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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

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Sweet Talkin’. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]

There’s been an abnormal amount of sirens tonight.

It should be unnerving -- and to an extent it is -- but this isn’t what keeps you awake. Not that, or even the dogs barking outside accompanied with an occasional derogatory yell. With a heavy heart, you can say that you’ve gotten used to all of that noise. No, it’s something different that steals you from the welcoming comfort of a deep slumber.

The thing that truly keeps you up is the anticipation of what is to come. Or more precisely, who.

The bright glow of your phone strains your tired eyes, but it’s your best shot at finding entertainment. Squinting at the blinding light, exhaustion seeps into your being despite your best efforts to ward it off. No matter how much caffeine you drink later on in the day, it’s not enough to to thwart your natural inclinations to sleep.

For most, nighttime is a relaxing time of day that’s coveted. It brings a time of solitude, to reflect and rest up for the next day. While you wish you could return to the days where you felt like that, it’s long behind you now. Instead, you evade sleep, in fear of what could occur when you’re in the defenseless state.

An illusion of control is better than none at all.

“You’re gonna get dark circles under those pretty eyes if you keep staying up this late.”

A deep voice rumbles from the entrance to your shared room, one that you instantly recognize. Even in your groggy state, your emotions heighten in his presence. Turning off your phone and placing it down, you stretch your arms out, a yawn leaving your lips in the process.

So he’s back.

“Yeah, yeah…” you grumble back, caring little for the teasing comment. After feeling around your nightstand, a click resonates, light illuminating your room. Once your eyes adjust, you spot your unwelcome visitor, who makes himself at home. Dabi walks towards you, your bed creaking under his added weight as he sits down. Untying his shoes, he throws them carelessly in the corner.

Sensing your staring, he looks over his shoulder and grins at you. “Awe, you miss me or somethin’? How cute.”

A groan leaves your lips, and you reach to throw a pillow at him. He easily deflects it with a snicker, working on taking his shirt off next. At least now that he’s back you feel more inclined to sleep, knowing that he can’t sneak up on you. Splatters of dark vermilion catch your attention, mouth curling downwards into a frown.

If there’s anything you’ve learned in your time with Dabi, it’s that you shouldn’t ask where the blood stains come from. Ignorance is bliss, right? It’s still an unnerving sight, especially since you know it isn’t his.

The relationship you two share is nothing if not unconventional. His occupation -- if you can even call it that -- has him coming and going at unholy times at night. Sleep is difficult to come by, not knowing when he might make an appearance. It’s what leads you to stay up some nights, a preferable experience to tossing and turning with anxious thoughts plaguing you.

As long as you stay in your designated place, Dabi holds true to his promise of doing you no harm. Thinly veiled threats under the pretense of being your “roommate” lead you to the current day, an awkward routine settling in. For all it’s worth, it could be worse. You’re acutely aware of what Dabi is capable of, having seen the ashes of corpses blurred out in the news.

Why he’s taken a liken to you is beyond you. It still beats dying, only by a sliver.

“There are some leftovers in the fridge,” you tap your phone, reading the time. Three in the morning. Great, and you have work tomorrow too. “I think I’ll give sleeping a shot now that you’re back.”

Dabi raises an eyebrow at this, a fresh shirt without blood stains now on. “You always sleep when I get back. It hurts my feelings. What, am I not good enough company?”

‘If I’m being honest, not really.’

He grins at how you shiver, lazily crawling over to be by your side. His sudden presence fills your nose with unknown scents, ranging from smoke to burnt leather. Underneath is hints of his cologne, all mixing together to disorient you further. Dabi loves riling you up, testing the limits of what you can handle.

You take a deep breath, hugging your knees to your chest. As long as you don’t let it get to you, it’ll be fine. He always gets bored eventually, leaving you to do as you please. That’s what you’ll aim for.

“It’s not that. I just have stuff to do tomorrow, and I don’t like being exhausted. It’s my long shift.”

His trademark grin melts away, furrowing eyebrows and a grimace taking its place. Mentioning your life outside of him is a tricky battle, and you can’t help but regret mentioning it. Being in a sleep deprived state is a major disadvantage in your interactions with him.

“This again? I thought I told you to quit. Rent or whatever won’t be an issue, I’ll handle it.” Dabi scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your bare shoulder. His skin feels rough against yours, coarse hands rubbing circles into you. You bite your lip at the sensation, hair on the back of your neck standing.

“I... I like my job. Sure, it can be irritating at times, but it gives me something to do during the day. I’d go stir crazy without something concrete to focus on.” The words are heartfelt, unfiltered. When he responds in silence you worry you’ve made a mistake, upsetting him with your defiance.

He huffs against your neck, lifting his head and shooting you a displeased look. His voice is a low murmur, one that reverberates into the core of your very being. “Always making trouble for me..."

Dabi’s grip around you tightens, and you gulp thickly. With how casual he speaks to you, it can be easy to forget the major power imbalance. Instead of greeting you with insults, or worse, he lightly flicks your forehead.

You blink, baffled.

“Don’t most people hate their jobs? I figured you’d be jumping at the idea of having more free time, or whatever. So you can focus on other things.”

It’s not a confession you were expecting, your cheeks flushing at the considerate nature of his words. While it’s true quitting your job is an appealing thought, it creates a semblance of balance within your now chaotic life. Helping you stick to a schedule, in the same way school used to.

Now feeling confident in expressing yourself, your taut muscles relax into his touch. “I’m too tired to think about it properly, if I’m being honest. I don’t know how you can stay up this late all the time without losing it.”

Deflecting from the previous topic makes you feel better. If Dabi notices your intentions he doesn’t point them out, allowing you to take control of the conversation without complaint. He must prefer it over when you’d just shake and cry in his presence.

“You get used to it, sweetheart,” he drums his fingers against you, smirking. “I’ll make a night owl outta you yet.”

Any implications in his words go straight over your head.

“As tempting an offer as that is, I think I’ll pass. ”

He shrugs at your indifference, removing his arms from your frame. The lack of enveloping warmth causes you to shiver, Dabi searching through his bag. You peak over his shoulder out of curiosity, his scarred hands settling on an object which he pulls out.

It’s a copy of Animal Crossing, in all of its beautiful glory. You wipe your eyes, unsure if what you’re seeing is reality.

“W-what?” you guffaw before your brain has the chance to stop you, jaw agape and head tilted. Dabi places it on your lap, and returns to his previous position of holding you. There’s clear amusement in his eyes at your stunned state, relishing in your every reaction.

“Did I get the wrong thing? This is that game you wanted, isn’t it?”

It had to have been a week or so ago. You lamented to him about not being able to afford this, not even realizing he was giving it any attention. To think he remembered, and acted on it for your sake... is a touching sensation. Maybe he is capable of selflessness after all.

The cute box art puts a smile on your face, one that Dabi stares at.

“I have to say, I’m surprised,” you pick it up, looking at the back with wide eyes. “Did the cashier give you a funny look when you picked this out?”

‘I really need to start thinking before I speak.’

He shakes his head at your blunt comment, not taking any offense. “I didn’t get it that way.”

‘Oh, well... better not ask more than necessary. There’s no blood on it so at least that’s a good sign.’

Wiggling free from his grip, you rotate your legs over the side of the bed, intent on getting your switch. An opportunity like this must be taken advantage of, and you’ve wanted to play this game for some time now. Dabi must’ve read your mind, and pulls you back to him with little effort before you get the chance.

“If I remember correctly, you said you were tired just a few minutes ago.”

He plucks the game from your fingers, and places it on the side furthest from you. What a cruel world this is, to have paradise so close and yet so far. You can’t help the pout that forms at his actions.

“The situation changed, I’m wide awake now.” you explain to an unmoved Dabi, launching over his lap to get your coveted game back. He picks it up, lifting it over your head with a chuckle. So that’s how it’s going to be.

Defeat settling in, you retreat for now. A sigh leaves your lips, arms crossing over your chest. You should’ve known better, Dabi has made it clear to you that he wants your attention. Looks like you’ll have to wait until after work to get a taste of Animal Crossing.

There’s a glint of mischievous in his azure eyes, one that you’ve seen more often than you wish. Dabi sighs in mock hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “Not even so much as a thank you for my efforts. That’s cold, babe. Real cold.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Thank you, it means a lot.”

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “That’s not what I was looking for. Try again, sweetheart.”

A flurry of thoughts fly through your mind, all competing with one another to offer a solution. Does he want money for it? He should know that you’re not capable of producing that amount, or you would’ve bought the game for yourself. Dabi gives you a moment to think, before offering the answer to you.

He puts his pointer finger on your lip, maintaining eye contact while doing so.

“Oh, t-that.”

“So glad to see that you’re finally catching on.”

It could be the summer heat winning over your AC, the room suddenly feeling warmer than it did a few moments prior. You look down at your blankets, focusing on anything other than the person in front of you. This level of teasing is nothing new with Dabi, he always manages to fluster you.

He sits, relaxed, waiting for you to make a move. There aren’t any other options that you can think of, so you give into what he wants. Moving closer to his face, you feel his warm breath fanning against your skin. Your hand twitches, pressing against his chest to offer balance.

Squeezing your eyes closed, you tilt your head, soft lips brushing over his own. All of your movements are hesitant, your entire body feeling like it’s on fire. Heart pounding violently against your chest, you move to pull back. Only to discover his hand on the back of your head is stopping you from doing so.

Dabi slants his lips back over your own, nibbling your bottom lip. You freeze, the unexpected affection leaving you incapable of reacting. It’s when you squeak that he finally loosens his grip, opening his eyes to take in your embarrassed countenance.

All things considered, it wasn’t an unpleasant experience.

You cover your burning face with your shaking hands, feeling the warmth emanating off of you. He makes it even worse by chuckling, the low rumble filling you with indignation. There never is hope of catching a break with Dabi.

“You might be the one with a fire quirk after all,” he leans forward, placing a hand against your hot forehead. “Mm... that look you’re giving me is too much. You have to be doing it on purpose at this point.”

Fed up with his relentless teasing, you smack his hand away and purse your lips. He props his arms behind his head, letting you glare at him to your heart’s content. From his lack of reaction, you get the feeling he isn’t too intimidated by you.

“Whatever, I’m going to bed,” you huff, returning to your side and pulling up the blankets. He doesn’t make a move to stop you, and you take the opportunity to lay down on your side. Refusing to look at him, you focus on the wall.

Dabi pokes your cheek, which you ignore.

He lets out a long sigh at your antics, joining you underneath the covers. You hear shuffling behind you, and can’t help but wonder what it is that he’s up to. Maybe he’s succumbing to his own exhaustion, and will let you sleep in peace? What a perfect world it’d be if that’s the case.

The thought is entertained for three seconds before you’re pulled against his firm chest from behind, toned arms snaking around your torso and staying there. His body is always so warm. It doesn’t help that you’re already embarrassed from before. Dabi grumbles something incoherent, placing his head in the crook of your neck.

Accepting the situation for what it is, you stop moving. He reaches over you to turn off the light, and darkness surrounds you once more. All you can hear are your own labored breaths, and rapidly pounding heart. It might be impossible to sleep like this.

You’ll call out of work for tomorrow.

“... Dabi?” you whisper, voice soft and barely audible. He grunts in response, nuzzling further into your neck. For the past few months, there’s been a thought that haunts you at every turn. One that you can never find an answer to, and have been too frightened to investigate beyond your own musings.

It’d be easy to play this off as sexual attraction alone, yet a voice in the back of your head says otherwise. That what Dabi feels for you goes beyond that, into a sinister territory that you want desperately to avoid. Why is it he’s patient -- borderline kind -- with you, yet cruel to everyone else? None of it makes logical sense, his actions erratic and seemingly without reason.

Maybe you shouldn’t know. Still, you ask, against your better judgement.

“Why do you like me so much?”

You feel how he smiles against the skin of your neck, the sensation stirring up unknown emotions within. He squeezes you against him once, letting out a low hum as he considers your words. While waiting for him to speak, you hold in a breath.

“Dunno. Just do,” Dabi offers a noncommittal response, one that leaves you greatly unsatisfied. It seems he’s not even aware of it himself, the effect you have on him unlike anything he’s ever experienced. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“... Alright, I won’t.”

“Good. Now get some sleep, before I ask you to kiss me again.”

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imagining-in-the-margins · 3 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 22 | S.R.)

Summary: Things are changing for the better. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Difference, Sub Drop, vague mentions of trauma/dissociation, PTSD (mostly comfort) Word Count: 7.25k

MASTERLIST

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The dulcet, bustling sounds of the Dulles International Airport were more soothing than I expected. Normally, the massive crowds and constant barrage of information would make my brain go into overdrive, but there was something about Spencer being there that made it all turn to white noise. If I had to guess, I would say it was the feeling of trusting someone to take care of you.

I still hadn’t gotten used to it.

“Hey, I got you something.”

Even then, when he’d approached me from behind and gingerly placed the bag on my lap, I barely even flinched. I smelled the contents of the bag before I noticed the logo or managed to open it, but once I confirmed it was what I thought it was, my eyes immediately teared up.

“Oh my god,” I keened, pulling out the familiar blue cup holding a much too sweet, much too large cinnamon bun. Although my mind was running with a million things to say to express just how appreciative I was, I took a bite out of it before I said anything else.

“I love you so much,” I mumbled around a mouth full of pastry.

Spencer tried to respond, but after one glance at me, fingers and face already covered in frosting after only a few seconds, he burst out laughing.

“You’re a complete mess,” he chastised, trying to cluck his tongue but failing in his laughter.

I just smiled back, not even bothering with the plastic utensils and enjoying the indulgence with absolutely childlike joy. It wasn’t even just the sugar or my fingers pressing into the warm, sticky dough that made the morning seem so much better; it was the way Spencer watched me.

With one arm leaned against the chair, his whole body was turned towards me. It was clear from the slightly glassy look in his exhausted eyes that he was also stuck trying to find the right words to say to express just how grateful he was that we could still have moments like that.

Those same eyes roamed over my figure with such an overtly intimate gleam that it almost made me blush. If he’d touched me, I definitely would have. But he kept his hands to himself, and eventually, buried them into his carry-on bag. I didn’t even look at what he was doing, too lost in the sweetness of being cared for.

That foolhardy trust was a mistake. Because, it turned out, Spencer Reid was a monster.

Without any warning at all, a cold wet wipe was dragged over my cheeks. I flinched back, only to find Spencer’s hand holding onto my head and stopping me from turning away. The madman even had the audacity to smile as he gingerly wiped the frosting from my cheeks and chin. Of course, considering the fact I was thrashing wildly away from him, it ended up mostly on my lips.

“Pfftbtb! Spencer!” I spit and whined, earning confused looks from basically everyone in the vicinity. What they would find when they looked over was him in a fit of laughter, continuing to try and clean my face, which was still covered in sugary frosting despite his best efforts to remove it.

“I thought you enjoyed the taste of alcohol,” he teased.

“First of all, no one does, and second—” I started, only to be cut off with a kiss over my much too clean mouth. I smiled, but only because it used to be my move. I wondered when exactly the tables had turned, and it became his job to shut me up with a kiss.

“I know,” he whispered, licking his lips just to cringe at the taste he’d forced on me, “I’m just joking.”

I decided then that the sight and shared disgust for ethyl alcohol were enough for me to forgive him for the time being. I let him clean the rest of the evidence of my greed from my face but decided to clean my fingers myself. I popped each one into my mouth in what I’d imagined was a very non-sexual manner, but Spencer still seemed to enjoy watching me as each digit was cleaned. Granted, he handed me another wipe seconds later. Damn germaphobe. Like he didn’t shove his tongue in my mouth on a daily basis.

The rest of the treat was shared between us, with utensils this time, in a relative quiet. Brief giggles or sighs were all there was to be said. Once there was nothing left to fixate on, I was left only with my thoughts and Spencer’s eyes that still watched me like a horribly affectionate hawk.

“I’m really sorry,” I mumbled without realizing. I’d almost hoped he wouldn’t even hear it, or let it go without a conversation, but of course, he couldn’t do that.

“For what?”

“For making you do all of this,” I explained with a heavy sigh, “I feel like a big baby.”

Spencer’s hands came to brush away the stray strands of hairs from my face. They weren’t actually in the way of anything; I think he just wanted to make a better view. That alone was enough to make me smile, but that only seemed to make him feel guilty.

“Don’t apologize for this. This is my fault,” he said just as quietly. I mirrored his motion, running my fingers through his hair and watching as his mouth dropped open in a pleased smile.

“No, it’s not. You’re wonderful,” I said through my own. It was only a little bit sadder than his, but wasn’t that usually the case? I could only imagine what would happen the day we were both overflowing with nothing but joy. Before, that thought might lead me back to the bank, the place that ended our last purely happy encounter, but…

I looked at Spencer, with his mouth still slightly open and his head lolling back and forth with the little weight of my hand, and I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything bad. So I just thought of the picnic, instead. I thought of him licking my hand as we rolled in grass, and of his own hands working through my hair to make it into something besides a mess on my head.

I looked at Spencer, and I saw beautiful things. And the longer I played with his hair, the more relaxed and content he became. Of course, I would never be satisfied. His smile was the most beautiful thing to see, and I needed it to deal with the guilt still sitting like rocks in my stomach.

“Besides, it’ll be so much easier putting down my work and actually getting sleep when you’re waiting for me,” Spencer slurred, his neck relaxing to drop the weight of his head against my palm.

“I hope not too easy. The world needs you, Dr. Reid,” I kindly reminded.

His eyes fluttered open, trapping me in dark honey irises filled with pure adoration. “You need me, too,” he whispered.

“Arrogant bastard.”

Naturally, he took it as a compliment, his smile growing into a smirk as he answered, “A little bit.”

He should have known better than to give me that look, though, because within seconds my hands fell from his hair. A small whimper came from the pitiful man at the loss. It was quickly followed by a sharp inhale when my hand grabbed his thigh.

“You think I’ll actually let you sleep?” I whispered.

Aside from the obviously tense quadriceps beneath my palms, Spencer showed very little response to my suggestion. Well, rather, he showed little arousal to it. There was a reaction— just not the one I expected.

He looked... nervous.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that...”

“What?” I shot back immediately, my hands withdrawing and tugging on my shirt while I instinctively tried to hide from him. I was trying to look less guilty, but I was acutely aware that my actions screamed the opposite. So, I tried to combat my obvious anxiety with a voice that was far louder than it needed to be. “I swear I’m on all my medications. I haven’t missed a single therapy appointment, either!”

Spencer’s hands were gentle and cautious when they came to my wrists, gently pulling them away from my chest. “I know. I trust you,” he said with a sad but still genuine smile, “I just wanted to ask you how you wanted to handle this.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” The words tumbled out of me in the least convincing manner. Spencer was too smart to fall for them, although I could see a playfulness bloom through his features.

“No offense, but you just cried over a cinnamon bun,” he said, unable to stop a few chuckles from mixing with the words.

“It was just really good, okay?” I scoffed, tearing my hands away from him and feigning offense despite his little disclaimer. From there, I sank down in the shitty airport chair and refused to look up at him. I could still feel his cheeky, arrogant little grin watching me.

Eventually, after I thought we’d suffered enough and I could already feel my legs going numb, I weakly conceded, “Fine. What are my options?”

“Well, basically anything. But the main thing to consider is...”

He paused. It was one of the sure signs that he was taking the situation very seriously. Usually, he would just spout out whatever came to mind and sort out the details later. But this time, he spoke slowly and purposefully. “Majority of our relationship has been based on physicality. Whether it was sex or healing or hurting and I... I want to give you the option to not do that. At least, not for a little while.”

A feeling of dread filled my blood that I could suddenly hear rushing through my ears. I didn’t tell my heart to beat faster, but it did. My hands that had once again crossed over my chest suddenly itched to hold him.

“Why would I not want to?” I asked, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt and occasionally glancing up at him only to realize that he wasn’t looking at me, either. I tried not to read into it. After all, he was the profiler— not me.

“It’s not a matter of avoiding it. I just need you to know it’s not expected of you.”

Without shifting my body at all, my eyes were glued to him. The strain of the angle and the sound of those words caused them to burn, but I refused to let tears fall again. He wasn’t rejecting me, right? He was telling me that he loved me. There was no reason to be scared.

I wasn’t used to that yet, either. But I wanted to be. And judging by the way his hand cupped my face and guided it back to his, I think Spencer felt those anxieties. He tried to will them away by pressing his forehead against mine and letting his thumb ghost over flushed cheeks.

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to know that we don’t have to have sex for you to be worth my time and attention.”

The tears grew bigger under his scrutiny, but they didn’t fall until he closed his eyes. I think that was why he did.

“I love you,” he assured me with a whisper, “I’m not going to deny you affection or intimacy if that’s what you want. I just need you to know that it is always an option.”

Normally when Spencer pulled away, the air felt cold in his absence. For so long, my body had felt lonelier and less than without him. But in that busy, bustling airport, I felt just as loved even when his hands fell away and he sat back up in his chair.

For those who might’ve been watching, they would just see two lovesick idiots whispering sweet nothings in a flagrantly public display of affection. They wouldn’t have heard the weight of the words or felt the way my perception of the whole world shifted from them.

Spencer smiled again, still nervous, but also clear and authentic.

“I’m sorry,” he told me with his eyes fixated on my hands in my lap. He made no move to hold it, although I could tell he wanted to. I suspect he wanted me to focus on the words, so I tried my hardest. I almost asked him what he was sorry for, but he answered first, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

A lump quickly formed in my throat that I tried to swallow. When that failed, and I felt the telltale signs of tears filling the sides of my eyes, I did the only thing I could think of to hide. I threw my arms around the only thing that never failed to make them better. I buried my face in Spencer’s neck and laughed along with him as my eyelashes and breath tickled the soft skin.

After a brief second of listening to our hearts settle into a matching rhythm and letting our body heat sink into the clothes between us, Spencer groaned, “How are you still sticky?”

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A couple weeks prior, the thought of being alone in a hotel room waiting on Spencer to finish work for the day would have instilled the fear of God in me. I would have done just about anything to avoid the exact situation I found myself in now.

But honestly? It wasn’t all that bad. It was the perfect opportunity for me to force myself to slow down. Granted, that mostly just meant that I would watch bad TV in a bathrobe with overpriced food, but... like they say, change is as good as a rest.

The hardest part about it was actually just convincing myself that I deserved the rest. While I was taking naps and trying to do anything to unwind, I knew what Spencer was doing.

Well, I had some idea of what he was doing. Reality was probably worse than my imagination— it usually was with his job. At first, I had let that guilt get in the way, but at some point over the nine hours, I realized that I would have to find a way to cheer myself up. Because as soon as I heard that small beep of the keycard, I would have to find a way to remind him of all the beautiful things in the world.

No pressure, right?

The sun had already started to set, and I hadn’t heard from him in hours. We’d started the day out with a constant line of contact, but over time he became too busy. Which, again, just meant that I would have to work even harder when he finally arrived.

Luckily for me, by the time Spencer had arrived, there was no need for a pep talk or acting of any kind. My heart immediately started to race the second I heard his voice down the hall. I had already bolted from the bed and positioned myself just far enough from the door that I could jump forward the second it opened far enough to fit me.

And when it did, I pounced.

“Spencer!” I cheered, throwing myself into his arms that had fully been expecting me. Still, the two of us crashed back against the frame and I heard the breath be knocked out of him from the impact.

