jimin sighs, “So… I’m gonna move in with Yoongi, but don’t worry we’ve spoken about it and—”

“And you can move in with me too, I live in Jungkook’s building… My apartment isn’t as big or luxurious as his but I have a guest bedroom that—”

“That we can decorate and make it yours, nothing has to change I still want us to live together—”

“We want you to live with us.” Yoongi corrects his boyfriend with a content nod and gummy smile, his newly bleached silver hair falling into his eyes.

“Guys…” You’re laughing breathily, taken aback by their gesture bless their sweet souls, “Thank you, really thank you so much but… I mean I practically live at Jungkook’s anyway, I can always talk to him and see if he’s ready to take the next step in our relationship and… Yknow… If not I can go back to my parents’ house it’s no big deal.” You nervously chew your lower lip, you want to live with Jungkook, hell in a way it feels like you already do, but you don’t know if he feels the same way.

“No really you can live with us Y/N, don’t feel like you have to ask anybody else.” Yoongi guzzles the rest of his morning coffee, promptly standing from the sofa, “Anyway I’ve gotta go get changed and get to work, I’ll see you both soon.”

“I mean it Y/N you can live with us, I’ve already picked out the colour scheme of your new bedroom.” Jimin beams like a proud dad, winning you to kick your head back with a laugh.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one who does that?”

“Well you’ve had a really traumatic six months… I thought I could lighten your burden.” He justifies with a mocking nod, hand clutching his heart.

“Ah, well thank you so much.”

“How are you doing now?”

“You mean since I saw you yesterday?” You giggle, “I’m fine.”

“No but really… How are you doing? Have you heard anything from uh-, Ruth?” He almost looks guilty when her name leaves his lips, though he has no reason to feel that way. It’s not like he was the one who betrayed you.

“My parents have been visiting her… She’s not well, but I haven’t spoken to her myself since she was arrested.”

“Are you going to speak to her?” Jimin’s question catches you off-guard, you almost drop your drink as you mull over what he’s asking of you. Do you want to see her? To speak to her? After everything she’s done?

You shake your head slowly, “Probably not, I hope she gets all the help she needs but to be frank with you I don’t want to be a part of her life anymore.”

“Understandable. So tell me more about this documentary!”

The rest of your morning is filled with Jimin trying to convince you to live with him and his partner, to which you do begin to consider it – maybe living with them would be the best thing. You’ll still be close to Jungkook, a lot closer than if you moved back into your family home, and you wouldn’t have to put a strain on your relationship by asking to move in either. It’s after a food delivery and endless conversations about the future with your bestie that you decide to head back to Kook’s apartment; excited to tell him about your new opportunity.

Back at the penthouse you’re busying yourself by hanging up Jungkook’s dry cleaning in his walk-in closet, it’s a little after six pm when the elevator chimes signalling his arrival. He looks fucking delicious today, as always, wearing grey and black checked trousers with a black shirt tucked into them, the first few buttons undone exposing his tanned skin. His hair is pushed back away from his face, flaunting his thick brows and chiselled features that soften upon seeing you when he steps inside the bedroom.

“You look…amazing baby,” His stare hungrily drags itself up the way the champagne coloured dress hugs your curves, “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” You shrug, smiling when he makes his way over, “How was work?”

“Ah yknow, bit of this a bit of that… Same shit different day.” He chuckles, his expensive cologne flooding your senses when he stands behind your frame, snaking his strong arms around your waist, “Is this new? Don’t think I’ve seen you wear it before, and I’m sure I would’ve remembered...” He squeezes the material of your dress, peppering your neck with dainty kisses.

“Mhm, my boyfriend bought me it last week actually.” You hum amused, trying to ignore the way your stomach knots with each of his little touches as you hang up the last of his suit jackets.

“Ahh, now I remember. He has good taste.”

“Well I guess there is kind of an occasion,” You loll your head to one side, granting him further access to your sensitive skin, his dark bangs tickle the flesh of your earlobe, “I’ve been asked to help the BBC with a documentary they’re doing on cyber crimes against women.”

“What?” He pulls his head back, spinning you in place until the swell of your breasts are flush with his toned chest, “That’s… Y/N that’s incredible, are you gonna do it?” His eyes are trained to yours, his smile genuine and brightening up the otherwise dark room.

To this you lift your shoulders, “Maybe? I mean I want to, it’s a topic not enough people talk about. I have a meeting with them next week to discuss it properly.” His hands find purchase on your waist, gripping you tightly.

“Well whatever you decide to do you have my full support, I know things have been rough for you and if this is a way for you to get closure and take control of the situation then I’m all for it.”

You hadn’t even thought about it like that, maybe sharing your story and what you went through with the video leak will be good for you, therapeutic even. Maybe it will give you closure, discussing your emotions and shining a light on the repercussions of revenge porn. You bring your arms to his broad shoulders, lightly grazing your manicured fingertips on the nape of his neck, winning a content sigh to fall from your boyfriends lips.

“You know I could get used to this.” He rests his forehead against yours with a breathy chuckle.

