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criminallyvenomous · 1 year

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Fighting Leads To Fxxking

Masterlist

Chapter Eleven - You're On Your Own, Kid

Word Count - 1,113

Tw - Alcoholism, Mention of Drugs, Fighting, Drunkenness

Plot - Stark! Reader get stuck watching Loki after the events of 2012. Moments of weakness and bad decisions involving the world's most hated man lead to the worst possible outcome, pregnancy.

"I know, Mom. I just can't believe I was so stupid. Of course he would recognize me."

"It's not your fault. Can you just come home?"

"Has he drank today?"

"He hasn't put a bottle down since you left."

"Then I can't come home. I'm sorry." You hung up the phone as you inserted the key into Natasha's door, Thor following behind you with his arms full of bags.

"Are you okay?" He asked as you hunted through Nat's kitchen, looking for something to fulfill your craving.

"My dad saw a photo of us in the news and he thinks you're the father," You explain, grabbing a box of saltine crackers, "Does she really only order in?" You mumble.

"Isn't that what you wished for? To keep my chaos-filled brother in the dark?" You offered a sleeve of crackers and he raised a brow before opening it.

"I guess, I just didn't want it to happen outside of my terms."

"Completely understandable. I apologize for drawing attention in the city." He tried a saltine and smiled a bit at the taste.

"It's not your fault, Thor. You were being a good Uncle." You ate another cracker.

"It was my intention to care for you and it turned out to harm you."

"It's still better than him finding out it's really your brother." You shrugged. He had finished the entire sleeve of crackers and you chuckled at his speed.

"Oddly tasty for a Migardian cuisine." He smiled.

"What do you normally eat for a snack on Asgard?"

"A lot of grapes really." You laughed with him.

You showed Thor different shows and he was fascinated by the American taste in humor.

"What is this one called? I am rather fond of the foolishness."

"Catfish. It came out this year. I can't stop watching. People are stupid." You laughed.

He couldn't keep his eyes off the screen, constantly asking questions in order to understand the slang and behaviors. A knock on the door interrupted you both. You tried to ignore it but it persisted, followed by a voice.

"I know you're in there, Y/N!" It was your father.

You paused the TV and exchanged looks with Thor, careful to not make a sound.

"I heard the TV." He pounded. He was slurring his words, drunk as a skunk.

"I will answer, Sister. Go into the bedroom and don't come out until he's calmed down." Thor told you and you listened, making a b-line to the bedroom. You were apprehensive, but you trusted Thor. He had centuries of de-escalation training.

"Open this fucking door, right now." Tony yelled.

"Hello, Stark." Thor answered, opening the door, taken aback by his disheveled appearance.

"You must have some fucking nerve." Tony growled as he entered.

"Must we argue? Can we simply have a civil discussion? We aren't enemies, there is no need to brawl." Thor reasoned.

"I don't think so, you fucked my daughter, Pointbreak." Tony stumbled, Thor leaned in to steady him.

"How much liquor have you ingested, Stark?"

"None of your business."

"Did you drive here?"

"Stop asking me these stupid ass questions." He sighed, shaking his head.

"No, I wont, I care for you. No matter your thoughts about me, I think of you as family, and soon we will be." Thor tried to extend an olive branch.

"That's it." Your father puncher Thor in the gut.

"Dad, stop!" You entered, yelling.

"No, you don't get a say. He took advantage of you, knocked you up, and left the fucking planet. I get to kick his ass." You moved in between your father and your pretend-lover. Thor was still clenching his stomach. He may have been a god, but he wasn't ready for that.

"Move." He yelled, trying to find you.

"Stop! You're drunk, dad. Think about this, do you really want to lose me and mom again?" You felt a tear fall and you were quick to wipe it, hoping your father was too inebriated to notice.

"I don't know what I want." He retorted, seemingly noticing the pain he's caused, to you emotionally and to Thor physically.

"You always talk about how you missed out on the first years of my life, do you really want to miss all of your granddaughters?" You couldn't hide your emotions anymore. You were becoming undone. Thor stepped forward and placed his hand on your shoulder and you looked behind to see him staring at you, desperately trying to make sure you were okay.

"Don't you dare threaten me." He pointed his finger.

"I think it might be best to table this conversation for when you aren't intoxicated, Tony." Thor tried once more to reason.

"You don't know what's best for me, or her." His face was turning red, you didn't know if it was from the alcohol or his mood.

"All I want is to be there for your daughter, to show her that she is loved in this trying time. I want to be there for her child, to be by her side as she grows up." He smiles at you. You gave him a teary but heartfelt grin.

"Dad, I'm gonna call Uncle Rhodey to pick you up. I can't talk with you when you're like this." You pulled out your phone and stepped away to call your uncle, he had always been there for you and Pepper when it came to the downfall of your father.

"Stark, let me get you a water." Thor walked and grabbed a bottle from the fridge and handed it to him.

He was overwhelmed with emotions and he was too drunk to understand any of them. He hated you right now, but he loved you too much to lose you. So, he took the water and looked for his phone in his jacket, he just wanted to call Pepper. He wanted to apologize for what he had said to her when he saw the press. He felt remorseful. He wanted so desperately to make this work, he just didn't know how.

Something fell from his jacket as he pulled out his phone.

"You dropped something," Thor picked up the item and looked at it closer, "Wait, what is this?" He asked, now holding the bag of white powder.

"None of your business." Tony grabbed it as fast as he could, but not fast enough for you to not see it as you reentered the vicinity.

"Are you kidding me? You're using again?" You finally broke. You weren't feeling sorrow anymore, just pure anger.

"No, I swear I haven't used, I just- I keep it with me, as a reminder."

"Get the fuck out."

im trying my best to write the next chapter so u guys dont have to wait too long. i started posting this with eight chapters pre-written, so now we're all caught up with my work. i hope u guys are liking the story! pls leave comments as it makes my day. don't choke my little guttersluts - kat.

#marvel #loki #loki x stark! reader #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki fanfic #mcu loki #stark! reader #tony stark #iron man #thor odinson #thor #loki odinson #marvel x reader #pepper potts #pepper #natasha romanoff #black widow

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jwhyme · 5 years

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🇦🇺 Stray Kids As Types Of Australians 🇦🇺

Thanks to @420yeehaw420 for helping me think of some more ideas.

Chan - that guy you see at the bottle-o whos wearing a tank top with a Heineken logo, boardies and thongs. Buys 5 cartons of Corona at once. Gives you the worst stinkeye. Invites you to all his birthday parties, even though you haven’t spoken to him since year 1 when he was talking to you during class but the teacher thought you were talking so you got moved to warning one. Threw a Masters carton at you and your friends once and now you’re traumatised. A little bit crazy. A stereotypical Aussie bloke.

