#Time is fucking massive okay // but Four is also really Tiny so its even more exaggerated

[pyroweasel]

🤡🎢✨⛔💖💌❌👀🤲

🤡 (What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?)

I'll share this WIP line that will probably never see the light of day. You kind of need to know to appreciate it, maybe, but it still kind of makes me laugh. **"Don't fucking touch me - filthy little - do you ever bathe?” 

"I try not to," Peep chirps, and then with a fresh grin they reach both hands out in Hazel's direction - making grabbing motions as if threatening to touch his face."** 🎢 (Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?) Had To Be You, hands down. Mostly because it would so wildly fluctuate from 'this part is so easy let me publish four chapters in a row' to 'I've taken two months to finish this chapter and I still hate it.' It was a good time over all but boy was it a ride to get through. ✨ (Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉) I already did one do I have to do another...(jkjk) I think my long/run-on sentences are pretty well-crafted and tend to add exactly the sort of punch/affect I'm trying to manage. ⛔ (Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?) Oh I have so many of these. I wouldn't even try to list them, but I'll highlight one of my personal favorites. I once had a fic planned that was essentially Addison being assigned Captain on this massive ship who's sole purpose was to transport "precious cargo." Spoiler alert, the cargo was an imprisoned Trep. It was very saucy, very much meant to highlight Trep's abilities as an Imp and was not necessarily destined for a good ending. It would have been fun, I think.

💖 (What made you start writing?) I couldn't tell you, honestly. I've been writing since I was a kid, since before I even remember doing it. We still have one of the first 'books' I ever wrote. What I can say is it's just...everything to me. It's a distraction. It's soothing. It's a way for me to connect with my partner and my friends. When I'm really sad, or really happy, or hell I'll say it even horny, writing is there, you know? I can do anything I want in there. I can write anything I want. I can bring these characters that mean everything to me to life in my own words. I can put them through hell, or get them comfort, or find them love. I can explore the world's brightest themes, and its darkest. I don't know. It's how I get all the things inside out. I don't really have any other creative pursuits that I feel like I'm good enough at to do that, so writing is the way. 💌 (How do you feel about comments and feedback?) I love comments. I love to know what I did right, what resonated, what people are thinking about what could happen next. I also love expressions of joy/enjoyment like keysmashes and such. I'm sensitive to criticism though, even well-meaning criticism, which is purely a me issue but can make getting feedback/comments kind of stressful sometimes. Especially when I'm nervous about a write to begin with.

❌ (What's a trope you will never write?) Never is a strong word because there have been times I've dabbled in things I thought I'd never dabble in. And I honestly can't think of any specific one right now that makes me thing 'ew no never.' I don't enjoy most things centering around pregnancy, though. Little cute moments with pregnant characters is one thing, but I don't like to focus on it much. 👀 (Tell me about an up and coming wip please!)

I have so many WIPs....a few fan favorites in the works are more chapters for the reincarnation AU for Hazing, Fable finally gets to meet Keet's pets, that one chapter for To The Left where these two finally get down, and a scattering of other hazing stuff. 🤲 (Would you please share a snippet of a wip?)

Okay...let me dig one up here. **Home, he thinks - spitting the word in his mind even as his feet turn in its direction. A tiny townhouse he doesn't know the first thing about fixing. A ratty bed, a shitty TV, a computer that barely connects most of the time. The self-inflicted bare minimum because it has never really been his home - only a place for his pets. A place to land when he wanted to rest because where the hell else was he supposed to go? 

It's not his home, he thinks - bitter, angry, aching. 

It's not his home, he thinks - paused outside, glaring up at the shingles and the brick. Humans pass around him - souls whispering at a distance, arching briefly in his direction until they're far enough away to snap free. Busy, loud, and something stings at his eyes. 

"Keet?" 

He starts, turns, and there's Fable. This silly little human who resists his pull but somehow keeps finding him anyway. Who'd held him at his worst, and called themself his friend, and who's here now, again. Standing near his apartment, watching him with a turned head and a curious stare. 

"Are you alright?" 

Keet opens his mouth to answer - closes it again - and then finally, after a second, he says instead,

"What are you doing here?"**

#ask game #5amanthus

[thunderheadfred]

🦅Hawks HC’s🦅

This is SO unnecessarily long. Some NSFW. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

Has zero social life or hobbies outside of work. He knows it’s unhealthy, but like, who has the time?? Oh? Lots of people do?? Haha what are healthy work/home boundaries? He desperately wants to retire and always talks about a world without heroes, but the truth is he would have no idea what to do with himself if he got his way. Take him to a park at midnight and watch him turn into a giant repressed child on a swing. He’ll do a standing-360 and it will be terrifying.

Listens to music way too loud in his headphones to drown out wind noise. Probably half deaf at this point. His musical taste is wild; listening history all over the fucking place. Algorithms have no idea what to do with him.

That visor? It’s prescription. Wow is he far-sighted. He wears glasses. He’s not blind without them (rather the opposite) but they help him see things directly in front of him without massive eye strain. Yeah, he looks really hot in glasses.

Prefers communicating via text. Sometimes it’s a lot of dumb memes, but mostly it’s sincere. He can say what he means when he doesn’t have to put on a public front.

Smokes like a chimney. Self medicates with stimulants. Coffee, tobacco, sugar. Fidgety, likes things in his mouth or hands. Gnashes on toothpicks and popsicle sticks. He really should go back to therapy, huh? His teeth are sparkling white for the cameras but his breath could use some work. Chews gum a lot to compensate, and always does it really loudly with a big shit-eating grin.

Impatient as fuuuuuck. Rude about it. If you take too long doing anything, you’re going to hear a foot tapping. He’ll smile and laugh it off, never ever directly criticize you about it. But lord, the dramatic sighs. He WILL nudge you out of the way and take over in order to finish a task faster, and it’s truly fucking annoying.

LOVES food. Has the metabolism of an actual bird. Will seize upon any excuse to eat. No need to be self-conscious about eating in front of him; he wants you to enjoy it. Steals bites from you and talks with his mouth full. Prefers street food and take-out, usually eats while walking or flying. Sit-down restaurants are an invitation for gawkers.

He’s one of those celebrities that looks way taller on TV. In real life, he’s small and compact. So you’re surprised the first time you see him in person. He has a big head. Literally.

If you’re taller or bigger than him, he does Not Care. He treats everyone like they’re four feet tall, even Endeavor. Everything you do is cute. If you’re actually short, he’s going to carry you around all the time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Collects big chunky overpriced watches. All the better to tell you you’re late.

Half his clothes are brand fucking new. Sometimes he forgets to take off the tags. (Don’t look at the prices, do NOT) He never seems to wear the same thing twice. He also never seems to go shopping. Brands just give him stuff, and he shrugs and goes “yeah okay.”

The other half of his clothes are old, faded, and patched up. Every item he acquires for himself has deep sentimental value. If you tell him to throw away that nasty ten-year-old pair of frayed cargo pants, be prepared to find out how wrong and evil you are for even suggesting it.

He doesn’t snore; he coos. Loudly. Like a fucking pigeon trapped in a megaphone.

- - - - -

Dating

Gift-giving is his love language. Bringing your favorite snacks. Leaving novelty magnets on your fridge. He found a copy of that book/game/movie you mentioned like a month ago, don’t you remember? If he has to go out of town on a job, he’ll bring back the ugliest possible souvenir, just to annoy you.

He likes gifting jewelry especially. Covering you in shiny baubles, little golden things. Not expensive, but unusual. Antiques or handmade, even bizarre vending machine crap. Gets really handsy if you wear or show off his gifts.

Since you’re the first person who has given him The Feels, if you are resistant to his advances (like, say, because he’s way too famous and you’re terrified he’s gonna break your heart) he’s going to go fucking nuts trying to woo you. Doesn’t have a single patient bone in his body but will wait as long as it takes for you to come around. He’ll act like he’s cool with just being friends at first, just hanging out, haha. Oh you’re busy today? That’s cool. Inside he’s shrieking like a tea kettle. Go ahead, make him wait.

Don’t bother giving him a key to your place. He’s coming in through the bedroom window or patio door. Just put out a damn welcome mat on your balcony... or a bird feeder.

A bit of a voyeur. He likes to watch you do your normal routine without interruption. He can see from miles away so if you’ve got your lights on at night, he’ll creep for a while before he comes in. It comforts him immensely, seeing a little slice of the world that isn’t constantly in need of saving.

Is super talkative and funny but a terrible communicator. Makes more jokes the worse he feels. Will almost never tell you what he needs. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know. You will learn to read between the lines and gradually notice his tiny unconscious cries for help. Back rubs make him emotional.

He shows up at your place at the weirdest times. All hours. You’re never ready. At first it was infuriating, because you wanted to look your best and have time to prepare, but you figure out pretty quickly that seeing you in your natural state is his favorite thing. He never gets to be around normal people, doing normal things. A boring, lazy afternoon is his idea of paradise.

He’ll pick through your things and ask a world of invasive questions. A medicine cabinet raider. He wants to know every fucking tiny thing about you, live vicariously through you.

He actually lives in a top floor penthouse. Because I mean, where else? Never spends any time there; mostly he seems to roost on the balcony. He has used the front door maybe once. He much prefers your place, and will only take you back to his after months of dating. It’ll take like, an entire emergency. You’ll end up in his bed by mistake.

Because when you finally come over, he’s embarrassed. Its sparse. White. Things in boxes. A new furniture smell. Like he’s not done moving in, though he’s lived there for years. He wants you to move in So Bad but doesn’t want to be pushy. If you don’t start leaving your stuff there, he’ll steal things from your apartment. Where the hell is your favorite t-shirt? Or that pillowcase you like? Dammit Keigo.

He’s a decent cook, a habit he made himself pick up because he thought it might make him feel more normal. It... didn’t. He never actually cooks until you give him an excuse. He’ll bring you breakfast in bed and watch you eat every bite with big hungry eyes.

He’s got a separate wardrobe for his hero costume and all his feathers. Yeah. His feathers. Because he can detach and control his feathers at will, when he’s alone at home he kind of just... shucks off his wings. The first time you see him do it, your eyes fall out of your head. He walks around in a tee shirt and boxers with these ugly little stumps covered in brownish, blood-red down. It actually looks kind of gnarly, like he got mauled by a bear.

He’s never dated until you. No one has ever been in his apartment until you. No one has called him Keigo until you. He has some bigass intimacy issues. Because. Y’know. The trauma. But god, he wants you in his life so bad, even if he has no idea how to make time for your relationship.

He’ll want to keep you to himself for a while. Once you go public he’s going to have an arm around your shoulders at all times. Publicly Displays his Affection way more than is socially acceptable in Japan, and gives precisely -100,000 fucks.

His fans either love you or hate you. There is no in between. He will immediately take your phone and threaten to drop it from a great height if he catches you reading shitty gossip about the two of you. Does NOT care about his public image anymore, doesn’t want YOU to care about it either. He’s gonna retire soon anyway, remember? That’s a lie.