“Don’t destroy this one and I’ll wear it more often then.” You giggle, pressing your lips to his in an open-mouthed kiss.

“Mm, you know that I’m not talking about the dress,” He hums against you, your teeth almost clink together because of how much you’re both smiling, “I meant you being here when I get back from work.”

“I’m pretty much always here now.” You kiss him again, this time swiping your tongue over his lips earning yourself another sigh. He walks you backwards out of the closet until your knees hit the foot of his bed, his mouth never leaving yours when the kiss deepens into something more…desperate.

“I’m just saying,” You can feel how hard he’s already getting against your abdomen, his voice is husky and deep with seduction, yet quiet against your lips, “Maybe you should bring more things here, I like that you’re here a lot.”

“A little too much apparently.” You snake a hand down to cup his length, he hisses before shaking his head in disbelief with a smile.

“You’re such a fucking brat.”

“Mhm, I get that quite often.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe you should learn how to behave then.” Your back hits the mattress with a small ‘oomf’ from your end when he pushes you onto the bed, crawling on top of you and caging you in with his muscular arms.

“Maybe.” You repeat with a smirk, hands gliding to his shirt buttons where you get to work in undoing them, “But maybe you secretly like that I’m such a brat.”

“It’s not much of a secret at this point now, is it?” He smashes his lips to yours in a series of lewd frenzied kisses that has you weak at the knees embarrassingly fast. You quickly rid him of his shirt, fingernails tracing the intricate patterns of his body art.

A small whine escapes you when he holds your hands above your head with one of his, pinning you in place. His other gets to work on hiking your dress up until the material pools your middle, exposing the pretty purple lacey thong you decided to wear today. He licks the shell of your ear before taking it between his teeth.

“Jungkook…” You breathe, desperate to feel more of him.

“Sometimes I forget how sensitive you are...” He murmurs, repeating his previous action until your hips are buckling up into his in search of friction. Thankfully he recognises your neediness and two inked fingers find their way to the waistband of your underwear, playfully twanging it, you can feel him smirking against your neck.

“Please…” You whimper, hands struggling against his hold.

He pulls back to sit on his knees, searching for the zipper of your dress. Your hands are finally free but you freeze, body tensing up as you stop him. You haven’t been completely naked in front of him, sober, in a very long time. Every time you’d been intimate with him you’d found a way to keep your lingerie on, or wore something with easy access that didn’t need removing completely. You still feel insecure about your body ever since it was publicly exposed.

“No-, stop.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, Jungkook stops in his tracks immediately with big brown doe eyes zoned in on your face.

“Are you okay?” He’s worried, but you’re distracted by the way his muscles flex under the dim lighting of his bedroom.

“Yeah yeah,” You nod quickly to reassure him, “Just leave the dress on please.”

“Y/N…” His brows are knitted together in confusion, “Why?”

At this you sigh, somewhat under pressure, “I just don’t feel-, please?”

“Baby…” His voice is low and quiet, he’s gripping your thighs gently, “You’re perfect, you know that right? So fucking perfect.” He lowers his mouth to your open thighs, gently sucking the flesh between a series of licks and kisses, winning a soft moan from you. “I love you so much baby…”

“I love you too.”

“Do you trust me?” His breath is warm against your skin as he slowly makes his way up to your underwear.

“You know I do.” You whisper, lying flat on your back against the bed sheets.

“Then please… Don’t cover up this beautiful body of yours…” He takes your lingerie between his teeth, playfully pulling it back. A groan erupts from your chest when he licks at your barely clothed clit, his hooded eyes are glued to yours, “I wanna see all of you, I wanna feel all of you… You’re perfect, so fucking perfect.”

“Please touch me Jungkook…”

You’re twisting the sheets beneath you when he hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down your legs painfully slow before you’re kicking them off the bed. He’s taking his time with you tonight, littering your folds with small kisses before finally he takes your clit between his lips and sucks gently.

“Fuck,” You throw your head back, body feeling ten million times hotter than it did when he first got back.

“You like that baby?” He hums, proud, flattening his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves where he traces small, familiar patterns – the same patterns he always does, making you come undone every time without fail, “You like it when I eat you out like this?”

“Mmm, yeah I do…” You push your core up to meet his mouth, his tongue massages your clit rhythmically.

He shifts on the bed, laying flat on his toned stomach as he continues to lap up your growing arousal. You’re growing wetter and wetter by the minute, the lewd noises of his mouth against you fill the otherwise quiet atmosphere and heat spreads your abdomen.

“Keep going.” You mewl.

“Take your dress off for me baby,” Jungkook’s stare is fuelled by nothing other than lust, “Please, you don’t need to hide from me Y/N.”

Lazily your fingers find the zipper and soon you’re pulling the champagne silk off your figure, exposing your matching purple bra which is sheer enough to see your nipples through it. You’re too turned on to feel insecure, Jungkook groans at the sight of your exposed body, burying his face between your folds with a new found determination.

“And your bra.” He mumbles.

Within minutes you’re completely naked and spread wide for your boyfriend, he’s eating you out so passionately and so messily that you’re already close to seeing stars. You yell something that sounds like his name when his arms reach up to your bare breasts, thumbing and rubbing your nipples, his touch featherlight but has you a writhing mess within minutes.