Woojin - that mum at Coles who’s always surrounded by like 50 kids cause she’s always left to look after her friends’ kids. The kids are always out of hand and ramming into eachother and other things with the little kid Coles trolleys. Always looks stressed and you can hear her yelling two aisles away at Bradley who wont stop hitting Sandra. Makes the best food for the end of year party. Shows up to every assembly that has his kid in it. Films every assembly item. Does the best hair for his kids on crazy hair day.

Minho - always initiates the penis game but backs out before he has to start yelling. Rides his skateboard in the supermarket and thinks it’s cool. Has a group of friends and they always go to Coles or Aldi after school only to buy one Monster and some boxes of Shapes. Forgets to leave his bag by the door of the shop and you always see him getting yelled at by that one really old register lady. Gets an extra week to finish his power point, but presents a word document instead with words cut off and he thinks its fine.

Changbin - that kid who wears his heelys indoors and is 40000 miles in front of his parents but wont slow down as they yell at him. Gives you the worst stink eye if he rams into you. Threatens to king hit you, but will never do it cause he’s too weak. A scooter boy. That one who always rides his scooter to school. Immune to razor scooters to the ankle cause he’s been hit too many times. Eats a spoonful of Vegemite to seem edgy, but can’t take it and throws it back up. Walks into class wearing one thong and one sneaker because his “foot hurts”. Holds “fair” in the nation anthem for waaaay too long. Catch him spraying water from the drink fountain at people as they walk past.

Hyunjin - kid who acts cool at the supermarket, but when you bump into him or he bumps into you at the supermarket, he immediately apologises. The cashier goes to talk to him, but he cant stop stuttering and then you see him drop his coins and silently pray for him. But when he’s with his friends, an actual beast; no remorse. Jealous of Jeongin always getting two Woolies collectables for being a good boy. Makes a Tumblr post with a ton of Aussie references, but all his American followers dont understand and he remembers not every one is Australian. Uses old Aussie slang like ‘grog’ or ‘swig’. Gets mad if you don’t call it Macca’s.

Jisung - that kid before school who you drive past and he’s going the opposite direction from school cause he’s going to buy a Dare and a box of Shapes or Smiths. Screams ‘penis’ as loud as he can during the 2nd round no matter who is looking. That one kid in class who has to correct the teacher when the teacher makes a mistake. Constantly muttering under his breath during class. Thinks he’s funny so yells comments during class but isn’t actually funny. Always losing Dojo points. Makes Vine references but no one understands until months later.

Felix - actually a good kid, but just wants to seem edgy. All teachers love him. Hands his assignments in early, but adds extra things to his power point so we all have to sit through his 50 minute presentation. A hardcore cricket and footy fan. Is an Eagles supporter, and despises Dockers supporters with his whole soul, no matter who it is. Takes any bottle to bottle flip it without asking. Has a basketball in his bag and bounces it as he’s walking from class to class. Doesn’t understand “don’t run under the veranda!”, “Slip, slop, slap” or “no hat no play”. Felix’s life motto: “no hat, no play, no school today”. Traumatised by that story you hear in year 3 where the teacher had a student that rocked on their chair and fell backwards and hit their head and bled to death.

Seungmin - hands his assignments in early, but still gets a B. Wears Target or Kmart brand shoes instead of Nike. “Theyre just shoes guys, stop being mean.”. When the maths teacher asks if he understands the work, says he does even though he doesn’t and has to ask his friends how to do it out of embarrassment, but gets caught talking by the teacher. Gets put next to his friends in a seating plan cause the teacher trusts him. Got sent to TAP in year 1 and cried for a week. Year 7 Seungmin and his friends playing soccer on the oval and year 11 Chan comes over with his friends like “oi mate, lemme have a kick, mate!”. Seungmin relectantly gives his the ball, only for Chan to kick the ball at some unsuspecting eighto. Gets genuinely stressed when his friends kick the ball out of school grounds and they go to pick it up without asking a duty teacher.

Jeongin - thirsty af for Dojo points. Only wants Dojos so he can sit at the teacher’s desk for a day or take his shoes off on Fridays. That one kid that doesnt enjoy stereotypical Aussie sports like cricket or footy, but enjoys other sports like badminton, soccer or tennis. Best mates with the sports teacher. Knows the school prayer, welcome to country and both verses of the nation anthem off by heart. The only one of Woojin’s kids that is actually behaved enough to get two Woolies collectables.

#stray kids #bang chan #kim woojin #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin

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someonetotaketheedgeoff-blog · 6 years

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15.09.2018 - Journal

(Some of this was written when I travelled with my family in America in the last 2 months)

4.07.2018

I picked a good time to quit comedy… just moments before Nanette. Maybe I’ll actually do something good if I make music instead of making jokes about fucking myself with an ex-girlfriend’s dildo.

I wont stay up late waiting to go on. Or be brutalised by Open Mic magazine on Facebook. Anything not to upset my fragile sense of self-esteem. There’s not much that's funny to me anymore… oh well… who gives a fuck anyway…

… So Liam goes into his little room and quietly dreams up his last open mic set…. hahaha… comedy can get you pretty fucked up! ... who gives a fuck anyway…

9.07.2018

Whenever I’m in a big city all I hear is it whispering (or perhaps screaming) to me - ‘can I just have some fucking money?!’

I wonder how much I’m a product of my own fear. And also how much of what I make is a response to that fear.

It’s mostly been about death for me for the last 3 - 5 years. All I’ve done is use death to explain everything. I’ve used it to draw a line under certain things within myself and the exterior world. Seems lazy to me now.

Is laziness the fear of pain? Is a lack of motivation due to fear? A fear of failing?

It seems fear’s only a good motivator when you’re aware of what you’re afraid of and why.

23.07.2018

Travelling in America/being in America’s like being in GTA but you’re not any of the main characters.

24.07.2018

Not doing anything or not trying IS FAILING!

25.07.2018

Saw a guy stop in the subway, put his bag on the ground and re-adjust himself to get out a camera so he could take a photo of some graffiti on the wall that said ‘I love porno’.

Being in an all black neighbourhood I feel as if the black people are annoyed at me or my presence.

I keep think about the word ‘nigger’ and I keep thinking about the word ‘cracker’.

The current most popular, agreed upon philosophy on slur usage is do not say any word that has negative history associated with it and do not say ‘nigger’ if you’re not black.

Recently ‘retarded’ has been considered more offensive than it used to be and if you happen to use it you’re now accused of being an immoral person and presumably you think people that suffer mental deficiencies are bags of shit and you want to set them all on fire.

I have no problem with discussing words and I’m not even so much of a Doug Stanhope/iDubbbzTV nerd that I think the best world is a world where you say everything all the time in every context.