Being a charming motherfucker is the core of his public persona, so you will get jealous. A lot. He will flirt shamelessly without realizing it. He will get photographed in compromising positions with gorgeous people.

Once you accept that he’s basically an actor 80% of the time and that Hawks and Keigo are separate identities, you’ll both feel better. When he comes home (to YOU) and falls over exhausted and stops being Hawks(tm), when he scratches his ass or burps in front of you, when he yells to you from the bathroom, when he groans childishly about his shitty day while laying face-down in your lap, you’ll know you have nothing to worry about. Keigo is all yours.

Boundaries? Never heard of ‘em. He’s either a million lightyears away or he’s glued to your hip. The whiplash is astounding.

Absolutely says “I love you” wayyyyyy to soon. It thrills you but scares you off at the same time, because there’s no way Hawks - The Hawks - can actually mean it, right? (He does)

Rings? Nah. When things get serious, he will make a necklace out of a feather for you, and if you ever take it off, you better be asleep or in the shower. Even then you’re on thin fuckin ice. If you’re not wearing it he knows. He’s never mean about making you put it back on, it just makes him nervous if he can’t feel your heartbeat.

- - - - -

SPICY CHICKEN NUGGETS

High sex drive. Horny like 25/7. Probably a symptom of having way too much pent up stress.

Often takes care of it himself when he doesn’t have the emotional resources for anyone else, even his S.O. Figures you don’t want him coming on to you as often as he would like to, but he’s too stupid to talk to you about it first. Morning masturbator.

Yes he’s fucked around a lot but he’s not exactly a playboy either. People have always thrown themselves at him, and before he met you he let them do it. Especially when out of town and staying in a hotel. Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, etc.

He’d never be unfaithful to you though; his loyalty and dedication are frankly a little unsettling. Sometimes you feel like the only thing in his life other than hero work. Teach this man to knit. Make him join a book club. Christ. Anything.

Does in fact have seasonal mating patterns and it’s super embarrassing.

An underwear-sniffing perv. He’ll definitely hump your pillow.

Gets a sick thrill out of breaking in and startling you. Coming up behind you in the dark, sneaking into your bed. It’s probably his worst habit, and even he hates that he does it. If you get better at detecting him he’ll be so proud. Land a slap on him and he’ll be a horny mess.

Dog-whistles at you. Often from rooftops, and you have no idea where he is but you know he’s leering.

He will call you a lot of really stupid pet names. He likes the way you blush when he finds a newer, stupider one. Calls you angel when he’s really far gone.

Likes to scratch you with his stubble until your skin turns raw and sensitive. If it annoys you or hurts a little? Even better. Making you squirm is his new favorite thing. Especially when going down on you. Your inner thighs are always exfoliated.

His cock is average in every respect. This is not a bad thing. He knows how to please you with every totally normal inch of that cock. He has some kind of homing beacon installed on your sensitive spots.

Goes absolutely insane for blowjobs. Any time, any place.

Likes to bend you around in all kinds of positions with an assist from his feathers to hold up an ankle here, an arm there. Get used to floating mid-coitus. It just seems to happen.

Spanky.

His number one priority is making you feel adored and at home in his bed. Ohhhhh he likes to make you smile. But if you encourage him to get pushy and dominant with you, you will have a good, good time.

He’s switchy, and will lose his shit if you initiate or take control. Again, he’s always horny for you, because he can finally let go. Breathe in his direction and he’s hard.

Doesn’t moan much, but Babe, he’s a dirty talker. He’s not smooth or deliberate about it, it’s more like he can’t fucking believe you let him do whatever he wants to you. You like that huh? Like he’s in stages of shock. He’s singing your praises to high Heaven and muttering oh shit oh shit oh shittttttt and laugh-crying as he cums. He never talks about his feelings; he fucks about them.

After. Care. King. He loves pampering and clucking over you anyway, this is simply another excuse to do it. He knows exactly how much water you drink in a day. Can’t take care of himself for shit, but you? You’ll never have a need he won’t try to fill. What’s all that hero work for if not this? Yeah, soak it up. You deserve it.

#hawks #takami keigo #hawks headcanons #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #gender neutral #smut #bnha #mha #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha fanfiction #bnha x reader #mha x reader #fred writes #no idea why I’m writing these #guess I’m just in a Mood

[emilyshotchniss]

What, Are You Like In Love With Me Or Something?

Summary: After crushing on each other for years, you and Emily finally pull your shit together:)

Pairing : Emily Prentiss x Fem Reader

Warnings: Minimal swearing

Word Count : 1675

4:27am. Are you fucking kidding me.

You reluctantly rolled out of bed and dragged yourself to the bathroom, turning the shower on. You love your job, but getting called in at four in the morning was a fucking pain in the ass. After standing under the hot water for a considerable length of time, you got out and chose your outfit. Once you were ready, you repacked your go bag, and dropped your cat Willow off at your neighbours apartment, before heading to the office.

When you arrived, it was 5:02am, and you were pretty sure that in your current mood, if you didn't get some coffee soon, you were going to go full on unsub on someone. That mood was suddenly lifted as soon as you entered the bullpen - you ducked out of view and watched as your best friend Emily walked silently through the nearly empty office, and placed a mug of coffee on your desk. She gently sat it on your favourite coaster, then tiptoed back over to her desk, grabbing a small bag and sitting it next to the mug on your desk. She adjusted everything until it was the way she wanted it, and smiled to herself before sitting back at her desk. You also smiled to yourself, before walking in fully, pretending you didn't just spend three minutes hidden behind a wall watching her.

"Morning, Em!" You smiled.

"Oh hey!" She replied, clearly trying to act chill as if she hadn't just spent five minutes fixing you breakfast.

"What's this?" You asked, opening the small bag she left you.

"Oh, uh, I, I picked you up a croissant from the Starbucks downtown on my way in," She said, smiling sheepishly.

Your heart nearly burst, and you felt an overwhelming rush of butterflies in your stomach. The gesture was lovely, but wasn't helping you get over the huge crush you'd been harbouring for a while now. You pushed your feelings into a tiny little box in the back of your mind, because there was no way she felt the same - she was just being a good friend.

"Thank you," You smiled, before taking a bite of the croissant. "For this, and the coffee. Lunch is on me,"

She smiled back, but you couldn't help but notice how her eyes lingered a little longer than they were supposed to. Your "moment" was interrupted by Morgan and Garcia barging through the doors, shortly followed by JJ, Rossi and Reid, prompting Hotch to call you all into the conference room. You took a quick sip of your coffee and one last mouthful of your croissant, before following the team upstairs.

***************************************

It was around 1:49pm when you walked back into the local PD, carrying two bags. You opened each door with your foot, and made your way to the conference room, finding Emily sitting alone with a file. The rest of the team were still away getting lunch.

"Hey, aren't you getting hungry?" You asked her.

"Uh, I'm fine, I'm nearly done with this-" She stopped rambling when she saw the bags of food. "You shouldn't have,"

"I told you, lunch was on me today. That coffee and croissant saved me from murdering someone this morning. I owe you," You said, earning a laugh from Emily. You felt a blush creep up your neck and across your cheeks, and you could've sworn you saw Emily's cheeks turn a faint pink - but it was probably nothing.

"What did you get?" She asked, as you continued to unpack.

"An italian BMT for the lady," You said, handing her her sandwich. "And a roast chicken sub for myself."

"Ugh, you're amazing," She said between mouthfuls.

You felt that same rush of heat in your cheeks again, and immediately got up to put the empty bags in the trash in a desperate attempt to hide your face.

"Seriously... thank you. I really needed this today..." She said, trailing off into a whisper almost. Her face had changed, and you could sense something was bothering her.

"Em, you okay?" You asked, concern lacing your tone.

"Oh, uh, yeah, yeah I'm good..." She lied.

"Don't lie to me. What's going on?" You said, matching your tone with hers.

"This doesn't leave this room-" She warned, your nerves making an appearance.

"This case- it, it's getting to me more than I care to admit..." She began shakily.

"In what way?" You asked.

"Regina- she said something to me, and it's kinda sticking with me," Emily said, taking a deep breath. You've known her long enough to know that that's her tell.

"She said that I have no idea what it's like when the monster from your nightmares comes back for you - that mine is dead, yet she still has to live with hers... it's stupid I know-" You cut her off.

"It's not stupid Emily. You went through a massive trauma, nobody expects you to magically be okay now that he's dead. You're still processing everything - that takes time, and we're all here to support you through it - I'm here to support you through it..." You told her, making sure she heard exactly what you were saying.

She let go of that breath, feeling a little calmer. "I have no idea what I'd do if you weren't my best friend..." She laughed nervously. Friend. That stung way more than it should've - but you put these feelings away in that little box at the back of your mind, attempting to compartmentalise it all.

"Seriously - thank you," She told you, grabbing your hand briefly, before getting up to put her napkins and stuff in the trash. Just at that, the rest of the team piled back into the station, ready to tie up the loose ends of the case before flying back that evening. You shook your head, laughing at your stupidity for falling for your best friend, before joining the rest of the team.

***********************

Back at Quantico, the team dragged themselves into the office to finish reports and grab their stuff before heading home for the night. Before you knew it, you looked up from your desk to find that most of the team had left, you Emily and Hotch being the only three remaining. You checked your watch, and decided that the reports could be finished in the morning. Throwing on your coat, you turned to look at Emily, still working away.

"Hey Em, we can finish those tomorrow, come on," You told her. She looked up at you anxiously, before reluctantly closing the file and grabbing her things. You both walked in silence to the elevator, but you could feel her eyes burning into your skull as you waited. After the silence had become just a little too uncomfortable, you turned to meet her, as she quickly diverted her gaze.

"What..." You asked with a smile.

"No, nothing- its nothing." She replied.

"You were staring at me- what, are you like in love with me or something?" You joked, not thinking anything of it - then your stomach suddenly dropped as her face turned a deep red - it was clear you'd correctly guessed her thoughts.

"Em-" You said, barely above a whisper. "Is that true?"

"I- uh- I um..." She began, her face turning a deeper red with each stutter.

"Emily look at me-" You told her, grabbing her wrists. She met your gaze, her eyes glassy.

"I love you too... I always have," You trembled, a single tear rolling down her face now.

"You have?" She cried ever so softly, her vulnerability catching you by surprise.

"Always... I- I never knew it was mutual," You smiled.

"I- I was going to tell you, but-"

"But then everything went to shit," You said, finishing her sentence.

"Yeah," She chuckled, sniffing back tears.

The elevator doors slid open and you squeezed in, taking her hand in yours as they closed behind you.

"Have you been sleeping?" You asked, not turning to face her, already knowing the answer.

"No..." She replied, barely loud enough to her - she was ashamed of being traumatised. You squeezed her hand tighter, before turning to face her.