“You taste so fucking good baby.” He moans. The sound vibrates against you until it reaches your insides, adding to your growing orgasm while he speeds up his ministrations.

“Jungkook, fuck-“ You’re a panting mess, rolling your hips against his face. You peer down at him, it’s like he’s hypnotised by your pussy, suckling it so hard and perfectly in sync with the way he’s pinching your nipples. After a few particularly harsh licks and flicks of his tongue you welcome the white hot heat that threatens to spill, fingertips flying to his raven locks where you pull him impossibly closer, “There, oh my g-, right there, don’t stop! I’m gonna! Don’t stop!”

And he doesn’t, keeping the pace even until you’re empty hole is convulsing, pulsating as you cream all over his mouth and chin with a deafeningly loud moan. As always he helps you ride out your high, slowing his movements when he laps up every last drop of your come while you try and steady your heaving breaths.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, I love watching you come for me...” He exhales, gaze lost in yours. The way he looks at you as he crawls on top of your frame should be illegal, a shaky sigh leaves your lips when his come down to meet them, swallowing your pleas to be fucked. Your arousal lingers on his tongue, the taste swirls against yours and floods your senses.

“Please fuck me, please…please…” You whine.

He falls weak to you begs, quickly ridding himself of his checked pants and boxers, roughly gripping the bend of your waist, “Turn over.” He orders, voice low and dangerous.

You obey, rolling onto your front until your breasts mould against the mattress. Jungkook spreads your legs with his knees before lowering his body onto yours, holding his weight with his arms. He’s kissing your back, his multitalented tongue darting out with kittenish licks on your bare skin.

“Jungkook please.” You whine into the pillow, turning your face to the side.

“What do you want baby? Tell me.” His voice is merely a whisper.

“I want you to fuck me…” You gnaw your lower lip with desperation growing between your already shaky legs.

At this he lines himself up with your entrance, teasingly brushing his length between your sopping folds winning you both to groan in anticipation. There’s a ringing in your ears similar to white noise when he finally, agonisingly slowly, pushes every rock hard inch of himself into your core from behind.

A gasp tumbles from your lips when he rocks his hips into you, his pelvis pressing hard against the fat of your ass cheeks with each movement. He feels so big from this position, filling you up in the most devilishly good way possible. You push your ass up as much as you can, until his shaft brushes against your sensitive and spongey g-spot with every thrust.

“Jungkook.” You mouth falls into a silent ‘o’, eyes scrunched from pleasure.

“You’re amazing,” He breaths against your neck between lewd kisses against your skin, “You’re fucking amazing Y/N.”

You’re panting a chorus of ‘please’ ‘fuck’ ‘yes’ ‘Jungkook’ in sync with each time he fills you up to the brim, the crown of his cock pressing against your cervix hard enough to bruise.

“I love you so much… Fuck, I love you princess.” The new pet name whispered between soft groans sends a pang of heat to your abdomen, your second orgasm already approaching, “Touch yourself for me, rub that perfect little clit.”

Snaking a hand down the bed you find the sweet spot with ease and begin to do as he says, tracing small circles over the area in time with the deep yet slow rolls of his hips.

“That’s it, fuck-,” A guttural moan rips from his throat at the way your walls squelch and tighten around him, he knows you’re close, he can tell by your wayward breathing and the way you’re writhing under his weight, “You feel so good, I could fuck you like this forever.”

“Faster, go faster please…” You beg shamelessly.

At this he shakes his head, his damp hair tickling your shoulder, “Nice and slow baby… Nice and slow.”

Pained moans leap from your chest that’s heaving against the bed linen, he’s never been this gentle and passionate with you. The way he’s fucking into you sensually, holding himself in place with one arm as the other comes down to explore your curves, his fingertips grazing every spot on one side of your body until his palm finds purchase on your hip, fingernails digging into your skin when he grips you, pulling your bodies even closer.

“So close…” You warn him with a strangled whimper, speeding up the way your own hand rubs your throbbing clit.

“Go on, give me another one,” He’s equally as breathless as you when he takes the flesh of your neck between his teeth, “Come for me, your pussies already so wet—”

He’s cut off by his own throaty moan, the sound so deep it’s borderline a growl when your second orgasm hits, your hole clenching his thick length so sinfully that you’re nothing more than a blubbering mess beneath him, totally and completely fucked out. Both hands fly to the pillow that you’re squeezing and twisting in your grip, body jolting and shaking as you ride out the wave of euphoria.

“You’re so tight, ah-,” He hisses, kissing your temple.

“Kook…” You’re in a post-bliss daze, barely able to catch your breath. Your mind is blank, unable to concentrate on anything other than the sensations and sounds of Jungkook slowly splitting open your slippery walls. “Oh my god-“

It’s not long before his own orgasm approaches, his grunts turn into whines and his thrusts become messy, he never speeds up though, not once. He rocks his cock in and out of you at a leisurely pace until he’s chanting your name under ragged breaths. You peek back at him for a moment, the sight alone makes you gasp. His eyes are squeezed shut, kiss-swollen lips ajar, messy sweat-stained hair covers forehead and thick brows.