What I have a massive problem with is the presumption of hate and the pompousness of people downright attacking people that slip out ‘x’ word when a word is still in the process of being fazed out. It’s bloody political correctness gone quickly without open discussion and kindness!

Words are simply the end point of a vortex of shit and ideas and slang and culture. They are the bookend to a concept and when people get really caught up with words it kinda scares me.

The problem with these kinda bullshit discussions (especially on the internet) is that when you argue or discuss this shit the assumed reason for your questioning is that I want to be able to say ‘nigga’ with my friends for some unknown reason. But I don’t and I don’t understand why anyone would want to other than the fact that they’ve been told they can’t or they’re at a Klan meeting.

What I’m confused about is if words hold so much apparent power and evil due to their history then isn’t simply being white the most offensive and on the nose thing you can do? Probably, kinda, yeah.

Yet black people don’t fucking loose their shit when you walk into a room being all white and whiting the whole place up by being white. They simply get on with their lives. I believe the same shit could be applied to words. At least in a reactionary sense… it doesn’t make sense to berate a stranger with venom for saying that the fact that none of the self serve screens in Macca’s were working was retarded. I don’t know if this metaphor works. I’m just slightly confused as too why I get all my information on how to best treat minorities forced onto me from young well off white people in beer gardens. I just sit there and listen for a bit and then I stare into the reflective glare coming off their nose ring.

1.08.2018

Saw a full American fat guy in a servo. He was so fat I had to focus on not double-taking at him by staring intently at the fridge at the Dr. Pepper selection.

He looked beyond human.

13.08.2018

For some reason I am smoking again. It’s a never ending battle. Oh well. Strangely I don’t mind.

I smoked a cigarette I crafted from all the butts I could find in my parent’s house. Something I’ve done probably over 100 times in my life.

I find that I clench my jaw all the time. I’ve only noticed it recently. Through meditating and not doing drugs. I’ve noticed it. I thought I had neck cancer but the strange feeling of ache comes from my constantly clenching my jaw.

I worry that maybe I’ve done drugs and drank for so long now and started at a young age that the tracks within my brain are a little fucked. Or maybe I just have too high hopes for a sober life to be a more peaceful, and mentally stable one. Maybe the only thing I’ll gain is a healthier body.

I’m just afraid of all the horrible shit that’s inside my head. I’m afraid of being unlovable because of my desires and my personality. I don’t want to face in fear of losing Tash and revealing to her that I’m evil.

This seems to be the crux of all relationships. All of them. In the whole world. You know that you need to face the truth to get to the next stage. But it seems it will be so lonely, so terrifying and so cold… we don’t want to see the monsters that might lurk within us.

The thing is it’s almost impossible to have an honest relationship and never have turbulence. You can have a dishonest relationship with turbulence but the turbulence will be about bullshit like - ‘you said you were going to clean the extractor fan in the kitchen weeks ago…’ or ‘stop leaving your guitar on the couch…’ and such things might blow into massive arguments.

Relationships are designed to be a nightmare. Not by anyone in particular but by our hope for them and isolation and alienation we all experience internally in this society.

A relationship is a small life within your life.

Dependant on the extremity of a relationship (and obviously that is a relative thing but for sake of argument we’ll say a relationship where you truly considered that you would commit yourself to this other person until you or they or both had died) it could possibly be an interesting simulation of life after death (at least in an abstracted way).

When a relationship of said extremity begins to fall apart (for whatever reason) it’s interesting to note that you feel as if you’re dying and that there’s in fact no perceivable life to lead after the break up or if their is one it will be hellish and a subhuman existence not worth living.

When you survived a relationship that you’d committed everything to how did you feel?

I assume it was horrendous. But assuming you’re still alive and reading this… you must’ve started to feel somewhat normal once again.

Like awaking from a vivid dream it fades away rapidly. You played a different character, you lead a different life. You feel a horribleness deep inside. Not about the person but about the situation. Is this how it has to be? That the people you commit so intensely to, that you fuck and spend countless hours with then have to perish abstractly and then repressed as they fade into the background sometimes never to be spoken about or spoken to again…

I have a girlfriend now. And it terrifies my to think that the pattern may repeat.

***

We believe the internet is everlasting. Whether we research it or not, whether we know it consciously or not.

As much as we might make comments about Facebook and say things like- ‘be careful uploading those photos of your arsehole… you know that stuff will be up there forever’ I believe we’re secretly subconsciously screeching with joy at the fact that these photo’s will be up forever. As much as people have a disdain about Facebook and social media we adore it’s implied permanence. We believe that Facebook will be around after we’re dead. I say ‘believe’ because do you know how the fucking internet works? Do you know how a website is created? I fucking don’t. I don’t know if the internet would still exist if all the power plugs in the world were pulled out of there sockets. I’m a fucking idiot! A fucking idiot that has faith in the permanence of the internet… I mean… obviously… I write a blog mostly about death and existential dread and it put on… the internet.

The internet is now our saviour. It is the modern sleek titanium, bomb proof, indestructible, deathless park bench where you can scratch ‘L.D. was here’ and have a more solidified faith that it’ll be around for a while. And the longer it hangs around the more eye balls will see it, eye balls connected to a concious brain that’ll have no choice but to think ‘hey that guy was there’… and even if it’s just for one second your existence has been stretched just a tiny bit longer.

(People that love us are what we all orbit around all of our lives. If they happen to reject you at some point or disappear we then break away from that orbit and hurtle through abstract nothingness).

17.08.2018

Going to the pub was a bad idea. I went there thinking - ‘well… I kinda want to have just one drink’. The legs were aching and my poor sense of personal entitlement to some kind of ‘treat’ was raging within me. A very problematic thing for anyone that isn’t fulfilled in the work that that do (i.e. most people). I felt as I for some reason I deserved a beer. Also it was freezing cold. My feet were soaking wet and frozen due to my old decrepit shoes. I continued walking up the street. I noticed I had all these thoughts swirling in my mind. They all flew past me whispering - ‘it’s OK to have a beer’.

I watched them all swirl around in my head. I crossed my metaphorical arms and tutted. As I tutted I looked at the swirling thoughts and said - ‘fuck off… are you serious? You know this’s absolute bullshit. We don’t ‘deserve’ a drink… we don’t even probably technically want one… why are we actually going to do this?’

‘Yeah but we’ll only have one! Not even a pint mind you and then we’ll write a new to-do list and then maybe we see someone maybe we don’t and then we head off home and get down to work for a couple of solid hours before we go to bed’ said one of the thoughts.

‘Well OK… when you put it like that… that sounds nearly OK… but don’t you think there’s a chance that we might throw all that shit out the window and because we actually weren’t planning or trying to get drunk…. you’re going to use reverse psychology on me and then we actually will get drunk and most likely indulge in more heavily than if I’d actually planned to indulge…’ I replied.