"Come stay at my place tonight- we'll watch a movie, have hot chocolate, and maybe then you might be able to rest." You offered.

"Okay.." She smiled. "Thank you."

"Not necessary." You told her, interlacing your fingers with hers.

******************

As soon as you got home, you kicked off your shoes and headed straight to your bedroom, grabbing clothes for both yourself and Emily. After you both got comfy, you made two rather large mugs of hot chocolate, finishing them quicker than either of you would care to admit.

"Hey it's late, you coming?" You asked Emily, nodding towards your bedroom.

"Sure," She smiled, letting you lead the way. You pulled back the covers, letting Em slide in first as you followed. Lying in the darkness, your arms wrapped around her body, pulling her closer to you. As she met your eyes, no words had to be spoken- you leaned in to give her a gentle kiss that said everything you wanted to say, her returning it with equal passion. She stroked your cheekbone with her thumb, before speaking up.

"I love you - I wish I'd told you sooner." She whispered.

"I do too - but we're here now - that's all that matters." You replied.

She hummed in response, before tucking her head into your shoulder. You drew tiny shapes on her back until you heard soft snores coming from underneath your ear. It was in that moment that you realised you'd never felt love like this before - a love that consumed you. You kissed her forehead before succumbing to the slumber along with her, wondering just how you got so lucky.

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fluff #criminal minds #bau team #wlw #fanfic

[dramaqueeenamby]

WAP • Steve R. & Thor O.

A/N: Smut. No plot at all. Just smut. THIS IS A ONESHOT. 

Warnings: SMUT. 18+. Threesome. Double penetration. Oral (male and female both receiving and giving). Cum kink?. Light choking. Very light dom theme.

Words: 3.4K 

-------

You wanted to fuck Steve.

But you also wanted to fuck Thor.

It was a problem, a persistent desire that lapped at you even while doing the most mundane tasks such as sitting in on a teleconference meeting with either of them. They spoke politics. You thought dirty.

It was the textbook definition of unprofessional, but damnit, you wanted what you wanted, and you wanted them both.

Separately, of course.

Or maybe at the same time.

The thought sent chills up your spine and throughout your core.

The infatuation began the first day you accepted the job as Stark’s assistant. And that was another thing, your desire initially geared toward Tony. Maybe it was the wife and kid that obliterated the flame. You couldn’t do that to a family man no matter how badly you wanted to literally do the family man.

Some things, some people, were just off limits.

Stark was one of them.

And so, you’d accepted your position as his assistant and became okay with the fact that it was the only position the retired playboy could put you in.

Perhaps that was what did it. You’d never liked not having someone to play with.

And here walked in Stars and Stripes, himself. For a fossil, he played the role of everyday Jake quite well.

There were tiny telltale signs, however, that he was truly the right man living in the wrong time.

For one, his damn wardrobe. Slacks and a button up shirt. That was all you ever saw him in. Goddamnit, the man was in desperate need of some jeans or even better—gray sweats.

And his hair, it was always slicked back. You could always imagine him standing in the mirror of his one-bedroom apartment, making sure it looked presentable.

No one gave a damn about that anymore.

You just wanted to reach up and mess it for him half the time or grab onto it as he ate you out from off the copy machine, but you digressed.

And his speech, so proper, so focused on the semantics. Two things he never did: contractions, profanity, and you.

Okay, so that was three, but your prayer was to get it to two!

Or was it to nail two of them?

That brought you to Thor.

That smug, son of a bitch.

You wanted to slap that smirk off his face at least once a day and smother his face at least once every half hour. A good balance, if you could say so yourself.

You knew his dick was big. You just knew it. So was Steve. It’s just you weren’t sure if Born In the USA remembered how to use it. That wasn’t a concern with Thor. You saw how he eyed some of the interns and trainees. Hell, even Natasha before she promptly put him in his place.

That selfish bitch.

You’d give anything to have him put you in your place.

Right on top of his dick.

And it wasn’t like you were enduring a dick famine. You had several men on rotation, but they were all so boring. There was no spark there, anymore. Half the time, you had to do all of the work anyhow, and that just simply wasn’t fair.

You deserved better.

You deserved the Dream Dick Team.

“Scan these in for me.” Stark dropped a stack of paperwork onto your desk with his left hand while reading over another massive pile in his right. “Thanks, kid.”

You reached over, grabbing it already knowing that I had to be separated and sorted as well. Stark’s method of organization didn’t exactly correspond with the systems that the company used, but it did help to eat up time, so there was that.

“I do have a name, you know.”

“I know. It’s kid.” He called out, disappearing down the hall, oblivious to the middle finger you flashed his way.

“I saw that.”

Or maybe not.

“Sorry, boss.”

You didn’t actually mean it. One of the benefits of working for Stark, sans the much-needed medical coverage, was that the line between professionalism and unprofessionalism was pretty damn blurred. And no one smudged that line more than Stark. He was a fun boss, which made you inclined to believe he was equally as fun in the sheets, not that you would ever get to find out.

Your huff was laced with disappointment and frustration.

All of the good ones really were taken. Or too damn polite to choke you and spit in your mouth. Or from another fucking planet with an abundance of readily available alien pussy.

A tiny gasp emitted as you shuffled through the paperwork. What if they had multiple genitalia or some shit? The thought nearly brought tears to your eyes. Double penetration. Double the pleasure. Double the fun. And fuck forever—ever ever.

This was so damn cruel. The universe clearly didn’t want to see you and your four holes happy, and you were sick and tired of the ardent disrespect.

“Greetings, Y/N.”

Goddamn that fucking greeting bullshit. Unless it was a greeting between your mouth and his dick, you didn’t want to hear it.

“Captain. Thor.” You nodded to each of them, respectively, fully aware of the discomfort that stemmed from Steve.

“I’ve told you, Y/N. Steve is just fine.”

“How about daddy?”

Okay. So, a couple of things could happen in that moment. You could slide back in your chair with wheels and knock your head into the desk until you were unconscious. You could roll back in that chair with wheels, and sprint like you stole something. Or, you could play dumb and pretend what you just said wasn’t really what you just said.

All seemed viable options, really, and you were leaning more toward the sprinting.

But then something happened, something completely horrible and disgusting and despicable and just vile.

He laughed.

The motherfucker laughed.

You.....what?

And then, he made it even worse.

“Sure, why not.”

You pushed your braids behind your ears. Maybe your hearing was off. Yeah, that was it. You were way overdo for an appointment with the ENT doctor, anyway.

“Excuse me?”

This time, Thor spoke. “He’s been waiting some time, Lady Y/N. For you to say that. We both have.”

Your eyes darted from side to side. “What?”

Steve stuffed his hands in his slacks and shrugged. “It’s true, but we knew you’d finally say something when you were ready.”

“Say what?”

Steve spoke so plainly, so calmly, so unlike everything that you were currently feeling. “That you want us to fuck you.”

Sweet, Black Baby Jesus. It’d finally happened. The world had gone to hell in a handbasket.

That was literally the only explanation for not only what was just said, but for what followed what was just said.

“So, come on.”

You struggled but managed a response. “C-come where.”

“Hmm. Preferably, all over that pretty face of yours.”

“Or the pretty lips.”

But, for now, with us.”

You know those moments where all you can do is say what in the actual fuck is life? Well, that statement was made for moments like this. Kelly Clarkson was definitely onto something.

“Y/N.” You jumped in your seat when you realized that he was merely inches away from your face, fists into the desk. “We won’t ask again.”

The sensible thing to do was to continue to probe to figure out just what level of hell this was. Dante should have showed up at any minute. But what did your dumbass do? You slid back in your chair with wheels, stood, and allowed the two men you considered bosses to lead you down the hall, into the elevator, and into the same conference room where you often patiently sat and waited to the side for Stark to finish.

And unfortunately, it was never on you.

Except, this time, you weren’t in the corner, you were on the table, courtesy of Thor picking you up and placing you down as if you were a lightweight.

He stepped back and stood beside Steve while you just looked like any meme from the mid to late 2000’s, still 100% confused as to what in Beyonce’s name was going on.

“Where do we start with you?” Steve spoke to himself, or maybe Thor too, your brain was too foggy to pay too much attention to where or who his words were directed.

“Take your clothes off. Everything.”

Like the dumbass bitch you are, you looked from side to side and pointed to yourself. “Me?”

Wrong move, Dory.

With inhuman speed, Thor stood in front of you, hand around your throat. His grip was loose but firm, so much so that your thighs pushed together. God, you wanted him to squeeze tighter.

“Now.”

And just like that, he was back next to Steve. You wasted no time in following orders this time around. You couldn’t unbutton your blouse fast enough, tossing it to the floor. Every other piece of clothing that covered your body followed suit until you were completely nude, back sitting on the table, legs pressed together.

Well, initially.

The silence was making you uncomfortable. You craved some type of communication. Contact would be even better. And the way they were just looking at you, it didn’t help.

Gradually, your legs parted, revealing your bare pussy. God, you were grateful you kept that wax appointment. It didn’t miss you how Thor’s brow quipped, and Steve’s jaw twitched.

A small smile played on your face as you innocently asked. “What?”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so innocent, but time was of the essence, and you needed your essence to be spilling from here to the 98th floor sooner rather than later.

“She mocks us.”

“It seems so.”

Holy fuck, this was getting to be fun. You’d hooked their attention, now you just had to reel it in. Your right hand seemed to sense the pending activities and wanted to get a jump. Slowly lifting from its firmly planted spot on the table, your hand moved to your full breast, down your stomach folds, over your fupa, and bow chika wow wow.

You chewed on your bottom lip when you felt your kitty. She was already leaking dew.

“Fuck yourself.”

Two words. One task. Mission: accepted.

You went to work, your three middle fingers working in perfect synchronization, tending to your sensitive and neglected bud. God, you’d masturbated in the shower just this morning, but this felt so different. Probably because of the two men who stood before you. Speaking of, you opened your eyes and grinned wryly at their reactions.

They were pissed, and that only caused a loud moan to leave your mouth as you slapped your own cunt, loving the sound it made because of the slickness.

“I’m so fucking wet.” You played around with your wetness, lifting your hand and sticking your fingers in your mouth, licking each digit one by one, dropping your hand to your breast and playing with your nipples. “Oh my fucking God.”

You were gradually making yourself a sticky mess, not to mention, the mess you’d made all over the table, but you gave not a single fuck. The only fuck, fucks, you gave were about the two men who stood before you.

Returning your hand to your throbbing pussy, you laid back on the table so that you could reach deeper, plunging your fingers inside, milking yourself. Every so often, you’d remove your fingers and spread your juice all over your vaginal area. Call it a kink, but you loved the feeling of cum all over your body. Yours. His. Anyone’s. It was just a serious thrill for you.

“Fuck!” You shouted just as you started to feel the familiar intensity brewing in the pit of your stomach because your ankles were grabbed, harshly yanking you down off the table. Your feet never touched the ground, however, because you were laid on your stomach over the arms of a wheely chair.