“You’re gonna make me come baby…” His hooded eyes flutter open for a second, his gaze locked onto yours before he buries his head into your shoulder with a loud, gravelly groan, spilling his hot seed into you.

Jungkook stills for a few minutes before rolling off, laying next to you with a glistening chest and worn-out smile, “You’re something else.” He chuckles, playfully spanking your ass. You can’t move, you’re still laid flat on your stomach untrusting of your wobbly limbs to hold your weight in any other position.

“I didn’t do anything.” You hum with a tired grin, “It was that dress.”

“I can assure you, you look much better without it.”

“Hmm.” You bury your face into the pillow, somewhat embarrassed.

“I’m serious,” He starts, lazily draping his arm round your middle, “You’re perfect, this body…”

“Jungkook, stop it.” You’re laughing when he shifts his position, choosing the straddle your hips with his palms massaging your shoulders. You melt under his touch, feeling the epitome of relaxed when he begins to work a particular knot between your shoulder blades with his thumbs.

“That laugh,” He sighs lovingly, “Your smile, your eyes… You’re perfect.”

“Mmm.” You neither agree nor disagree, instead choosing to enjoy this impromptu massage from your boyfriend.

“Y/N...”

“Mmm?” You glance back at him, to which he flashes you a coy boy-ish smile.

“Move in with me.”

“What?” This gets your attention, your limbs are heavy and weak but you manage to roll onto your back, blushing at how Kook is now straddling your front as opposed to your back.

“I’m serious, I want us to live together...”

You’re grinning up at him with hopeful eyes, “Really? You think we’re ready for that?”

“Definitely.” He nods with a smile brighter than ten thousand suns, folding his body until your lips meet again in a heartfelt, blissful kiss.

The week flies by, your meeting with the BBC goes better than you had hoped. The main producer Linda, the woman who called you, loved your ideas and is eager to share your story with the world and has given you full creative control in how you want it to be portrayed. You’ve signed a contract with them, it’s officially happening, amongst other exciting opportunities.

“A TV appearance?” Jungkook repeats.

“Mhm, once we’re done filming… To promote the documentary.”

You’re sitting on his lap, being careful not to shift around on top of him too much and save him from an awkward encounter since you’re not alone. It’s pizza night, Taehyung has joined you both for the evening at yours and Jungkook’s now shared apartment but doesn’t seem to mind the obvious semi-public display of affection.

“What’re your plans after the documentary? Like, what are you going to do with it?” Taehyung asks, taking a chomp out of his Hawaiian pizza. Everybody is dressed casually tonight, the three of you in sweats and hoodies while you enjoy some down time together.

“Glad you asked,” You snap your fingers and point to him, rolling your eyes with a smile at Kook who can’t seem to end the string of cheese coming from his own pizza no matter how hard he tries, “I’m finally gonna put my degree to use, I want to start a company that helps women in similar situations to mine… Pay for their legal help when they can’t afford it, provide them with the right resources to get them justice, offer counselling and so on.”

“Like a charity?” Tae raises his brows, seemingly impressed.

You nod, breaking the melted cheese away from Jungkook’s slice for him with your fingers, “Yeah, yknow I never knew what I wanted to do with my degree up until now, I’ve already got a few investors interested in funding the first year.”

“By investors do you mean Guk?”

“Nah,” Jungkook chuckles though he looks vaguely defeated, “She wants to do this on her own, I’ve tried telling her I’ll provide any funding she needs but—”

“But I want the entire thing to be founded by, funded by, and ran by women. Female attorneys, female counsellors, female staff.” You say proudly.

“Isn’t that a little sexist?” Taehyung clicks his tongue but you can’t help but notice he’s impressed by your ambition, his feline eyes wide and glistening when he smiles.

You offer him a small shrug, “I don’t think it is, I just want to give victims of cybercrime and revenge porn a safe space to talk about it and statistically most victims are women. Besides there’s plenty of companies out there that are run by only men.”

“Touché.”

“I’m telling you now,” Jungkook’s palm finds the small of your back, “You’ve got this, I know you can do anything you set your mind to.”

Your hand gently grips his chin and you angle his face towards yours, planting a chaste kiss to his lips which he reciprocates, “Thank you.”

“Any time.” He mumbles against your mouth with a grin, stealing another kiss.

“Guys c’mon I’m right here.” Taehyung complains, averting his eyes away from the scene, “Just because you live here now doesn’t mean I wanna see it every time I come over.”

Jungkook pulls away, facing his best friend with a smirk, “Sorry.”

Your phone vibrates inside your pocket, earning you to jump up from Kook’s lap much to his disappointment, “Hang on,” You hold up a single digit, “It’s my mum I’ll be right back.” You saunter out the room, closing the master bedroom door behind you.

“Hello?”

“Hi Y/N it’s just me…” Your mum’s voice is soft as she announces herself, despite the fact you knew full well it was her calling from her contact name and display picture.