‘Look don’t read into it just get into that pub… get a beer… have a cigarette in the beer garden, get out you’re little notebook and it’ll be just a quick little pop in, no worries, blah blah, etc, tomato tomato’ ’

‘Well alright then you’ve swung me round, but surely just like a small drink, like a ten ounce… you know we’re trying to focus on money and we’re only starting to face the fact of how much money we piss away on alcohol and other similar shit…’

‘Yea, yea, yea don’t worry just a ten ounce… don’t you worry about that’.

I walked up to the bar.

‘Yes what can I get you?’

‘Ah… could get a ten ounce of Little Creatures?’

‘Ah it’s actually $5 a pint right now and $10 dollars for a jug?’ she grinned slightly.

‘Ah…’.

I turned to the floating thoughts. I gave them a warning look. They all looked back at me like a pack of hyenas.

I began drowning internally - ‘Ah fuck! Na, na, na, I knew some bullshit like this was going to happen… action stations… we gotta think of some other shit… what else do they have on tap… maybe a stubby? Fuck!’

‘Hey this is great news! What a bargain! Don’t worry about it we’ll just drink that one pint and leave… no worries’ cackled the hyenas.

I ended up drinking maybe 5 pints. A bunch of my friends turned up and I talked a bunch of shit for a long, long time. It was as if ‘the plan’ had been completely erased from my mind like the bar lady had men in blacked me with the shine of her bar blade and I was back in the drinking business and also the business of not following my dreams and the business of having no self control.

The arguments in the pub got very heated. I have a few friends that can get heated during argument, (I mean who doesn’t) but I have to say it stresses me out a bit but even more so it confuses me. Every time an argument gets to that stage I don’t really trust anything that’s happening anymore. Your/my emotions are taking over and also everyone’s pissed. I think it’s interesting to me to watch people’s attention spans disintegrate at the pub. The more everyone drinks the quicker a group conversation subject topic can change hands. It’s not hard to do, barely anyone notices it and you can do it in a matter of seconds. You could be having a super intense discussion about anything and if you just interrupt everyone enough and interject a barrage of some current novelty bullshit topic that’s circling you can derail shit very quickly.

21.08.2018

Last week at the pub a friend told me that he basically waits for inspiration. He felt he should never force himself to create anything. Recently I’ve been getting back into the Stephen Pressfield way of thinking that he explains in the book The War Of Art. A book that basically shows you how to be a professional whatever, artist, musician, sports player, whatever. It’s a book that gives tools to fight the part of you that doesn't want to sit down and do the work. In other words it fights the notion of ‘waiting for inspiration’.

Very, very few times in my life have I been struck with overwhelming flaming inspiration to do anything. It happened more when I was a child. When I’d wake up early on a weekend I’d have the inspiration akin to fucking Michelangelo to go and make Lego spaceship car things out of all the see- through green pieces of Lego.

But when you get to around 7, 8, 9, 10 and beyond I think (I’m not a psychologist) you begin to second guess all that shit. You begin to be your own worst critic. Because fascinatingly nearly every kid up until that age will be happy to do a bit of drawing or play various characters in a fictional story they create on the spot. And then it all stops and this horrible awareness kicks in.

I define it as the point where you used to play with toys as a kid in your room. Each character having a crazy back story and way of speaking. You’d play, alone and be completely immersed. Your mum or dad would pop there head into the room to ask if you wanted cornflakes or some shit and you’d be like a focused director waving off an intern - ‘yea yea, sure, just have it on my desk, I’m working right now’. But then something changes around that age and when one of your parents pops their head into the room you freeze and quite your voice. You suddenly feel cripplingly self aware, maybe even stupid. You tell them to go away maybe or wait for them to leave before you get back into to the action.

Then one day you go to the studio (aka your bedroom with a mat on the floor resembling a city that we all had) and the juice is gone, the mojo is gone, you pick up the toys and you try to croak out their particular voice and you just feel stupid, looking quickly back at your bedroom door, making sure no one heard.

All of this stuff reminds me of a Picasso quote [R.I.P. 25.10.1881 - 19.06.2018*] - ‘Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up’.

I’ve always found it interesting. I think encapsulates what I’m saying. Most people have some kind of creativity or at least blissful ignorance of expression at an age and then their brains get bigger or something and they become pimply teenagers that struggle to even walk down the street without worrying about everything detail about themselves and then they learn to just manage that shit as they enter adult life.

*I’ve chose Picasso’s death date to be the release date of Nanette. I can’t really be bothered explaining why that is right now so I guess if you really want to know you’ll have to watch Nanette.

30.08.2018

I’m often confused as to why everyone has an opinion and why you seemingly have to have an opinion.

’I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing’ - Socrates

In my college years I used to be a bit of an air headed stoner art wanker and I still am but the difference is now I have opinions on things. Back then I didn’t really have opinions. And I did it on purpose because I knew that I didn’t know anything. However it didn’t really help me socially and it didn’t help in my relationships and it didn’t really help with my self-esteem. Not initially but eventually I started to feel like I was just drifting away into an abstract world of nothingness. People don’t really take you seriously when you don’t have any solid opinions. It’s probably not a ‘masculine’ trait.

Reminds of a Dylan Moran bit:

‘Men; strong opinions with no information’

#Relationships #Facebook #America #Retarded #Dylan Moran #Someone To Take The Edge Off #liam donnelly #American Fat #self esteem #nhilism #death #Journal #The Pub

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doi917 · 7 years

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*EDGY*

As a person who regularly wears black unironically and doesn’t use Hot Topic as basis and or means of aquirement in terms and or pertaining to said shade of clothing I find that In wearing Black, this color, this shade, that im not only showing a certain social statement, that im showing i disconnect to the irredecent, self obsessed, flesh sacks that judge in terms of what is and is not socially aquaintable by means of the intellectually retarded’s interpretation of a “aesthetic” and or “facade by means of sight”, but that I am in term showing familiarity (in terms as to what I am comfortable with) and or a form of devotion to this shade that is aesthetically and quite possibly deeply rooted in terms of emotional, intellectual, and creative fulfillment.