Seconds later, your hips were lifted, your ass perked up in the air.

“I think she’s ready for us, don’t you, Thor?” You whined. You could feel Steve’s cool breath on your pussy. He had to be centimeters away from fulfilling ½ of your dream fucking, and yet was insisting on this tantalizing yet frustrating wait.

“Would you just eat my fucking pussy alr--” You shouted as he silenced your protest with obedience. Holy fucking hell, if you could, you would have screamed so loud that all of Manhattan could hear you. He lapped and sucked with an insatiable hunger, booty jerking around but only momentarily as he brought his hands to your hips to hold you still while he feasted.

You dropped your head only to have it yanked up by Thor grabbing a fistful of your braids and forcing you to look at him.

“Such a pretty mouth.” Your eyes almost bugged out of your fucking head when you saw his massive dick, hard and dripping with cum, just hanging in front of you. You were already salivating in anticipation when he used his thumb to part your full lips. “We shall see if you can use it to please your king.”

Without even so much as a warning, he forced your mouth open with his thick fingers and forced your jaw to its absolute max as he stuffed his even thicker dick in your mouth, You immediately felt him stabbing the back of your throat, and the sensation brought tears to your eyes and butterflies to your stomach.

He didn’t have you too shook though because you immediately went to slurping and deepthroating, bracing your elbows on the arms of the chair while holding onto his hips to stabilize you.

Thor’s head went to the top of your head, taking a fistful of your braids. You peaked up over your eyelids to see his head tilted back, eyes closed, mouth tensed. You were so proud of yourself that you took another inch, practically gagging as tears continued to spill from your eyes. The tears a combination of how stuffed you felt, orally, and from the oral pleasure America’s finest was causing down below.

God, who would have thought the fossil could eat pussy so well?

Thor had started face fucking you, the intensity of the thrusts of his hips into your mouth causing the chair to slide back and forth. Still, Steve’s mouth stayed attached to your pussy, and by now, your entire lower half was a stick hot mess.

And you fucking loved it.

It was enough to make you cum. Again, that was.

Even as Steve made you cum, Thor refused to allow you the room to breathe. This caused an intensity in your tears. It was so blissfully overwhelming. You hadn’t a clue what you’d done to deserve this, but goddamnit were you relieved.

Hell wasn’t so bad after all, and if Dante wanted to join in, the more, the merrier.

You moaned, mouthful of Thor, when Steve pulled out only for your ears and ass to perk up when you felt something thick and hot against your ass. “Such a sweet pussy.”

“Is she?”

“Absolutely,” Steve grunted, reaffirming his grasp on your hips. “Now to feel you around my dick.”

Impaled. Stuffed. Exploding. Those were all words that only halfheartedly described how you felt. You didn’t have to see Steve to know that he was big in girth and long in length, I.e. the perfect combination. He was so deep inside of you, hips repeatedly and firmly clashing into yours, driving his dick deeper and deeper into you.

By now, Thor had also freed your mouth and allowed your jaw a respite, but not before emptying all over your face. Your pussy clenched against Steve as you excitedly allowed your tongue to travel as much of your mouth as you could, sucking in Thor’s cum. It was simply majestic, as was he, as was this entire fucking, well, fucking.

Your moans and screams echoed and bounced off every wall, surely reverberating down the hall and across the various floors. You gave absolutely zero fucks. All of New York could hear you for all you cared.

Thor continued to jerk off in front of you, still very much hard even after splattering you with his cum.

What a God.

As expected, Steve made you cum several times, squirting the last time, the first time you’d ever done so. It was more than you could have ever asked for. And yet, it truly was the gift that kept on giving.

After completely filling you with him cum, Steve pulled out of you, making sure to use his fingers to smear the cum that leaked all over your pussy lips.

Seconds later, they switched, Thor was behind you, Steve in front of you. However, Thor quickly flipped you over so that you were on you back and stood between your spread and tacky thighs.

“Do you think you can take me, little one?” He asked mockingly, fingers playing with the cum on your stomach. You nodded furiously, only to feel your jaw grabbed and head craned back.

Steve’s bulbous head tapped against your lips. You opened eagerly, downing him at the same moment Thor slammed into you. If not for them steadying you, you would have jumped right off that chair. Steve was big, but Thor was massive and curved. A curved dick was your dream come true.

Actually, being dually fucked by a God and Captain America yourself was your dream, and now, a reality.

What an afterlife.

The both took you, front and back, roughly. You were being whisked back and forth like a rag doll, your titties flopping all over the place. Whiplash was most definitely a concern as well as the inability to walk tomorrow, or ever, but really, what a better way to be rendered incapacitated?

I mean, Steve was literally beating on the little dangly thang that swing in the back of your throat, and had you been able to look down, you could almost bet you could see Thor in your fucking stomach. He was just that deep.

This was the hill you would die on, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your face was damp from persistent tears and tacky from slowly drying cum, a layer of light sweat soaking you from head to toe, and you knew that your edges were shot, but none of that mattered, especially when Thor pulled out and started to eat you out, your thighs clamped around his head, trapping him. He could stay there forever. They both could.

Unfortunately, all god things must come to a respite, or whatever the fairy tales said.

After cumming at least 87.5 times, they both freed your beaten and thoroughly used mouth and vagina. There was so much cum, it was splattered all over your pelvis, dripping onto the floor. You’d never been so stuffed. Literally.

“Are you okay?”

Thor asked, or maybe Steve. You were too physically exhausted to pay that much attention, your eyes fluttering shut. “Fucking divine.”

“Excuse me?”

Your eyes shot open and you were met with puzzled expressions from both Thor and Steve.

You looked around, you were seated in your desk, hair still intact, fully clothed, edges still laid. You paused.

What the fuck?

“Are you sure you’re alright, darling?” Steve’s concerned voice broke your stunned trance. This....this couldn't be happening. No fucking way. You did not just dream all that. It wasn’t possible. It was too damn real.

And yet....

You felt at your face. It was moisturized, but with CeraVe. Not CeraCum.

“It was a fantasy....” You whispered to yourself, holding back tears. “None of it was real.”

“Would you like us to talk to Stark about allowing you to get off earlier?”

Your eyes widened. “But, I already did,” you all but whined.

Thor whispered to Steve. “Is this what you Midgardians call a psychotic break?”

This was cruel, beyond cruel, sinfully wicked. You had no words. Thor and Steve watched as you whined while gathering your shit. You didn't even bother clocking out or shutting off the computer. You just had to get out of there and fast.

You said not a word to either men as you stumped off completely done with the day, and, well, life. 

It wasn’t until you entered the elevator that both men chuckled.

“This is going to be fun.”

“No, she is.” 

Steve and Thor chuckled, anticipation for the next time already brewing. 

#Steve Rogers x reader #cpatain america x reader #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #marvel fanficiton #fic: wap

[brw]

Tony Stark and Reed Richards for the character ask thing

TONY STARK

how i feel about this character: 😬 ngl i... don't care for him. at all. i don't vehemently hate him, there's definitely times where i appreciate him & his personality but it's few and far between and i... genuinely do not get the hype. i think its mostly mcu fans' fault for my dislike, its just he's fucking EVERYWHERE now, it's impossible to miss him? like he plays a big role in EVERY avengers comic now, he gets ongoing titles all the time, and it's just so frustrating especially when you consider characters who used to be more or less on the same level on them (like hank pym! who, by the way, has been dead for 6 consecutive years! that would never happen with tony!) or even more popular than him now get streamlined because of the mcu's popularity. by himself, i don't really mind him that much, but with how famous he is now and how large and frankly annoying his fan base is i just... now really do not like the character.

all the people i ship romantically with this character: short list here; reed, because i find their dymanic of reed as someone who does everything for his family and will do everything and anything he can to protect their interests above everyone else but also wants to keep his hands clean and believes, genuinely, in the good of the world, and tony as someone who will do horrendous things in the name of the greater good who always has the bigger picture in mind interesting. i also don't know a lot about it but he seems cute with rhodey? even if i think rhodey deserves a bigger chance to be his own character away from tony as is sometimes denied i can always appreciate a good best friends to lovers dymanic :)

my non romantic otp for this character: um? i honestly don't know 😭 i don't like him enough to say, i guess him n reed again? him n rhodey again? help 😭😭😭

my unpopular opinion of this character: he does not deserve the fame he has. like, i dont mean to sound jealous or whatever but pre 2007 movie he was not the most well liked character or even that popular. like obviously he had fans because he had solo series on and off for a very long time but it just feels SO ridiculous that tony stark has a bigger fandom than the fucking fantastic four. THE FANTASTIC FOUR. marvel's first superhero team, and yet??? like okay. he might have things to offer i don't see. he obviously does, i mean, he got three movies and multiple solo series. but he has most certainly not got enough as a character to overshadow the fantastic four, the x-men, etc and i will never forgive the mcu & mcu fans (and mark miller, he deserves blame too) for making it so. again, by himself he's fine but it is ridiculous to me that a one note white character that appeared in his third film (harley keener or... whatever) has 2000s more fics than THE PROTAGONIST OF INTO THE SPIDERVERSE, MILES MORALES. it is just... so vile and frustrating to me.

one thing i wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon: he didn't exist <3 jk jk um i'm not sure? i guess it would be funny if he was like... stick thin underneath the armour. like idk. he's in the armour 24/7 it makes sense to me for him to be a skinny little nerd under there. like completely fucking small. like you can't be a superhero AND be a billionaire and avoid all those taxes AND run the avengers AND run multiple massive corporations and still work out... even if you take away eating and sleeping there's just not enough time... it would be funny if he was just a tiny little boy underneath all that djndndbf

my otp: gonna say him and rhodey again. like i say, can never resist a good best friends to lovers dymanic.

my cross over ship: jdjshdhdh literally none i don't think about him enough to consider it <3

headcanon fact: 100% think he was the one to offer reed that money to star in a p*rno it's just so funny to me to imagine dhsnndnd

REED RICHARDS

how i feel about this character: HE'S MY BOY! I LOVE HIM SO MUCH! like i guess it's paradoxical considering how similar he is to tony in some ways but man i just love reed so much. i so genuinely think reed richards is what tony stark fans want him to be. like they (mcu fans) make up elaborate headcanons of him being a good dad and an ethical billionaire and its like no that's reed richards? canonically he's gone broke bc he refuses to get money off his inventions... u have the wrong man... anyway he's also an asexual LEGEND i do not take criticism and ofc. autistic icon. literally he's so autistic it makes me <3 i love him dearly.