“Hey, little girl,” he managed to laugh with empty lungs that made it impossible to forget how tired he was. His arm eventually settled at my lower back, lifting me slightly so he could move us from the door’s path. But when we were out of harm’s way and the latch clicked softly in place, Spencer didn’t let me go. In fact, he tossed his bag into the chair at the desk and wrapped his other arm around me, too.

“How was work?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

“You know...” he muttered with a crackling voice, “awful.”

If that hadn’t given it away, the way he buried his face in my neck certainly did. His hands were even more insistent, pressing into my back as he led us both to the bed.

I had to laugh, though, as the realization dawned on him that he’d have to let go of me if he didn’t want to track filthy shoes in our bed. A heavy sigh fell from his lips when he finally released me, practically throwing me onto the terrible mattress before taking his seat next to me.

“I missed you,” I announced in the ambient noise of the cheapest hotel that the government could justify using.

Spencer looked up at me, but the words took a little longer to register. I could only imagine how busy his mind must’ve been, and the guilt quickly came creeping back.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, albeit with a tint of sadness in his tone. But the longer we stayed there, the calmer he seemed. It was such a powerful effect of our proximity that by the time he did lay down next to me, he seemed like the man that had wiped frosting from my face in the middle of a busy airport.

Spencer must have noticed the shift, too, because no sooner had his head hit the pillow than he had flipped over, throwing his leg over me to pin me down against the bed.

My initial reaction was to keep laughing, but the noises were muffled by the persistent kisses he gave. They started at my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose but landed on my lips. I felt the tension leave his shoulders as he lowered more of his body weight against me, and I reveled in the feeling of his presence.

“God, I needed this,” he growled just before his tongue slipped into my mouth.

Everything we’d talked about at the airport felt a lifetime away, and as soon as I felt his erection pressing hard against my thigh, I only had one goal in mind. I forced my hands between us, trying to remove his tie with the hope that it would shed some of the thoughts he’d brought back from work.

But then it all stopped. Spencer had pulled away, grabbing onto my wrist and pinning it to the bed beside me once more.

“No, we don’t need to do that. I just wanted to kiss you,” he panted through heavy breath and swollen lips. I couldn’t stop staring at them long enough to answer, but it was clear from the look on his face that any plea I gave would be for naught, anyway. “I’m honestly way too exhausted to give you the attention you deserve.”

I believed him. Even when he hadn’t slept for nearly two days, he still looked livelier then. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had less to do with sleep and more to do with emotions. I wanted to help him with that, too, like he did for me, but I didn’t know how. So, I did the only thing I did know how to do well, which was to place a soft peck against his lips until they turned up into another smile.

“Get some rest, old man,” I murmured, “I’ll be here to kiss again when you wake up.”

“Let me hold you,” he answered immediately, nuzzling his face against my neck like a puppy seeking any shred of attention. I couldn’t tell if I was laughing because of the way his hair tickled or because it was so strange to see him so vulnerable while still in dominant, albeit disheveled, work clothes.

“Fine. Only because you asked nicely.”

Continuing the trend of being remarkably adorable, Spencer giggled as he rolled onto his side. I was almost tempted to turn towards him, but he had already wrapped his arms around me before I could decide. He pulled me as close as he could before his lips once again settled against the column of my throat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he stated absently. It was so quiet that I’m not sure he’d actually planned on me hearing it. But when I reached a hand up to run through his hair, he spoke with a shaky, relieved whine, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

A gentle, warm exhale breezed over my skin as he continued, “I love you so much.”

From that point, any words he might’ve whispered were muffled through sloppy, sleepy kisses over my neck and shoulder. His hands, though slow, were still rough and purposeful as they pawed at me in a way that was only vaguely sexual. It was more like he was trying to prove to himself that he was actually here with me, and my breasts just happened to be the first thing he could grab.

That still didn’t stop my mind from running wild. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as I focused on the way his breath felt against areas still wet from his kisses. And when I arched my back, I felt his hips press harder.

Eventually, when I could trust myself to speak without whimpering, I asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to...”

I peeked back at him before continuing, having noticed a lull in his kisses. Sure enough, Spencer was fast asleep, his lips still attached to my shoulder. I had to chuckle at the sight, but my heart did hurt for him. I couldn’t imagine how tired he must have been to fall asleep then, and still in his clothes, much less.

The guilt over being the main cause of his tiredness was enough to keep me still for at least two hours. I spent that time slowly inching to a more comfortable position, only to be squished seconds later by Spencer. Even in his sleep, it seemed he was terrified of the prospect of me slipping from his arms. He was just being dramatic, though. It’s not like I had anywhere to go.

Wait, that sounded wrong. Truthfully, there were many places I could go, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with Spencer, tangled in his long limbs and tickled by his hair that had grown long enough to gracelessly flop onto my face regardless of position.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to leave at all.

But I did. Inch by inch, I carefully slipped from Spencer’s arms. Against all odds, I managed to maneuver through the death grip he had on me and plop down on the ground beside the bed. My mind found that to be the perfect time to recall the lecture he’d given me about how suitcases, and more specifically, their wheels, were the most dangerous bacteria-laden aspects of traveling, but I dismissed the thought shortly after I stood again.

I didn’t want to leave Spencer’s embrace. I’m not really sure why I did. There wasn’t even really a particularly angsty reasoning for it. I just had this feeling, this tingling on my skin and a weight in my stomach that told me I was meant to be doing something different.

The only problem was that I had literally no idea what the fuck that something different was.

So, naturally, I did what every young child does when their parents had grown tired of their restless children jumping on the hotel bed. I grabbed the keycard and the ice bucket and set out on a very thrilling journey to find the vending room. The first part was the hardest. It was shutting the door to return the room to darkness, knowing that Spencer was alone in bed.

It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. I slipped from the room into the horrible yellow lighting of the halls with the dizzying wallpaper and patterned carpet without another thought. I’d hoped that the walk might bring me answers to the mood I was currently wrestling with, but I was wrong. Because it basically only took me three doors to find the room that I was looking for.

Great.

I threw the door open haphazardly, actually contemplating grabbing the ice and returning to bed no wiser than I had left it. But when the door swung shut behind me, the humming from the machines bled into my brain and started to cover all the other thoughts. It was warmer than my room, as well as smaller and quieter. Of course, it was also remarkably less private, but it was also like 2am. If someone came in to find a strange girl sitting on the floor next to the ice machine, that was their own fault.

In a strange way, it was the most peaceful I’d been in a long time. As much as I loved being with Spencer, these circumstances made it hard for me to not feel like I didn’t belong. Probably because I didn’t. He was here on work, a life that he’d tried very hard to keep away from me. I didn’t blame him for that, either. I was sure he’d gotten a number of questions from Morgan and Garcia about my presence, but he hadn’t shared them with me. I’d even asked him, just so I could concoct my own retaliatory questions for the nosiest of them, but he just laughed the question away.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just the realization that Spencer had a life of his own and I was just starting to see it for the first time. I was learning so much about him and honestly… None of it was bad. Most of it was just downright silly. Things like prank wars and physics magic and careful, chemistry-based improvements to shitty coffee. I was just too busy realizing that I was falling even more in love with Spencer to notice anything else.

Including, apparently, the sound of the door to the room opening. Trust me when I say that was saying a lot; the presence of Aaron Hotchner was not easy to miss.

“Can I join you?” His voice filled the room despite its low volume, and I followed the sound with a small smile that grew at the sight of him in casual clothing. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it sure did make him less intimidating than our previous encounters.

“Sure,” I said as I pulled the still-empty ice bucket into my lap. Once he took his seat beside me, I rolled my head toward him to try and figure out what exactly he had planned. But after another few seconds of silence, I realized that he was doing the same thing I was.

Improvising.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I asked, insistent that it wasn’t my job in this scenario to come up with the advice.

Hotch seemed equally lost, and with a slight shake of his head, he explained, “I only heard the door open once. Figured it was worth a trip to get some ice to check.”

He held up his matching ice bucket, to which I lifted mine to knock together like the worst kind of toast. It at least succeeded in making him laugh, although the sound was short-lived. We both recognized the shoddy attempt at humor was just masking the things I didn’t want to talk about.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

He had never really been a beat-around-the-bush sort of guy.

“Freakin’ profilers,” I affectionately muttered back, which only earned me a playful warning glance that I, for once, didn’t choose to ignore. “I don’t know. I’m guessing it’s probably the 3-hour nap I took when we got here.”

Then, deciding that still didn’t describe the situation well enough, I tagged on, “You know, while you all were working and saving the world and what not.”

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of the BAU: Do not ever speak poorly about yourself. Not even an implication.

“Rest is important. No reason for you to suffer for us,” he returned without pause.

“You sound like Spencer,” I said through a half-hearted laugh.

Hotch shared my laughter, causing them both to grow in volume as he snarkily replied, “And who do you think taught him?”

“Right. Sorry.” I held my hands up in surrender, but we both knew it would be harder than that.

But that was okay. He came prepared.

“So, what else is wrong?”

“So persistent, you lot,” I chuckled. I half expected him to let it go, but he just turned to stare at me with that usually stoic face contorted with an obvious reprimand. I swear, I didn’t even realize his eyebrows could move that far. But there were, raised up his forehead as his cheeks dimpled from his little, knowing smirk.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Just thinking about things and I was scared I would wake up Spencer. Like he would feel my anxiety in his sleep.”

“What’s making you anxious?”

I paused. For a moment, I thought about lying. Not the kind of transparent lie that you do when you say that everything is fine. The kind of lie that also contained the truth. There were many things that had happened lately that would explain my anxiety, and they would be believable enough because I did still feel them.

“Everything. You know. The usual,” I said softly, attempting to stall.

Because that wasn’t what the problem was that day. The problems that day were… complicated in a different way than the usual angst. So, I let the thoughts marinate for a moment, considering the different outcomes and deciding which I really wanted.

I hadn’t let myself want things in a while. Maybe that realization was why I decided to just tell him the truth, despite how embarrassing it felt.

“It’s not bad anxiety, necessarily. It’s just this realization that… I don’t know.”

“Take a guess,” he pressed, feeling the hesitance as I stood at the brink of what I really wanted to say. The real answer to why I was sitting on the floor of an ice machine vending room with my boyfriend’s boss, who also happened to be our shared adoptive father figure.

I took a deep breath, clutching onto the ice bucket so tightly that my knuckles blanched and the edges imprinted on my hand until I blurted out, “That I think I’m ready for something else. Something more.”

We both stopped then, enjoying the noises of machinery and the barely-there echo of my words.

“Something more, huh?” he repeated more clearly.

I didn’t appreciate the way the words were practically sung through a clever grin, and before he could take that train of thought any further, I stopped him with an answer too loud to not be deemed defensive.

“Not like that! Not like, let’s run off and elope and have lots of babies tomorrow!“ He didn’t look convinced, so I continued with a much more believable promise. “Don’t worry, I’m not sniping your genius.”

“Thank goodness,” he replied sarcastically. I appreciated his ability to keep things lighthearted, and for a second I did have to laugh at the fact he was such a different person when he wasn’t at work. He must’ve taught Spencer more than I realized. And, in turn, Spencer was teaching me. I just wasn’t sure when the lesson would be over, or if it had already ended.

“I’ve just held onto my independence and this… heavy bullshit for so long, and I’m a little worried about what that means,” I thought aloud.

Again, Hotch had read my mind, or at least, my body language, and demanded the answer he saw written across my features. “What do you think it means?”

“Do you always give fatherly advice like this to whiny girls in ice machine rooms?” I shot back with my first attempt at a glare. It only lasted until he flashed me a toothy smile and his own clever retort.

“No. Now answer the question.”

“I had to try,” I grumbled, only to be shut down again in an instant.

“I’ll forgive you when you answer.”

With a begrudging sigh, I tried to do what he asked. But I only barely got through one word before they turned to a lump in my throat. I choked on the words strongly enough that tears I hadn’t anticipated began pooling on my eyelashes. The power of a profiler, I guess, to know I was on the verge of an emotional catharsis before I did.

“I know we all change. I know that no one stays the same. We all go through things and they change who we are. And that can be good, right? But…”

Once the words started, they wouldn’t stop, turning and tumbling from clumsy lips still chapped from incessant biting. But teeth and willpower couldn’t stop the feelings that caused them, and if Spencer had taught me anything, he’d taught me that speaking a feeling into existence was half of the battle to let it go.

“But sometimes it’s gotta just be bad, right? Like, we’ve got to acknowledge that sometimes we change in an irreparable way that’s just bad for no reason.”

“Right,” he very eloquently returned. Normally, I would have bullied him for giving such a simple response to such a complex question, but at that moment I was just grateful that I could continue. Heaven knows Spencer wouldn’t have let me.

“So, what if that happened to me? What if one day I wake up and finally find out the answer to the question I’ve been asking myself?”

When I turned to the man then, I saw a genuine confusion for the first time that night. I couldn’t tell you where I’d lost him, but it was clear that he heard something in me that alerted him that some deeper rooted issues were just now finding the light of day.

Of course, in this situation, it was really just a flickering fluorescent bulb.

“What question is that?” he whispered, like his voice would intrude in the thoughts.

But the truth was they didn’t feel like they belonged to me, either. That was the problem. I’d spent so long with memories that felt like a dream. I saw them playback when I closed my eyes, just to open them and find the same images reflecting in Spencer’s. I knew they were real because they were written into my skin, yet my mind rioted against them so hard that instead, I just started to think that this body wasn’t mine, either.

“How much of me died that day?”

The question sat with us, taking form in the reflection on the metallic surface that hummed a somehow somber tune. And even though I knew I was looking at myself, it didn’t feel that way. When I saw Hotch move in the background, I turned to him just in time to feel his hand resting over mine on the metal pail in my hands.

“Can I tell you what I think?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

I felt the warmth flow through him, bringing life back into a hand that suddenly started to feel like me again. His voice shared the same rejuvenating quality as he quietly but confidently answered, “I think… it’s much less than you think.”

As tears slid down my face, they felt less like the beginning of a downpour and more like the drizzle that follows the storm. I let them fall without wiping them away, hoping that as they fell away, they would take the fear with them.

After they did drip from my jaw, I laughed. I couldn’t hold it in because it seemed so silly how much lighter I felt after losing just a few droplets of saline. But, realistically, I knew it had more to do with his hand still holding mine.

I dropped my head to his shoulder, selfishly stealing his body warmth as I croaked, “Thanks for talking to me. I know I must sound like a stupid kid to you sometimes.”

“Not at all,” he said with that tone that was difficult to discount, “You sound just like you should.”

“Can I tell you something now?” I asked between sniffles.

“I’d like that,” he mirrored.

“You’re like… a really good dad.”

It was his turn to shed tears, then, which he did. They were much manlier and less silly than mine, but they were there. I almost accused him of creating them just to make me feel less embarrassed, but before I could, he’d enveloped me in a hug that was way too genuine to question it.

As I hugged him back, I realized just how badly I’d missed moments like this. I’d fooled myself into really believing that loneliness and independence were the same things for so long that when I was granted the support all human beings need, I didn’t know how to respond.

But that was the beauty of family, right? You don’t have to try to earn their love. They already thought you were worthy.

So I hugged him harder, ignoring the clanking of the machines and the sounds of crowds of people stumbling back from bars in the hall that could walk in any moment. I wasn’t embarrassed to be sad anymore. I was just a person. It happens sometimes.

“Speaking of, it’s well past your bedtime,” Hotch said finally, gracelessly shattering the moment in a very dad-like fashion.

“I walked into that one.”

Following that trend, he continued with a gentle bump of his shoulder against me, “If you don’t want to go yet, you can talk to me about that something more.”

I practically shoved him off me, huffing between chuckles and shaking my head in the hope that he wouldn’t notice how it flushed.

“Please. Spencer talks about that stuff, but he’s all talk.”

At first, Hotch just nodded. But after a few wayward glances, he confessed, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

That time the warmth I felt came from within, carried by butterflies that had burst in my stomach at the thought. I almost asked him what he meant, but then felt the familiar, creeping embarrassment that came along with loving someone a little too much.

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

I knew he was reading my expressions, but I couldn’t hide the smile, no matter how hard I tried. He still had the decency to ignore my blatant displays of excitement, instead asking the question we both knew the answer to already.

“Is that something you’d want?”

“I…” Such a simple syllable still seemed like too much, and I stuttered it a few more times before I landed on an answer that wasn’t too humiliating. “I guess he’ll have to ask and find out.”

“I hope it turns out well when he does,” he said, pausing to correct with a sarcastic, “Sorry. If he does.”

“Yeah, me too,” I sighed heavily. It was a last ditch effort to hide the way my cheeks were still stuck in a full-faced smile. I turned to see him with a very similar expression.

I knew just how to change that. When he stood up and offered me a hand, I took it and let him do half the work for me. But once we were on equal footing, I placed my hand on his shoulder with a complacent pat.

“You know, if it doesn’t turn out well, you’ll have to figure out how to comfort the both of us.”

“The horror,” he jokingly cringed with a shake of his head.

I almost left then, but thankfully he’d remembered the actual purpose for the room we’d had our impromptu surrogate-father-daughter moment in. He grabbed my ice pail from my hand and dropped it under the dispenser without saying anything else, letting the chaotic crunching signal the real end of the moment.

Once it was over, I looked down at the now freezing bucket in my hands that suddenly felt warm. Then I looked back up at him and saw a pride that I wasn’t expecting.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” I said as the last remaining bit of tension fell from my shoulders.

“Goodnight,” he answered, opening the door and watching as I padded down the hall. He waited until I slipped back into my room before his door clicked shut, and mine quickly followed.

That tiny sound was just enough to wake the man in the bed, and when I turned to him, the sight took my breath away. Because there was Spencer, the man I loved, reaching his arms out into the darkness and grabbing the empty air as he whined, begging me to come to him faster.

And I did. Tossing the bucket onto the table, I rushed over to him and threw myself into the bed beside him without any grace. With a similar restlessness, Spencer wound his arms around me as soon as I was within his reach, pulling me as close as he could without sacrificing all the air in my lungs.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against my hair.

“Don’t worry. I’m back,” I whispered back. The words were lost in his shirt, but he somehow heard them well enough to ask, “Where did you go?”

I didn’t know how exactly to describe what had happened, so I told one of those lies I’d contemplated earlier. “To get ice,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was just a very inefficient summary.

Spencer didn’t care, either. In fact, he giggled at the thought, nuzzling his face down into my neck and tickling me with his lips as he mumbled, “Let me warm you up.”

It did succeed in warming me up, but only because it turned into a fit of giggles and more intense tickling. His fingers danced along my sides and his whispers turned back to the same kisses that we’d started the night with.

But it couldn’t last forever. The poor guy still had only had a couple hours of sleep, and I felt the excitement wear off all at once, leaving him only half-awake on the pillow beside me. He still found the energy to look at me like there were stars in my eyes.

“Where did you really go?” he asked again, dragging his hand over my cheek like he could see the tears I’d shed just a few moments before.

“Just ice. I promise,” I answered, ending the thought with a quick kiss on his palm. When I could tell that he didn’t believe that, I brought my hands up to his face as I snickered, “See? Cold hands.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he just leaned forward, letting our noses touch and pulling me in to him again. His eyes fluttered shut, and I could almost see the way his body started to return to sleep as he barely muttered, “No cold feet, though?”

It took me a moment to register the words, and once I did, I still couldn’t believe them.

“Cold feet for what?” I whispered back.

Spencer’s answer only came in the form of a dreamy laugh. He didn’t open his eyes again, instead choosing to drop his face back into my shoulder just like he had before. This time there were even fewer kisses against my neck before he went still again.

Once again, I was left with my thoughts. Only this time they weren’t scary. Because marrying Spencer Reid was not the worst thing to imagine by far. In fact, there were very few things I’d ever wanted more.

—————————————————

| Part 23 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid request #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 3 years

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Marauders #22

I absolutely hated this issue, so be warned that’s a lot of salt here, and my usual whining, so skip this post if you’re not in the mood for that. Also spoilers below.

First impression - what absolute, self-indulgent horseshit. I hesitate to use “fanfic” in a derogatory way, but a lot of Marauders has read as being very “fanfic” in terms of self-indulgence, and greatly favoring certain characters while denigrating others. I actually don’t think that’s a bad thing in fanfic. It can be annoying to read if that’s not what you’re looking for (or it can be wonderful, if it IS what you’re looking for), but ultimately, fanfic is all about self-indulgence. It’s about writing what you want to see in a story, and if Duggan’s Marauders was someone’s actual fanfic, I wouldn’t have anything bad to say about it. I might dislike the characterization, and probably wouldn’t read it, but it ultimately wouldn’t matter because it’s fanfic. Frankly, I’m just as bad about constantly centering everything around Pyro (and finding ways to work him into stories where he doesn’t even belong), because I’m writing just for myself, so I can be self-indulgent. But I’d expect much better from a professional writer. I’d expect much better from someone being paid to write a team book. I’d expect a god-damn balanced book that actually pays attention to the whole cast and gives a thoughtful interpretation to ALL the characters, even the villains, rather than a book dedicated to shining a spotlight on two already well-established characters, and treating them like queens who step all over the rest of the cast.

So, we ignore almost everything set up at the Gala, including the attack on Christian and the Marauder (the ship) being set ablaze. Why aren’t the characters handling that, Duggan? Is that really being saved for another month? We don’t even know if Christian is dead or not, you can’t even spare a panel for Iceman reacting to this? Instead, we tell a flashback story that eventually reveals that Lourdes Chantel is still alive, and Emma helped her fake her own death to escape from an abusive Sebastian.

What exactly is the point of this story, in terms of the overall Marauders arc? Will Lourdes show up later to play a role? Is this meant to further push Sebastian along some kind of path to redemption (recognizing that he drove Lourdes away with his actions). Because so far, Duggan doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested in rehabilitating Sebastian. This seems like yet another story establishing Emma GOOD, Sebastian BAD, the same message that’s been getting pounded into the readers’ heads for 22 issues. Like, we KNOW, Duggan. We know that you think the sun shines out of Emma’s ass, you’ve already well-established that you think she’s a brilliant, wonderful, compassionate, badass queen, through 22 issues of centering the entire series around her, at the expense of EVERY other fucking character in the book (even sometimes Kate, the other obvious favorite). It’s gotten beyond tiresome at this point. Like, I feel like even people who love Emma and hate Sebastian are getting bored by now, because it’s not even good storytelling to have a strawman villain who is no real threat just getting repeatedly knocked down.

So, Duggan has taken both Sebastian and Emma, and further removed any kind of complexity or nuance from them. Sebastian can’t have a kind or tender side, he can’t ever be shown in a positive light. His relationship was Lourdes was previously part of his tragic origins, pushing him to be a worse person than he’d been in a past, but no, lets retcon him to be a controlling abuser, whom Lourdes is desperate to escape. Because it makes Sebastian look bad and Emma look good. Honestly, it would have been more interesting and powerful to have Lourdes come back from the dead, and be disgusted by the person Sebastian has become. That would actually have an impact.

And by the way, why did Lourdes need Emma’s help in establishing her new identity? She was already part of the Hellfire Club, she’s the one who brought Sebastian in, she’s rich as fuck. Lourdes should be well capable of getting away from Sebastian on her own. She might need Emma’s help for faking her own death, but the rest of it? Emma should just do a little hacking to access Lourdes’ personal fortune and transfer it into a new account, and then she’s good to go. But no, Lourdes has to be treated like a little lost lamb, a helpless battered woman for Emma to rescue. And Emma’s deal with the Kingpin further exonerates Emma for her past crimes, because obviously, she’s just working off the debt she incurred helping poor, innocent Lourdes! It can’t be that Emma did bad things in the past because she was ambitious, cruel, vain, and power-hungry, she has to be a woke queen who was always there to help other women.