However there are many “people” and I say “people” loosely here, who feel that the certain occurrence for my choice of garment is otherwise known and stated….. Of course im talking about the socially and emotionally retarded’s (or might as well more commonly known as apathetic through ignorance or even emotionally inexperienced’s) most redundant, inexplicably, flat out ignorant and dare i say mongaloid filled term that will never cease to anger me in its entirety….. “Edgy” “Edgy” ladies and gentlemen is a very overused term that has found itself at the forefront of slang in the language barrier that never ceases to show just how shelterd and well groomed these intellectually void, Apathetic “people” are, for reference and furthermore blatent reference “Edgy” is used in common day terms to try and say that in context it could mean “trendy” or “trying to be shocking” in some sort or fasion, for instance “I hate society” “Thats edgy” Its used and or meant in a derogatory term in means of belittling you based on certain beliefs and or actions, Do you wear black and listen to Marylin Manson? Edgy. Does it matter if theres an emotional connection to that NIN song you listen to? Nope. You are labeled “an edgy edgelord” Do you find the world (as a collective meaning blatent humanity) to be annoying, repulsive, undeniably redundant and mundane? Edgy. Talk about songs that mention you not wanting to be in a hole of constant persistent self doubt? Edgy. This term is used by the emotionally ignorant apathetic Mongoloids who wouldn’t know what trauma or emotional experience would be if it slammed their face deep into a spike, and dont get me wrong I have used and or utter the term but only to certain situations that i know or in blatent terms to also make fun of the labeler, example, A poser who thinks they know and or abuse the terms of a mental illness they clearly have no idea what the hell they are, and use them to blatently just get attention when they dont need it all because they dropped a fucking cookie or did the emotional equivalent of it? yeah to me thats “edgy” or calling myself an “edgy edgelord” im doing it facetiously to make fun of the emotional depth (which is as about as deep as a carpet as far as im concerned) but they way it is contextually used is quite frankly in all matter of terms “fucking stupid” Its like the stupid phrase “get over it” or how i like to describe it “wow you arent happy like the rest of us? Well let us to allow ourselves belitte you with an incorrect and blatently stupid use of a suppos-ed derogatory term in order to forcefully bully you back in to the frame of life and or veiw that you should be happy all the time and you are overreacting to everything that happens to you life is perfect, pussy.” It shows just how sheltered and sickly ignorant you are as a human being personally being in your own little pathetic bubble of apathy and self-indulgence to see soley with tunnel vision as to what you want and not what you need. You got parents that take care of you and cater to the emotional and physical needs of you? Good. Not everyone has it. Never had trauma? Good. Well guess what man? Other people can get it and youll never truely understand just How heavy that weight of a situation is

Oh man, I want to express myself in a way that will get this emotional pain out and wont get me sent to the loony-bin on a one way ticket in the twinkie mobile just because i frowned once and thus getting me fucked up and strung out on the hype trainwith the other 70% of Americans to the co-dependancy that is a bottle of pills that was forced upon me by people in white lab coats that are corporatly controlled and relentlessly as well as demonicly follow the shrill doctorine of cold hard cash? Youre just edgy. You got shot by your dad? Edgy. Your mom senselessly beat you as a child and used your hair as a ash tray? Edgy. You were constantly blamed by both parties of your parent divorce as the sole reason for it? Edgy.

Obviously you understand my point

I hate this word. The fact i even have to say it is pathetic and so depressing it makes me cry at night This isnt ok Its fuckin stupid Stop it You arent funny or cool Youre an idiot And intellectualy devoid apathist who wont progress anything with your damn banter

Then again what do i know? Im just Being Edgy

#edgy #so edgy

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seriouslyhooked · 7 years

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Just a Taste (A CS AU) Part 3/10

AU where Emma and Killian are contestants on the Great American Baking Show and all twelve contestants hail from Storybrooke Maine. In this AU Emma is a book editor by day, while Killian is an architect who just moved to town a few months prior. Expect baked goods, flirtatious interactions, a little drama and a whole lot of fluff with a guaranteed HEA for Captain Swan. Rated M.

Part One Here, Part Two Here

A/N: Week three is ‘biscuit’ week everyone, and you know what that means – actually maybe not. What it means is lots of fluff for CS, some development on other couples I’ve been gradually pairing, more interactions between judges, hosts and contestants, and a lot of yummy theoretical food. Hope you enjoy!

“Biscuits?!” The word was stated in alarmed question by at least half of the contestants, to clarify what the hosts had meant as Emma bit back a smile.

Surely the producers couldn’t have planned this reaction better, for it showed that many of these competitors hadn’t actually seen the original show. But what many were currently worried about, Emma was surprisingly okay with. She knew what it really meant – crackers and cookies day.

“In tribute to our British counterpart, we too are having a day celebrating what our friends across the pond call ‘biscuits,’” Graham said. “They can be savory, or sweet, thin and crispy, or sometimes here melty and gooey.”

“Jones, what is this guy on about – is this a good day or a bad one?” David asked, unwilling to listen to the entire written dialogue from the judges and now Emma let go of the fight against her smile. She couldn’t help it, especially when she saw Killian’s look of surprise.

“They’ll have us doing a cracker, a cookie and then perhaps something else. Right?” Ruby and Graham nodded.

“Is that something else an actual biscuit, because if not, that’s misleading.” Killian threw his hands up in the air at Lance’s question.

“Don’t look at me, mate.” Quieter and only for Emma, Killian added, “Though to be fair, it was our word first.”

“That may just be the most British thing I’ve ever heard.” Emma replied before bringing their attention back to the hosts.

“Now that you’re all caught up on what a biscuit might actually be, we give you your first challenge. A savory biscuit, or what around these parts is called a cracker. You must have thirty-six to present to the judges, all of them identical, and don’t think our magistrates wont notice. There’s not a single set of identical twins my grandmother hasn’t sniffed the differences out of, as you all well know.” Emma wrinkled her nose at that line in particular from Ruby. “What Emma?” Ruby asked.

“Well now you’ve just made it seem like Granny goes around smelling people to identify them.” Ruby covered her mouth to giggle, probably only just realizing what her written line had made it sound like, but got herself together before the bell was set for them to start.

“All right bakers,” Graham led before Ruby joined him. “On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

The whole group followed those instructions, working towards their first challenge trying to get it right. In truth, Emma had never made crackers before watching this show. It had never occurred to her that one could make them at home and they’d turn out better than the ones that you could buy at the store. Oh how wrong she had been, for now a few years later, she never bought crackers from the box anymore, and felt because of it she had a leg up on this competition.

“Do you think I could put bacon in a cracker?” Ella asked to no one in particular. Emma herself had never tried that, mostly because they needed to be so thin. Cutting bacon to accommodate the correct shape might be hard.

“Ew, why would you want bacon in a cracker?” Catherine replied coldly and Ella shook her head as she stared down at her recipe. Emma’s heart went out to her, because she seemed to be truly stumped at the task at hand, but soon enough she was mixing together a batter, and Emma became so wrapped up in her own bake, she lost track of Ella’s worry.

“Whatever the heck is in your oven smells to die for,” Ruby said when she and Graham made their way to Emma a while later as the crackers were baking. Emma smiled and agreed.

“It’s a three cheese blend incorporated into the dough, sun dried tomato and a hint of rosemary.” Graham looked very impressed.