“Everything okay?” You sit on the bed.

There’s a brief pause on the line, “It’s your sister…”

“Mum.” You cut her off sternly, she knows full well you want nothing to do with her after everything she’s done, “I told you I don’t want to know.”

“I know, I know,” Her voice is laced with guilt, “But she wanted me to pass on a message and I said that I would.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose vaguely irritated, “What’s the message?”

“She wants you to go and visit her.”

You bite back a scoff, “Why?”

“She wouldn’t say.”

“The answer is no.” You say with confidence, “I’m sorry mum, but I can’t. I don’t want her in my life after what she did. I’m not going.”

At this your mother sighs, you feel her pain of course you do, Ruth is her first born child and she will always love her no matter what she’s done and you don’t hate her for that. After all there’s nothing stronger than a maternal bond, “Okay, I’ll let her know... But since you’re not going to see her yourself there’s something you should know...”

“What?” You mumble, attempting to ignore the hurt in her voice.

“Ruth... She’s pregnant.”

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lordgrimwing · 6 months

Text

Babysitting #01

Maglor didn't flinch when his office door swung open, hitting the doorstop on the wall with a bang. At the law firm of Fëanoro & Associates, slamming doors and raised voices were no uncommon thing. He considered it the natural consequence of working with his father and all six of his brothers (Amrod and Amras were just paralegals at this point, but there was no question that they would join the firm after graduating) in a single building. He continued typing on his chunky keyboard until he reached the end of the paragraph of the settlement document he was redrafting before looking up.

"I need you," Maedros said without preamble, the customary mildly annoyed expression he wore anytime he wasn't talking to clients or judges replaced by actual frustration. "To do something for me."

"I'm kind of in the middle of something," Maglor said, already knowing that he'd do whatever his brother asked and just end up staying even later at the office—it wasn't as if anything was waiting for him back at his apartment.

"She brought her children," The hand not gripping the edge of the door curled into a fist at his side.

“Who did?” One of the first changes Maglor made when he came on as an attorney was to hire some good secretaries. He did not pay that much attention to any of his brothers’ schedules these days.

“That Elwing woman, the pro bono case Celegorm talked me into.”

“Oh,” He was quite familiar with the details of this particular divorce if for no other reason than Maedhros complained about it at least once a day for the past month. The woman in question, a young peredhel from down south, was apparently prone to worrying over every detail and calling her attorney in a panic when she needed reassurance that everything would get worked out.

“I cannot work with children touching everything in my office.” His brother continued, shoulders tense.

He thought he knew where this was going. “And you need me to…”

“Just occupy them with something. If they aren’t around to interrupt and distract her from what we’re doing, I’ll be done in an hour, two at most if this girl keeps asking inane questions and insisting on accounting for every possible mishap in the formal papers.”

Maglor signed out of his computer and pushed his chair back from the desk. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Though the tone didn’t suggest it, he could see his brother’s gratitude in the faint softening of his frown before he turned away. “Come on.”

They walked quickly down the hall to Maedhros’s corner office. At the large wooden desk inside sat a woman with bleach-blond hair styled in a vaguely windswept way. She looked up anxiously when the door swished open, her bottom lip slipping out from between her teeth as she quickly tried to compose herself. She looked even younger than Maglor expected: less like the 23-year-old mother of twin 6-year-old boys and more like a child herself. The boys in question had their faces and hands pressed against one of the windows, staring out at the city below them.

“This is Maglor,” Maedhros said briskly to Elwing. “He will keep an eye on your children until we finish.”

Maglor smiled at her to smooth over his brother’s tone. “We’ll be just down the hall.”

“Thank you,” She said, still looking like a nervous wreck, and turned to her children. “Elros, Elrond.”

They turned from the window to look at the adults. Maglor was surprised to see they were identical and couldn’t help but recall how Amrod and Amras looked as children too. Even 20, most people outside the family had a hard time telling his brothers apart, though Amrod’s hair was getting slowly darker as the years passed. These twins did not bear any resemblance to his brothers, of course, beyond the fact that they were both identical sets. Their features bore such a mix of races as to make it impossible to guess at their heritage other than some combination of elf and human.

Elwing continued. “This nice man is going to take you to do something much more fun than listening to Mommy and Mr. Marillion talk.”

Maedhros’ upper lip curled back slightly in disgust at the use of his legal last name and probably at the reference to his brother as a man. Fëanor’s family held to the traditional values of the Noldor elves and preferred using more elvan terms. Personally, Maglor did not care much one way or the other if he were called an ‘ellon’ or a ‘man’, but everyone argued less when they all went along with tradition. He ignored his brother’s reaction and turned to the boys as they approached him.

“Yes,” He grinned at them, crouching slightly so he was not looming so far above them. “We can find something much more fun.”

“Do you have toy boats?” The first boy asked, holding hands with his brother who looked much more reluctant to talk with the stranger. “I love boats.”