I think Duggan thinks he’s being feminist with all this, with the “women help each other,” message, and either ignoring or villifying all the male characters. But he’s not. It’s not feminist to take a very complex, interesting, powerful woman like Emma Frost and completely remove all responsibility and agency for her past crimes by turning her into an abuse victim and repeatedly retconning her to be better than she actually was. (To be fair, Duggan is just continuing a trend already started by other writers). Emma is ambitious, power-hungry, cruel, callous, self-absorbed, vain and snobby. But she is also brave, intelligent, compassionate, kind, protective, heroic, and self-sacrificing. All of those things are part of Emma. She is a teacher who loved her students, and the love for those students is part of what sent Emma on her long, difficult path towards redemption. Yes, she’s a badass queen, but she is also a flawed individual, who has worked to overcome those flaws and become a better person. And constantly re-writing the past to make her an “always good” abuse victim who only ever committed crimes because the big bad men forced her into it cheapens that redemption.

Speaking of cheap redemption -

The Wilhelmina subplot: Wow, Duggan really will prioritize ANY character over Bishop, Iceman and Pyro, won’t he? I know this is me throwing a tantrum, because “Wah, Duggan is writing someone other than my favorites!” but after 22 issues I feel justified in this whining. Iceman, Bishop and Pyro are supposed to be regular cast members, and so far Duggan has given more serious development and emotional scenes to Callisto, Forge, Dolores (the human contact at the X-Desk), Masque, Jumbo Carnation, Magneto, the Cuckoos, and now Wilhelmina. I don’t mind the development for many of those characters, I like Callisto and Forge and Jumbo (although I’m a little annoyed at the Magneto stuff, since he’s already front and center in the Krakoa era, and about to star in a mini-series, does he really need more time in the spotlight?). But honestly? Fuck Wilhelmina. I was never that interested in the Hellfire brats, and I’m not the slightest bit interested in watching the retcon redemption of a character that murders animals for fun. Why does she get a spotlight story while the three dudes on the team STILL haven’t gotten anything more than vague background hints of character arcs. I mean, compare the very emotional flashback and Wilhelmina’s breakdown to the half-assed, mostly taking place off- panel “redemption” that Duggan has given Pyro. Just a single line of “maybe this crew is bringing out the best in me,” with no lead-up, no further reflection, no hints about Pyro changing his ideas before then. Why did you even put Iceman, Bishop and Pyro on the team if you’re not going to use them, Duggan? Because you’ve made it quite clear that you’d rather write ANY character other than them. I can’t even look forward to Tempo and Banshee joining the cast next issue, even though I like them (and I really want to see more development of Tempo), because I know they will be yet more characters that get pushed into the foreground, while Iceman, Bishop and Pyro remain the underdeveloped background clown trio.

Also, it seems kind of offensive to have a cruel, murderous female character, and then say that her cruelty is entirely due to sexual abuse? What kind of message does that send to sexual abuse victims? That it will turn you into a monster? Why do female villains keep getting sexual abuse as part of their backstory? Why can’t they just be bad? Or have something else going on? So the Cuckoos flip a switch in Wilhelmina and she’s magically “fixed,” or at least on her way to better? Again, I think Duggan thinks he’s being feminist with this, but he’s not.

At least Wllhelmina has been a recurring villain in this series, so I can kinda see how her potential redemption may move the plot along, but Duggan is still introducing new plot threads, while leaving so many others dangling. What about Christian? What about Shinobi and Fenris? Will Bobby and Christian ever even speak to each other again? Will the supposed main cast members of Iceman, Bishop and Pyro ever, EVER get a proper character arc?

Or will we get an entire issue of Emma, Kate and the Cuckoos giving Wilhelmina a redemptive make-over, because girl power, amiright?

#not tagging on purpose #not trying to gum up the tags with my extreme salt #but seriously this was my least favorite issue so far #at least the revenge issue just destroyed Sebastian's body not his character #really fuck this nonsense it was terrible

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gloryofluv · 3 years

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Traditionally Obscure Chapter 33

Arteeeem!!!

Previous Chapter

Rosa and Artem were walking out the door after work. It was unusual to have an NXX meeting in the late afternoon after work. However, after the two-week span of two being absent, there was a need to review new information.

The fact that new information was going to be another great leg up in the direction they needed to take. Since her last trial in regards to NXX, it seems things grew quiet. A new lead was an excellent charge forward.

Artem seemed to be in decent spirits, even before they left the office. He even laughed at one of Celestine’s jokes, which Rosa had never seen. Celestine was acting a bit odd. Well, Rosa asking her questions earlier might have crossed a line, but she didn’t think so. In short, her first day back at work wasn’t half bad. That was the synopsis, and Artem’s subtle smile declared it was similar for him… until they walked toward the parking lot.

A familiar smile greeted them when they rounded the corner. “Good afternoon, Artem, Rosa,” Vyn declared.

Rosa beamed and skipped over to him. “Good afternoon! How was your day?”

He rocked his head and ran his fingers over his vest. “Yes, far better after we spoke on the phone. I hope your day was excellent.”

Artem approached and ran his fingers over his tie. “What are you doing here, Vyn?”

“I felt that I could stop here on the way and take Rosa over myself,” Vyn smiled.

Artem inhaled, and his expression read mild annoyance. “I don’t see the point.”

Rosa pinched the bridge of her nose. “Artem, please. We talked about this,” she sighed.

Vyn arched an eyebrow in the slightest. “Shall we head out?” he asked Rosa.

“How about we meet you over there?” Artem suggested. “We haven’t gone over anything in regards to NXX.”

“That’s quite alright. We are going to do a review. Besides, I’ve been waiting to see her all day,” Vyn smiled and took Rosa’s hand before bending to kiss it.

She beamed and ran her thumb against his hand before glancing at Artem. His face was vacant of emotion, but his eyes were sharp, and his cheeks dusted with color. “I will see you both there,” he nodded.

Vyn straightened his form and watched as Artem walked toward his car. Rosa noted the tension clearly, but there wasn’t an obvious reason, well, aside from Artem’s clear disapproval. However, he hadn’t voiced it to Vyn, so it was a conundrum.

His eyes found her, and he nodded. “Shall we go? I’d love to hear about your first day back in the office.”

Rosa rocked her head, and Vyn led her with gentle encouragement toward his own car. He opened the passenger door and assisted, though unnecessary, with her sitting down. The monotony of the day melted with his easy smile.

Soon, he was in the driver’s seat and buckled before turning to her and sighing. “I’ve missed you today. I know that seems quite odd considering we’ve seen each other every day for two weeks.”

“It was difficult to return to our old normal,” Rosa agreed and removed the hair from her face.

Vyn tilted his head and reached over, caressing her cheek. “Those are interesting. I haven’t seen you wear those earrings before.”

Her face warmed, and she smiled. “Oh, yes, Artem gave them to me today as a welcome home gift. I know he was worried, and he was sincere about my efforts.”

Vyn dropped his hand and rocked his head. “I’m positive he was,” Vyn sighed and shook his head. “Let’s go.”

Rosa felt the sting of some sort of recoil, but she wasn’t positive why. Vyn pulled the car out of the parking space, and she shifted in her seat. “You seem displeased.”

“Not with you,” Vyn took a chance and smiled over at her. “He shouldn’t have given you such an extravagant gift. It sends the wrong message.”

“Wrong message?” Rosa inquired with a scowl.

Vyn was silent for a moment and ran his thumbs traced the wheel. There was the appearance of a debate that entered his expression, and he nodded. “Did your mother ever talk to you about dating, Rosa? Maybe a conversation about boys and the premise of courting?”

Rosa winced and shook her head. “No, she really never did. She told me that what matters is how you feel about a person and be the best version of myself before I thought about dating anyone. Beauty is fleeting, but intelligence and kindness are the foundation for a fulfilling marriage.”

“So, you’ve never had a conversation about expectations with your mother or possibly another female figure?” He questioned.

“Well, unless you count Kiki, but she has an interesting take on dating,” Rosa giggled and shook her head. “However, she is the closest thing I have to be able to ask questions in regards to dating.”

Vyn smiled and tilted his head. “Well, that is different, to be sure. I don’t mind clarifying questions. I don’t expect you to be perfect. I, myself, have never taken steps in courting before, so I am learning too,” he voiced.

Rosa beamed and ran her fingers through her hair. “You do have far more knowledge than I do, Vyn. I feel silly asking you if I’m doing things incorrectly. I even asked Celestine today if she had any advice. That didn’t go over very well. She was nearly writing my vows for me. I don’t even know why she was so excited about me asking her.”

“I see,” Vyn hummed. “I want to tell you a story.”

“Okay,” Rosa nodded.

Vyn stopped at a light and breathed. “In Svart, it was a large lesson that young men and women receive from their parents and instructors. The concept of courting is a huge commitment and respected as such. We were taught what types of gifts have certain symbolism. A flower with its own symbolism is a given, but jewelry is a large statement. It usually is given after courting for some time and celebrated for a milestone, such as a birthday together, a holiday, or in plenty of cases, pre-engagement.”

Her lips thinned as she glanced over. “That is quite interesting.”

“Yes, so my friend, one of which I do intend for you to meet eventually, he was close with this young baroness. He had decided to give her a beautiful set of earrings for her birthday. They were silver horns on account of them being music majors together. Her parents were rather upset due to her courting a viscount in the neighboring province.”

“They were upset at the earrings because of the symbolism?” Rosa questioned.

“Yes, quite. Enough for my musician friend to write an apology to her parents and announce that his intentions were only of a platonic manner and he was sorry to offend, you see, the traditions in Stellis aren’t as rigid or formed. However, it still is a manner I believe most upper-class society goes by out here as well.”

Rosa tucked her chin as her cheeks bloomed with bright color. “So, Artem’s gift, is it offensive to you?”

“It is, and even more so that he had given it to you after knowing about our courtship. However, I’m not displeased with you accepting it. I want that to be clear. It isn’t you who offended me. Artem may not even know he has crossed a line either. However, any man willing to give a lady jewelry after finding out about her seeing someone exclusively best have a better reason than a simple gift of gratitude or appreciation,” Vyn finished, and his expression tightened as his hands on the wheel gripped.

Rosa removed her hair from around her ears and took the golden wings off. It was that simple. If it was offensive to him, then she shouldn’t be wearing it. “I’m sorry I didn’t know, Vyn. I wouldn’t have accepted the gift had I known.”

His tension lessened, and he smiled as he parked the car. “I know, Rosa. You don’t need to apologize for it. I don’t mind that you accepted the gift. I would most certainly tell you if I thought it was a slight against me.”

Rosa placed the earrings back into the box in her purse and turned to smile at him. “I hope so. I’m sorry I’m not educated on this. I know I have plenty to catch up on, but I will put in my best effort.”

He chuckled and reached over, caressing her cheek. “Just be you. I adore you for who you are, not for your achievements, though stellar and wonderful, nor your experience.”

She pressed her hand over his and inhaled. “I adore you as well.”

Vyn leaned closer to her, and his lips stretched. “You are a magnificent woman. I’m enamored by your very existence. I could never deceive my own heart,” he murmured.

Rosa bent toward him and tilted her head. “Your own heart?”

“Yes, for you have it,” he nodded.

Rosa coiled her arm around his shoulder and sighed. “Vyn.”

He closed the distance and kissed her. It wasn’t like in his garden on Saturday. This kiss was delicate with a hint of something more. The softness of his fingers sliding into her locks as his heartbeat in a swift rhythm under her hand that traced his vest.

Vyn’s tongue had playfully touched her lips before pulling away. Rosa covered her giant grin and giggled with her hand. That likely wasn’t a positive reaction, but Vyn’s smile didn’t fade as he observed her.

“I’m sorry, I was a bit zealous,” he said.

“No, please, don’t. I just,” Rosa sputtered as she pulled her hand away. “Can we try that again?”

Vyn inhaled, and his fingers tangled in her hair. They met in the middle, and Rosa sighed as their lips touched. It was this beautiful flutter that developed in her chest as he cradled her head. Her fingers felt jittery on his chest as she caressed his vest button and tie.

Soft movements of lips. Coaxing her from her anxiety. Vyn Richter was the equivalent of an adrenaline rush. His tongue slid along her lower lip, and her natural reaction to return the favor was greeted with a thrumming sigh that rumbled in his chest. Her heart sped up at the sound, and she could feel the heat she was radiating getting caught between her neck and hair.

The knock at the window interrupted them as Vyn pulled away. “If you two are done playing tongue football, we have a meeting,” Marius declared from the sidewalk.

“Enough, Marius,” Vyn voiced.

Marius grinned and waved at Rosa, who ducked her chin. “Hello, Missy. You look rather cute with a deep blush and red lips. I think I painted similarly recently.”

“Stop it,” Rosa retorted and unbuckled her seat belt.

“I would love to have a live model one of these days,” he teased and pulled away from the car.

Rosa puffed and dug in her bag for a hair tie. “He’s incorrigible,” she grumbled with reddened cheeks.

Vyn adjusted his tie and straightened his vest. “Unfortunately, he’s correct as well in regards to the meeting. We should get going.”

“Yes,” she breathed and pulled her hair up and away from her neck.

Vyn touched her arm before climbing from the car. He walked around, opening her car door, and sighed. “Marius, did you have to wait for us?”

“I did it because someone needs to chaperone you, obviously. That wasn’t innocent once so ever. I’d say I’m impressed, Vyn, but I believe that’s all Rosa. She’s the one with the natural talent.”

“Green is a poor color on you,” Vyn declared as Rosa gripped his hand.

Marius glared. “Same could be said for you.”

“I haven’t a stitch of it on me,” Vyn smiled and gestured with his free hand to the door. “Let’s go have our meeting.”

Marius rolled his eyes and opened the door. “We’ll have to agree on a no PDA in the headquarters rule.”

“Marius, please,” Rosa groaned and shook her head. “Let’s just go have our meeting.”

“I agree,” Vyn said, and the three of them walked inside.

#tears of themis #tears of themis fanfic #tot fanfic #tot #tears of themis vyn #vyn richter #tears of themis mc #tot fluff #tot angst #tot vyn #tot mc #tot romance #royal society

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dothwrites · 4 years

Note

Destiel, perhaps arranged marriage enemies to lovers tropes, with one or both thinking the other is dead and then REUNION. Bonus points for medieval au, mafia au, or no one actually says “I love you” until AFTER THE REUNION

---

I fiddled around with the prompt a little bit; hopefully this is what you wanted! also this has been in my inbox for forever and a day i’m such trash i’m sorry

---

Dean wakes to a hand clamped over his mouth and nose. He’s suffocating.

His hand grabs under the pillow for his gun before he remembers: there are no weapons allowed in the Novak’s inner sanctum. At least, he’s not allowed weapons. He jerks against the hand but those fingers are pure steel, pushing down on his mouth and nose until the lack of air makes him dizzy.

Cold eyes glint down at him. Dean’s brain, working at double-speed, easily places the face.

Castiel Novak.

When it comes to Castiel Novak, son of Michael Novak, there’s a whole host of emotions swirling in Dean’s chest. Some of them are good, some of them are murderous, and all of them roar up to the surface as he looks at Cas.

Castiel isn’t supposed to enter his bedroom without express permission. It was one of the many rules hashed out when the exchange was made. For Castiel to break it means that he has some kind of death wish. Either that, or something’s very wrong.

Judging from the grim look on Cas’ face, Dean’s willing to go with the second option.

“What’s wrong?” He tries to ask, except Castiel’s hand is still over his mouth, so the words come out in a garbled wuss wruuung. Dean glares venom at Castiel and finally manages to yank Castiel’s hand away from his mouth (no small task, Castiel is like a brick wall).

“You need to come with me,” Castiel says, his low, rough voice brooking no disagreement.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

If possible, Castiel’s expression hardens further. “Get out of bed and get dressed.”

Furious, Dean starts to argue, but the soft click of a safety being removed stops him. Moonlight glints off the barrel of Castiel’s gun as he points it directly at Dean’s face. “I said,” Castiel orders, his voice smooth and deadly as poisoned silk, “get out of bed and get dressed.”

Dean’s upper lip lifts in a snarl, but he does as ordered. For now, he’s forced into compliance, at least until he can come up with a plan. “You’re fucking dead, Novak,” he mutters, searching for his pants.

Castiel says nothing, but keeps the gun trained on him until Dean is dressed down to his boots and jacket. “Pack a bag. Only take what you need.”

Questions rise, but Dean voices none of them. He already knows it wouldn’t do him any good. Castiel’s not a chatty man at the best of times, less so when he has a gun in his hand. Dean turns to his closet, looking for his duffel back, left virtually untouched. He’s never unpacked since he moved into the Novak compound, too homesick and resentful to try making a new home out of this place.

“You gonna kill me, Cas?” he asks, turning to face Castiel and holding his arms open in apparent surrender.

“Come with me,” is all Castiel says, before he gestures with the gun towards the door. “Quietly. If you scream, it’s worth your life.”

---

The kicker is, Dean thought that he and Castiel were actually...well...not friends exactly, but whatever came before friends. Allies. Maybe partners, if he was being optimistic. After all, it’s not like Castiel didn’t get equally screwed in the deal between John Winchester and Michael Novak.

Everyone who wasn’t John Winchester or Michael Novak got screwed in the deal. It was simple: an exchange between the families, an eldest son for an eldest son. Dean Winchester went to the Novaks, while Gabriel Novak went to the Winchesters. The exchange was meant to keep peace between the two families, and usher in a new era of cooperation, or whatever bullshit they said to try and sell it. Dean’s brain had shut down around the same time his father told him he would be going to the Novaks. One look at his father told him that protesting would be for naught: he would be going to the Novaks, as helpless as a child bride, while an enemy would be coming to take his place.

Dean had arrived at the Novak’s compound and been met by Castiel Novak. If he hadn’t hated the other man for everything he stood for, then he would have been impressed by the unruly dark hair, the luminous blue eyes, the chiseled jaw, all topping a taut, muscular body dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. But Castiel’s family had ripped him away from everything he’d known, taken him away from Sam, and put an imposter in his place.

When Dean was dumped into an unfamiliar place, it was Castiel who was his guide. Castiel, who was about as thrilled at Dean’s presence in his house as Dean was, but who still tolerated his presence. Dean followed Castiel around, learning the layout of the mansion, but never coming close to the Novak’s secrets. Not that he expected to, but he still felt like he was falling down on the job, failing his family by not gathering every piece of information about an enemy that he could. Eventually, Castiel’s taciturn nature had softened, leading Dean to the apparently mistaken presumption that he and Castiel were on track to become partners.

How wrong he’d been.

---

Dean and Castiel walk through familiar halls to an unfamiliar staircase. The gun pointed at his back keeps their pace fairly brisk. Dean keeps searching for some kind of weapon, only to come up empty. He would try to rush Castiel and take the gun, but he’s sparred against Cas a few times. Though it’s a hit to his pride to admit, he’s not entirely sure he could beat Castiel in a fight, even if the qualifier of the gun weren’t an issue.

“If you’re going to kill me, don’t you want an audience?” Dean’s steps echo on the steps, Castiel following close behind. “Got the definite impression most of you Novaks would be only too happy to see my brains blown out.”

Dean Winchester is not known for making friends.

“Hurry up,” is all Castiel says in reply, as he leads Dean to a door almost hidden in the dark paneling of the room. Dean’s never seen this part of the Novak mansion, and he hesitates to think of what’s behind that door--torture chambers? Whatever it is, it’s likely to be unpleasant.

Still, it’s not like he has a choice in the matter, so he opens the door, and steps into...

“A garage?” Of all possible rooms, he wasn’t expecting this. Dozens of cars, antiques as well as the newest models of sport cars, sit gleaming in the dim light. “You want me to fix your engine?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Castiel growls, but there’s more exasperation than true anger in the voice. “Come here, and hurry, we don’t have a lot of time.”

For the first time, it occurs to Dean that he might not have a full grip on this situation.

Castiel passes all of the cherries in the garage and leads him to a small, dumpy looking sedan. Dean wrinkles his nose in distaste (every car he compares to the Impala is ultimately found lacking, but this car is particularly offensive), even as Castiel presses a pair of keys and a thin slip of paper into his hand.

“Take this car and go to that address. Everything’s been set up; you’ll have food and supplies for about six weeks. I assume you know enough to change cars as soon as you can so that one can’t be traced. You’ll have to dump your phone as soon as you can, preferably in a different place than you dump the car.”

“Cas, what the hell are you talking about?” Dean’s been willing to go along with this for a while (guns are a good way of ensuring compliance), but here is where he draws the line. “You need to explain yourself right the fuck now.”

Castiel clenches his jaw as thunder and lightning flicker in his eyes. Dean knows, from painful experience, that Castiel doesn’t enjoy having his will thwarted, but there’s no alternative. Castiel seems to assume that Dean will placidly comply with his whims, but Dean has never placidly complied with anything.

“You’re in danger, but if you do what I say, then you’ll be in slightly less danger.”

Cas pushes at Dean’s shoulder, but Dean whips his hand out, catching Cas’ wrist in his hand. “Gonna have to do a lot better than that, Cas,” he warns, squeezing just tightly enough to spark a hint of pain as the tiny bones grind together.

Cas snarls with impatience before yanking his wrist out of Dean’s grip. “This whole agreement, the exchange...It’s all a setup. You, me, Gabriel, and Sam--we’re all pawns.”

Dean blinks. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“In about twenty minutes, several members of the Novak family are going to storm your bedroom with the intent to kill you, while across town, the same thing is happening in Gabriel’s room. In the morning, the eldest son of the Winchesters and the eldest son of the Novaks will both be dead, under the roof of the family who was, up until a few weeks ago, their worst enemy.” A twisted, bitter smile plays at Castiel’s mouth.

“They want to start a war,” Dean breathes, disbelief and horror warring within him. What Cas is saying sounds so ludicrous, and yet...What reason would Cas have to lie?

Castiel’s face is grim as he nods. “The Novaks blame the Winchesters, the Winchesters blame the Novaks, and then, just to complicate matters, Lucifer will also claim responsibility.”

“Why?”

Castiel shrugs, arms thrown wide in helplessness. “To sow chaos? Power? The city’s three most powerful families caught in a war? Whoever survives, whoever’s alive at the end...That family will have everything. They’ll own everything.”

“And that’s worth the risk?”

Castiel shrugs, a helpless little edge in the gesture. “If you think you’ll win, then I suppose so. The problem is, all three think they can win.”

Castiel’s eyes are dark as something complicated swirls behind them. Absurdly, Dean’s heart lurches forward. For a second, he wants--But then he forces himself to pull back. “And running away will help?”

“It’s the best plan I could come up with on short notice,” Castiel snaps. “You need to get to the safe house now.”

“Wait,” Dean breathes, as the pieces finally start to click. “You said...the assholes that are coming to kill me...They’re coming to my house...” Rage lights in him and Dean surges forward. Heedless of the gun in Castiel’s hand, he wraps his fingers around the other man’s throat. “You son of a bitch, my brother is there!”

He squeezes, sick satisfaction curling in him as he watches a red flush spread to Castiel’s cheeks. He only has a moment to savor the feeling before Castiel shoves him away.