“Wow, do you even need to couple something with a cracker like that?” Emma shrugged.

“You can eat them by themselves I suppose, but the best thing in my opinion is to take a little bit of mozzarella and melt it on top and then add a slice of prosciutto.”

“You didn’t happen to…“ Graham began but he lost his words mid mouth water.

“Bring some for you and Ruby to try? Actually I did Graham, so no worries.”

At that moment, the timer went off and her crackers were ready. Emma pulled them from the oven, convinced that they were thoroughly done with the right amount of crunch and the best level of crispness possible. She had made forty-eight instead on thirty-six, learning in the past that it was better to cook a few extra just for appearances sake, and while most of them were moved to the cooling rack, she took ten and made the small treats so that the hosts and her friends in the competition could try. All this baking was a lot of work after all; everyone deserved a snack before the judging.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to have a favorite in the running, Emma, but you might just be mine after that. Holy cow, that’s good.”

“Careful Graham, your Midwestern roots are showing. I don’t think anyone has said ‘Holy Cow’ since the state fair of 1908.” Ruby’s jest pulled a cute moment from the two hosts, that Emma knew would play great on the show, but she had to wonder in that instant if maybe there was more than a playful friendship blooming between her friend Ruby and the reality television star.

“Sorry we can’t all hail from some tiny town in Maine.”

“Oh no you don’t, if you’re about to talk badly about Storybrooke, you better stop. We might be messy, but we have fun living that way.” Mary Margaret’s defense of the town had Emma mouthing ‘messy?’ to her friend in confusion. The pixie-haired woman shrugged, and Emma assumed it must be some new slang term the kids were using. As a teacher, Mary Margaret always had a leg up on that stuff, so Emma just decided to trust her. “Besides, Emma probably won’t give you any more samples if you say stuff about her home.”

“Speaking of homes, Emma, you haven’t always lived in Storybrooke.” Emma’s defenses were on the rise with this line of question, as they always were when confronted with her past. She tried to avoid thinking about the way she’d been raised, and the loneliness that defined her life in the foster system. She certainly didn’t want to be getting into it on national TV.

“I moved around a lot as a kid, but I think home is where your heart is, and that’s Storybrook to me.” Still Graham didn’t let it go, no doubt prompted by the production staff behind the camera.

“So before then what - your heart was a wanderer? Your parents didn’t feel strongly about laying down roots?”

There it was – the inquiry into her parents and just as Emma was going to try and find a way to tactfully say, ‘I don’t know my parents, why can’t you just leave me alone about my past?’ a loud clanging came from Killian’s station. In seconds, the camera had left Emma and was making towards him, with the judges in tow.

“What happened?” Emma asked and Mary Margaret filled in as she ran over to Emma’s table.

“He just dropped his entire tray of crackers!”

Emma’s eyes grew wide with shock – seriously? There was less than twenty minutes left. That left no time for him to remix and bake it the correct interval. At best, Killian would have crackers that were too soft.

“That’s awful,” Emma mused as Mary Margaret’s hand came to Emma’s arm and squeezed.

“Honey, he did it for you.” Emma tore her gaze from Killian to look into her friend’s eyes.

“What do you mean…?” But Emma understood already.

Killian had seen how uncomfortable she was with the line of questioning and even though he didn’t know all of the details himself, he sacrificed his crackers to become this episode’s story of woe. He’d spared her a lot of public sympathy, and he’d done it by undercutting his own standings today. Emma looked back over at him, watching as he calmly remixed the dough, not leaving it to rise and only for a moment, he stole a glance at her. Their eyes met, and Emma had a flash of understanding.

I’m in love with him.

The words rang out in her head so strong and sure that there could be no denying them. So what if it had only been a few weeks that they’d really known each other? Crazier things had happened. In that short time Killian had accomplished so much – he’d torn down the walls Emma erected against nearly everyone while also giving her so much of himself. He showered her with the affirmation that she was lovely and desirable and a good person and he did it without ulterior motives. And he saw her where so many other people could only look. With Killian, Emma was fully honest and giving of herself and she was rewarded with nothing but genuine caring and proof that he felt for her too. Whether it was love in Killian’s eyes or just a serious fondness, Emma wasn’t yet sure, but of her own feelings she had no doubt. She was in love with Killian Jones, and that in itself was it’s own special kind of miracle.

She moved towards him, taking a step, wanting to see if there was anything she could do to help, but Mary Margaret’s arm held her back. She kept Emma in place, and when Emma looked into her friend’s eyes she realized why. The cameras were still watching the rest of the contestants, mostly to see the reactions, but one camera in particular was trained on Emma with curiosity. If she went to help him, she’d be bringing herself back to the forefront and some of Killian’s sacrifice would be for nothing.

“I never realized my life made for such great TV,” Emma said a little bitterly, resenting the fact that this show was toying with her a bit for an audience tear jerk or a ratings boost.

The producers had tried the past few weeks to highlight Killian and Emma’s relationship, and now they were trying to exploit her past. If this was how they did things in the original franchise, Emma as an audience member was completely oblivious and clearly everyone they’d chosen for the competition lived average, bland lives. Now her past was becoming a liability, and what Emma wanted for her future had to be protected at all costs.

What was most distressing about this though was that the person she felt so in opposition to was Killian’s brother of all people. No doubt Liam had cleared the questions about Emma’s childhood, and if Emma had to hazard a guess, that fact was what still had Killian clenching his jaw as he got his crackers into the oven once more.

A lifetime passed in those remaining ten minutes as Emma and the others prepared their displays for the judge’s consideration, but no one stood out to her more than Killian, who with quiet determination at least created something to be tasted by Gold, Regina and Granny. He hadn’t let his set back keep him from providing something for the challenge, and for that reason Emma was proud as well as grateful. Now though, she didn’t give a damn about the rankings or the scores. All Emma wanted was to get Killian alone and thank him properly.

Actually that wasn’t all, she also wanted to tell him everything. For the first time in her life, she thought she’d found a man who wouldn’t look at her as broken goods once she said the words, once she revealed what life had truly been like as an orphan and a lost girl. Killian would still see her, and maybe he could one day grow to love her as much as she realized she loved him.

“These are raw.” Gold’s words were spat out with such condescension at Killian, that it had Emma’s hands balling into fists. Did he need to be so blatantly horrible to people? Was his own life so miserable that he took joy in being cruel?

“That they are,” Killian responded, unaffected by the harsh tones of Gold’s voice, which only made his tormenter gruffer. Gold made a show of breaking apart almost a dozen of the crackers to show that they wouldn’t snap as they should. “Mr. Gold, I can assure you that while my bake lacked crispiness, it does have consistency. They will all be raw if one is.”