all the people i ship romantically with this character: it would be easier to list the people i DON'T ship with him lol. sue, obviously, victor ofc, and ben are the big ones, but i just LOVE his dymanic with t'challa and i think they would rlly work it... i also love the idea of him with namor, idk with victor it's just so funny to imagine reed as like. bizarrely attractive to rulers of foreign countries. blackagar faces the same problem <3 i also do believe him n hank pym dated in college for a bit... all their weird little microaggressions towards each other just makes me feel that way... again i do like him w/ tony and i made this weird au where he and emma frost got together which if prompted i WILL talk about. probably. more but yeah <3

my non romantic otp for this character: while i do LOVE them together as lovers i just love. benreed generally <3 like they're LITERALLY besties they love each other sm and i'm tired of pretending they don't????? so many people ignore this relationship and it makes me so sad!!! they're best friends they love each other fight for each other fight with each other theyre literally besties... smh put some respect on the benreed name 😤

my unpopular opinion of this character: i don't think this is that unpopular but it is in certain circles so! i genuinely think reed is the best marvel dad! like you can talk abt others all u want but the fact is that reed is the only character i can think of who has always been there in his kid's lives and has consistently put their needs first. like not saying other characters are bad but even at his worst writing he's always done his best for his kids and certainly has been full of love for them. other characters at their worse have. murdered their own kids <3 genuinely he's the best marvel dad and sure there's not a lot of competition but. yeah <3

one thing i wish would happen/had happened with this character: I WANT A CANONICAL AUTISM DIAGNOSIS NOW. literally he is SO autistic & there are... no big autistic marvel characters! at all! literally none! the closest we have is legion (who was written in an incredible ableist way and autism hasnt been used to describe him in a solid 30 years) and monet (and it turned out it wasn't monet but one of her twin sisters impersonating her :/) so it would just mean so much to see a canonically autistic character like reed who is older & has a wife and kids who he loves and who they love in return on panel. like so much of the rep we DO have is like, young kids or teens and idk an autistic adult would just mean so much to me. especially one like reed who is as selfless & loving as he is.

my otp: tie between doomreed and reedsue! any option that gets this noodle nerd lots of love i'm good for tbh

my cross over ship: him and ralph dibney from dc should date... they have so much in common... stretchy autistic man who's very smart and kind of silly who loves his wife sue who pegs him 🥴 they'd have so much to talk about sjbdhdhd also imagining the look on ben's face realising there's TWO of them is. so funny.

headcanon fact: he's aromantic he's asexual and neither of these stop him from his very meaningful & passionate relationship with his wife :)

assorted character ask game!

#oh boy i do not shut up. #long post #thank you for asking! #esteicy-blog #tony stark #anti tony stark #i guess?? idk dhdjdh #ch: i believe we endure #ask games} answers

[lochrannn]

Warnings: Sexual Content (M Rating)

Characters: Lila Pitts; Diego Hargreeves; Allison Hargreeves; Klaus Hargreeves; Hargreeves Siblings (background)

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Roommates AU; Fake Marriage; Slow Burn; Mutual Pining; Emotional H/C

Chapter 6/?

-

Lila picks up the letter with the marriage license from the letterbox when she comes home from running some errands only a few days after they applied for it. She recognises that it’s from city hall and hesitates for a moment as it’s addressed to Diego and could honestly be anything, how would she know, but she’s desperately impatient so she decides to open the letter and just give it a cursory look and apologise for snooping through his mail later if it turns out to be something else.

As it is, in fact, the marriage license, Lila gets on the phone right away and books an appointment at the courthouse for a wedding in a week’s time, apparently managing to get a slot that just opened up again earlier in the morning, as the waiting time would otherwise have been a couple more weeks. The clerk at city hall had very kindly explained to them how to go about booking a courthouse wedding and what that would entail, otherwise Lila would have been back at square one again even with the license.

All they need to bring is their necessary documentation and a single witness. Lila really hopes Diego has someone he can ask, because she doesn’t want to get one of her coworkers to come along.

She explains this to Diego when he turns up in the evening and he doesn’t even blink at the fact that she opened the letter addressed to him and then suggests he could ask Klaus to be their witness.

“I can ask my brother to take some pictures as well, so we have them as proof for the visa proceedings.” Diego muses.

“Who, Klaus?” Lila asks a bit confused why Diego wouldn’t just refer to him by name, seeing as she’s already met him.

“No, Ben.” Diego says, a bit distracted, as he reads through the letter that she handed him.

“You have another brother?” Lila asks, surprised.

Diego gives her a blank look for a second, then says, “Uh, I have four brothers…”

“And a sister?” Lila puts together, her voice a little high in disbelief.

“Two sisters, actually… all adopted.” Diego shrugs noncommittally, “I guess we’ll have to go through all of that before the interview process.”

Lila could kick herself, because she forgot to ask him exactly what the interview could possibly entail as she’d not heard of it before Diego mentioned it back at city hall. She’s relatively certain that the image that pops into her head of her pretending to be some kind of nineteen fifties housewife in a hoop skirt and delicate curls, who has to fawn over her breadwinner husband while a government agent takes notes, is probably not exactly what they are in for.

But before she can ask about the interview this time, Diego asks tentatively, “Uhm, have you thought about what you’re gonna wear?”

Lila is sitting on the arm of the couch, Diego standing not too far away from her, very strenuously looking down at the letter in his hand. Lila crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, and after a moment Diego does look at her and is immediately flustered.

“I’m not— It’s not… It’s just, if we’re taking pictures, we can’t look too shabby, but it’s also just a courthouse wedding, so we can’t look too fancy either.”

“You think I might turn up to my wedding looking shabby?” Lila asks in an even tone, but she tries very hard to give it an edge and tries even harder not to start laughing out loud at the look of panic that makes its way onto Diego’s face.

“That’s not… I didn’t mean…” he stammers, but Lila takes sympathy and interrupts him to say, not unkindly, “I have a dress I can wear.”

“Ok,” Diego says, clearly relieved that she didn’t end up getting annoyed at him again, and a tiny part of Lila is filled with a little bit of guilty regret for making him feel like he can’t say anything to her without the danger of her blowing up at him. He’s doing her a massive favour, apparently despite the fact he seems to think of her as some kind of raging bitch. It’s not like she can entirely blame him, but for some reason that thought really twists something in the pit of her stomach.

Which is odd, because she usually couldn’t give a flying toss about what people think of her.

-

In the end the day somehow arrives much sooner than she expected and Lila finds herself stepping out of her room in a short red cotton dress that hangs a little loosely off the thin straps across her shoulder but is cinched at the waist with a drawstring with a bow, and she’s put on a pair of black high heel sandals.

She hears Diego in the kitchen, so she makes her way over and when she finds him she is hit by the view of Diego in a pair of very nicely fitted grey suit trousers, a matching jacket, and what must be a black t-shirt underneath as he’s pouring himself a cup of coffee. For a second Lila can’t work out if she’s completely underdressed by comparison, or whether Diego is just wearing the heck out of his clothes, but then he notices her and gives her a once over with a strange expression.

“You look… uh… really, uhm, cute,” he says, a bit hesitantly.

“Ah shit,” Lila says, a bit frustrated, “this is way too casual… Hold on, I can take another look in my cupboard…” but Diego interrupts her. “No, Lila, honestly, you look lovely! You’re perf— It’s perfect! Not too flashy, but you look very nice, really!” Diego says in a reassuring tone and despite the fact she doesn’t quite feel like she’s actually struck the balance, she’s finding it hard not to believe him, he does sound awfully sincere.

Diego drives them to the courthouse and Lila is very intrigued by his car. It's classic Chevy and it’s a bit of a banger of a thing, but inside it smells of leather seats and very faintly of Diego’s aftershave, and Lila is weirdly comforted by that, considering her stomach is rolling with nerves. She’s not even sure why. This means nothing, they are doing this so she can get a visa and yet Lila wonders whether she’d honestly be significantly more nervous if this was her real wedding.

On their way they pick up Klaus, who is wearing a sarong and a tie dye crop top and Lila is interested to see that Diego doesn’t comment at all on the outfit, so neither does she. Then they pick up Diego’s other brother, Ben, who’s wearing a leather jacket over a hoodie, Lila can see as he approaches the car. A lot more sensibly dressed than Klaus, but still a little casual for a wedding. Then again, Lila thinks, he’s mostly only there to take the photos, so it doesn’t actually matter.

The first thing Ben does, as he climbs into the car, is make a snide comment at Klaus’s attire and Klaus shoots back with something equally insulting and after a short back and forth Diego interrupts them in annoyance, “Shut the fuck up back there, or I swear, I’m gonna pull someone off the sidewalk to be the witness, and I’m sure we can get the officiant to take a couple of pictures!”

The two brothers in the backseat take that as an invitation to have an argument amongst themselves about the ungratefulness they have to deal with and Diego rolls his eyes at them in the rearview mirror, but Lila catches the fond smile that etches it’s way across his lips and she’s quite certain that she wasn’t meant to see that. She’s glad she did.

She’s also glad that Diego has apparently told his brothers the purpose of their wedding, which means they don’t have to pretend in front of them and only need to start acting like a couple as they are called into the ceremonial office twenty minutes after their actual appointment.

The officiating judge seems harassed and in a hurry and just makes a grabbing motion as they enter. Diego catches on right away. Maybe, Lila muses, he deals with people like this all the time in his job, so he hands over all of their documents that they have compiled in one file.

The judge gives the paperwork a very thorough look, while Lila and Diego stand a little awkwardly in front of her desk.

“Okay, this all seems fine. Can I see the witness’s ID?” she says looking over the rim of her glasses at Ben.

“Oh, that’s me!” chirps Klaus and flounces over to the desk and hands the judge a passport that Lila doesn’t want to think about where he’d been keeping it on his person.

“Alright!” Says the judge and pulls a form out of a tray and starts writing their names on it in what looks, from where Lila can see it, like remarkably tidy cursive.

“Well then, are you, Diego Hargreeves, free lawfully to marry Lila Pitts?” she asks in a very official sounding voice.

Diego, much like Lila herself, must be a bit taken aback at how quickly they got to this part but rallies and says, in an unwavering voice, “I am!”

The judge turns to her and Lila swallows hard as she hears, “Are you, Lila Pitts, free lawfully to marry Diego Hargreeves?”

“I am!” Lila answers without hesitation, maybe she even sounds a bit rushed, but she hasn’t got the time to think about whether that is in any way embarrassing, because the judge just plows on, “Ok, then you sign here and here,” she points at the two gaps and Diego lets Lila go first. Then the judge says quite impatiently, “Witness?” and Klaus hurries over to put down his own name.

“Great! Then, by the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” the judge says, reaching for a stamp and then distractedly adding, “You may kiss the bride.”

Lila watches as Diego’s eyes go wide, and she can’t blame him for that. For some incomprehensible reason she had also not thought about the fact that this might come up.

Diego looks at the judge for a second, but she’s busy sorting out their paperwork, then he looks at Lila and she gives him a half smile and a tiny shrug, because they can hardly just back out of this part now and Ben is just there with his camera at the ready, so Lila feels emboldened by the thought that this is probably really useful evidence for the immigration file, and she’s just about to reach for Diego, as his hand gently lands on the side of her face and in surprise she covers it with her own, and then his lips are softly pressing against her mouth.