“Asshole,” he coughs. His eyes water but he never blinks as he stares at Dean. “My brother’s in that house too. You think I’d let him get killed?” His upper lip curls, whether in anger or disdain, Dean doesn’t know. “Gabriel and Sam are headed to the same safe house that you are.”

“And you? Where are you going?”

Castiel fixes his gaze on a point beyond Dean’s shoulder. “We can’t all disappear. Someone has to stay.”

Furious for reasons he can’t comprehend, Dean snaps, “And that someone has to be you?”

Castiel clenches his jaw around his words. “It’s bad enough that you, Gabriel, and Sam are all going to disappear on the same night. You’re going to have the Winchesters, the Novaks, and Lucifer all on your trail. But if I stay, then I can try to cover you for as long as I can.”

“Or you could get yourself killed!” Dean drags his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t know why the thought of Cas getting hurt sits so sour in his stomach, but it does, to the point where he thinks he might vomit if he thinks about it too long. “Your family isn’t stupid. They’re going to see me gone, and they’re going to connect the dots pretty damn quickly!”

“I can make it look like you overpowered me. I can take care of myself.” Cas glares. “And none of this is going to matter if you don’t get the hell out of here.”

“I’m not leaving without you.” Dean plants his feet.

Dean’s ready for Cas to throw a punch or shove a gun in his face. But he’s not ready for Cas to lunge forward, face like a tempest, and drag him close with one hand twisted in his hair. He’s not ready for Cas’ lips to crash into his, he’s not ready for a swirl of lust and want and affection to hit him with the force of a truck.

For a few blessed seconds, he and Cas are the only people in the world. Dean’s world narrows to Cas’ lips, Cas’ touch, Cas’ body pressed against him. Dean’s mouth opens under the onslaught and Cas takes advantage, his tongue mapping the contours of Dean’s mouth with a thoroughness bordering on savagery.

Dean could get lost in Cas, could go so far under that he never makes it back to the surface. He pulls himself away and tries to get rid of the feeling like he left something important behind.

“Please,” Cas asks, his voice rough and wrecked. “Please go.” He forces a sickly smile. “Once the heat dies down, I’ll join you. I promise.”

Over the course of his life, Dean’s become quite the accomplished liar. He thought Cas be the same, but the man folds like a bad hand of cards. Grief rips through Dean as Cas pushes him towards the car.

“If you don’t come--” Dean starts, only to be cut off by Cas’ lips pressed into his. He pulls away, much as it hurts, and holds Cas’ chin in a harsh grip. “If you don’t show up, then we’re coming for you, and that’s going to cause a damn big ruckus, so you’d better show up.”

“Of course.” Cas’ mouth might say one thing, but his sad eyes say another. “Please, you’re running out of time. Please Dean, please go.”

Dean throws his duffel into the backseat and turns back to Cas. This time, they move as one, their hands grappling through hair and clothes, mouths and teeth clacking in an awkward tangle of need and want. “You’d better fucking show up,” Dean hisses, nipping at Cas’ lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Go,” Cas pleas.

Cas pulls Dean’s hand away from him. His touch is so deft and sure that Dean doesn’t realize he’s been given the gun until Cas wraps his fingers around the barrel. He looks between it and Cas, confusion and fear clashing within him.

“You have to make this look real.”

Dean looks down at the gun again. “I’m not going to shoot you!”

A quick smile flashes across Cas’ face, sweet enough to break Dean’s heart. “Please don’t. But if you want to help me sell this thing, then you have to make it look like we had a struggle.”

Cas’ eyes are steady as he looks at Dean, and the gun is a solid weight in his hand. Dean’s stomach clenches as he lifts the gun. “Do it,” Cas whispers, and he might think that helps, but it just sends another jolt of guilt straight through him.

Dean looks past Cas’ shoulder as he hefts the gun. He brings it crashing against Cas’ temple in one quick, harsh blow. The sound of impact churns his stomach and he can’t help but moan as Cas crashes down to his knees. Blood trickles from underneath his hairline, tracing a thin path down his cheek.

Castiel Novak is a tough son of a bitch.

Dean hit him, full strength, with the intention of putting him down. Cas isn’t fighting against him, Cas wants to go down. And yet, the part of Cas that claws to survival with a tenacious, desperate grip, is still clinging onto consciousness.

Make it real, Cas said, knowing that being knocked unconscious was the only way he could ever hope to sell the subterfuge of Dean’s escape.

Dean owes Cas not only his life, but Sam’s life as well. If there’s anything he can do for Cas, even if it tears him apart, he has to try.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, just before he slams the butt of the gun into Cas’ head.

With a sick, wet sound, Cas hits the ground and doesn’t get up.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Dean turns Cas onto his side, careful not to jostle him too much. The thin trickle of blood has become a stream which covers the side of his face in crimson. Dean’s heart catches in his chest at the sight, and he doesn’t relax until his shaking fingers press against Cas’ jaw to find his pulse. It’s a little thready, but still steady.

Reluctantly, Dean pulls away. He wants to take the time to lay Cas out and make him comfortable. It feels wrong, leaving Cas unconscious on the cold, dirty floor, but it would look suspicious if Cas was arranged neatly. Cas is trusting him to do this right; Cas is trusting Dean to take care of him.

Dean swings himself into the car and starts the engine. The garage door opens and freedom beckons by way of the open road. Down that road is Sam and safety. Dean knows he needs to follow that path. He needs to take care of Sam.

But he still can’t help looking back in the rearview, heart twisting in his chest at the sight of Cas’ crumpled figure.

part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi

NOW COMPLETE

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fic #dean winchester #castiel #enemies to lovers #mafia!au #part i of iii #maybe #anyway i'm not done but this was getting monstrous #dothwrites

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

A Few Days Off for Christmas, Part Two

In which Killian Jones isn’t as retired as he originally claimed to be, cute kids continue to be cute, and home ownership is pondered against the backdrop of the world’s most competitive air hockey tournament.

Or: Christmas at the Vankald brownstone

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Rating: f l u f f Word Count: 8.8 of all that aforementioned fluff AN: Hey, remember when I wrote a bunch of Christmas-themed Blue Line stores and then only posted one of them? Attempts to remedy that are currently being made, so we’ve got the Christmas after Killian retires and just before Chris is born, with almost too much fluff, peak!Vankald feelings, and Elsa accepting none of Killian’s nonsense. Plus kissing, I am who I am.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

----

The door was going to fly off its hinges.

One bump became two, evolving into several kicks before it turned into something astoundingly similar to a hip check and—“Oh my God,” Killian groaned, squeezing his eyes shut while also doing his best to melt into the mattress. Didn't work.

He hadn’t really expected it to.

“Your fault,” Emma mumbled, half into the pillow and partially into the mess of hair covering that same pillow. Her hair was everywhere. And she was smiling. Killian didn’t bother double checking

Maybe smiled himself, actually. Despite whatever was happening on the other side of the door. None of the noises resembled an actual knock. Cracking open one eye, the ends of his mouth tilted up slowly and his hand moved before he even thought about it, reaching out to trace the curve of Emma’s stomach.

Another noise.

They were going to have to get out of bed eventually.

Or the kids in the hallway would resort to drastic measures.

“How’d you get to that conclusion, exactly?” Killian asked, twisting until he managed to lift his arm up in some unspoken attempt to get Emma closer to him. Getting out of bed could wait five minutes. Possibly six if they were feeling exceptionally greedy.

It was Christmas Eve, after all.

Something about the holiday, although that would also suggest the opposite of greed and probably something else about peace on Earth and goodwill amongst men, but the door was not going to stand up to much more of this and if Emma kept biting her lower lip like that Killian wasn’t sure he could be held accountable for his actions. Ten minutes more in bed, at least.

“Your kid is checking the door, Cap,” Emma said, voice lacking any frustration, “how could this be anyone else’s fault?”

His heart jumped.

Skipped a beat, and then defied several other biological rules, and none of that should surprise him anymore. Not when they were nearly six months removed from the third Stanley Cup, and the prospect of a full Jones line wasn’t all that intimidating. Even with the limited space in their apartment. They’d figure it out. Had to, really. And all of it was good. Perfect, honestly. Was nice in a way that deserved a far better adjective, because retirement hadn’t really stuck.

Had rather quickly evolved, actually. Into director of player development for the New York Rangers, a job that came with a fancy office and polo shirts that made Emma’s eyes widen ever so slightly, although Killian wasn’t sure if he was supposed to notice that, and Matt came to practice with him.

Regularly.

That was now coming back to haunt Killian.

And the structural integrity of his and Emma’s bedroom door.

“Blame Scarlet,” Killian argued, “he’s ancient, so he’s got nothing better to do during practice than prove his worth to Matt. This is all his technique.” “Ah, well now I kind of feel like a jerk.” “No, no, he does not get your pity. The kid’s leading with his shoulder out there.” “Is that not how it’s supposed to work, then?” Making a noise in the back of his throat only served to hurt the back of Killian’s throat, Emma’s expression some sort of flashing neon sign that he was being effectively teased and—

She gasped.

“Swan?” Far from parenting experts — and closer to apartment-hunting procrastinators than either one of them would like to admit — they had gone through this twice before, so Killian figured there was something to be said for confidence borne of experience, and he wasn’t really nervous at the hitch in Emma’s breath or the overall dexterity of her fingers when she yanked his hand forward.

No noise on that kick, but it was definitely a kick and his heart must have evolved at some point. Beyond human emotion and into the stratosphere of family-based feelings and if Killian didn’t win the air hockey tournament, he was going to be very disappointed.

Matt was yelling in the hallway now.

“Took offense at the technique, I guess,” Emma laughed, “I think he’s trying to show off.” Killian exhaled. That was unexpected. He hadn’t realized he’d decided to hold his breath. Twelve extra minutes in bed, maybe. They were already late, might as well be very late.

The door swung open.

“Dad! Dad! Dad,” Matt yelled, leaping onto the edge of the bed and Emma barely moved her feet in time. Killian wasn’t so lucky.

Groaning when an elbow somehow found its way into his calf, he squeezed his eyes shut again. “What did we talk about with the door, kid?” Killian asked, trying to shift his leg so Matt would realize he needed to move.

No such luck.

All he got was the dramatic sigh of a nine-year-old who appeared close to demanding Christmas-type attention, and Matt’s head hung over the side of the bed as several pillows fell on the floor. “I knocked—kind of.” Emma’s snicker was far too loud.

Killian gaped at her, but that only got him a wider-than-usual smile, and several strands of hair that drifted dangerously close to her eyes when she propped herself up on her elbows. “Nuh uh, don’t look at me like that. It’s Christmas, and that’s my excuse for everything for at least the next seventy-two hours.” “So, the day after Christmas too?” “You heard me.” Killian’s grin threatened the muscles in his cheeks, nosing at the side of Emma’s cheek because he couldn’t get much closer with a kid draped over his stomach. Or while that kid was groaning quite so loud.

“Gross, gross, gross,” Matt chanted, and the distinct lack of footsteps following him should have been their first clue. Killian was willing to blame Christmas for that too.

And Will, just on principle.

“Thanks for the commentary,” Emma grinned, “why were you checking the door?” “I wanted to talk to you guys.” “Did you just?”

“Yuh huh.” Killian’s eyes darted towards Emma’s. Not parenting experts, but at least passably observant and they really should have checked to see where Peggy was. “What about? And for future reference, checking is not the same as knocking. Who’s even teaching you to check like that because if it is actually Scarlet, then—” Matt shook his head. Ducking his gaze, the bedding was suddenly far more interesting than anything Killian could have asked, and Emma shrugged when he glanced up again. “Not Scarlet?” Another head shake. “What’s going on, kid ?” What felt like several hours passed, color rising in Matt’s cheeks — which wasn’t really fair, because watching his own reactions play out on his kid’s face seemed like some form of emotional torture for Killian, who was barely managing to temper his impatience. He rested his hand on Matt’s back.

“At the Piers?” Killian pressed, only to get a noise that was far too familiar as well. Not quite an agreement, but not an argument either and he briefly wondered how the Vankalds ever dealt with him like this. He knew the answer before he asked—“Dylan, huh?” Shrugging couldn’t have been easy for Matt when Emma’s hand joined Killian’s on his back, but he made the effort all the same. It somehow ended with an elbow in Killian’s ribs.

“I’s not a big deal,” Matt muttered. “I just—” “—Wanted to beat down our door?” Killian finished, fully prepared for the scowl he got and Emma’s inability to control the sound of her own reactions might have been one of his favorite things in the world. “He’s not going to be there. They went to visit Eric’s parents this year.”

At some point in the last nine years, it seemed the entire New York Rangers roster had collectively fallen into family mode, a decision that, while not entirely planned, left the lot of them with kids in the same age bracket. And Dylan Havfrue, at just eight months older than Matt, was ready-made for rivalry. Already impossibly tall for a nine-year-old, he was a penalty-minutes record waiting to happen and not nearly as fast as Matt.

It wasn’t that Dylan and Matt didn’t get along. At least when they were off the ice. On the ice, they played the same position on the same team, competing for minutes and stats and, well, at the risk of losing any metaphorical Christmas points, Killian knew Matt was better. Than Dylan.

And just about everyone else at Chelsea Piers.

“Oh,” Matt said, head falling back onto Killian’s chest and for half a moment it felt like years before and they weren’t dealing with some kind of first-ever bully situation.

“You getting checked, kid? Is that what’s going on?”

Matt shrugged again, burrowing closer to Killian like that would somehow make the conversation end. It wouldn’t — but the footsteps finally racing down the hall might, and they’d probably have to reconsider that whole parent of the year thing when it was obvious one of their kids was hopped on pre-Christmas sugar.

Of the stolen variety.

“Do not jump on this bed, Margaret,” Emma warned, but the smile was back and her voice was soft and Peggy barely slowed enough to flop onto the comforter with a soft thump.

Frosting lined the corners of her mouth.

“Why are you guys here?” she asked. “We have to go! We have to go! Aunt Anna said I could—” Pausing to take a deep breath, her shoulders heaved. “I could use her camera this year, and Kris is going to help and—” “—How many cookies, Margaret Jones?” “No cookies!” Scrunching her nose, Emma hummed in disbelief as she leaned forward. To wipe away the frosting. “Next time make sure you get rid of the evidence, huh? How’d you even find the cookies? They’re supposed to be on a shelf.” “Don’t look at me,” Killian balked when Emma stared accusingly at him. “They’re up there. They’ve been up there since last night.” “MD and I got them while you and Dad were asleep,” Peggy explained, as if staging a daring cookie rescue on Christmas Eve was to be expected.

“Mar!” Pushing his hand into Killian’s stomach when he sat up, Matt’s groan echoed around the room .”You weren’t supposed to tell!”

“I was stuck! You ran away and I had to—” “—Wait, what?” Emma interrupted sharply. Neither kid noticed.

Killian resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Fifteen extra minutes in bed. Ten of which should be used to talk about the Dylan thing, and proper checking technique, and then three minutes solely for kissing Emma. They’d use the other two minutes to get the kids out of the room.

Like responsible adults, and successful parents.

“You were taking too long,” Matt said, “and I wanted to talk to Dad and—” “—I had to jump off the counter!” “Alright, alright, alright,” Killian snapped, voice rising on every repeat and both kids sat up straighter. Emma tried to turn her laugh into a noise that didn’t sound like a laugh and it absolutely didn’t work. “No more cookies. No more plans for cookies. No more leaping off the counter, Margaret. Understood?”

“Hockey voice,” Peggy whispered. Or, at least, tried. She glanced meaningfully at Matt, who just widened his eyes in response, lips ticking down and it all felt so painfully familiar and painfully family that any frustration Killian felt disappeared all too quickly.

“Hockey captain voice,” Emma corrected softly, pressing a kiss to Peggy’s temple and grinning at her conspiratorially.

“Swan,” Killian sighed.

She shrugged. “I kind of want a cookie now.” “We know where they are,” Peggy said, rushing over the words like they weren’t an admission and they hadn’t just been talking about the great Christmas Eve cookie theft. “Yeah, I picked up on that. C’mon, lead me to the cookies, Peg, and then we should pack.” “I packed!” “I’ve heard that before. Last year, we got downtown with three t-shirts and no pants. We’re not doing that again, so—let’s go, feet on the floor.”

Peggy grumbled, but she didn’t argue and Killian tried not to smile too widely. At the scene in front of him, or the memory of last Christmas — two shirts with his number on them and another with a Team USA logo on the front, and Locksley emblazoned across the back. It had made Roland blush.

“We’ll save you guys some cookies,” Emma promised, following Peggy out the door and Killian waited until he heard the squeak of glass sliding across the counter before he looked at Matt. Who hadn’t so much as blinked yet.

“You want to talk now?” Killian asked, Matt making an eerily similar noise to the one he’d let out a few minutes earlier. “How come you didn’t say anything about Dylan?” “Wasn’t really a big deal.” “Sure, sure, you’re not supposed to check much at the Piers.” “I’m not the one checking.” “Yeah,” Killian said, tugging on the front of Matt’s shirt. More team-branded merch. That might have been all Matt owned. “He been doing it for long? “Since the start of the season.” “You tell Hopper?” Matt shook his head. “How come you didn’t tell us before, kid? And how come you’re pushing your sister on kitchen counters to steal cookies that we’re supposed to bring downtown?” “I didn’t push Mar on the counter. She got up there on her own. And it was her idea.” Killian narrowed his eyes, filing that particular bit of information away for a day when they weren’t, once again, behind schedule or coping with on-ice issues of a nine-year-old rec league.

Matt played in more than one league.

“Not an answer.” “I know,” Matt sighed. “I just...it’s stupid. He’s stupid.” “It’s not stupid if he’s breaking the rules,” Killian countered, and Ariel was going to be upset. Disappointed, too. Which, as everyone knew, was fundamentally worse. “He can’t check you. You guys are way too young for that.” “You tell all the guys at practice that they don’t need to back down from hits!” Taking a deep breath was impossible when his lungs were busy disintegrating in his chest, but Killian figured it also might have had something to do with the kid still sitting on his legs and Matt didn’t object when he hooked his chin over his shoulder. “They’re getting paid to get hit. Not quite there yet, Mattie.”. “He’s really good at checking,” Matt grumbled. “Better than me. Even Uncle Will thinks so.” “Uncle Will’s opinion on this isn’t important. And he shouldn’t be teaching you how to check either. You’ll end up in the box and then you can’t score goals.” “I guess.” “Them’s the facts, kids.” Matt considered that, body shifting with the force of his sigh and distinct inability to argue. Forty-seven thousand parental points, at least. Killian grinned at him. “You tell us stuff from now on, ok? No matter how stupid you think it is. That’s the gig, for me and Mom.” “And you didn’t really check guys.” “Because I wanted to score goals. Not sit in the box for two minutes.” “Scoring goals is cool.” Killian nodded, trying to regain feeling in his legs. “You know, maybe we could go somewhere that isn’t the Piers sometime and you could take some shots. No checking, just —practice.” “Practice?” “On our own.” “With you?” His stomach joined the fray, that time. Flipping and flying directly into the middle of his throat, which didn’t do much to help his breathing. Worth it. For the look on Matt’s face, which was somewhere in the realm of of overjoyed and that was appropriate on Christmas Eve and—

“When? Could we go during the break? Today? While Rol and Henry are home? You think Uncle Liam will skate? Did they bring skates? I told Lizzie she should bring skates.”

Plans spilled out of Matt, hardly any defined syllables, more half-shouted demands and Killian felt the smile spread across his face quickly and easily and immediately. And if he’d never really considered a family in some kind of chaotic, cookie-stealing, perfect way, then he’d definitely never considered a son who wanted to practice his forehand at every available opportunity.

“Relax,” Killian laughed, a flash of dark hair in the hall as it dashed towards another room and a suitcase that likely had four shirts in it.

“What about the day after tomorrow?”

Matt nearly trampled Killian in his effort to jump off the bed, a cry that almost sounded like yeah several times over, and he barely stopped before he collided with Emma. And the three cookies in her hand.

“What did you do, Swan?”

“With the cookies or—” Wrapping her arm around Matt, she pulled him against her side and he was far too busy announcing roster spots to express any sense of displeasure. The cookie she gave him likely helped too. “Rubes and I might have planned...something.” “As in?” “As in rented out that rink uptown for the day after Christmas because there’s a million and two people coming to the brownstone this year, and we’re going to need something to do after we try to kill each other in air hockey.” “This is a very violent family, we’re always threatening to kill each other.” “Or check,” Matt muttered.

Emma kissed the top of his head.That got a reaction. “It’s also kind of nice. At least the air hockey. And Uncle Liam will totally have skates, so you can wreck him during faceoffs, Mattie.” Whatever noise he made at that wasn’t so much a human sound, as it was something that made Killian’s ears ring. Which he planned to use as an excuse. For walking forward, crowding into Emma’s space and kissing her.

In a crashing, not-quite violent, but decidedly emotional sort of way.

She pushed up on her toes.

“I love you.” “Weird,” Emma said, but she also hadn’t moved her mouth away from his and that helped lessen any sense of insult.

Killian hummed, bending his neck again with every intention to keep making out in the middle of the bedroom, and it wasn't how he initially planned to use his extra minutes, since it did involve far too much standing, but there was also kissing and he hadn’t noticed Matt leave. Only that Peggy was back. In surround sound. “We have to go! There are presents at V’s. Presents! And you guys not being gross.”

Clicking her tongue, Emma managed to stay pressed against Killian, even as she zipped up the backpack hanging off Peggy’s shoulder. “Take at least three jerseys out of your bag, Matthew David,” she added on a shout.

Killian kissed her forehead.

“But, I—” Matt objected, twisted around his doorframe. Emma widened her eyes. Killian assumed. He didn’t look. He was too busy narrowing his eyes. “Fine, fine, but Mar’s got to bring some socks.”

“Hat might not be a bad idea, either,” Killian added. “What about shirts for under the jerseys?” Silence. Of the resounding variety.

“Figures,” Emma scoffed, ushering Peggy back and they were only half an hour behind schedule by the time the lock clicked behind them. Better than usual, really.

The hat, despite assurances that it’s in my bag, I promise never made it to the brownstone — forgotten in the desperation to get downtown for presents and eggnog and the force that had become Mr. and Mrs. Vankald grandparents.

Adopting Roland and Henry into the fold was as natural as anything, the Locksley family welcomed with open arms after that initial Christmas spent on the living room floor. Especially once Regina started baking. And Leo Nolan was in the midst of a Christmas obsession to rival any kid on the planet, certain Santa preferred the cookies left in front of Vankald fireplace above any other offerings.

Liam and Elsa’s twins, far removed from their own obsessions over cookies for Santa, had stepped into key air hockey roles — refereeing and commentating — while Lizzie Vankald-Jones developed a trash-talking talent that left all of them just a bit stunned.

There were, always, enough baked goods to feed several small countries and enough Chinese food to feed a large army, and enough laughter that it echoed in Killian’s head long after they went back uptown. There weren’t enough rooms for them.

The kids all camped out in the living room.

And the front door swung open before Killian could adjust the bags in his hands.

“Why are you lurking by the door, Banana?” “Waiting for my money.” “Excuse me?” “My money,” she repeated, while failing to elaborate any more and this bit they seemed to do every year had gotten old half a dozen Christmases ago.

“They bet on when we’d get here,” Emma explained. Killian tugged Peggy towards his side so he didn’t do something he’d regret. Matt was trying to work into the brownstone already, mumbling about cookies. “How much, Anna?”