His father kept a model of the boats the Noldor used to sail across the sea thousands of years ago in his office, but Maglor doubted Fëanor would appreciate them interrupting him to see it. “Let’s go see what we can find,” He said instead. At the very least, he could use one of the secretary’s computers to look up boat images or videos. If that was all it took to keep these children occupied, he would count himself lucky. He recalled Amrod and Amras being quite the handful at this age.

The first boy tugged the second along as they left the office. “I’m Elros,” He said and then pointed back at his brother. “He’s Elrond. It’s okay if you don’t remember, no one ever does.”

“I’ll do my best.” Given Elros was wearing a green t-shirt and Elrond a blue, he would have no trouble telling them apart. “What do you like most about boats?” He asked.

“You can go anywhere on a boat!” Elros exclaimed with obvious glee. “You can sail all over the world and visit all the countries and go on adventures. Who doesn’t like boats?”

“I’ve met a few hobbits who don’t.”

Elros rolled his eyes. “Our dad’s met all kinds of people on the sea, even hobbits!”

“Our dad’s a sailor.” Elrond piped up in a tiny voice.

By which, Maglor knew he meant their father was in the navy. He’s apparently been involved in some heroics a couple years ago which was somehow making the divorce more complicated than it should have been when two peredhil got married far too young and finally realized they shouldn’t stay together. According to his father, most people got married far too young these days, especially the elves. Fëanor spoke quite freely about the vices of marrying young when Curufin was going through his own quiet divorce five years ago. The then 23-year-old law student dutifully murmured his agreement with everything said as his now ex-wife took their child and drove away. Sometimes, it was better for everyone if couples didn’t stay together.

He wondered if these boys knew their parents were getting divorced. “That sounds very exciting,” He said instead and left it at that until they reached the front desk and he told the secretary that he’d be commandeering the unused computer so Elros could show him his favorite kinds of boats.

He did not particularly care for sailing himself. He’s gone out on the ocean a few times: their father insisted they all have at least an appreciation for the type of boats the Noldor used. He found the constant movement made him nauseated. Despite that, the next hour and a half passed surprisingly quickly as Elros, with a little support from Elrond, talked his way through picture after picture of various ships.

He looked up with surprise when he heard Maedhros’s voice. “Yes, yes I am sure that is everything we need to put in writing. Yes, Eärendil will be on leave next week and we’ll get everything signed and put away and it will all be official, and you do not need to worry.”

His tall brother guided Elwing through the doorway and into the front lobby. From his tone and expression, he was on his last thread of civility.

“All finished?” Maglor asked, standing up quickly and giving the children a gentle push toward their mother to distract her from whatever she was worrying about and his brother’s bruskness.

“Yes,” Maedhros said with conviction.

“Yes,” Elwing said with relief. “Mr. Marillion you’ve been so helpful, thank you. I feel so much better with adding those last couple things. I really do.” She turned to Maglor. “And thank you for looking after Elros and Elrond. I hope they weren’t too much trouble.”

“None at all,” He assured, thinking about the documents waiting in his office.

“Thank you again, Mr…” She trailed off, clearly fishing for his last name.

“It’s Marillion too, but please just call me Maglor. There are far too many of us in this firm to use our last name.”

With that, Maedhros ushered her and the two boys out through the glass entry doors.

“Is she getting custody?” Maglor asked when his brother turned around.

“Yes,” He answered, sounding entirely done with it all. “Full custody, the father didn’t even push very hard for visitation rights.”

“She doesn’t really seem like the kind of girl who should be raising kids on her own.” Maglor mused, watching through the glass as Elwing fumbled and dropped her car keys. When she bent over to retrieve them, her phone fell out of her purse to join the keys on the asphalt.

Maedhros snorted. “She’s done it for the last six years. The father will still pay child support, so a divorce isn’t going to change that much.”

“I suppose she loves them, at least.” Love did not play heavily in any of his siblings’ childhoods. Their father approved of results far more than people. Their mother appreciated that he and Maedhros were old enough to help when their siblings came along but was quite ready to continue with her career in the intervening years. People always talked about the importance of parents loving their children, though, so it seemed like an appropriate thing to say.

His brother shrugged, unconcerned. “She certainly worries.”

“How so?”

He turned back toward his office and Maglor followed by his side. “She wanted an addition to the agreement stating who should take the kids if she suddenly died or disappeared or was kidnapped and held for ransom by some eco-terrorist group, or if the police couldn’t definitively prove her ex wasn’t involved. I had to sit there for the last 40 minutes while she called every contact on her phone and asked if they would take them.” He threw his hands up with frustration.

“And did she find someone?” Maglor asked, curious.

“No! They all had the good sense not to answer or else say those were ridiculous things to worry about and told her to calm down and they’d talk later.” Maedhros looked as though he’d wanted to tell her a good deal more than that.

“She just gave up?”

“No,” He repeated, turning suddenly into Maglor’s office and flopping into one of the cushioned chairs for clients to sit in for more relaxed discussions. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

Maglor sat next to him. “You could get some nicer seats in your own office, you know, rather than using mine.” He chastised without any real intent. He liked when his brother stopped by to unwind a bit during the day.

Maedhros chuckled but didn’t answer. His office hardly changed in the ten years since he claimed the space after passing the bar.