“What is this ‘raw’ business? They’re cooked, just soft, and if you keep putting your hands all over every one, I can’t possibly try it.” Granny shoved Gold’s hand back grabbing herself a cracker and Regina did the same, trying it and nodding. “The taste is good, so what happened?”

“A bit of clumsiness I’m afraid. I dropped my first batch and had to make a second.”

What Killian neglected to say was that he’d dropped them for Emma, and that it had been selflessness that brought about a less than spectacular showing from him. Emma wanted to say that, but she held her tongue, allowing the judges to go on. When Killian stepped back from their examination though, his eyes caught Emma’s and he smiled. The chill that had clung to her and the anxiety that was there only moments before now dissipated. He had the most amazing ability to calm her, and that was much needed as the judges came to assess her food.

Her reviews were far superior, earning her the praise of all three judges (well two, Gold just kind of made a weird humming sound before nodding and walking away). In the end, Emma’s were far and a way the favorite, while Ella and Catherine had struggled. Seemed bacon in a cracker was not in fact a good idea, but neither was Catherine’s kale monstrosity that had made the crackers green and bitter. Both women had much to prove in the next challenge, which was, interestingly enough, strawberry shortcake. It allowed the contestants, finally to show the judges what biscuit meant in America.

This recipe was Granny’s and one that probably every Storybrooke citizen had consumed at one time or another. Though while they were all familiar with the treat, that didn’t make it an easy competition. Where Granny gave them every ingredient, she somehow neglected to give instructions on how to mix them together. People were trying to mix this like cake or cookies, but Emma knew from her time making this dessert before that this was a cold batter. Each bit of butter and each pour of milk was chilled, and thus the mixing process was very different. That knowledge gave Emma the advantage, and had her finishing in first for the day. All in all she’d managed to do very well, but she was anxious to leave this day behind her. There had simply been too much drama for her liking, and now, she was looking forward to a quiet evening, hopefully with Killian, away from the craziness of this show.

…………………

The next morning, as Emma stirred awake, she felt the strangest sense of warmth around her. In the moments between sleep and awareness, when her eyes were still closed and her mind still a little foggy, she thought it might be a warm blanket, until something moved against her and her eyes opened. The man she saw beside her made her smile. Killian was still asleep, curled around her like he would never let go.

In sleep he looked so peaceful, and any of the tension that he had the day before was gone. His hair had fallen across his brow, nearly shielding his eyes, and this time Emma let herself push it back, careful to keep the touch so light that he shouldn’t stir. When she brought her hand back to where it had been laying on his chest and his breathing was still even, Emma relaxed again and allowed herself to think back on the night before.

When they’d stolen away from the big white tent, Emma invited Killian to her house for a low-key night. She’d promised take out and a movie on Netflix, but the latter had never actually happened, for after dinner, Emma had felt the need to speak her truth.

“What you did today… I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” Killian reached out to take her hand as they stood in the kitchen cleaning up and when she looked into his blue eyes, Emma only saw patience and acceptance.

“You don’t owe it to anyone to tell them the story of your former life Emma. If me dropping things helps spare you from painful memories, I can do it all day long.” Emma laughed as his arms came to wrap around her in a hug she so desperately needed. While she was enveloped in the warmth of his chest, she felt safe enough to speak the words.

“I never knew my parents. I was found abandoned on the side of a highway with nothing but a blanket that said my name on it. I tried to be the kind of kid people would want, but nothing ever stuck, and I ended up bouncing around from home to home. It wasn’t until I was a teen that I realized being unloved and unwanted hurt less if you ran. So I was a runaway, causing the system problems left and right. It went on like that a long time, until I found Storybrooke.” The mistiness in her eyes manifested finally to tears as Emma pulled back to wipe them away and then looked in Killian’s eyes.

“The people here, they could see I was hurting, and they didn’t push, they just let me in. I met Mary Margaret, and Ruby and Belle. They were all enrolled at UMaine a few towns over, and they helped me get a job so I could do the same. Things shouldn’t have turned out as well as they did for me. Because of that, I’ll always look at this place like it’s magic.” Killian nodded his understanding, placing a soft kiss to her lips before pulling back.

“I think that’s a good way to describe this town, love, for it’s where I met you, and that is nothing less than miraculous.” He brought her hands up then and kissed them each lightly before going on. “Though you started in this world alone, Emma, I hope you know that those days are over. So long as you let me, I will be here by your side. It would be my greatest honor.”

“You’re thinking of last night, love.” Killian’s voice in the present startled Emma a little bit and brought her back to this moment.

“How did you know that, sleepy head?” He smiled before opening his eyes, and Emma felt her heart nearly stop. He was way too good looking for her sanity.

“Your pulse was beginning to pick up. I’m assuming you were getting to the part where things escalated in the kitchen.”

Emma couldn’t help but blush at his words. What Killian meant was that after his profoundly touching words, Emma had jumped on him, closing the distance between them and showing him with her body what her words couldn’t yet seem to say. They’d made love all through her little house, and it had ended here, in the comfort of her bed, a place she had no interest in leaving. The thought that they had to soon to get back to the tent brought a frown to her face.

“I think we should throw the competition. I want lazy Sundays with you.” Killian’s hands tightened around her as he brought her in closer and kissed her.

“In time we shall have as many lazy Sundays as you might want, love. But I rather like the idea of you winning that dish at the end of this and being the Queen of this town. Perhaps then I can convince you to make me your King.”

Emma felt a rush of warmth move through her. His hints at a long and happy future together for the two of them always brought such reactions, and Emma was just a moment away from saying she loved him when he pulled back the blanket and hopped out of bed. All thoughts then flew from Emma’s mind as she looked at her very good-looking (okay downright delicious) boyfriend completely naked and coming around to her side of the bed. He gently picked her up, but it still pulled a little yelp from her.

“Killian? Where are we going?” The low rumble of laughter in his chest reverberated through her.

“We’re on a tight schedule love. If you want to get to the taping on time, we should probably share a shower.” Well, she certainly wasn’t going to argue with that idea. In fact, Emma had a feeling she was going to thoroughly enjoy this start to her morning.

……………

“It’s so disappointing that I can’t just make chocolate chip cookies,” Belle huffed out loud as she mixed a very complex mixture around in her bowl. “If they’re good, they should be allowed.”

“Technically they are,” Emma replied, trying to be helpful.

“Oh really, because when a judge says, and I quote ‘if any one even thinks to provide me with a run of the mill chocolate chip variety I will throw it away,’ that seems like maybe it’s not the best course of action.” Emma understood that the frustration in Belle’s tone wasn’t for her. It was squarely aimed at Mr. Gold.

“I’m surprised you’re not making them just to spite him.” Mary Margaret’s comments had Belle pausing, as if considering whether to do just that before waving the idea away.

“He’s not worth losing this over. So everyone can just deal with these turtle cookies.”