“Fifty bucks, super serious business.” “Sounds it.” Anna shrugged, leaning against the open door frame like it wasn’t December and starting to snow and the telltale smell of cinnamon wafted out onto the block. “Bah humbug, also you guys have never been on time for anything ever. I’m playing to tradition. But I should thank you, because all this was Scarlet’s idea, and he vastly underestimated you.”

“How so?” Emma asked, ignoring Killian’s huff of frustration.

Peggy giggled.

“Thought you’d be late, but only by like twenty minutes and—” “Hey, Banana,” Killian interrupted, and Anna’s eyebrows flew up her forehead when she heard the tone of his voice. She stood up a bit straighter. “In case you also hadn’t noticed, we’ve got some kids out here and Emma’s pregnant, so, uh if you could get out of the way, that’d be fantastic.” Crossing her arms with a huff, it almost looked like Anna was about to stomp her foot as well, and Emma rested her hand on Killian’s chest before he could start arguing. “Did Gina and Reese’s start baking yet? Because I think Killian could use some pie.” “Yeah, I think so,” Anna agreed, making a face at Killian and he hadn’t let go of Peggy yet. She grinned at the kids in front of her, holding out her hands expectantly and tugging them both inside. “You guys want some hot chocolate?” Bags were immediately dropped, forgotten on the steps, as soon as the words were out of Anna’s mouth, leaving Emma and Killian alone with her hand still flat against his jacket. “Maybe you should start checking something,” she suggested.

Killian sighed, but he couldn’t bring himself to hold onto any tension. He kissed the top of Emma’s head instead. Mrs. Vankald probably had extra hats. “Seasonally inappropriate.” “Proves my point, i think.” “Fifty bucks.” “Just means we’re the hottest ticket in town.” He widened his eyes at her, and almost-three kids later the smirk didn’t really accomplish anything except getting Emma to groan, but it had been a strange day and he probably should have expected her to kiss him in response. “Center ice,” Killian said, grinning against her mouth.

“Not even clever.” “It’s a work in progress.” “Guess that means I’ll have to stick around. See how it all plays out.” “You think you’re very funny.” Shaking her head, Emma pulled away before they could start making out in a different location, which was probably for the best, but also a little disappointing and he didn’t realize the door was still open.

“Hook,” Roland said, a note to his voice that made it clear it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get their attention.

“God, don’t sneak up on us like that. How—Swan, stop that.” She didn’t. Hair brushed his cheek when she kept laughing, body shaking against Killian’s side and the flush of embarrassment on Roland’s face shouldn’t have felt like a victory. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know that Ruby won her bet.” “Jeez.” “What was that one, Rol?” Emma asked, twisting towards the teenager. “Also, can you take, at least, four of these bags before Killian has some kind of complete breakdown on the steps?” Roland chuckled, leaning forward to grab five bags in one hand. “Ruby bet David what you guys were doing on the steps and why Matt and Pegs ended up running into the kitchen without any parental supervision in sight. Their words, not mine.” “Jeez,” Killian repeated. “Where’s your dad and why isn’t he telling everyone to grow up?”

“He’s kind of busy.”

Nodding towards the foyer, Killian directed them inside as voices from several rooms made their way into the space and down the stairs that were, as always, covered in ivy and lights and the photos on the wall were different now. The draft night photo was still there, but there other ones too – Stanley Cup finals and second weddings and Roland in a red, white and blue uniform and, right in the middle, that very first Christmas when they’d all fallen asleep in the living room.

That one hung in the apartment uptown too.

“Was I right, Rol?” Ruby asked, walking into the foyer sporting a sweater that wasn’t just ugly, was somehow bordering on atrocious and covered in hockey pucks.

“What are you wearing?” Emma countered.

Ruby brushed her off, staring expectantly at Roland who shook his head. “I’m still on the kid side. I want no part of this.”

“Was the door still open?” “Ruby.”

She grinned — that slow, slightly intimidating look that had terrorized reporters for the better part of the last decade — and jumped towards Roland, slinging her arms around him and pressing a kiss against his cheek. “You’re a God-awful spy,” she said. “David and I should have taken your loyalty into account.” “Where is David?” Emma asked, glancing towards the living room. “Or Robin and Will, for that matter? Or Henry. He’s supposed to show me what he’s writing.” Rolling her eyes, Ruby leaned back against Roland’s side and he was still holding the bags. “You can put those down, mate,” Killian muttered, grinning when he dropped several tons of presents on the floor.

“Oh, that’s why we had Rol out for surveillance,” Ruby answered. “All of those adults are sitting at the kitchen table with several different poster boards and, at least, one full cake, trying to bracket out this year’s air hockey competition.” Emma laughed immediately, but Killian wasn’t sure if it was because of the absurdity of the news or because of how he’d reacted to it. Gaping at Ruby, his eyes widened when he looked towards Roland for confirmation. Who shrugged.

That’s probably where Matt got it from.

“What the hell, Lucas?” Killian yelled. “They’re supposed to wait until we’re all here. There are rules!”

“This is not my fault,” Ruby argued, backing away from Killian like he’d lost his mind. Emma’s lips had all but disappeared behind her teeth. “This is your crazy, insanely competitive tradition. If you want to have a seat at the literal table, you guys should get here on time. And stop making out on the steps. But I will tell you that Liam has tried to get himself higher up the bracket at least six times. Robin’s the only voice of reason. You owe him, Cap.” “I’m obviously the top seed, I won last year, that’s how it works. That’s science.” “Is there science involved?” Emma asked, Roland dropping onto the bottom step with one arm wrapped around his waist while he threw his head back. Laughing. Loud enough to draw an audience. Matt slid across the wood floor — shoes forgotten somewhere between the foyer and the kitchen and back again — and Killian ducked down out of instinct, grabbing him around the waist and tugging him back up

“Dad,” he yelled, tugging on Killian’s t-shirt like that would get him to move. “Dad, you’ve got to come to the kitchen. Uncle Liam and Uncle Will are trying to form….”

“Alliances,” David finished, slinging his arm around Emma’s shoulders as soon as he stepped into the foyer. He kissed the top of her hair, looking almost repentant.

Killian wondered how many alliances he’d made so far.

“Right, right, alliances,” Matt continued, “you have to come. You’re the top seed. You won last year and you have to be up top. We’ve got to go now, Dad!”

Matt twisted, a mix of energy and excitement and Christmas coming to a boiling point that demanded acknowledgement. He got it from Roland. As per usual. “C’mon, Matt. Let’s go challenge Henry to...something.” Lifting his suddenly-empty hands, Killian wasn’t sure what to say to any of that, only aware of how abrasive Ruby’s cackle was. “At the risk of repeating myself, Cap, this is your weird, competitive thing. Although Liam really is trying to cheat, so you know, go in there and be morally upstanding, or whatever.”

“Isn’t that David’s schtick? Maybe El.” David clicked his tongue. “I’m not sure if I should be offended by that, or not.” “Nah, that was totally a compliment. Although you were making bets.”

“Oh, what the hell Ruby?” David groaned. “You weren’t supposed to ask them! Rol was supposed to look.” “Yeah, well, we forgot that Roland Locksley thinks Killian is some kind of hero. He wasn’t going to rat no matter what he saw.” “For the record,” David said, “I said you guys weren’t making out on the front steps with the door wide open, so, you know, take that into account. Although Elsa is probably the most moral.” “Not Reese’s?” Emma asked. She took a step back to Killian, sliding underneath his arm like there was a magnet in his side. “I mean, if we’re going to stage moral high ground competition, she’s got to be near the top.” “Is this conversation weird?” Ruby asked, sitting on one of the bags in the middle of the floor despite protests from Emma and Killian. “This conversation seems weird. Especially when Cap’s going to get screwed out of his top seed and anything Mary Margaret bakes is going to get devoured by the ridiculous number of kids in this house.”

As if on cue, a crash echoed from the general vicinity of the dining room and Mrs. Vankald shouted from the second floor, voice carrying as well as it had thirty years before. She leaned over the edge of the bannister, eyes falling on Killian’s immediately and he waved — like he was ten years old and just coming back from practice.

“Tell Liam he can’t cheat this year,” she shouted.

“I think you’re picking favorites, Mrs. V.” “I bought three things of creamer this year and Liam’s determination to circumvent the bracket rules means they’ve already been through one. I’m picking the Jones brother who isn’t going to ransack my refrigerator and well-organized food options.”

Killian scoffed, but Mrs. Vankald just tilted her head, staring at him with a fondness that, maybe, left him blushing in the middle of the foyer in front of pictures of his entire family. “We bought a new container of cinnamon for you, Emma,” she added. “If Liam’s even looked at that, I give you full permission to kick him out of the tournament.” “Wow,” Emma breathed. Ruby made a face, mouth tilted down as if kicking Liam out of an air hockey tournament was the worst insult a person could level against another human being. “I’ve never really felt this powerful.” “I trust you. You’ll use your power for good.”

“Maybe Mrs. V is the most moral,” Ruby suggested, but Killian shook his head quickly.

“Nuh uh,” he objected. “She’s pulling all the strings up there. Who do you think demanded the referee last year?”

“Go claim your number one seed, Killian,” Mrs. Vankald said. She paused for a moment, pressing her lips together tightly and the air in the foyer seemed to shift noticeably, something important about to happen or, maybe, already happening and Emma shuffled closer. “And...uh, come talk to me before dinner.” “A little foreboding, I’ll be honest.”

“Fill out the bracket first.”

Saluting was another child-esque response, but Killian was almost positive he was getting shorter the longer he stood there and something crashed in the kitchen. Mrs. Vanaklad rolled her eyes.

The crash, it turned out, was a makeshift hockey puck smacking into the baseboard of the dining room, leaving a sizable dent in its wake as the twins argued with Henry over what constituted as the blue line when there was a table and a dozen chairs in the way.

And Killian wasn’t sure which took longer – figuring out those rules or keeping Peggy from climbing on top of the dining room table in an attempt to keep the game organized or attempting to figure out an air hockey bracket.

It was definitely the bracket.

“You can’t do this again, Liam,” Will sighed, perched on the edge of the counter. “I’m actually going to go insane if you do this again.” Liam muttered a string of curses under his breath and Killian’s head fell forward, colliding with Emma’s back. She was balanced on his leg, his arm around her waist and her fingers trailing over his hand, tracing over scars and up towards his wedding ring. It was almost enough to make him relax. Until Liam started complaining about seeding again and the whole process had to start over.

“Why don’t we keep better records?” Robin asked, not for the first time. They were clearly stuck in a time warp. Of Christmas competition and a dwindling coffee creamer supply. “Can’t El do that? Isn’t that, like, her job?” “Do you know what a state senator does, Locksley?” Elsa asked. She’d collapsed onto Liam’s chair when he started pacing two brackets ago, resting her chin on the top of her pulled-up legs.

“I’m assuming your tone that I don’t.”

“Ding ding ding.” “The problem,” Liam started, and Killian didn’t even try to mask his groan. He knew where this was going. The same place it had been going for the last two hours. Absolutely nowhere. “Is that we…” “Have an uneven bracket,” the kitchen finished, and Liam paced louder. Somehow.

“We just have to figure out who’s going to play-in.” “Liam if you say that one more time, I’m going to strangle you with tinsel,” Killian threatened.

“That is oddly specific.” “Christmas spirit.” “That’s another Scrooge reference,” Emma shouted, twisting to knock her knuckles against his shoulder and Killian bit his lip tightly so he didn’t actually make any noise. They shouldn’t have kept flirting in the kitchen. While Liam freaked out about traditions and tinsel. “How come we didn’t bet on how many times you’d make Scrooge references?” “Because we’re adults, Swan,” Killian answered.

Elsa scoffed.

“Ok, if I offer myself up for a play-in game, would that help?” Robin asked, dragging the poster across the table and writing in his name before Liam could object.

“Locksley’s going all dad mode,” Will muttered. “Put Mary Margaret in there too. She said she’d play-in to help because she’s a better person than all of us.” The kitchen hummed in agreement, and Robin finished half the bracket by the time Liam stopped pacing. Forty-five minutes, and only three more arguments later, the entire thing was full of mismatched handwriting in several different Sharpie colors.

Liam taped it to the basement door.

“You know,” Emma drawled, somehow still sitting on Killian’s leg, “I’m coming for your title.”

“That so? Care to place a wager on that?”

“I thought we were going to be grown up.” “I mean, no one has to know except us. Save face when you lose that way.” “Just diving right into the trash talk, huh?” “You’re the one who started it, love. The real question is…” “Oh my God,” she groaned, but her eyes were bright and he’d probably think about her smile for a questionable amount of time. “If you say, whether or not you’ll finish it, I’m going to punch you in the face.” Laughter flew out of him, any sense of competition forgotten in the rather desperate desire to make out with his wife again. “Maybe you should be teaching checking techniques.” Emma sneered, nails digging into Killian’s shoulder as she tried to stay balanced. On top of him. “Give me some credit, love. I’m not going to let you fall.”

Cliches and vaguely romantic double entendres were acceptable on Christmas Eve. Especially if it guaranteed that particular angle, Emma’s head tilted up and her teeth digging into her lower lip, and he couldn’t think when she did that.

So.

Kissing it was. Anything else was overrated.

Although it did make it difficult to hear the pointed cough from the other side of the kitchen.

Mr. Vankald rocked back on his heels when Killian finally looked up, amusement coloring his gaze even as the blush on Emma’s cheeks emitted a very specific kind of heat. “Super grown up,” she mumbled.

“Be glad it wasn’t your brother,” Mr. Vankald reasoned. “Probably steal your number one seed.” “He hung the bracket up,” Killian argued. “That’s Christmas doctrine now. No more changes or the entire house will rise up in revolt.”

“Might keep things interesting.” “There’s a giant dent in the dining room wall and you’re still looking for interesting?” “Depends on how the next few minutes go. C’mon.”

He walked away before either Killian or Emma could answer, leaving them sitting on one chair with matching looks of confusion on their face. “So, uh, we’re supposed to follow him, I guess?” Emma asked.

Killian shook his head. “This has been the weirdest day.” “God bless us, every one.” “Something like that, for sure. Let’s go before someone else comes in.”

Mr. Vankald hadn’t waited for them – retreating to the dining room and the, now, multiple dents on the baseboards. Killian barely noticed them. He was more interested in the stack of papers sitting on the edge of the table, just a few inches away from the pile of plates and the almost questionable number of forks.

And whatever it was Mrs. Vankald was doing with her face.

Like she was half a moment away from a waterfall of tears. If that was possible. It really had been a weird Christmas Eve.

“What’s going on?” Killian asked cautiously, hooking his foot around one of the empty chairs and nudging Emma towards it.

“Overprotective weirdo,” she mumbled. He grinned at her.

“Mrs. V,” Killian continued, trying very hard not to tug on the back of his hair or grip Emma’s shoulder too tightly. “You want to expand on the mandate from before?”

She tilted her head in response, eyebrows lifted slightly and he wasn’t quite prepared for the force of her smile.

Like he was seventeen and deciding to go to Minnesota. He told them he was going in the dining room. Or like he was seventeen and they’d found out he and Anna had snuck uptown on the one the weekend before.

“Sit,” Mr. Vankald instructed, pointing at another chair next to Emma and they must have rented chairs. There were too many people in this family. “We’ve got approximately five minutes before Roland announces he’s hungry again.” “Is that the reason for the cloak and dagger?” “There’s neither cloak nor dagger,” Mrs. Vankald chastised, smile shaking ever so slightly when the tears finally fell to her cheeks. “Suggests this is bad.” “I feel like I’m about to get grounded.”

“Did you get grounded a lot?” Emma asked, glancing over her shoulder and it absolutely would have been wrong to kiss her again. Although maybe Mrs. Vankald would stop crying then.

Killian shook his head, smirk settling into place with practiced ease, and Emma rolled her eyes. She grabbed his hand. He’d appreciate that eventually.

“Not grounded,” Mr. Vankald said suddenly and Killian snapped his head up. “We’re giving you the house.” Jaw dropping and shoulders sagging, Killian hadn’t really been holding his breath then either, but it had been a very weird day and his lungs were no longer functioning. Emma’s head moved on a swivel, eyes like saucers as she squeezed his fingers. His knuckles cracked.

“Wait, what?”

“The house,” Mr. Vankald repeated, grinning and waving his hand through the air.

“I don’t understand.” “What isn’t there to understand?” “Any of it?” Leaning forward, Mrs. Vankald pushed the pile of papers towards Killian’s free hand and he couldn’t actually make out the words on the page. His vision had gone glossy.

And maybe he squeezed Emma’s hand that time.

“But….” Emma started, licking her lips. “Why...we have an apartment.” Neither one of the Vankalds looked impressed. “And how many rooms does that apartment have?” Mr. Vankald challenged. “Also, we’re leaving.” Killian was glad he was sitting because his legs felt like he’d just skated sprints for the last several days. “What?”

“Leaving. In a couple of months.” “I am….wait,” Killian sputtered, blinking again and staring at the doorway like a camera crew was going to appear and announce that this was all some practical joke. Or Liam was doing it to get in his head before air hockey. That would have made more sense. “You’re moving? From New York?” “Oh, no, no,” Mrs. Vankald said, “we couldn’t...not when you are…” “Super grandparents,” Emma finished, and Mrs. Vankald beamed.

“Ok,” Killian said, trying to process everything that had happened since they’d walked into the brownstone. Maybe the kids would let him play hockey after dinner. He wanted to shoot at something. “So, let me get this straight. You’re moving out of the brownstone, but staying in New York and you’ve already decided this is all just going to be ours?” Mr. Vankald nodded, humming in the back of his throat. “See. Wasn't confusing, was it?” “You’re making jokes.” “Killian,” Emma whispered, staring at the papers in her hand. “It’s already done. This is...I mean I’m not a lawyer or a real estate agent or anything, but this is notarized.” She looked up at the Vankalds, eyes as glossy as his and Killian wished, not for the first time, that they could have these major life conversations on ice. He’d be able to keep his balance better that way. “When?”

“When did we decide?” Emma nodded. “As soon as you brought Matthew home,” Mr. Vankald admitted. Killian wasn’t breathing. “And then when you told us you were expecting Christopher and Killian had retired, and it made sense. This is...we want you to have this.”

Mr. Vankald’s smile softened — like gifting the house Killian had grown up in wasn’t some kind of overwhelming type of decision. And on C hristmas Eve, no less. Killian tried to swallow down the bundle of nerves and emotion in the back of his throat, leaning towards Emma before he realized he’d shifted in his chair. She kept moving her fingers, alternating between squeezing his hand and swiping her thumb across the back of his palm, and her eyes hadn’t moved away from the deed sitting in front of them.

“You’re sure?” Killian asked, voice scratchy and maybe he wasn’t seventeen and going to Minnesota. Maybe he was eight years old and terrified that the Vankalds were going to kick him out of the house.

Neither one of them answered immediately, but then the floorboards creaked and Mrs. Vankald was next to him, one hand on his cheek and the other on his chest and she stared at him like he was hers in some kind of overwhelmingly emotional way. “There should be kids here and chaos and horsemen,” she whispered. “There should be yelling all the time and even more holes in the wall and maybe Mattie can learn how to properly check someone."

"See, scathing."

Mrs. Vankald scrunched her nose. "You should have that. Both of you. This is your home.”

Emma sniffled, lip between her teeth and head resting on Killian’s shoulder. “The Jones Line,” she muttered. “That’s what we’ve been calling it. You know with three of them.” “That’s perfect.”

They put another hole in the dining room wall that night — Leo tripping over a hockey stick that somehow ended up propped against the table, and there had been crying and questions about concussions and no one knew how to administer medical assistance when Ariel wasn’t there. Which didn’t make much sense because she wasn’t actually a doctor.

In the end, Leo opted to eat another egg roll.

And then scored a goal when the quasi-hockey game resumed. Spread across several rooms and inching dangerously close to the Christmas tree, the game had taken on a life of its own, and Matt and Lizzie eventually had to be separated when they started arguing over the location of the penalty box.

Mrs. Vankald handed out t-shirts when the game was called a draw, silencing the cries of half a dozen kids as soon as they were gifted brand-new team merch with their names on the back. Matt and Peggy each had a ‘C’ on their shoulder.

“They tell you?” Elsa asked, knocking her hip against Killian’s where he was leaning against the wall. He nearly jumped a foot in the air. “Jeez, KJ, relax. This isn’t an interview.” “I am retired. I don’t do interviews anymore,.”

“Please. You’re as retired as….something that makes sense.” “Coming up a little short of cliches, huh?” “I wasn’t looking for a cliche, just an example. Whatever, you’re deflecting. Did they tell you yet? Mom and Dad?” “How did you know?” “KJ.” Killian groaned, glancing back towards Emma. She was sitting on the corner of the couch, Matt in front of her and already tugging on his t-shirt, with Peggy’s head in her lap, eyelids fluttering and feet tucked underneath her. “Yeah,” he said, not sure why it felt like admitting to something. “Called us into the dining room like they wanted to discuss the end of the world and then just…” “Gave you the house.” “Yeah.” “Good.” He hadn’t been expecting that — and that might have been why he couldn't quite shake the nerves or the twist in his gut and why his eyes kept darting towards Emma and their kids, like he was trying to make sure this wasn’t some ridiculous dream he’d come up with a decade before.

“Good?” Killian asked, and Elsa nodded.

“Do you not think it is?” “Look who’s deflecting now.”

“No, I’m confused. You guys have to move again anyway. Might as well move here. Put some more holes in the wall.” “That is exactly what Mrs. V said.” “God,” Elsa sighed. “Don’t tell me that. It makes me feel old.” Killian grinned, slinging his arm over her shoulders and Emma met his gaze across the living room — probably wondering why he kept staring at her like a lunatic. “Oh,” Elsa sighed, rapping her knuckles across the front of his shirt. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” “Merry Christmas.” “Does Emma know she’s married to a total idiot?” “Probably, at this point.”

Elsa scoffed and the knuckles had taken a decidedly more aggressive approach. “I’m serious, KJ. How come you don’t think you should have the house?” “Get out of my head, witch.” “First of all, that’s rude. Second of all, you’ve been brooding and un-Christmas’y all night. Liam asked me what was wrong with you. He thought it had something to do with the bracket.” “He needs to stop with the bracket stuff,” Killian said, but Elsa narrowed her eyes and it felt exactly like being disciplined by Mrs. Vankald. He didn’t mention that.

“Third of all,” she continued, “It’s not like we’d take it. All things considered.” “What are the things we’re considering?” Gritting her teeth, Elsa sighed with all the drama of someone who’d been keeping something secret for several months. “You have to promise not to react because I haven’t told Mom and Dad yet.” “Ok.” “The national seat is up for reelection next year.”

Killian waited for the rest of it, the explanation that would, eventually, hit and when it, finally, did, he felt like he’d been checked over the boards. “Oh, shit,” he yelled, drawing the attention of the entire living room and several reproachful clicked tongues. Emma’s laugh still didn’t sound much like a cough. “Elsa Vankald-Jones takes on the world.” “At least Washington D.C.” “To start.” “You can’t vote, so your support doesn’t count, but I appreciate it,” Elsa smiled. “And this is yours, KJ. Has been forever. This city and this house and you should be here. Your kids should be here. Stop thinking otherwise.” Killian hummed, resting his chin on top of Elsa’s head until she cursed. Not in English She also didn’t move. And maybe that look Mrs. Vankald had given him before — that promise that this whole roster of a family that didn’t share a last name or much more than a ridiculous desire to make each other happy — was real.