“So what happened?” Maglor pushed.

“It’s past 6:30, I just wanted her to get out.” He said without opening his eyes.

“And?”

“I said I’d take them.”

Maglor laughed at the thought of his brother volunteering to look after children again. “Really?”

“Signed it and everything. Legally binding now.” Maedhros said, looking utterly unconcerned.

“Russ,” He switched to one of the names that he only used when lightly teasing his older brother. “That means you’ll have to raise two more boys if she suddenly and mysteriously dies.”

Maedhros inhaled sharply, a mockery of surprise, and said, “Pray that she doesn’t, Laurë. Pray that she doesn’t.”

#did i post this already? i don't know i can't find it here #theyre idiots your honor #anyway. maedhros really walked into this one #it's his own fault #maglor can never say no to his brig brother #that might be a problem later #but for now he gets to learn about boats #the silmarillion #maedhros #maglor #elwing #elros #elrond #twdd au #grimwing writes #trying to catch up on the twdd stories that i haven't posted here so have another one today

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lackablazeical · 1 year

Text

Addams! AU Snippet 6: 'Freakshow'

FULL CREDIT TO WRITER NewFallenLeaves ON A03!!!!!! SHE MAKES KILLER ANGST AND FLUFF ALIKE, CHECK OUT ALL HER WORKS!!!! NOW!!!!! IF YOU LOVE OR CARE ABOUT ANYTHING, DO IT. NOW. BEFORE I GET U /J

As usual, art to add on! It was a 1 layer challenge I gave up on partway thru, mostly just cus I wanted to be done with it, lol! Greyscale is always so fun, tho!

Full snippet below the cut! ⬇️⬇️⬇️

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“Hold still, you little scumsucker.” As the burly human patted Mikey down, he came up quickly with two small daggers tucked into Mikey’s belt, as well as the ones hidden in the holster at the small of his back. “Shit, kid, how many more knives have you got, huh? Cough ‘em up.”

“Well,” said Mikey, “There’s the whole family with Mr. Stabby, and Miss Gashy, and the Puncture Brothers, and Auntie Slicer, and–”

The pile of small blades was already over half-a-dozen strong, and the man still managed to find three more.

“Oh, no!” Mikey wailed as the last one hit the table. He twisted against the tight ropes that bound his wrists behind his back, “You’re going to take all of them?”

“We know who sent you, we’re not taking any chances.” Finally satisfied, the man hauled Mikey none-too-gently by the elbow and dragged him out of the covered wooden cart that served as the freak show’s ‘office.’

The small encampment was reminiscent of a traveling gypsy convoy, with colorfully painted covered wagons. Some were cages for “FEARSOME GRUESOME MUST-SEE MUTANTS” with bold-lettered signs and warnings to stay back. Others were smaller, with striped awnings and shelves of cheap merchandise or galleries of rigged carnival games, with “STEP RIGHT UP AND TAKE A CHANCE” invitations for any fool willing to throw away hard-earned coin.

The heavy-set human dragged Mikey toward one of the larger cage carts. “Gonna put you someplace where you’re too worried about stayin’ alive to think about running off or causin’ trouble.”

He stopped in front of the enclosure. It looked as sparse and uncomfortable as any of the other terrible accommodations in the traveling freakshow. Unadorned iron bars, no straw or hay strewn for the mutant held within. The guard shoved Mikey through and slammed the cell door behind him.

Mikey tumbled onto the grated metal floor, lying prone while he waited for the man’s footsteps to fade. As soon as everything was silent, he flipped upright. From the corner of the cage came a low, throaty growling, and the occupant of the cell rose to his feet.

Even hunched, the alligator mutant was massive. Four times Mikey’s size. Larger than Raph, even, and little else save teeth and muscle.

“Don’t be…alarmed.” Every word the alligator spoke was slow and deliberate. “I…won’t harm you.”

“I know!” said Mikey. “I made Donnie do research on everything before I came.”

“You…know?”

“Woulda been pretty stupid for me to run in here without knowing everything about this lame-o sideshow. Besides, getting details is easy. It was supposed to add to Mama’s Spectacle Spectacular, after all. She bought it. And it woulda been such a cool thing, too! Everybody loves her circus, she has all the nicest hotel rooms for her performers, and you get to eat at the buffet, and the bar is open all night, and–”

“You…don’t seem…concerned,” said the alligator. “Were you…not poached…like the rest of us?”

“Ha! Nobody could poach me if they tried. Know how much Donnie has to add to his tranq formula to knock me out? Betcha don’t, because it’s a lot. I have resistance.” With a quick roll of his hips and shoulders, Mikey twisted his bound hands from behind his back and hopped over them like a backward jump rope. “Boy, am I glad they put me in here, you’re my first choice, anyway.”

“For…what?”

“For helping, of course! These humans turned out to be a bunch of dirty, no-good, double-crosser, deal-breaker cheaters, and they took Mama’s money and tried to cut and run. So now Mama wants me to burn the whole thing to the ground! Isn’t that great?! Anyway, are you good with pulverizing all the stuff? Because Raph didn’t wanna come, he was busy watching the Mrs. Cuddles’ Puppets-in-Peril Halloween Specials marathon. So if you could go ahead and do all the smashing, that would be awesome.”