Emma laughed, because she highly doubted any one would be ‘dealing with them.’ Loving them was a more probable outcome. Emma had tasted these cookies of Belle’s at more than one gathering, and they were spectacular. Emma meanwhile focused on her two types of batter before her. Her book for this weekend was actually a play, Romeo and Juliet. To incorporate the story, Emma was relying on word play and a meticulously thought out design for her presentation.

Instead of the Capulet family fighting against the Montague clan, it was the Cappuccinos versus the Macadamia cookies. As she scooped the chilled dough onto her trays, she made sure each ball was completely uniform before baking and set the timer for thirteen minutes, the exact time needed for both types of dough. Then, while those were cooking, she made two types of drizzled glaze for decoration. Each cookie variety now had it’s own ‘sigil’ to represent it’s cookie family. The cappuccinos (who were a chocolate base with the espresso added in) were to receive a white chocolate frosting to create their intricate ‘C’ designs, while the Macadamias were getting a red velvet inspired glaze to make red ‘M’s.

The tray Emma designed to set them all up on had individual stands to keep the cookies upright and turned as if in battle with each other. She also was making extra cookies, to allow for some broken pieces (like casualties in the war between the families). All in all, the design was a pretty amazing reenactment of the conflict between the two houses, and when she was finally done setting everything up, she heard a low whistle.

“Damn, that is gonna be hard to compete with.” David’s comment pulled Emma’s attention to the man himself and his display, which lacked the same intricacies but by no means looked bad.

“If I know Emma, they taste better than they look.” Mary Margaret’s compliment brought a happy excitement to Emma’s chest. She liked being good at this, hell she was putting in enough effort, and had been baking for so long that she should hope she was a capable baker.

David and Mary Margaret’s comments though, sparked a memory of talking with her friends this morning. Killian and Emma arrived at the big white tent with about fifteen minutes to spare, and Mary Margaret, Belle and Ruby had already been in attendance. All it had taken was one look at Mary Margaret to know there was something up, and the friends moved to the far part of the lawn, which was far away from prying eyes and nosey neighbors to talk all about it.

Last night Mary Margaret and David had spent a bit of time together, just as friends Mary Margaret insisted, though Emma was highly suspect of that. Over the course of their evening walk through town, they’d learned a lot about each other, and Mary Margaret found out much more about the nature of David’s relationship with Catherine.

It turned out that the Nolans and the Parkers had known each other for decades, and while David and Catherine were friends as kids, they’d grown apart until a family reunion a few years ago. David had seen the differences in Catherine then, but had pressures from his family to try and make a union between the two families work. He’d also had a fondness for the girl Catherine once was. David didn’t know all the particulars, but surely something had happened to make her the way she was now, and he had tried to be patient and support her. Still, recently, he’d come to accept that marriage to Catherine would be settling for less than love, and he didn’t want to think that he would end up unhappy like his parents were.

This was what Emma thought of as the final minutes counted down for the challenge, and she considered what all the implications could be of such words. David and Mary Margaret had a tangible spark between them, and there was certainly interest on both sides. Now the two just needed to be brave and try and push forward. Easier said than done though, because from what Emma could tell, they were both very slow movers. She wanted to talk to Killian about this to see if he knew anything, but they had a judging to face and any inquiry would have to wait.

As expected, Emma’s cookies were a big hit winning her the title of star baker for the weekend, but there were some weaker showings for sure including Ella, who after a lack luster first day was probably the one who would be going home. Ella though was unfazed and even a little cheerful at the prospect, and Emma could only assume it was because this was a lot of effort and responsibility to take on as a mother and someone expecting another child. When the judges did decide to let her go, she had no regret or resentment in her eyes, and the farewell was easy. Things went almost perfectly until Emma walked past Catherine giving her day’s end interview.

“This competition has been good for one thing: opening my eyes to how trivial this town and the people who live here are. My goal now is to win if just to keep the others from doing so. America should see that this isn’t just the happy go lucky place you’ve all made it out to be, and despite what you guys have put out there, this place isn’t perfect. It’s actually rather hellish.”

Emma considered Catherine’s cold words, and saw that the woman truly hated this place, leading her to believe that perhaps Archie’s words had been right, and David’s concerns were merited. Something had happened to her to make her this disdainful. It wasn’t Emma’s job to figure it out, but her heart still went out to Catherine, even if she had made a habit of cruelty towards Emma and her friends. Emma could only hope that Catherine came to terms with whatever lay in her past, and if she would be happier away from this town, that she had the strength to go. There was one thing for certain though - no way Catherine was winning this competition.

“Quite an interesting day we’ve had, love” Killian said to Emma, his words filled with hidden meaning that only the two of them could know but his gaze moved past Emma. “And it seems love might be in the air for more than one party under this big white tent.”

Emma looked to see David and Mary Margaret chatting happily and Robin speaking with Regina as well, but when Emma turned back, Killian only had eyes for her and he looked at her like she was everything.

“I think that has less to do with the tent and more to do with this town. You didn’t see a lot of happy couples meet on the old show,” Emma quipped and Killian chuckled at that.

“Perhaps you’re right. Happy then that we are on this new one.” Killian reached for her hand, and the zing of pleasure that shot through Emma had her catching her breath. They stayed connected for only a moment before letting go, but it was enough to cause a happy hum of pleasure in Emma.

“You know, we never did get to watch that movie last night…” Killian smirked at Emma’s comment.

“Is this your way of inviting me over again, love?” She nodded.

“I liked waking up to you this morning, and I have a feeling it would vastly improve my Monday.”

“Then maybe we should make a habit of it,” Killian proposed with a new found gravel infiltrating his tone.

“I’d like that,” Emma confirmed.

Before they could say much more, Emma was called to fulfill her exit interview. As she spoke about the weekend and her title of star baker, she caught Killian’s eyes across the tent and truly marveled at how things could change so quickly. In his gaze she saw the promise of a magical evening, and Emma knew that she could trust him to deliver. There was still so much unspoken between the two of them, but they had time because this time Emma wasn’t running. Instead she was walking towards what she thought just might be a happily ever after come to life.

Post-Note: I wanted a scene this week of Killian’s ‘sacrifice’ because it mirrors how he’s always sacrificing himself for Emma without the ridiculous levels of pain I get on the show. Here we get protective, fall on your own sword Killian without the hysteria. I hope that you guys enjoyed, and I appreciate all the lovely feedback and the continued support. You guys are awesome, and I just hope you continue to like the story!

#captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fic #cs modern au #cs fic #cs ff #cs au #cs mc #emma swan #killian jones #the whole freaking ouat cast really #there's a lot of people in retrospect #ouat au #just a taste au #just a taste 3 #great storybrooke baking show #seriouslyhooked repost

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