God bless us, every one.

Or something.

The kids fell asleep wearing matching t-shirts with the Christmas tree still on, and it only took a few minutes and several glasses of spiked eggnog to get the presents downstairs.

And Emma was already in bed when he got to his room, pillows kicked on the floor.

“Are the stockings all hung?”

“At least laid by the chimney with a relative amount of care.” Her eyebrows moved, lips twitching slightly and Killian tried to keep his hand out of his hair. It didn’t work. Appeared to be a trend that day. “You know, it’d be easier to get to the Piers from here,” she said. “More space. You really could teach Mattie how to check.” “I thought we weren’t encouraging the checking.” “Ah, yeah, but then he totally dominated whatever game they were playing and maybe he should have several thousand square feet to fine-tune that. Plus, you know, Ruby mentioned something.” Killian dropped onto the edge of the bed — knocking off a few more pillows in the process – and Emma scrunched her nose. “Between you, El and the Vankalds, I feel like I’m on the wrong end of all the secrets.” “More like late-breaking news.” “Enlighten me.” “Ariel texted Ruby about whatever Dylan is doing with Mattie and she’s super upset and she thinks you’re going to be pissed after the break because she’s not monitoring her nine-year-old enforcer on skates.”

“I’m not pissed,” Killian promised, ignoring Emma’s immediate scoff. “I’m not, Swan. I just…” “Killian Jones, defender of his kids.” “Exactly that.” “Ruby was mad enough for everyone involved anyway, even Mattie, and I think he was just upset that he couldn’t score twenty times a game when he was worried about getting hit.” “At this point I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he did score twenty goals a game,” Killian muttered. Maybe he’d had more than one glass of spiked eggnog.

“It’s because he’s trying to be you.”

Twisting wasn’t easy when he was laying on his back — or when Emma’s fingers were in his hair, but he was nothing if not stubborn and there was another joke about magnets to be made. When his hand rested on her stomach again.

Emma smiled at him.

“Don’t talk to me about whatever sentiment that entails. I’m super pregnant and it’s Christmas and we��ve been given several thousand square feet of house.” “Super pregnant, huh?” Emma waved her hand, pointing at her stomach and Killian flipped over – head somehow finding its way onto he legs. She didn’t stop moving her fingers through his hair. “At least now we know where Peggy gets it,” she added softly, tapping her thumb on his temple.

“Are you suggesting she’s inherited an innate desire to have her hair played with?” “Are you?” “Possibly,” Killian admitted, reaching up to tug Emma’s hand back down. He wrapped his fingers around hers, glancing up to make sure she was still smiling before pressing a kiss underneath her wedding ring. “What do you think, Swan?” “About?” “Several thousand feet of check’able living space.” “Overwhelmed, a little,” she admitted, “but not in the way you’re thinking.” “How am I thinking of it, exactly?” “You know Scarlet asked if, and I’m quoting here, Cap is doing that thing with his face because he’s mad about having to face Mary Margaret in the first round of the tournament.” “Jeez,” Killian groaned, hand moving towards her stomach out of instinct. He was met, immediately, with a kick. “Hey, kid,” he mumbled, smiling despite the nerves and the worry and there was a lot of square footage. Room for a whole Jones Line.

“He’s been doing somersaults all night.” “You think that’s a sign?” “About being able to do somersaults in all the space of a downtown brownstone?” Emma laughed, and Killian’s eyes darted back up towards hers. There were tear tracks on her cheeks, but she didn’t look as worried about the ridiculous amount of family gifting they’d been on the receiving end that afternoon. “Kind of,” she said. “And you already said we.” “That’s true. You didn’t answer my question though.” “I’m not worried about some Vankald family overload or even what happens next Christmas when we inevitably have to order the Chinese food. I am…”

She trailed off and the sigh was more of an exhale, eyes falling on the pile of pillows and the edge of the bed and it felt symmetrical to be back in that room — where it had started and sustained a desperate middle and watched Emma Swan tell Killian Jones she loved him for the very first time on Christmas Eve.

“You are…” Killian prompted, grinning when Emma glared.

“It’s not something I ever thought I could have,” she said quickly, stumbling over the words and refusing to meet his gaze and it was like he’d been pulled into the mattress or maybe through the floor and Killian sat up before his mind had processed the idea of moving. “A house and a hockey line and you...trying to make out all over the place.” Killian barked out a laugh, leaning forward and kissing her — again. His lips slanted over hers, one hand pressed into her hair as he tried to tug her towards him or touch every single inch of her and he could live for the rest of time without ever quite getting over how much he loved Emma Swan right back.

On Christmas Eve, or any other day.

“That’s because I;m super attracted to you,” Killian said, and it was the most honest string of words he’d come up with all day. “It’s a struggle not to make out with you all the time.” “Mattie would never forgive us.” “He’d cope.” “I love you a ridiculous amount you giant, vaguely attractive weirdo.” “Vaguely attractive? You wound me, Swan.” “Ah, well, I will admit that becoming a homeowner adds to your overall attractiveness.”

Kissing her again was the only reasonable response — brushing his lips across her face and down her neck and over her shoulder and she probably would have actually punched him if he tried to kiss her stomach, but he was on some other level of overjoyed and Killian was willing to live on the edge, as it were.

“El told me I deserve this,” Killian muttered, pressing the words against Emma’s t-shirt. “But at the risk of being a sentimental asshole, I think you do too, love.” “Team Jones,” Emma whispered, tugging on the collar of his t-shirt so he moved back up, falling asleep wrapped up together.

Until several kids tried to check the door the next morning.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #a few days off for chirstmas #blue line one shots #just fyi guys: the likelihood of me posting chirstmas fic every day this week is very high

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lassieposting · 3 years

Note

Vile and Mevolent, for the romantic headcanons?

Who goes to bed late and who wakes up first?

Both Vile, because he very rarely sleeps through the night. He'll go to bed whenever Mevolent does, but he has nightmares and a hard time switching off the hypervigilance, so someone coughing three rooms away or walking by at the far end of the hall or laughing in the gardens will startle him awake and he'll struggle to resettle. A lot of the time he gets up multiple times during the night, then comes back to bed once he's confident there's no threat. The sunrise, the dawn chorus, the fire in the grate burning down to embers (less crackly noise, more cold), and increased footfall in the hallways will also wake him up, so he doesn't normally sleep past when the servants start their work.

Mev, on the other hand, sleeps like the dead, and only gets up at a reasonable hour because he's got shit to do - if he's got the time to lounge in bed till noon, he'll do it. He sleeps through most of Vile's nighttime activity, but when it does wake him, he can usually calm Vile down enough to coax him back to sleep.

Who sings during daily activities (shower, cooking, etc)?

Mevolent. Some of the Faceless hymns are catchy. He's got an okay voice, so Vile doesn't mind. It amuses him how upbeat some of the tunes are for songs that are mostly about the faceless ones laying waste to the planet, though.

Who takes care of the other on sick days?

Mevolent. Not that he has to do it often - they're both incredibly tough, and sorcerers are immune to most mortal illnesses, so the only thing likely to bench either of them for more than a few hours is a Serious Injury. And? Mevolent is a sensible, rational man. When he has a Serious Injury, he goes to Nye, because Nye is by far the most competent surgeon on Mevolent's staff, and Nye fixes him up.

Vile is not a sensible, rational man. Vile is a torture survivor. He won't let Nye get within thirty feet of him, because Nye was the one advising Serpine on how much more he could take before it killed him. He's wildly unpredictable when he's hurt, because he goes into self-preservation mode, and everyone around him becomes a threat. And to make everyone's lives even harder, he has a tendency to mask an injury and try to fix it himself, because he's surrounded by the same people who tortured him and he cannot afford to show weakness. So once Mev wins his trust, he's pretty much the only person Vile will let take care of him when he's hurt.

Who gives unprompted massages?

Vile. Mevolent spends a lot of time sat at a desk, and gets the stiff neck/shoulders/back accordingly. Vile will come up behind him to look over his shoulder at what he's doing, and absent-mindedly do Mev's shoulders while he's at it.

Mev will give massages too, usually to make Vile go all drowsy and relaxed after a few rough nights of little sleep, but he asks first.

What activity do they do together in sync?

Compensate for each other's weaknesses in battle. For Mevolent, this means keeping an eye on Vile's blind side: usually, his magic does this for him and gets him around just fine, but a battlefield is so chaotic that it's difficult for him to tell his fighters' life energy and the enemy's apart. For Vile, this means being fast enough to hit anything Mevolent can't. For all that he's "slender", Mev is a big, strong guy; he's the tank, and his equipment shows it: heavy armour, massive greatsword. But the tradeoff for that sword's powerful swing is slower speed. Vile is smaller, faster and his armour moves with him, so he'll take out anything that gets too close to Mev before he has time to swing. They're a highkey unstoppable team in battle.

Who gives nose/forehead/hand kisses?

Mevolent. Vile is more neck/shoulderblade/wrist kisses.

Who gets jealous?

Both of them, but Vile is the one you really don't want to cross; he's lost everything he cared about before and it completely broke him, so he absolutely will not tolerate competition. There's a rumour that the real reason Serpine tried to pull off a sloppy assassination - when he's always been so meticulous about his schemes - and then fled the city is because he found out that when Mevolent asked what gift would prove his love, Vile asked for Serpine's head. It's also a popular theory that Serafina's death, officially a "tragic accident", was in fact the deliberate removal of a rival (although, the court is divided on whether Nef or Vile arranged it).

Mev is a lot more chilled about his jealousy. It comes with having the power to grind your rival's entire bloodline to dust whenever you feel like it.

Soft kisses or passionate kisses?

Both.

Who brings the other food at work?

Vile will load up a plate of leftovers if Mevolent is balls deep in A Project and misses a meal, and take it up to his office so he'll still eat something. He actually has a better handle on When Mevolent Last Ate than Mev does.

Who made the first move?

Lowkey both of them. It was a blazing row during a post-battle debrief-slash-dressing-down that unexpectedly became an adrenaline-fuelled angry fuck. Neither is really sure who pounced first.

Who won’t dress in costume unless it’s a couple costume?

Mevolent won't dress up unless it's like, a super fancy, elegant masquerade ball costume. Vile is an introverted antisocial buzzkill and won't dress up at all.

How was their first date like?

They went riding. Vile was at the point of recovery where he was climbing the walls with cabin fever, and short walks in the palace gardens weren't cutting it anymore, so Mevolent took him outside the city to let off some steam.

Who writes love letters/notes to the other?

Both of them! The early years of their relationship were during the war, when they'd often find themselves leading the offensive on completely different continents. This being the 1800s, they'd communicate primarily by letter; incorporeal visitations were a thing, but still in the very experimental stage, and Teleporters were precious.

Originally, Vile would send field reports, and Mevolent would respond with written orders. Professional. Brief. Succinct. Then Vile has his injury. They get closer while he's recuperating, and when he goes back to the front, his orders arrive with a postscript, more or less saying, "How are you holding up?" He adds a postscript of his own to his next report - essentially, "I'm fine" - and then, after a bit of consideration, decides that sounds too brusque and adds a little funny story about something that happened with one of his soldiers recently.

The postscripts get longer. They share little anecdotes, celebrate each other's victories, comfort each other after defeats. Vile sends Mev three scrawly pages of absolute filth, which is delightedly received halfway across the world. Mevolent spells Vile's name differently on every single letter, and somehow never manages to spell it the same way twice (Veighle? Vyle? Veele? Véle? Vile is ready to end him and his medieval approach to spelling.) They even send each other little trophies or souvenirs, squeezed in at the very end of a crowded parchment.

"V - Saw this and thought of you. M"

"M - You'll probably laugh at this as much as I did. V"

Who firmly believed the other was their soulmate from early on?

They're too bitter and jaded and scarred to believe in soulmates. Vile was the one who immediately thought Mevolent Got Him, though - "finally, here is someone who shares my appetite for destruction."

How much do they touch each other (PDA)?

Rarely, in public. Once Mevolent is fully established as ruler of the world and he can be open about his relationship without risking his crusade, they might dance together occasionally, or touch one another's arm to get their attention, or murmur in one another's ear. But they were a secret for over a century, and they very rarely interact publicly in a way that would be out of character for a lord and his general. Vile still usually enters rooms behind/"guarding" Mevolent rather than on his arm (with a few exceptions, usually when Mev wants to make a point). The main "PDA" for them is that they use each other's names, rather than "my lord"/"general", and Vile will look Mevolent in the eye, which isn't really permitted for anyone else.

Do they have cute nicknames for each other?

Vile is "V" a lot of the time.

How do they feel about Valentine’s Day? Do they go on a date?

Valentine was a Christian saint, and Mevolent only endorses the Faceless religion, so while V-day might still exist in Leibniz, it would only be in the homes of those brave enough to flaunt the laws around false gods and banned faiths, and would probably not be openly celebrated.

Public marriage proposal or something private?

Private. The first anyone else hears about it is when someone notices that Mevolent's changed his family crest. It's normal for sorcerers to either impale their crest (split the shield down the middle, with half your crest on one side and your partner's on the other) with their new spouse's, or include a nod to their spouse's crest in their own, by adopting one of their tinctures or bearers or something. The gossip circuit goes wild trying to figure out what prompted the change - nobody recognises the impaled crest, and Mevolent's shown no interest in any young ladies of good family since Lady Serafina's tragic passing. Rumours abound. Changing your crest is something that happens after you get married, not before - so at some point, their lord and master got secretly married and didn't tell anyone.

Eventually, someone points out that Mevolent took Lord Vile off to one of his summer palaces for a few weeks several months ago, ostensibly to renovate. That summer palace is small as palaces go, and quiet, and that trip could...feasibly have been a honeymoon, a newly married couple wanting some privacy. But if that's true...they've been married almost a year, and nobody knew a damn thing.

After changing the crest, Mev announces a month of feasting and festivities to celebrate. He manages his public image carefully, and he knows that the commonfolk won't give a damn that he's gone and married his heathen lover, if it gives them an excuse to get drunk and stuff themselves on his dime.

Vile, being an intensely private person, took forever to okay the crest change, but since most of the court is terrified of him, he only really gets questioned by a few people.

How long into the relationship before they had sex?

Their relationship literally began with a post-battle adrenaline-fuelled angry fuck. They hooked up long before ever developing Feelings.

Who drops innuendos at random?

Neither of them are hugely inclined towards innuendoes, but it happens for both of them occasionally.

Who makes romantic surprises without a reason to?

They both will, but the definition of romantic varies wildly. "I've arranged a showing of an opera you like" and "I've kept this prisoner until you got back so we can interrogate him together" are both under the umbrella of "romantic surprise" for these two.

How likely are they to have sex in a non-bedroom location?

Very. Mevolent's throne is a popular pick. The carriage, the bathtub and every flat surface in Mev's rooms are also A-OK.

Who said “I love you” first and when?

Vile really struggles with the big three. Everyone he's ever said that to, he's lost, usually in horrible ways. He's lowkey convinced himself that if he doesn't say it, he won't ever lose Mevolent.

So it's Mev that says it first, and it's kind of in the middle of a religious crisis. He's fairly convinced the gods would overlook him fucking a heathen, given all the good he's done in their name, but then one night they're in bed together, Vile is dozing off on his chest, and he's got this warm fuzzy feeling like this is How Things Should Be, and he's not really been in love before but he's pretty sure that's a much more serious sin. Vile mumbles at him to ask what he's all fidgety about, and "I think I might be falling in love with you and that terrifies me" comes out during the resultant conversation.

Who will sing cheesy romantic songs when drunk?

Mevolent. The cheesy romantic songs are from like, the middle ages. It's a bit like your older boyfriend trying to seduce you with dad-rock - cringey, but in a funny, I-love-you-but-god-you-suck kinda way.

#skulduggery pleasant #violent #sp headcanons #long post

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Chains (Shinsou X Reader)

Pairing: Shinsou x Reader, side!Kirishima

For anon

Genre: Angst to fluff

Word count: 2,576

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: Who am I to resist a request? Or even a little angst ;) Take care of your mental health kids, don’t end up like me Thanks for being the first request anon! I hope I did a good job fulfilling your wishes!

When I started writing, I was scrolling through TikToks (bc I’m a loser) and I found one that helped me tweak the climax scene and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. It’s almost twice as long as my previous posts because I wanted to stuff as much into it. Enjoy!

(Also ICYMI I wrote a Todoroki Birthday Special!)

"Are you excited for the Sports Festival?" I swings my legs on the bench, sipping my carton of juice.

Shinsou crosses his leg over the other, leaning his arms on the back of the bench. "Yeah, can't wait to face off with that loud-mouth idiot." He scoffs. "Who does he think he is? His head's stuck far up his ass. I can't believe you're friends with him."

I roll my eyes. "We're not really friends, Kirishima's attached to him at the hip, they're a package deal."

His dark purple eyes glance over me for a moment. "I see."

The expression on his face is unreadable. Not that it's out of the ordinary since he's the quiet type, but it makes me uneasy. Lately, our relationship has become distant ever since both of us made it to UA. I was accepted into 1-A and Shinsou didn't. Though he tells me he supports me wholeheartedly and assures me otherwise, I know he's hurt about it. And it doesn't help that I've had to split my time between him and my classmates after school.

I scoot closer to him, grip his large hands, and lean my head on his shoulder. "You're stressed, aren't you? I really want you to do well so you can transfer into my class. You deserve it."

Shinsou's head rests on mine in response. "I hope I can make it in."

"Hey," I call softly, a faint nagging creeping into my mind. "We're keeping competition between us friendly, right?"

"Afraid you're gonna lose, sweetheart?" he chuckles. I can't hear the smirk on his face.

I shove his shoulder with mine. "Shut up."

Red flag, my mind immediately thinks as I stand there dumbfounded by what he's just said. "You want to what?"

Shinsou crosses his arms over his chest. "I need full control over everyone on my team, that includes you."

My body grows cold and my knees start shaking. He's not joking. There's not a hint of lighthearted joking or teasing in his cold eyes. He's never even joked about it before because he was afraid of what I would think of him if he ever used his quirk on me; he would never forgive himself if he did.

I look down at my shoes. I trust his strategic mind to lead us, but it hurts to think he doesn't trust me enough to help him without control. He just wants to win like you do, I rationalize. But is that enough to relinquish total control to him?

A hand on my shoulder scatters my thoughts and I stare up into Shinsou's concerned gaze. "I know I promised before, but these are different circumstances, I'm sorry. I promise you, we can make it to the next round if you trust me."

Though I still feel torn, I sigh in surrender. "Okay."

He removes his hand, eyes blank. "Are you ready?"

A hint of hesitation persuades me to reconsider, but the thought of letting him down and pushing him away overtakes me. "Yes."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, my breath hitches and my mind goes blank. All stiffness leaves my limbs but I can't move, a numbing cold sensation takes over.

It feels strange, having no control over your body; it moves though you don't will it to, and all you can do is watch. It's almost like you're playing a 4D game, but you're the character and you can still feel everything, but you can't react. Your quirk almost feels fake for a moment until you realize it's your body. As Shinsou maneuvers our entire team to stealthily steal the other teams' headbands with the help of my chain-creation quirk, I feel out of place in my own body.

But I made this choice to trust him, and I will. I just hope I don't have to feel this again.

When I saw our names lined up for the first match, I thought it was some cruel joke my eyes were playing on me. But it wasn't. Shinsou stands across from me in the ring, hands casually stuffed in his pockets like this is the most normal thing, like I'm his enemy.

"So much for keeping competition friendly," he smirks, looking down his nose at me.

I try to match his attitude to mask my uneasy nerves. "Yeah, like you can hurt me more than I can hurt you."

I breathe, thinking of a strategy to beat him. Fortunately, my quirk is pretty offensive while his isn't. I just have to close the distance between us, grab him with my chains, and throw him out of the ring without responding to anything he says. Simple.

"AND START!!!!" Present Mic's voice booms throughout the stadium.

I run to start closing the distance between us. Admittedly, I can't make very long chains that reach all the way to him very quickly, so I have to get closer to my target.

Shinsou knows this, retreating the other way. "I guess you haven't trained enough to extend your quirk." When I don't answer, he continues, "It seems they don't teach you much in that Hero class."

The urge for me to yell at him to shut up is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. If he catches me, it's game over.

"I guess the only thing that class is good for is nurturing hot-heads and stealing your time from people who're supposed to matter."

I slow down a little, my breath heaving. His words have a dark undertone to them. I understand taunting me with petty, good-natured quips, but is he digging deep?

The smirk on his face wavers a bit. "If I knew being a hero means abandoning the people you care about, then maybe some of us good guys aren't cut out for such a job."

Are you implying I'm a bad guy then? I want to taunt back, but I know I can't.

"But I guess you got into the hero course because you have a heroic quirk," he goes on. "Too bad you can't use it to its full potential yet."

He knows how frustrated I get about my quirk. Which is why he's using it as canon fire against you, I remind myself, picking up the pace again. Damnit! Just slow down already! When did you get so athletic?

"But it's fine, as long as you have fun with your new friends, right?" He suddenly comes to a stop, his back to me.

Though I'm confused and my first instinct is to stop, I rush forward, chains growing out of my palms in preparation.

"Well, I guess you always had the more heroic and useful quirk."

The pain in his voice stops me dead. What-

He turns around, hurt, pain, and anger mixed into his expression. "You must've realized the difference between our quirks, right? That I'm more suited to being a villain?" His eyebrows furrow into more anger. "I knew this day would come, I knew you never really cared about my feelings and you would eventually leave me alone like everyone else!"

Shinsou shouldn’t be like this. The way he’s trained with his quirk naturally made him more blunt and willing to share his opinion, but he's not like this usually. Getting the brunt of that bluntness doesn’t make me feel that great. My silence became less about me staying quiet to avoid his quirk and more me being appalled and dumbstruck by the accusations he’s throwing at me. I know he's only saying things to get me to respond, but when did he cross that line between playful chiding just to win and an actual fight between us? I don't even know how to feel about his words.

"You know, I never fully trusted you," he points a finger at me. "Especially when you were chosen for the Hero class and not me. I knew you would eventually shut me out of your life and avoid me because I don't fit in with your 'hero' friends. You're just like everyone else!"

My mouth gapes open, the words not coming. His apparent pain and frustration urges me to comfort him somehow, but how do I respond? Where do I even start?

Shinsou bites his lip, his features softening up into melancholy. "If you're sick of me, just leave me for Shark Teeth already, okay? Don't string me on like this!"

My chest feels heavy with guilt and I want nothing more than to run to him and throw my arms around him. "Hitoshi-"

The numbness grips me before I can register Shinsou's face relax from agony into a smirk of victory. No...

"OH MY GOD!! SHINSOU WAS FAKING A LOVER'S QUARREL TO TRAP HIS OPPONENT WITH HIS BRAINWASHING!! HOW WILL THIS END?!" Present Mic screams through the speakers.

He was faking. My heart sinks, overcome with varying degrees of fury and self-loathing.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this." Funnily enough, he doesn't sound very apologetic. "But now that I've got you, we can end this. Go walk out of bounds and lose for me."

At this point, I don't even care about losing, or that I'm walking against my will out of this stupid ring. Shinsou said all those things to hurt me intentionally, and when he realized I can ignore his taunts, he took advantage of my feelings. And everything he said, he had to have meant them somehow. I know he's bottled up all those complaints and used them against me now.