She doesn’t even notice that she’s closed her eyes, but for a moment all she can focus on is the warmth of Diego’s hand on her face, the gentle breath that ghost across her cheek as he slowly breaths out of his nose, and the tension in his lips as they move gently against hers. Then he starts pulling away and a deep sense of loss settles into a spot just behind her breast bone just before Diego ever so slightly brushes his lips against hers for one more moment and then he’s gone and Lila almost over balances. She just about manages not to fall forwards and hopes nobody noticed that for a beat she turned into a swooning damsel.

Things turn into a blur then. They are dismissed hastily by the judge and then find themselves outside the courthouse. Klaus has produced a bottle of champagne and some paper cups from somewhere and Ben encourages them to pose for a few pictures in which they are toasting their newly established matrimony.

Lila downs the first cup of champagne she’s handed and immediately asks for a second and Diego gives her a slightly bewildered look, but at this point the day has been too much for her already and she no longer has the energy to feel embarrassed.

“C’mon!” Klaus then says clapping his hands together decisively, “We need to get a few more pictures of the happy couple,” and adds in a loud stage whisper, “for the whole visa things.”

Lila catches a glimpse of how Diego’s jaw tightens in response and when she looks back at Klaus there is decidedly a glint in his eye, and Lila is relatively certain that they are having some kind of unspoken communication literally over the top of her head.

Klaus glides over to stand beside Ben and in the meantime Lila suddenly feels Diego’s arm coming around the back of her and landing on her waist. But his grip is loose and he doesn’t pull her in and she’s unsure of how to go about this herself, so she fusses for a moment before putting her arm around his waist as well and then leaning into him just a bit and putting her other hand against his side.

Apparently encouraged by the fact that she’s not pulled away, Diego’s grip on her tightens and Lila makes the mistake of looking up at him, and their eyes meet and she freezes.

Diego’s eyes are impossibly soft as he’s looking back at her and for a moment Lila wonders whether that means anything. Then she slowly starts panicking as she thinks about whether she wants it to mean anything and just as Diego clears his throat and it almost seems like he wants to say something, Klaus shouts, “Lovely! And now kiss!”

Both Lila and Diego swivel round to look at Klaus but he just gives them an encouraging hand gesture, so they turn back to each other and this time a bit awkwardly press their lips against each other, noses bumping a bit uncomfortably.

It’s not a terrible kiss, Lila has had worse, but it certainly has nowhere near the effect on her that the one in the judge's office did. As she makes a little displeased noise in the back of her throat and Diego pulls away instantly with an expression that looks about as frustrated as she feels, Lila is suddently completely off kilter. In one instant she feels like she might get lost in his eyes and the next they can’t even manage an even slightly romantic kiss despite the fact they have already done so much more together.

Apparently Klaus is also not particularly impressed by their display because he says, irritation in his voice, “Are you kidding me? What was that? Come on you guys, you’re young and hot and… well… not so much unattached, but you know what I mean, you should manage a more passionate kiss than that even if it’s just for the camera! Stop kissing like you would your grandma!”

“Shut the fuck up, Klaus!” Diego growls and Lila can feel him tense next to her, but she’s too busy gaping at Klaus and asks at the same time as Diego speaks, “How the fuck do you kiss your grandma?”

“Never you mind!” Klaus grins at her with a little flick of the hand, “Anyway, we need more passion, right Benny?” he adds, elbowing his brother enthusiastically.

“I’m just the photograoher!” Ben says, raising his hands in defense, one of them still holding his camera, “But yeah that was pretty lame.”

“Fuck you both!” Diego says angrily and Lila definitely shares the sentiment but doesn’t get a chance to voice it, because all of a sudden, she’s vertical, with Diego’s arm firmly behind her back pressing her up against his chest, his other hand at the back of her knee pulling it up against his hip and he is properly kissing her this time.

Almost on autopilot, as her brain has momentarily stopped working, Lila wraps one arm around Diego’s neck, threads her other hand into his hair, and when his tongue runs along the seam of her lips, she opens her mouth and licks into his before he even gets any further. Diego makes a tiny whining noise and Lila automatically presses herself harder against him, even though she’s basically suspended in mid air with only one foot on the ground.

Then there’s a loud whoop from somewhere off to the side and as suddenly as she was tipped backwards, Diego pulls her back upright and then she’s standing unsteadily on her own, already desperately missing the sensation of pressing up against Diego’s warm, solid body and the wet heat of his mouth on hers.

-

It’s become a habit by now.

Diego will go to bed and then lie awake staring up at the ceiling for hours, trying to sort out his thoughts.

But today is particularly bad. It’s past two in the morning and he’s not slept a single minute, despite the fact he didn’t get in that late.

After the ceremony, he invited Lila, Klaus, and Ben out for lunch, mostly to thank his brothers for their help and because his stepmom had taught him how to be at least somewhat classy, so he wasn’t going to marry a girl and then not at least take her out to dinner – or lunch in this case – even if it was a sham wedding. Then he’d driven them all home and as he couldn’t afford to take a full day off, made his way back to his office in a daze.

When he got back in the evening, the apartment was already dark and he couldn’t hear any sounds coming from Lila’s room, so he assumed she’d gone to bed and almost felt guilty at how relieved he was not to bump into her.

Fuck, here he is, lying awake in bed, his wife in the other room—Jesus Christ, his wife!—and he can’t even face her.

But he just can’t work out how to be around her, now.

He has no doubt anymore about the fact that he’s in love with Lila but that realisation has almost made things worse.

For a moment, when he stupidly let himself be goaded into kissing her for the photos, he started imagining that she was kissing him back with the same fervor as he was feeling. It felt so real, he’s not even entirely sure he imagined it, but he worries that he’s just seeing what he wants to see.

He even contemplated telling her about how he feels, but that just wouldn’t be fair, even if a tiny part of him hopes that maybe there is a remote chance that she could at least feel something for him beyond friendship. But it would be so unfair on her if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings. They entered their deal under very specific terms and he can’t just go and make things awkward for her, just because he can’t handle being close to Lila without wanting to pull her in and kiss her senseless. He does wonder, though, if he maybe could talk to her about it once she has her visa, once she has options. She wouldn’t be stuck with him then and wouldn’t have to continue pretending to be in a relationship any longer.

Fuck, this is all so messed up, Diego thinks, angry with himself for not being able to keep his feelings under control better. But who is he kidding, that’s never been his strong suit.

He abandons the idea of getting any sleep, so he rolls out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt and hopes that a run around the neighborhood might tire him out enough that he can maybe catch at least a little bit of sleep.

#otp: just be gentle #lila pitts #diego hargreeves #dielila #diego x lila #diego/lila #tua #the umbrella academy #fanfic #ongoing fic

[terreisa]

Love Down the Line

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch.  When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept.  Unfortunately she isn't really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma's teenage fantasies, Killian Jones.  With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn't come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

AO3

~*CS*~

Storybrooke, Maine- April 8th

The buzzing phone on the table in front of Emma Swan was a distraction she didn’t need.  There were a million and one things that needed to be done and only one month to do them before her tour started.  She swiped to answer it without looking, too caught up in what she was doing to bother.

“Yeah?” She asked impatiently, absently brushing the tendrils of her long blonde hair out of her face.

“I have good news and I have shit news.”

Emma sighed, albeit quietly.  It was Ruby, one of her closest friends and the rhythm guitarist for her backing band who also had a flair for the dramatic.  She only hoped that whatever it was Ruby was calling about wouldn’t turn into a two hour conversation over something they could easily discuss when she didn’t have time sensitive decisions to make.  Preferably in a month when they were finally on the tour bus and had nothing but time to kill between cities.

“If it’s about going on that second date with Dorothy that I already talked you into once can it wait?  I’m trying to finalize this set list so I can send it to Regina so she can send it to the lighting guys and the sound guys and we can stop fucking around at rehearsals and get things going almost smoothly.”

“Um, yeah… I mean, it’s not entirely about my date with Dorothy,” Ruby said with what sounded like trepidation.

Suspicion and dread immediately filled Emma’s veins.  Ruby was anything but hesitant when it came to sharing information.  She’d once announced at a club they were playing that she was on her period and would only accept phone numbers that were written on the outside wrapper of a chocolate bar.  By the time they made it back to their motel she had a mound of candy that would have made Augustus Gloop jealous.

“What’s the good news?”

“Nah, you’ll want the shitty news first,” Ruby hummed with a grin in her voice, her confidence restored.

She groaned, “When have I ever wanted the shitty news first?”

“Never, but this time the good news won’t make sense without it-” Ruby took in a deep breath, loud enough for Emma to hear over the connection and it set her back on edge. “Okay, so I was on that second date with Dorothy and it was going great.  Like, really great.  She’s amazing and funny and surprising.  We went to a paintball place.  Paintball, me!”

“Ruby-”

“And it was actually fun.  You know I’m more of a heels and cocktails kinda gal but I was getting into it-”

“Ruby-”

“Something about the adrenaline maybe or possibly the weird power trip of having a fake weapon to stalk your prey.  Though that makes me sound like I’m about to go play the most dangerous game or something-”

“RUBY!  The shitty news!”

“Oh, right,” Ruby had the decency to sound abashed but it did nothing to alleviate the pounding that had started in Emma’s head. “So paintball,  fun and exciting and I may have broken my arm.”

Emma suddenly felt faint, “What?”

“In two places,” Ruby continued, sounding almost proud of herself. “Plus there’s some stitches and a bunch of Bandaids involved but you probably don’t care about those.”

“How long?” She winced at her harsh question, knowing she sounded uncaring.  She backtracked, “No, fuck, wait, are you okay?  That should have been my first question.”

Ruby laughed, “Don’t worry, after all these years I know where your priorities lie.  I’m fine, they’ve got me on the good stuff here.”

“Wait, are you still at the hospital?” Emma stood up, ready to jump into whatever action was needed.

“Yup, they’ve still got to set the bones and wrap it up like the world’s worst present but like I said: the good stuff.”

“Alright, I’m on my way,” Emma dashed to her room and frantically tried to find a matching pair of shoes in the piles of crap strewn across the floor. “Do you need anything?  A change of clothes?  Are they keeping you there overnight?  Want me to stop by Granny’s?  Should I call Granny?”

“Whoa, Emma, slow down,” Ruby said, laughing again. “Dorothy called Granny when we were on our way to the hospital.  She’s already here and glaring at anyone in a white coat that walks by my little curtained area.  It should only be an hour or so then it’s home to rest.  You can come over with pizza and I’ll bore you to death then with all the little details of my date.”

“Okay,” she breathed, dropping down onto her bed with a tennis shoe in one hand.  “Pizza.  I can do that.”

“Good.  It’s six weeks by the way,” Ruby said offhandedly.

“Six weeks,” she repeated, confused by the non-sequitur.

“Recovery time.  At least six weeks.”