“…smashing?”

Instead of replying, Mikey stuck out his tongue as he reached for a spot on the back of his neck, just below the rim of his shell. He withdrew a short, narrow length of sharpened metal, and proceeded to cut through the ropes.

“You managed…to sneak in a weapon,” the alligator marveled.

“Pffft,” said Mikey. “He only took my knives. This is my shiv.”

With his hands free, Mikey took a moment to stretch like a dancer before a routine. Then he promptly flopped down into a sitting position, legs crisscrossed. He set the shiv down on the floor of the cage and began pulling random assorted items out from non-existent pockets in his clothing and lining them up. “I still got lots of good stuff, see? This is my bolo, and this is my garrote, and this is my ice pick, and this is my can opener, and this is my bookend, and this is my cherry pitter, and this is my…”

The alligator watched as Mikey continued unabated. He blinked slowly at each new addition to the stockpile, his face becoming more and more skeptical as the items became less and less…perilous. When Mikey placed a penny down, he finally spoke.

“What…exactly…do you intend to accomplish…with a coin?”

“Ooooo, goody, I’m glad you noticed, I like this one.” Mikey flipped the penny with his thumb and caught it between his fingers. When he held it up to the light, the sharpened edge all around its circumference gleamed. “We’ll use it first!”

He tugged loose a lacing from the knee of his pants and looped it around the penny. Then he stood, approached the bars of the cage, took a deep breath…and began shrieking.

“HELP HELP MISTER JAILER GUY, I’M SCARED I DON’T WANNA GET EATEN BY AN ALLIGATOR!” Mikey twisted and rammed his shell against the bars to make even more noise. The camp echoed with resounding, repeated clang-clang-clang. “LEMME OUT LEMME OUT LEMME OUT OH PLEASE OH PLEASE!”

Several of the freakshow guards were on ‘patrol,’ roaming the perimeter of the camp. One who was nearby didn’t exactly come running, but he did seem annoyed and stepped quickly in the direction of the cage. “Shut up, kid. The more you screech the faster that freaking monster’s gonna chomp on you, just to get the goddamn noise to sto–”

The guard’s yells pitched up into a howl as a razor-edged penny, launched like a slingshot, lodged in his eye.

“What’s wrong?! What’s wrong?!” a fellow guard hurried up to assist him.

Mikey grinned as he picked up another weapon from his cache, aimed it between the bars, and punched a button.

Two metal barbs pierced the second man’s chest and an electrical current lit up his entire frame with sparks. He collapsed to the ground, convulsing.

“That’s my taser,” Mikey said. He reached through the bars and fished a keyring out of the guard’s pocket and quickly released the lock. He jumped onto the cage door and rode it as it swung open, dropping the taser in the dirt beside the unfortunate human, current still running.

“Come on, mister—ah–” Mikey craned his neck to look at the advertisement emblazoned across the top of the cage, “--Lethal Leatherhead! Smashy-smash, while I torch everything!”

Tentatively, Leatherhead stepped out of his enclosure. “You wish…to burn everything? With what…?”

But Mikey had already withdrawn a liquid-filled bottle from some hidden pocket in his coat. He drew a long, silken scarf from his glove by sleight of hand, flicked it to catch the flame on the tail of his mask, and then stuffed the burning wick into the neck of the bottle. “Molotov cocktail!”

He flung the bottle through the window of the largest wagon. The resulting explosion blew out the remaining glass, and Mikey dashed forward to intercept as guards raced to escape the inferno.

“What the hell is going o–”

“Machete!”

The man who had unluckily blundered closest to him gurgled, the handle blooming from his throat.

“Clothespins!”

Another guard screeched and flailed as two small wooden clips were driven into his eyes.

“Lanyard!”

Strangled gagging.

“Teacup!”

Wailing.

Leatherhead watched from the open door of his enclosure as Mikey continued his spree, shrieking the name of every item he produced and laughing maniacally as he dashed from one victim to the next.

A rhinoceros mutant in the cage next to his leaned towards the bars. “Friend of yours?”

“If it will convince him…to not jam a small kitchen tool down my throat…” Leatherhead ripped apart the hinges on the rhino mutant’s cage, “...then I will readily be his friend.”

The screech of “Rice paddle!” and a subsequent choking sound echoed across the grounds. Both mutants cringed.

“...rice paddle. Sure.” The rhino tagged along after Leatherhead as he moved to next cage. As that door bashed open, a warthog mutant jumped free and clasped hands with the rhino. They jostled briefly before turning to flee into the night. “Good luck with your crazy friend.”

“Bottlecap!” Mikey cackled from somewhere across the camp. “Stapler!”

Wet, squelching thumps and more screams.

A gangly mutant with mantis-like arms lounged near the door of his enclosure, watching Leatherhead expectantly. “That kiddo yous got over there has the right idea, I say,” he drawled.

Leatherhead nodded. “Fist,” he said. And punched the cage.

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