Midnight declares Shinsou the winner of the match after I take my final step out of the ring and the feeling returns to my body. When I turn around, he's grinning for his triumphant win, but it falters when he sees me. I'm not in the mood to be a good sport or even offer a smile, I just walk off and let him have his moment.

I walk up to where the rest of Class 1-A is sitting, fists still clenched into white knuckles.

"Nice job, Extra," Bakugou scowls at me, leaning back in his seat. "You got beat by that General Studies loser."

"Shut the hell up, Pomeranian asshat, I'm not in the mood." I slump down a few rows up. I just want to be alone to think. There's the fear in my mind that I didn't show off my quirk enough and I might get replaced because I was eliminated so early and that I'm still weak at my quirk, but those are the least of my worries. How am I supposed to confront Shinsou? A part of me wants to be angry and beat him into next week, but I can't bring myself to.

Kirishima slides into the seat next to me. "Hey, don't be so upset. You tried your best."

I sigh. "Thanks, Kiri. I don't care about losing though."

He puts a hand on my shoulder sympathetically. "That was a pretty nasty fight out there. Is everything okay between you guys?"

"I thought it was!" I burst out, almost laughing at my misfortune. "Apparently I was wrong and oblivious to everything!" I bury my face in my hands. "I just... How did it get to this, Kiri? I thought I knew him enough to know when something's wrong. Instead I let him deal with all those pent up emotions alone. God, I'm so stupid!"

Kirishima takes in my clearly disgruntled state and rubs the back of his neck, appearing uncomfortable. "If I'll be honest, Shinsou would be an idiot to do that to you intentionally, and he's probably kicking himself for what he did. I know he really cares about you, he was just caught in the moment."

I turn my body to face my best friend. "Kiri, I know you're resisting the urge to beat his ass, you don't have to defend him."

"Of course I wanna beat him up! He made you sit here all upset, that's not manly!" He punches his fists together, suddenly fired up before he relaxes. "And at the same time, it wouldn't be manly of me to come between you guys."

I offer him a sad smile. I already know about Kiri's crush on me, he told me a few weeks ago after class when he didn't know I was already taken. Thankfully, he never made anything awkward after that and we've stayed best friends.

"Which is why I should help you guys patch thing up instead!" He flashes a shark-tooth grin. "You guys should really talk it over, clear the air once and for all! I think he would really appreciate it if you gave him a chance to explain his feelings."

I nod to myself. "Yeah, it wouldn't do us any good to let this blow up." Swinging an arm over his shoulder, I ruffle his gelled hair. "You would make a great boyfriend, Kiri, giving great advice like this."

"Hey hey! Don't mess up my hair!" The red-head struggles in my grip. "Don't you have any idea how long it took me to do this morning?!"

I stretch out my sore muscles as I walk out of the changing room, ready to go home after a long day. In the distance, Shinsou's waiting near a bench, hands in his pockets as usual.

"Hey," I greet him with a neutral tone.

He's surprised to see me approach him first. "Hey..."

To avoid too long of an awkward pause, I say, "I'm sorry you didn't win. I guess Midoriya found a way to overcome your quirk."

"Yeah, that was shocking to me." He avoids my gaze, rubbing the back his neck awkwardly.

I swallow, gathering my wits. I've rehearsed what I wanted to say while I was sitting around idle during the day and I'm ready to let it all out. "I-"

"I'm really sorry for everything I said." Shinsou beats me to the punch. "I want to take it back and say none of it was true, but my feelings are still there." He shuffles his feet together. "I know you were still trying to make time for me, I was just selfish that you were spending time with Ashido and Kirishima and...their friends. My own insecurities got in the way." His hand lands on my head, a sign of his affection. "You made it into the Hero class by your own merit. And I do trust that you wouldn't leave me. You're the best thing that's happened to me and I almost screwed this up. And if you're still mad, I understand-"

I cut him off by enveloping him in a hug, squeezing him with my arms around him as I bury my face in his chest. "It's my fault too. I should've been more aware of your feelings and addressed them."

His arms timidly wrap around my frame. "So, you're not mad?"

"I mean, I still want to slap you for using your quirk on me twice when you promised you'd never do it."

His body rumbles as he laughs at me, petting my head. "I'm sorry for that too. I won't do it again."

"You better not," I threaten, though I know it's empty. "It really didn't feel good. If you do it again, as soon as I'm out, I'm whipping you with my chains."

He's silent for a moment. "Should I be excited or scared?" A girlish scream escapes his lips when metal collides with his back.

I had to I’m sorry :)

So the full anon ask (in case you were wondering) was: i absolutely love your writing! the shinso one is amazing! Idk if you write angst (to fluff) but if you do can you write: shinso and reader dating but the sports festival came up and they are against each other. shinso ends up saying negative things about the reader / relationship to try to get her to talk back. Reader ends up upset and wonders if he went too far. asks her best friend Kiri (who has a crush on her) for advice. And the rest is up to you :)

Thanks again anon for being my first request :)

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #kirishima #mha angst #shinsou angst #angst to fluff #request #ask #anon #shinsou imagine #shinsou scenario #gender neutral reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #hitoshi shinsou #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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sassy-starker · 4 years

Text

Running

A Starker Drabble

There was something oddly therapeutic about running away, about knowing that nobody has any clue where you are, about having no idea where you’re headed. Nobody on the street pays attention to you, because you’re just another stranger heading somewhere— heading nowhere— and nobody gives a shit about you or your life. There’s nothing significant about you, no feature that makes you stand out amongst the crowds as you wander through the towering building and blinding lights of New York City in the nighttime. There was— is— something therapeutic about running away, and Peter Parker knew that.

It wasn’t anything important; he wasn’t on the run from a terrorist organization or a life of crime or his debts to the mob. There was no reason for him to run, for him to think about getting out of New York and never returning. He shouldn’t be running, shouldn’t be leaving, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stay after he’d found out. When he walked into his apartment and found out that Quentin was cheating, he didn’t think about his options. His first thought was simply:

Run.

It was dumb, and he knew that. He couldn’t just run away from his apartment, from his home, and never face what had happened. He should go back and sit down with his boyfriend— ex-boyfriend?— and talk about it, but the more he thought about turning back, the more unappealing it sounded.

So, instead, he walked, head down and hood pulled up, along the dark streets of the city, ignoring the world around him, and the world ignored him right back. He had no clue where he was going or when he would stop running. He had his phone, a charger, fifty bucks, and a small container of chocolate hearts that he’d bought to give to Quentin when he came home that evening after work.

Coming across the stairs leading to the subway, he went down, the sound of his sneakers tapping against the concrete drowned out by the sounds of the city. Making it to the bottom, he jumped the gates, a skill he’d had extensive practice at as a teenager. Finally, he stood at the bottom, waiting for the next train to come.

The station was empty, the tunnels eerily quiet with only the faint sounds of the world above drifting down, muffled by the amount of space between him and the city. It was calming, in a way, just like running, with nobody there to stop him, no person there to tell him to turn back. He was in control, he could go anywhere.

He could go nowhere.

He heard the train before he saw it, the deafening sound of it coming down the tracks echoing through the tunnels. The glare of the front lights made him squint his eyes a little, but he didn’t turn away.

When it came to a screeching halt, the doors slid open with a creak. He stepped into the cart closest to him, which was nearly empty except for one man sitting in the corner looking down at his phone. Peter sat down on a seat about in the middle of the cart, across from the doors he entered through and a little to the left, so he was in the same half of the car as the stranger.

The runaway didn’t pull out his phone or close his eyes, instead staring straight at the windows across from him and watching the concrete tunnels and blazing orange lights go by.

Nobody got on at the next three stops.

Peter could feel the other passenger sneaking glances at him, but said nothing and didn’t spare him a look, sitting unmoving as he continued to just stare out the dirty windows.

Another stop went by.

“Are you okay?” the stranger asked.

The brunet startled a bit and turned to look at the man, who was gazing at him with eyes full of what appeared to be genuine concern.

“Yeah. Why?” Peter replied, tone turning

slightly defensive, but a voice crack betrayed his assurance of being okay.

“You just looked like you were disassociating and I didn’t want you to miss your stop or anything.”

“Well, I’m fine, so you don’t have to worry.”

“No offense, but that sounded so fake that I’m only worrying more.”

Peter sighed, closing his eyes and running his hands down his face before opening his eyes again and looking back to the man.

“I’m just having a rough night,” he admitted with a shrug, hoping he could leave it at that.

“I figured. Not many people are riding the subway this late because they’re having a great day.” His voice was slightly humorous, but there was still that tone of concern underneath. The brunet found it almost endearing how much this stranger seemed to care about him.

“Well, wouldn’t that mean that you’re here because of a shitty night too?” Peter shot back, praying it would shift the focus off of him.

“I am,” the man confessed with a slightly sad smile. “How about this: if I tell you why I’m here, will you tell me why you’re here?”

Peter mulled over it for a few seconds, weighing the pros and cons. The logical part of him said that he shouldn’t even be talking to a random man on the subway, as you never knew who you could trust in New York City, but his curiosity wanted to find out why this stranger was here. Eventually, he came to a decision.

“Sure. What could go wrong?” Peter told him with a shrug, trying to act uninterested. “Why are you on the subway at two am, talking to some random twenty-two year old?”

“I’m a businessman and my assistant got pissed at me because I might have ruined a deal for the company I work for and I couldn’t sleep because I was so worried about it.” The sentence came out easily, no hesitation in the man’s voice. It was obvious to Peter that he was telling the truth. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I came home from a late shift at work and found out my boyfriend of two years was cheating on me,” Peter confided in the stranger, voice quiet and tone sounding almost embarrassed.

The man paused, simply staring at the brunet with a concerned face, looking even more worried than before.

“I’m really sorry. Being cheated on sucks.”

“It’s okay. I just didn’t know what to do and all I could think of doing was running, so here I am.”

The car stopped at the next station. Nobody got on.

Tears slowly started to leak out of Peter’s eyes and he didn’t realize how much he had wanted to cry until that moment. Still, he began to furiously wipe them away.

“Sorry. I sound like such a baby.” The tears wouldn’t stop falling.

The man got up and walked over, careful to keep his balance as the cart rocked back and forth on the tracks. He sat down near Peter, one seat between the two, enough to be close, but also enough so the brunet didn’t feel trapped by him.

“You don’t sound like a baby. Being cheated on feels awful, and I know that from experience. I don’t know why you would think that it’s dumb to feel upset over this.”

“Quentin, my boyfriend, I mean, he always told me I was just being dumb when I cried over things, and I am. I’m being a baby over this whole thing. Instead of facing him, I just ran away.”

The man sighed, eyes gleaming with sorrow and a controlled rage.

“He sounds like a dickhead.” That got a light chuckle out of Peter. “You’re allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to feel emotions. The fact that you’re emotional over him cheating on you is completely normal. He’s a manipulative asshole for making you feel like you can’t be mad at him.”

“You really think so?” The absolute hope in the brunet’s voice was heartbreaking, so full of innocence and wonder.

“I know so.”

The cart fell back into silence for a few moments as it came to a stop at the next station. Nobody got onto the cart.

“I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker,” the brunet introduced himself, deeming the stranger trustworthy.

“Tony Riggs,” the man replied, lying through his teeth about his last name. After all, his company didn’t give a face to the name of their owner, and he wasn’t about to give up his identity.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tony.” There was a soft smile on Peter’s face.

“You as well.” Tony matched his smile.

The cart came to a stop at another station and Peter gave a small sigh.

“I should get off. I need to go somewhere. I hope I see you again, Tony.” He stood up and walked off, leaving the man, who was in a bit of shock as the brunet walked off abruptly.

Tony was a moment too late to stand up and call after Peter, but the brunet was already gone. He didn’t know where the boy had come from or where he was going, but he did know one thing.

He wanted to meet Peter again, and he would go to the ends of the earth and back to see that soft, rosy-cheeked face and puppy dog brown eyes once more.

Notes: this was slightly inspired by this short fic by @birdycurtains and partly by a story of me talking to a stranger on the subway who was very nice to me and helped me through some shit. i’m open to writing a sequel to this if y’all want!

Tag List For All Fics (let me know if you would like to be added/removed!)

@darkerstarker @dim-ships-johnlock @ashleybeattie @haylove5

#starker #starker fanfiction #axiwrites #tony stark/peter parker #pro starker #ironspider #starker fic #starker fanfic #starker drabble #drabble #starker angst #kinda???#idk but i hope y’all liked it

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dailycharacteroption · 4 years

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Class Feature Friday: Intrigue Mystery (Oracle Mystery)

While most gods do not involve themselves in the frivolity of mortals, there are certain parallels that can be drawn between the machinations of the divine and mortal politics, and certainly there are a handful of deities and demideities that are patrons of such things.

Whether they view intrigue as a force all it’s own that one can divine the future from, or simply a tool for them to manipulate, some oracles are blessed by one or more such subtle divinities with powers to match, though the reason why can be unclear. Such oracles might persist with a destiny to subtly affect local or global politics in a way that favors the deity’s outlook, or perhaps they simply wish to subtly promote their values by creating a champion that espouses them and is a paragon of their use.

Regardless, there is no denying that these beings will drastically affect the civilized world around them.

These oracles are much more skilled at deception than most others, and this is reflected in the granted spells of this mystery. Things such as charming others, implanting ideas into their heads, communicating with allies from afar, seeing past magical disguises, viewing from afar, warding ones mind, and even overwhelming others in raw majesty.

True to the nature of their powers, a common ability for these oracles allows them to disguise themselves as other beings, first using illusion, though later they can do so with minor shapeshifting, eventually truly becoming a member of the other race in question.

Everyone has wants, things that could provide a canny individual a way into their good graces, or blackmail them. As such, some of these mystics can probe the minds of others to see what they desire.

Stealth is valuable to those involved in intrigue, and if you cannot hide, at the very least you can make sure that others do not remember that you were there, and some of these divine spymasters can do just that, removing recent memories of their presence.

Rumors and gossip, while unreliable at times, do sometimes have a grain of truth, and these oracles can use magic to follow them to their source, either tracing to see who tells who what they have heard, or following another bit of gossip back to the original teller.

A subtle spell can tip the odds in your favor, as long as no one knows you cast it. As such, concealing spells is a common technique acquired by those blessed with this mystery. They can even hide the use of magical items too, though this is more difficult.

In the most dire of emergencies, some of these oracles know to scatter, even when alone. They do so by creating a swarm of illusionary duplicates, each heading in a different direction, hopefully distracting foes long enough for the real one to make an escape.

Unleashing a vicious form of magical revenge, there are those intrigue mystics who can turn the harmful effects of that attack them back on the attacker, dealing feedback damage or having a change to afflict them with the same debilitating effects.

While they can learn true scrying spells, transferring a magical sensor by touch can work just as well, letting the oracle spy on someone ever after they depart from their sight.

Getting magical items or poison into some places can be a hassle, so these oracles have the potential to learn how to magically conceal such things, making them appear to be ordinary and lacking in any harmful effects.

The blessings of this mystery often lead the oracle right to where they need to look or listen, their perceptions and canniness guided by their force of personality, rather than understanding.

At the zenith of their ability, these oracles can cast their magic without verbal or somatic components as they please.

Not as offensive as other mysteries, this one makes for an oracle that specializes in gathering information, staying hidden and elusive, and generally being a highly manipulative and intrigue-focused character. As such, you’ll be relying on your spells for most of your offensive abilities, but don’t forget how enchantment and divination spells are valuable as well.

These mystics could be anything from mystical advisors in the Great Game to being political players in their own right. As NPCs or late-game PCs, they might be at the center of their web of intrigue. As early-level PCs, however, their story of their rise is only beginning.

The dead have wormed their way into the heart of Baculan politics, becoming particularly hard to root out with their layers of secrecy and other protections. As such, the duskwalker Imago was blessed with divine insight into the secrets of politics in hopes one day they will be able to root them out.

Their carriage having been driven off a bridge by bandits, the oracle Chala finds herself completely out of her depth in the marshes. The party, her bodyguard, will have to navigate back to civilization. Luckily, the bog striders that dwell there are reasonable, if strange people.

Lord Veculon the All-Seeing is in a rare predicament: He has been outmaneuvered by a rival and cannot act on the information he possesses. However, with the right nudge, a meddling band of adventurers might just be persuaded into doing the work for him.

#pathfinder #archetype #oracle #mystery #intrigue #duskwalker #bog strider #Ultimate Intrigue

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Yandere Giorno, Jotaro, and Bucciarati handling jealousy

Giorno Giovanna:

If by some rare chance you haven’t been kidnapped by the Don already, you should expect to at least be under constant surveillance. After the next unfortunate series of events however that limited freedom you’ve been enjoying will all but disappear in front of you.

Throughout Giorno’s life, it has been a reoccurring theme that very few people matter a lot to him. Even more so now as having people that he cares about is a liability, due to the nature of his occupation and the enemies it brings with it. But you were the crown jewel of those who mean the world to him. Invoking feelings of love that he never experienced, it holds a strong weight.

In times where he isn’t busy, he treats himself by either observing you (essentially stalking), or interacting with you. In the beginning of his obsession he still wants to make a good impression on you, so he tries not to come off too strong. That’s why he’s contenting himself with watching you at one of you favorite cafe, a rare fondness in his eyes.

He had already gone out of his way to speak to the owner of this cafe, instructing them to give you anything you want free of charge. It’s only a little taste of what luxuries you’ll have access too once you’re in a full fledged relationship with him, but Giorno wants to give you what he as soon as he can.

Settling himself at an outside table, he switches between observing the bustling businesses around him and you. It wouldn’t do for you to catch his insistent staring after all, so he appears as naturally as he can. But that’s when he catches onto a waiter that seems to be coming to your table a little too often for his liking.

The way you smiled naively at the waiters blatant advances served to irritate him deeply. It was almost offensive to him in a sense, that someone would even attempt to wriggle themselves into your life when you are Giorno’s. He isn’t one to make a public scene, but Giorno retrieves this individual’s information in record time.

Eventually he can no longer stomach watching you interact with this trash, so he walks over to your table and politely asks if you’d mind some company. Having already interacted with you in the past works off, as you readily accept his suggestion much to his relief. It’s enough to ward off the parasite from before.

If you were paying close enough attention, you’d be able to see Giorno is more on edge than he’d like to give off. His legs crossed over one another, grip on his tea cup a bit tighter than it needs to be. He still engages you in pleasant conversation, but his eyes have a malicious streak whenever he spots the waiter from earlier.

Afterwards he’ll deal with this insult himself. For now he’ll settle on removing their body parts and healing them so they can experience the pain nonstop -- but once he bores of their cries for help, he’ll have an underling take over with the torturing. No one can have eyes for you but him, after all.

This would further excel his plans of kidnapping you and keeping you to himself. Seeing how others are capable of acting around you cements the idea that they might attempt the grevious sin of taking you away from him.

Bruno Bucciarati:

Bucciarati has been working tirelessly to earn your trust and hopefully your affection. He has a dependable presence to you, always offering you guidance if you ask for it and taking time out of his busy day to converse with you. Whether it be in person or over the phone, Bucciarati makes it a top priority to speak to you everyday.

He worries about you frequently, knowing fully how cruel the world can be from experience. Someone as precious as you should be protected in his eyes, and he wants to keep you safe. There’s a silent pride to this, knowing that very few people could have the resources Bucciarati does to keep you safe. It becomes a part of his identity, being the most reliable person in your life.

When speaking to you over dinner, you express to him that you’ll be busier in the upcoming weeks and might not be able to see him as often. Bucciarati, composed as over, would politely inquire what it is that’ll be so demanding of your attention. At this point he basically feels like you’re partners, even if it isn’t official -- he treats you out so often after all! But doesn’t want to pressure you into anything... yet.

You explain that one of your best friends from overseas is coming to visit for a few weeks, and that he’s going to be staying with you. It’s ever so brief, the way Bucciarati frowns at the news instead of sharing in your excitement as he normally does when you speak to him on your plans. But he’s quick to catch himself and expresses he hopes you have fun.

Afterwards every piece of information on this “friend” is discovered, from their blood type to where they study. The thought of this insignificant speck taking even an ounce of your attention away from Bucciarati displeases him greatly, and he’s quick to think of what to do about it.

Killing this friend would be easy but counter productive for now. He hates the thought of making you sad, since you mean so much to him! So he settles on pulling some strings and having this individual’s travel visa thrown into chaos.

You’re disappointed obviously, but in this time Bucciarati does everything he can to distract you and cheer up your sullen mood. It proves effective as you grow even closer to him during this, wanting to spend more time with this reliable person in your life. He’s always so sweet and considerate of you, isn’t he?

If this pest continues to present himself as a problem though, Bucciarati will have to continue escalating the situation. Whether it be disposing of him and hiding the information from you eventually, or simply threatening him to leave you alone -- it depends on Bucciarati’s mood. If you ever got combative with him after being kidnapped though, it would be in your best interest to stop as Bucciarati’s reservations of killing this friend would immediately disappear.

Jotaro Kujo:

Jotaro choosing to be around you is typically enough to have most people keep their distance from you. No one is even sure why (including yourself) Jotaro seems to hang around you as often as he does, not that you really mind. While he isn’t the most talkative person, he seems to care for you in his own way and always listens to you. He can even often good advice and help with your schoolwork if you need it!

You’re not even fully sure how to describe your relationship with Jotaro. You guess you’re friends? He only seems to spend time with you out of everyone else at your university. But when he’s busy you hang out with your other friends.

Jotaro is always your go to when you don’t understand something, but lately he’s been busier than normal with a variety of exams. This lead you to asking one of your friends, Liam, for some guidance on a lecture you had trouble understanding.

The two of you busied yourself in the library, him explaining some concepts to you before you both got off track. Eventually it turns into more of a social meet as you exchange jokes and pleasantries about life. However Jotaro ended up needing to go to the library as well, and spotted you chatting in a friendly manner with this... lecherous looking indidual. It didn’t sit well with him.

Jotaro already has a persistent dislike of your current friends, finding them obnoxious and a waste of your time. To add to his irritation it looked like the two of you had books out that normally Jotaro would go over with you. It felt like Liam was infringing on a sacred bond Jotaro silently prided himself in having with you. Even if Jotaro would complain about you needing his help, he loved being able to assist you.

Suddenly all of the work he needed to do leaves his mind, and he walks up to you and starts talking. It’s almost glaringly obvious that he’s ignoring Liam, who stares at him in return. Sensing some strange tension in the air, you ask Jotaro if he wants to join you; to which he eagerly agrees.

Every time Liam begins to explain something to you, Jotaro finds every possible fault within his words. “That’s not how this works.” Or stuff like “Good grief. It should be evident this is a trick question.”

It’s an embarrassing ordeal for the both of you, and Liam eventually comes up with an excuse to stalk off after Jotaro humiliated him one too many times. When you ask Jotaro what his problem is, he doesn’t really offer an answer. He instead says if you need help that he can make time, and that idiots like that would ruin your grades.

He means it too. At the drop of a hat Jotaro would be by your side if you asked him to, even if he gave off the air of it being troublesome. Jotaro wants to assert himself as the most reliable person you could find, and will do anything he can to keep your precious attention on him.