The shoe dropped out of her hand, “Six weeks.”

“And then a few weeks of physical therapy,” Ruby continued. “So, more like two months give or take.”

“Ruby,” she said weakly. “The tour starts in a month.  There’s no time to audition a replacement and have them learn the songs and what if they don’t get along with us or, fuck, what if they have a massive ego or-”

“Emma, stop.” Ruby said calmly. “This is where the good news comes in.”

“Good news?  How can there be good news?”

“I told you there would be,” Ruby tsked, “Here it is.  I already have a replacement ready!  He knows most of the songs you’ve been picking, has a shit ton of experience on the road and playing the type of venues we’ve got booked, and best of all he’s available to start as soon as you tell me yes.”

Ruby’s words had started to slow but her excitement was still palpable.  Emma on the other hand felt nothing but dread settling in her stomach.  Ever since she’d started doing the music thing seriously Ruby had been a part of the band playing behind her.  The seedy bars with tiny stages, the slightly better clubs with slightly worse sound systems, the places that could actually be called venues that held more than a hundred people and then bigger and bigger until she was finally selling out places that easily sat four or five thousand people.  She’d been there for everything, had seen everything, knew everything and her not being able to be there for any part of it was starting to cause Emma’s vision to go slightly grey at the edges.

“I need to call Regina,” she gasped, trying to draw in a deep breath, “We can cancel the first few weeks or reschedule them.”

“Emma-”

“I’ll say I have bronchitis or those polyp things on my vocal chords.  Or I can do the shows acoustic-”

“Emma, if you’d just-

“But then I’ll have to figure out how to pay Will and Tink-”

“Or you could just give this guy a chance, maybe?” Ruby said sharply and a bit pointedly. “I’m not letting you sabotage the biggest fucking thing to happen to you because I can’t play for a few weeks.  The fans don’t care who’s in the backing band, they’re paying to see you.”

“Then they won’t mind an acoustic show, will they?” Emma snapped back.

“No, but it’s also not what you’ve been teasing on Instagram for the past few months.  Not to mention all the techies and roadies that have already been hired that will be fired because they’ll be deemed unnecessary.  Plus isn’t it in your contract with the label that any major changes to the tour had to be approved by them?  I can tell you right now they won’t approve of anything this close to the start date.”

Emma hated that Ruby was right but couldn’t help one last argument, “And replacing you with some rando off the street isn’t a major change?”

“First off: the label cares even less about who’s in the backing band then the fans do.  As long as we make you sound good and don’t upstage you they’re happy,” Ruby said flippantly. “Second: Jones isn’t some rando, he’s actually a session guitarist and has played on a few songs on your last two albums.  Third: This is your best option and you know it.”

“I don’t know it,” she grumbled, “He could still be a problem, you know, personality wise or whatever.”

“Okay, sure,” Ruby conceded, “but you won’t know unless you give him a chance.  So will you?  Give him a chance?”

“Ugh, fine, but if he sucks I’m definitely writing a song called ‘I fucking told you so’.”

“And if he doesn’t I get to write it and you’ll have to play the terrible result at the final show,” Ruby said gleefully.

“I hate you,” Emma sighed, falling back so she was laying across the width of her bed.

“No you don’t,” Ruby paused and Emma could hear murmuring in the background. “Hey, the doctor’s back and they’re ready to get my bones a crackin’.  You can complain about it more tonight.  Meat lovers supreme, extra large, and bring those cinnamon sticky things too!”

Ruby hung up before Emma could utter a sound.  She chuckled to herself before the reality of the situation sunk back in.  For Ruby’s sake she’d give the Jones guy a chance but she had little faith that it would work out as easily as Ruby had made it sound.  Nothing had ever worked out easily for her before, no use in getting her hopes up again.

#captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #ouat ff #cs ff #my writing

[andhumanslovedstories]

Recent country songs that have made me literally gay gasp as a gay woman, in order of how much they make me want to write an essay on gender and queerness

HONORARY MENTION BUT JUST BECAUSE I THINK THIS IS TECHNICALLY AMERICANA NOT COUNTRY (but genre is fake) AND THIS SONG ISN’T RECENT (2014 and I’ve been listening to it faithfully since then) BUT I ONLY RECENTLY LEARNED IT’S A COVER AND THAT’S MADE ME RECONTEXTUALIZE IT: “Murder in the City” by Brandi Carlile, a cover of The Avett Brothers where she changed the words “make sure my sister knows I loved her/make sure my mother knows the same” to “make sure my wife knows that I love her/make sure my daughter knows the same” which fucking. fucking gets me. Especially since the first time that I heard this song, I assumed it was from a man’s point of view because of that line, and then I learned that Brandi Carlile is a lesbian and I was caught up in my foolish heteronormitivity, and then I learned it was a cover and thought oh okay I guess the song is originally from a man’s pov and it’s cool she covered, and then I learned she changed those lines to make a song that already feels deeply personal to her to explicitly include her love for a woman and the family they’ve made together. And that’s just. It’s all just a lot. 

3) “Fooled Around and Fell in Love” by Miranda Lambert featuring Maren Morris, Elle King, Ashley McBryde, Tenille Townes and Caylee Hammack, because the first time it came up on my spotify, I saw the title and was like “hey dope I like this song” and then I heard the first line was still “I must have been through about a million girls” and I realized none of the words or pronouns were getting changed and I was getting the song I’ve always wanted and deserved: a high production value, high energy, big girl group tribute to being a lesbian fuckboy who Fooled Around And, oops can you believe it, Fell in Love. 

2) “If She Ever Leaves Me” by The Highwomen, sung by Brandi Carlile who is, as mentioned, lesbian, but since I’m apparently still chugging my comp het juice, I was still trying to figure out if this song--a classic “hey buddy keep walking, she’s my girl and she’s not interested” song with an interesting element of the singer being aware the relationship might not last anyway--was gonna be explicitly queer. And then there’s the line, “That's too much cologne, she likes perfume,” and I was like OH HOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!! 

This is immediately followed by the lines “I’ve loved her in secret/I’ve loved her out loud” which is also deliciously queer in this context, with this singer and that juxtaposition, but the line that really fucking got me is my favorite of the song: “If she ever leaves, it's gonna be for a woman with more time.” This is two women in a complicated relationship. This isn’t just a “keep walking, cowboy” song, it’s a song that uses that framework to suggest a whole ass “Finishing the Hat”** relationship, and that’s so interesting to me. Like a song that isn’t just explicitly about two women in love but one that conveys very quickly a rich history between the two of them. And in a genre where the line “Kiss lots of boys, kiss lots of girls if that’s something you’re into” was revolutionary representation.

(Fun fact, “Follow Your Arrow” was partially written by Brandy Clarke, another country lesbian! Another fun fact, so is basically every other good country song. Brandy Clark, please write a big lesbian country anthem, I know it will immediately kill me on impact.) 

To quote one youtube comment, “”lesbians how we feeling??” and to answer by quoting some others, “As a closeted baby gay in the 90s, who was into country, this song would have changed my life”, “I just teared up.  So many happy tears, as a gay woman raised on country music,  this is something that's definitely been needed.  Thank you Brandi. Thank you highwomen”, “This song means more than I can say in a youtube comment”, and “Lesbians needed this song :)”

It’s me. I’m lesbians. 

**ANOTHER HONORARY MENTION EXCEPT IT ISN’T RECENT AND IT ISN’T COUNTRY SO I GUESS THIS IS JUST A MENTION, BUT I AM INTERESTED IN THIS SONG--“Finishing the Hat” by Kelli O’Hara. A very good Sondheim joint, that’s about making art, the costs of its obsessive and exclusive nature and the incomparable pleasure of putting something into the world that wasn’t there before. It’s such a traditionally male narrative that I’m thrilled to find a wonderful female cover of it. I’m not even fussed about her changing the gender from the lover who won’t wait for the artist (except that the shift from “woman” to “one man” sounds so clunky) because there’s value turning this song into a lament of the men who won’t love artistic women. But I do also wish she’d also recorded a version that kept the original gender so it would be gay. OKAY BROADWAY TANGENT OVER, BACK TO COUNTRY. 

1) “Highwomen” by The Highwomen, ft. Yola and Sheryl Crow. I can’t even express the full body chills the first time I heard this. Like repeated, multiple chills renewed at every verse of the song. This really closely parallels my experience with “Fooled Around and Fell in Love” up there, because when I started it I was like “oh dope I know what this cover will be” and then the lyrics started and I was like “OH MY GOD I DIDN’T.” In the case of “Fooled Around” it’s because I was amazed that they kept the original words. In the case of “Highwomen” I fucking transcended because they changed them. 

So I grew up on Johnny Cash, obsessed with a couple of his albums but largely with a CD I had of his greatest hits. (Ask me how many times I listened to the shoeshine boy song. Hundreds. Johnny Cash told me to get rhythm and I got it.) And my FAVORITE was “Highwayman” from the country supergroup he was in, The Highwaymen. The concept of the song is that each of the four men sing a verse about a man from the past and how he died. It’s very good. The line “They buried me in that grey tomb that knows no sound” used to scare the shit out of me. I didn’t expect to have a song that targets so specifically my fear of being buried alive in wet concrete. 

(If you haven’t heard the song, by the way, listen to this version to properly appreciate it as a piece of music. If you have, watch the fucking music video holy shit this is a work of art oh my GOD.) 

So I was predisposed to love this cover before I even heard it. But then I heard it. And they rewrote the song to be about historical women. And it’s like. There’s layers here okay. 

Neither the Highwaymen nor the Highwomen are signing about famous people. This isn’t a Great Man tour of history, it’s about dam builders and sailors and preachers and mothers and Freedom Riders and also Johnny Cash who flies a starship across the universe, as you do. 

In the 1986 version, it’s a song about the continuity of life--the repeated idea is “I am still alive, I’m still here, I come back again and again in different forms.” The highwayman is all the men in the song. He reincarnates. The song is past, present, future. The title is singular, masculine. The same soul, expressed through multiple voices, multiple lives. 

In the 2019 version, the title is plural, feminine. Highwomen. This song is about women. Each verse asserts the same motif as the 1986 version--“I may not have survived but I am still alive”--but there is no implication of reincarnation. Each woman is her own woman. This version has a final verse that the previous versions lacks. The singers harmonize. It’s not a song where one voice replaces  another, the story of this One Man progressing through time. It ends in a chorus of women saying “We are still alive.” 

We are The Highwomen Singing stories still untold We carry the sons you can only hold We are the daughters of the silent generations You sent our hearts to die alone in foreign nations They may return to us as tiny drops of rain But we will still remain

And we'll come back again and again and again And again and again We'll come back again and again and again And again and again 

Another fun fact! The first time I heard them sing “We are the daughters of the silent generations” I died! But luckily I came back again and again and again.  