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themattress · 3 years

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OUAT AND ME: IN WONDERLAND

Story - Because this spin-off series only lasted for one season's worth of 13 episodes, its story is simply the Wonderland Saga and nothing else beyond that, which is for the best given that the story reaches far too complete an ending for anything beyond it to make any sense. The story is about Alice and what transpired after she returned from her original journey through Wonderland as a little girl, leading up to her romance with a young genie named Cyrus as a teenager, their tragic separation, her commitment to a mental institution, and her return to Wonderland in order to reunite with her lost love alongside her friend the Knave of Hearts, all while facing threats from the Red Queen and Jafar who seek to use Cyrus’ genie powers to break the laws of magic in order to accomplish their own secret goals.

The Wonderland Saga is as tight as tight can be, with one chief setting (Wonderland), a relatively small cast of characters, and a 4-episode beginning, 4-episode middle, and 5-episode end. Of course, this wouldn't matter if it wasn't an engaging story with enjoyable characters, but thankfully it very much is. This series is the brainchild of not just Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis, but also of Jane Espenson and Zack Estrin, and because of this fact combined with its limited length, it actually surpasses the original Once Upon a Time when you stack the two completed shows up against each other. Sometimes, less is more.

As I said, the story is divided into a clear-cut beginning, middle, and end. The beginning focuses on the early part of Alice and the Knave's journey and establishing who they are and what their deal is, while Jafar and the Red Queen's goals and motivations are kept enigmatic and Cyrus is trapped in a cage for the whole duration of the time. The middle lets Cyrus escape, sheds light on Jafar and the Red Queen's goals and motivations, and explores the darker sides of Alice and the Knave as we see just how badly their past traumas have affected them. And the end is all about the alliance of Alice, Cyrus, the Knave and the Red Queen as they fight Jafar and his new ally the Jabberwocky to decide the fate of Wonderland. It's here that all lingering questions are answered and all character arcs are fully completed.

As far as stories go, this is top tier OUAT. I think I like the Dark Curse and Neverland Sagas slightly more, but the Wonderland Saga comes in at an incredibly close third place.

Characters - There are less of them than in the main show, so this will be easy.

* We start with Alice, played by Sophie Lowe as a teenager and by pre-Stranger Things Millie Bobby Brown as a child. She is a wonderfully multi-faceted heroine, capable of great love and great hate, great kindness and great cruelty, great ingenuity and great gullibility, and always treading the line between holding to hope and giving into despair. While her romance with Cyrus is the focal point of the story, I love that it's not the only important aspect to her character. We also delve into her fractured relationship with her father; her initially unsteady but eventually rock solid friendship with Will; her hate, fear and distrust of Anastasia up until she finally sees the girl behind the queenly mask and how very much alike they truly are; and even her internal mental and emotional conflicts with herself on various matters that sometimes go external due to how Wonderland works. And no offense to Emma Swan, who is great in her prime, but I feel like Alice is ultimately the stronger and more likable lead.

* Cyrus really impresses me, because being the romantic male object of the heroine's attention and a guy who spends the entire first third of the story stuck in a cage, he could have very easily been a boring character. But very quickly, he shows that good looks and magic powers aren't all there is to him - this guy is smart. His cleverness and ingenuity that allows him to affect the plot even when inside his cage is something to behold, and he only gets better once he's free from his prison and gets to play off other characters with more frequency. Add to this a backstory where we see he used to be a selfish con artist, and it being his love for Alice that changed the selfish part while repurposing the con artist part for the cause of good, and you have a character you can enjoy and a couple you can root for.

* The show's breakout character, for better or for worse (no, it's definitely for worse, as we'll see in the next post) is the Knave of Hearts / Will Scarlet. Played excellently by Michael Socha, Will was formerly one of Robin Hood's Merry Men but is now an outlaw all to himself in Wonderland. He's sardonic and quippy, selfish and yet reliable at the same time, eerily muted in his emotions due to having his heart removed from his chest and yet clearly possessing deep feelings within his soul that occasionally bubble to the surface. We watch him go from an untrustworthy, cowardly cad who refuses to accept responsibility for anything to a brave and loyal friend who will sacrifice his own well-being for those he cares about. And his love story with Anastasia honestly steals the show from Alice and Cyrus', as it's full of betrayal and heartbreak and fights and truces and reconciliations before its happy ending, and that honestly feels more human than Alice and Cyrus' entirely plot-based separation.

* Speaking of the Red Queen / Anastasia, she is the female villain with a redemption arc that Regina (and Zelena, to a lesser extent) wishes she was. When she first appears, the Red Queen seems to be a chillingly calm and poised sociopath without moral scruples, but she quickly starts displaying vulnerability, and kudos must be given to Emma Rigby for conveying this through her amazing performance. Her cool, haughty face is like a mask, with more and more cracks beginning to show until we see who she really is - Anastasia, a peasant girl who was misled into a life that was full of power and privilege but that was also lonely and way over her capability to endure in the long run, and who desperately wants to take it all back and return to who she used to be. Once she realizes that she won't be getting the magic shortcut she seeks and that in the process of seeking it she'd wrought even more damage to Wonderland, Anastasia fully commits herself to doing better by everyone that she'd hurt. Even horrific torture, temporary death and mind control doesn't stop her from aiding in the cause to save Wonderland! She's amazing and more than earns her happy ending with Will.

* I could gush about Jafar, the Big Bad of the story, all day long. Jafar has always been my favorite Disney Villain, but he's the villain of an animated musical comedy, so I guess I've always had the question in the back of my mind as to what he'd be like if applied to something with a more serious tone? Well, this version of the character, played to chilling perfection by Naveen Andrews, answers that question. Stripped of most of his caricatured and humorous elements, Jafar is a psychotic, power-hungry madman who will stop at nothing to get what he desires. There is no-one he won't manipulate or torture or murder in his quest to become all-powerful. And the show also gives him a feasible, compelling and incredibly dark backstory (he's the bastard child of an Agrabahn sultan who rejected him to the point of trying to murder him) that explains why he is the way he is but is never used to excuse him or entertain the slightest notion that he might be redeemable. This version of Jafar perfectly embodies what Roy Disney and Jeffrey Katzenberg said about the original: “Jafar is just pure evil. He wants to take over the kingdom and kill everybody in sight or enslave them, or whatever suits his fancy." "This is the guy that wants it all. You know right from the start that he is a desperate character, capable of doing anything and everything to get what he wants".

* The White Rabbit / Percy is a purely CGI character, and you'd fear that this wouldn't work, but the show embraces how cartoony he is and so it actually works perfectly. He's a very appealing character as well: very neurotic and cowardly, but also a family man whose heart is in the right place and who can be very brave when push comes to shove. A lot of his likability also comes from the fact that John Lithgow (yes, I'm surprised they were able to get him too!) does his voice, and I can't think of anyone else who could voice such a character better.

* In terms of side characters, we have many Wonderland staples reimagined for this show, such as the Cheshire Cat who is now a feral beast voiced by Keith David, the Caterpillar who is now a Jabba the Hutt-esque crime boss voiced by Iggy Pop (who sounds nothing like the voice from the main show, but I digress), Tweedledee and Tweedledum who are the Red Queen's manservants (one being undyingly loyal while the other is a spy for Jafar), the sleazy Red King who tempts Anastasia into becoming his bride, the Carpenter who is trapped in a drug-like haze in the Boro Grove, the White Knight who stands guard over an important pair of doorways, and the Jabberwocky, a monster in the form of a humanoid woman whose power is being able to see a person's greatest fear and use it to psychologically torture them.

There is also mention of Alice having met Jefferson the Mad Hatter when she was a child, and Cora the Queen of Hearts herself appears in the flashback that shows how she manipulated events so that Will became the Knave of Hearts and ensure that Anastasia remained the Red Queen, whom she taught magic and villainy to and treated like a daughter. Regina, Zelena, Anastasia...is there no young woman that Cora won’t attempt to ruin?

Other side characters from other realms include Alice's highly flawed yet ultimately repentant father Edwin, his bitch of a new wife Sarah and her precocious young daughter Millie, and the cold-hearted Dr. Lydgate all from Alice's Victorian world; Robin Hood, Maleficent (voice-over only) and Anastasia's mother Lady Tremaine all from the Enchanted Forest; Nyx the guardian of a sacred well, Cyrus' mother and Jafar's teacher Amara, Cyrus' brothers Taj and Rafi, and Jafar's father the Sultan and half-brother Mirza all from Agrabah. The Sultan, by the way, is a particularly interesting character, as he's introduced as Cyrus' kindly old cellmate and you really get to thinking of him as a good guy, only to then learn who he really is and just what an utterly horrible person he was in the past. His tale is a tragic one, as while he sincerely commits to repenting, it’s not good enough and thus he cannot escape fatal poetic justice.

And then there's one side character that just really gets my goat: Elizabeth aka the Lizard, a cute young thief who has a crush on Will. She appears in the 4th episode and doesn't really do much of anything, then disappears for a while. I thought maybe she was going to end up paired with that "Mr. Darcy" suitor of Alice's from her world and it was going to be a big Pride and Prejudice reference...but instead, she reappears in the 9th episode, becomes the now genified Will's master, and makes a wish that accidentally kills her in order to give Will man-pain. And then she isn't really spoken of again afterward. What was even the point of her!? You could cut all of her scenes and actions from this story and miss absolutely nothing!

Atmosphere - I would describe this show's atmosphere as light and dark, back to back. When it's light, it is much lighter than Once Upon a Time, being very whimsical and romantic and fluffy and hopeful to an even higher degree than its parent show at its best. However, this kind of lightness helps to make the dark elements come off as that much darker as a result. And while there's certainly some dark stuff where Alice in concerned, from an intended lobotomy in the premiere episode to the intense clashing she has with her father, and in the troubled pasts of Will and Anastasia, nothing comes close to the darkness of everything Jafar-related. It's a guarantee that he will do something horrible to someone at least once per episode, although it's usually more than once. The nature of his backstory as a bastard child whose father attempts to drown him plus the intensity of his depraved power-lust also make him a particularly dark character, as is his eventual partner, the terrifying Jabberwocky. Personally, I have always appreciated stories that can balance light and dark in this way and am able to handle both of them, so this show's atmosphere is very appealing to me.

Episode Quality - All I can say here is that there is only one dud in this series, and it's not hard to spot which episode it is. Like I said, while the beginning and middle portions of the show are 4 episodes each, the end is 5 episodes...and the first of those 5, "Nothing to Fear", is incredibly awkward and poorly executed. On top of being where the aforementioned death of the Lizard occurs, the plotline with Alice, Cyrus and Anastasia is also botched. Alice clinginess to Cyrus out of worry that he might become separated from her again and she wants to savor the time she has with him now doesn't really work in the context of needing to find where the freshly genified Will went ASAP, and it makes Alice look bad - Will went through "Bloody Hell" to help her reunite with Cyrus, and now that she's been reunited with him at the direct expense of Will, she doesn't give a fuck? She feels no urgent desire to pay her friend back and be as dedicated to helping him as he was to helping her? Also, the way she verbalizes her issues sounds too ripped off of Emma Swan from the similarly clumsy episode "The New Neverland", and what works for Emma doesn't really work for Alice.

Alice's distrust of Anastasia and dislike of working with her is also badly written, in literally every other episode the tense dynamic between these two has been handled with more care and nuance, but here Alice just comes off as a bratty child. Again, Will is missing and you need to find him quickly, so being able to put aside your differences with Anastasia maturely would go a long way in helping make that happen, Alice! Also, there's a sequence with angry peasants tying Anastasia, Alice and Cyrus to stakes to be eaten by nocturnal wolf-like creatures, and it's so thoroughly mishandled to the point of coming across as comical (Anastasia really can't fight back or escape her binding despite the skills we've seen her have before? Cyrus really thought an eloquent speech was going to instantly convince the peasants to do what he wants of them? The peasants act like they're righteous people who are getting justice against their oppressor and yet then tie two completely innocent people up for daring to go against the grain on the matter? And oh my God, those wolves look awful!)

The only good parts of the episode are the very last scene between Alice, Cyrus, Anastasia and (finally!) Will, plus all of the scenes with Jafar which lead up to the Jabberwocky's debut. Otherwise, this was a transitional episode that needed a lot of fine-tuning from its makers.

Overall - Once Upon a Time in Wonderland is now on Disney+, so if you have that streaming service and haven't watched it, please do so. It's a very well-made limited series that features a great story and great characters played by great actors, and is a definite part of OUAT in its prime. And again, when both completed shows are compared, this one wins hands-down.

#Once Upon a Time #ABC #OUAT and Me #Opinion #Analysis

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365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

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[ @sasuhinabigflash2020 || Day Four: On A Hill ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, blood, death, gun ] [ Verse: Stockades and Stagecoaches ] [ AO3 Link ]

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“YAH!”

Kicking spurs into his mount’s side, Sasuke leans up over the horse’s neck, releasing his reins to better keep hold of his rifle. Hooves thunder against the ground, dry and dusty in the dog days of Summer. Ahead of him, his target is just as desperate to build speed, glancing back over his shoulder to his pursuer.

Just a little closer…

Then with a bang and a whiz, a bullet flies by, followed quickly by more as the fiend draws a pistol, firing nearly blind behind himself in a last ditch effort to ward off his foe.

But Sasuke’s been in far too many fire fights to flinch. Instead, he finally launches a bullet of his own with a cracking report.

It flies true, burying into the man’s back with a cry of agony. For a moment he sits stiff in his saddle before falling to the earth. His own horse keeps running, and Sasuke makes no attempt to stop it. Instead, he brings his to a stop with a hold of the reins and a soft, “whoa”.

Blood pooling in the dirt, the rogue beneath him draws a few more rattling breaths before going still.

Seems he won’t be getting a confession, but in truth he doesn’t need one. All he knows is that this one’s face was on a wanted poster...and when Sasuke decides to take down a bounty, nothing stands in his way.

Dead or alive.

Dismounting, he goes through the man’s pockets, taking anything of note that the dead no longer need. A few dollars, a pocket watch, and a half-empty package of cigarettes. He doesn’t smoke, but he might be able to trade them to someone who does.

Making sure the target’s deceased, Sasuke then hauls him up behind his saddle, tying him down to take in to the sheriff’s office. For good measure, he folds the copy of the poster he took and stuffs it in the man’s pocket to make the last step all the easier.

He then climbs up into his seat, surprised to find the other horse come to a stop not too far off. With a flick of his lasso, he manages to catch it, leading it back toward town. Given his owner no longer has need of it...might as well sell it. He trusts his own mount too much to consider trading, and he doesn’t carry enough to need a pack animal.

The less he can get by on, the easier it is to keep moving.

The ride to town takes him until sunset, curious citizens gawking at the scene. Bounty hunters aren’t exactly rare, but a successful haul - let alone a dead one - still draws gazes.

Clearly about ready to call it a day, the sheriff lounges in a rocking chair along the front of the jail, sitting up as Sasuke approaches. “And what have we here?”

Rather than answer, the Uchiha grabs the body and tosses it on the veranda, whipping out the parchment and presenting it without a word.

“Hm…” With a boot, the sheriff turns the body face-up, comparing the face to the sketch. “Seems right to me. Give me a moment and I’ll fetch your reward, mister…?”

“Uchiha. Sasuke Uchiha.”

“Mister Uchiha.” Giving a nod and stepping over the corpse, the other man disappears for a few minutes before returning with a small wad of bills. “Two hundred and fifty dollars, as advertised. And our little town thanks you for your service. One less varmint runnin’ amok.”

Hand at its brim, Sasuke tips his hat respectfully before remounting. With that money, he can easily afford a room, a bath, and to restock on supplies before heading to the next town to see what work they’d have. But first...a little rest and relaxation for a job well done.

His horse plods easily through town, watching as it begins to button up for the evening. Wives scold late-returning husbands, children are ushered in before it gets dark...and patrons flock to the tavern for its late night lights and spirits.

Tempting, but he’ll want a clear head to travel come morning.

His plan, however, soon runs into a snag. Seems the inn is full.

“There’s a boarding house at the west end a’town,” the innkeep offers. “A bit more spendy, but it should do well for ya. Run by a real nice gal. Sits up on a hill, y’can’t miss it.”

Glancing in the offered direction, Sasuke spies what looks to be the building’s silhouette as the sun sets behind it. Giving his thanks, Sasuke follows the scant directions, finding himself at the base of a three story building. Curious eyes rove over it before lowering to the door. Horse tethered in what is clearly the property’s stable, he walks up and knocks.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually the door opens. And standing within it is a woman of shorter stature and fuller features. But what catches his eyes first are her own: a pale color, almost like subdued lilac.

She in turn looks surprised to see him. And given that he sees no evidence of other guests, Sasuke can guess why. “...evening, sir!” she then greets, flashing a demure smile. “Can I help you…?”

“I was told lodging was offered here?” he asks, glancing up behind her.

“Yes, this’s a boarding house. Are you in need of a room?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Thinking to remove his hat, Sasuke then offers, “Wouldn’t turn down a bath and a meal, either.”

That gets her to softly laugh. “Of course. No offense, but...you look like you brought half the road with you.”

“Oh, er…” Stepping back, he dusts at his garments. “Had a long ride.”

“Most who come through do. If you’d like, I can launder those for you.”

He pauses. “...I’d appreciate that, ma’am.”

“Oh, please - miss Hyūga suits me just fine.” She then opens the door wider, and Sasuke steps in, spurs clinking quietly. “I’ll get that bath started for you. Just leave your things outside the door and I’ll tend to them.”

“Sure it’s not a bother?”

“Not at all. I’m...sure you’ve noticed you’re the only patron at the moment,” she notes with a weary sigh. “So I’ve all the time in the world. If anything, a bit more to do would be nice.”

Still feeling a bit awkward at all the offered hospitality, Sasuke just nods, letting her show him to a room and then the bathroom. She heats the water on the stove, filling the tub and leaving soaps for his use.

Taking in his saddlebags, Sasuke unpacks one of few spare outfits he has, stripping down and leaving what’s soiled outside the door before slipping into the water.

Admittedly...he can’t remember the last time he had a proper bath. Mostly just rinsing off in obliging rivers or rain barrels. So this? This is a treat. And he’s going to be damn sure to enjoy it while he can.

Only once clean and the water cold does he emerge, toweling off and dressing. Upon cracking open the door, he does indeed find what he left behind gone.

Feeling a bit standoffish, he eventually makes his way back downstairs, following the scent of food. And there he finds Hinata setting the dining room table before glancing up to him.

“My, looks like you’ve shed ten pounds from lost dirt alone,” she notes, smiling again as he flashes pink across the tops of his ears and the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me, it’s...been a while since I’ve had a guest. Seems my manners need some dusting off, too.”

“No harm, ma-...er, miss Hyūga.”

“Well, best have your supper before it gets cold.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes, before you arrived. No need to fuss over me, sir. Though that reminds me...I’ve yet to ask your name.”

“Sasuke Uchiha,” he replies upon taking a seat.

“Well, will you be with us long, mister Uchiha?”

“Just until morning.”

For a moment, disappointment flickers over her face, but is soon replaced by another smile. “Well, I’d best make the most of it, then! If you need anything else, just holler. I’ll be finishing up some chores. If you turn in early, I’ll offer a goodnight now.”

Sasuke just nods, watching her leave before taking a bite.

He’ll admit, it’s damn good.

Once his plate is cleared, he peeks into the kitchen, finding it empty and leaving his cutlery by the sink. Part of him wants to inquire after his clothes, but...well, she’s already doing him a favor. No need to appear pushy. Instead, he follows the lamplight up to his room and tucks into bed for the night.

To his honest surprise, rest comes quickly, and he sleeps well past sunup. He must’ve been more tired than he’d thought. Sitting up, he pauses at the sight of folded clothes atop the chest of drawers nearby.

Seems they’re all taken care of.

Redressing, he makes to pack them only to pause. She even mended a tear in his sleeve from a knife fight he won a few nights back.

Fingering the stitches, he mulls that over before putting everything back in its proper place and hauling the saddlebags down to the main floor.

“Miss Hyūga?” he calls, tone a bit muted in the otherwise-empty building. Sounds come from the kitchen, but he doesn’t want to intrude.

“Breakfast is almost ready!” she replies, offering no further explanation. So, in the meantime, he takes out his bags and greets his mount. Seems they’re just as well-rested, bright-eyed and nickering softly.

“Not much longer and we’ll be back on the road,” he assures them softly.

Back inside, he steps in just as his hostess goes bustling past. “One last meal before you head on your way,” she explains with a smile.

“What’ll I owe you?”

“A dollar typically gets you a day.”

“But you’ve -?”

His counter is waved aside, taking her own seat to dine with him. “As I said, the busywork is a blessing itself. It’s been quiet. The mine that saw so many men come through is all but dried up, so...most of my business is past. A little longer, then I’ll likely move back to the city. It was a fun little venture, but all good things come to an end, I’m afraid.”

Having no retort, Sasuke stands for a moment before joining her. They pass with small talk, the Hyūga woman telling of the town, and Sasuke of his choice in work.

“What an adventure it must be,” she offers wistfully, cradling her mug of tea as the meal comes to a close.

“It’s rarely boring,” he agrees dryly. “But not very steady, or comfortable.”

“I can imagine. But comfortable is often just that: boring,” she replies with a soft smile.

“A happy medium isn’t easy to find.”

“Well...maybe you will someday. At least you’ll have some freedom and excitement. I’ll be heading back to my father’s. Comfortable, but...well, it’s not exactly glamorous under his thumb.”

“Oh…?”

“He’s made his fortune in the oil fields,” she replies with a sigh. “So in reality, there’s little need for me to be here, but...I wanted to try and make my own way. But, as usual...I’ll end up right back where I started.”

Sasuke hesitates. “...I see.”

“But it’s nothing to cry over. I’ll make due. But I’ll miss it here. Meeting so many new people, hearing other stories…”

“Are you...running dry on funds?”

“Yes and no. I could keep pouring money into it, but...there’s just no point, now. Not with no one to pander to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. It was fun while it lasted. I’ll survive. I’m just thankful I got the opportunity.”

With that, the conversation mostly dries up, and Sasuke finds he has no real reason to linger. The sooner he leaves, the sooner he’ll reach the next town, and his next bounty.

...but part of him is sad to go.

Hinata tidies up after them, walking out to the porch as he mounts up.

“Thank you very much for your hospitality, miss Hyūga,” he offers genuinely.

“Thank you for the business. But more so the company,” she replies, smiling.

“So...where’s home, if not here?”

“My father has a home in the capital. I’ll return there in a few weeks, likely to just get married off. But...I suppose that’s not a bad thing.”

For some reason, his chest tightens...but he offers no retort.

“If you ever find yourself in the big city, maybe we’ll cross paths again,” she then adds, regaining his gaze.

“...maybe. Probably plenty of crime in the city.”

“Where men go, evil follows.”

HIs lips twitch before giving a polite dip of his head. “Miss Hyūga.”

“Safe travels,” she replies, waving as he makes for the town center. Time to stock up, and hit the trail.

...who knows. Maybe sooner or later it’ll lead to the big city.

Oookay it’s late so I’ma be brief xD Wild west AU cuz...reasons. While not really a fan of the genre overall, I do live really rural, so...it’s kinda ingrained into me lol. I’ve written one other piece in it but that was for another ship in another event I hosted last year. I’m no expert by any means xD I doubt I’ll do more but I guess it depends on where the prompt list takes me, and I guess what you guys think? Buuut for now I’m gonna go sleep - thanks for reading!

#sasuhinabigflash2020 #shbf2020 #sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #blood //#death //#gun //#stockades and stagecoaches [ au ]

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