This is a song about the continuity of history. It asserts that women’s historical lives matter and that they continue to matter, long after they died. This is a song about legacy as well, the legacy of nameless women who worked to protect the ones they loved and make the world better. They don’t die by chance. They are all hunted down by political violence, by racism, by misogyny, for stepping outside their prescribed roles. But, as Yola (who btw fucking CRUSHES THE VOCALS ARE YOU KIDDING ME?????? HOLY SHIT MA’AM) sings as a murdered Freedom Rider, she’d take that ride again. And at the end of the song, she joins the chorus but does not disappear into it. Her voice rises up out of crowd. And the crowd calls itself “we”. These women are united but not subsumed into being One Woman. This is about Women. 

And then, outside the song itself, there’s the history of this song about history. It’s originally by Jimmy Webb and was covered by Glenn Campbell. This cover inspired the name of the supergroup that covered it, the group with Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Waylon Jennings, and my man Johnny Cash. And it’s like holy shit! What an amazing group to collaborate! Hot damn! 

Then, it’s 2019 and here’s The Highwomen with Brandi Carlile, Natalie Hemby, Maren Morris, and Amanda Shires. The name is obviously riffing on The Highwaymen. Shires set out to form the group in direct response to the lack of female country artists on the radio and at festivals. And they name themselves after a country supergroup, and they put out this song, a song connected to massive names in country music, and they center all of this on women and womanhood and the right of women to be counted in history and to make history and to talk about the ways we have mistreated and marginalized women, in a group that started because one woman was like hey! we’re mistreating and marginalizing women! 

I just think this is neat! I think there’s a lot here we could unpack! But this post is 100 times longer than I was planning and work starts in a bit so uh I’m gonna go get dressed and listen to The Highwomen on repeat for the next hour, “Heaven is a Honky Tonk” is another fucking bop that improves on the original, it would be dope if they’d collab with Rhiannon Giddens, okay byyyyyyyye 

#don't even know what to tag this bc for one there's way too many links for this to show up in any tags!! #country music #long post #surprisingly long post! #feel free always to rec female country/americana/folk/bluegrass to me esp if it's gay

[spiralingsights]

A Monster in the Dark - Chapter 5

[ self ship fanfic about Nightmare Bonnie and my insomniac s/i :) ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

Cane didn’t remember laying down. Or falling asleep. Or having the massive fucking headache he had now.

Damn. So much of yesterday gone. He rolled over in the bed (when did he get to the bed?) to grab his phone off of the unused nightstand. 6pm glared up at him, and that alone was enough to send him flying off the bed, headache be damned.

Until, that is, he noticed the text on the screen. Quickly tapping it and inputting his password, he was surprised to find a whole conversation between him and Scrap that he never remembered going through. Apparently he had told his boss that he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be coming in. Scrap was fine with it, since he’d never used a sick day, and the most recent text was to remind him that a normal sleep schedule would do him some good.

“What the fuck happened…?” he muttered, running a hand over his hair as Cheesy came darting into the room, screaming to be fed. “Okay, feeding you I can handle.”

He allowed her to lead him to her food absentmindedly, placing more of his focus on what the hell happened the day before. His headache still wasn’t going away, but nothing was misplaced, moved, or taken so at least no one broke in. 

A sigh escaped his lips as he realized that living alone was doing him more harm than good. If he had a roommate, he could have figured out what happened. “Should have taken Cass up on her offer…”

Cheesy screamed again, reminding him once more that he still had not fed her. He was apparently more out of it than he originally thought, so he went ahead and gave her what she wanted before heading to the living room and collapsing on the couch.

He should have grabbed some aspirin while he was in the kitchen, especially since he only now noticed the bump on his head. Had he passed out standing up? It was the most likely answer, since it wasn’t exactly uncommon, but he’d gotten plenty of sleep the day before that so that really shouldn’t have happened.

It could just be that his body was finally fighting back. Scrap was right, better sleep would benefit him a lot more than the bullshit he was currently working with.

“It’s really funny to watch you think,” an all too familiar voice suddenly spoke up next to him, causing him to flinch away from the bunny. “Your face gets all scrunched up like you have to work really hard for it, it’s hilarious.”

Hm. So the demon has a sense of humour. “At least I can think at all,” Canetheus shot back, still out of it enough to not realize that 1) he was acknowledging the thing and 2) he’d just talked back to a fucking nightmare.

It didn’t seem too bothered judging from the bark of a laugh it replied with. “You’re a lot more entertaining than that kid you know. He would just cry and fight us but you changed your entire schedule to keep us away. I’d almost say you were obsessed.” Was it… grinning? It was hard to tell with the whole animatronic problem it had.

“I’ve seen obsession though. You’re obsessed with that research project of yours, but definitely not with us.” It only just now clicked for Cane that it had been saying “us”. He didn’t like it implying he would see it’s friends in the waking world too.

“Well, you can tell your pals to fuck off, because I’m really not up for my house becoming a monster nest,” he replied, briefly bothered with how quickly he started talking to it but mostly annoyed with idea that he’d have to deal with all of them.

The bunny gave that barking laugh again instead of reply, even slapping a clawed hand down on its mangled knee. “Oh, you’re funny. It’s not your house we’re attached to, you poor, tiny human. It’s you.”

Well. That was unsettling. For a moment Canetheus just stared at it in its horrible magenta eyes (actually, its eyes were actually kinda pretty, from an aesthetic standpoint) before letting out a strangled, and near hysterical laugh.

It seemed confused by that, which only made him laugh again. “Wow, you really do think I’m stupid! I know you’re attached to me you dumbfuck, I just wanna know why.”

Apparently, the nightmarish version of Bonnie really wasn’t expecting that, because it leaned back and scratched its chin in an almost comical way. “Quite frankly, we don’t know. One day we were with that crying brat and the next we were following you. You’d just moved in, I think, and we were just standing outside your door.”

That really wasn’t much of an explanation. “You mean, you’ve been here since day one? I wasn’t even seeing you guys in my nightmares my first few weeks here. It was only after I got the job at the diner that you started showing up.” He’d been having the nightmares he was used to before that, the ones that he could handle. Sure they were grotesque and lingered for hours after waking, but they were tolerable.

The nightmare simply shrugged, not sure what to tell him. “We don’t choose where we go, and we had to build up energy before revealing ourselves. Being the ghost of something that never lived is quite the process.”

It was a relief to know that he wasn’t actually being haunted by the five original kids that died at least, but not very comforting to know that the original four had been sentient in their own way and apparently angry enough to become the nightmares that they now were.

It must have been the fire. Cane had read about it plenty of times with how obsessed the forums and fan sites were with it (that one, and the other two that had also taken down Fazbear Entertainment buildings). It would certainly explain why they all looked the way they did. Fire simply does that to animatronics.

“So… the original four had their own sentience?” That got a nod. “Okay. What about the big yellow one? The one that looks like Fredbear?”

It had to think on that one for a moment, as if it was trying to remember who he was talking about despite the thing being rather hard to forget. “Oh! Yeah, no, that’s literally Fredbear. Like… the original animatronic. He had sentience long before that kid ever latched onto him. But boy was that girl angry. She changed him forever.”

So, the girl that attached herself to Fredbear (Cassidy, if the newspaper clippings were right) was angry enough that her rage became his rage. Because that’s what Cane needed right now.

He didn’t want to think about that right now, that was one thousand percent something that future Cane who had energy and seven aspirins could deal with. So he asked something else.

“What do I call you?” That got its attention again. It kinda tilted its head at him, seemingly thinking the question over.

“Why not just Bonnie?”

“Why would I call you Bonnie?”

“Technically it’s my name.”

“I’m not calling you fucking Bonnie.”

It huffed at his refusal, crossing its arms and probably pouting like a child. “Fine. What do you wanna call me then?” Dude. This is why he asked YOU.

Cane groaned, leaning back into the couch now that it was confirmed he would have to use his own braincells for this. He took a minute to think of a few combinations of ‘nightmare’ and ‘Bonnie’ before finally coming up with something.

“What about NightBon?” he asked, turning his gaze back to his monstrous companion. It thought the name over, humming quietly as if he was tasting wine. “Dude. It’s not fucking rocket science, do you like the name or not?”

It laughed at his impatience, but quit the act anyway. “It’s really bad,” it said, but cut off whatever Cane’s reply was going to be, “but works nonetheless. Better than you calling me something rude.”

It was tempting.

“NightBon it is,” Cane confirmed with a stern nod, before the reality of the situation fully hit him.

He’d just given a name to his nightmare. His nightmare was fucking real. He was sitting here, talking to the thing that had haunted him for two damn years now.

What did he just get himself into?

#self ship fankids #self shipping #scrap.writing #s/i: canetheus freeman #canetheus freeman #nightmare bonnie #maybe if you whack me in the head i'll pass out (nightmare bonnie self ship tag)

[mkyujji]

Venting

You ever come to the realization that you're self-sabotaging?  

So, I’m being evicted from my residence of almost a decade because my landlord is selling the property.  I have 60 days to get myself, my son, and my cat to somewhere that is Not Here. 

My four most reasonable options are to Rent someplace new, to Buy someplace new, to get a relatively inexpensive RV to give us a place to live and some breathing room, or take my brother up on his offer to move in with him.

The latter offer is the only reason I'm even functional in the face of the mess I would be otherwise.  It's an amazing safety net and a surprisingly sweet gesture, Love you BuBu.  

But I cannot stress enough how little moving back to Texas appeals to me.  I am queer and liberal.  I have almost no friends that I don't work with and I only really hang out with like... two of those outside of work.  Texas is fucking HOT.  I do not miss it hitting 100° somewhere in April and not dropping til September, not even a tiny little bit.  And it's probably one of the 5 states I'd least want to even visit while the pandemic is still going strong.  And I really don't want to go backwards job-wise.  I have actually run a few job searches in the general vicinity and the few I think I'd have a real shot at (I am DONE with foodservice, I don't give any fucks what anyone thinks about it) either pay a fraction of what I make now with shit benefits or they throw around a lot of buzz words that tell me that they're really only going to consider former cops or very recent former military.  

So, Texas with the bro is an option that I am definitely glad to have on the table, but it's the last on the list for a reason.  

Okay, so then there's renting.  Ye gods, there really isn't.  Renting here has always been a problem because of the way the rental market is catered solely to the military.  Rent is expensive.  Places insist on a renter making 3x’s the rent so they can weed out most of the non-military applicants. Half of the places I've looked into either don't allow pets or charge a 'pet rent' as well as a pet deposit and a couple of other random pet related fees.  Like guys, that's why the pet deposit, but whatever.  Like part of me would prefer to rent just because of the familiarity and the lesser responsibility.  Like, if something goes wrong with your apartment, the buck does not stop with you.  It stops with the landlord.  And that?  That's nice.  Familiar and safe(r).  I like that.  Most of the places I can afford are single bedroom and while the spawn and I can live with that, most of those listings are bitchy about "1 bedroom, 1 occupant unless a couple!"  (or I even saw one or two strongly insisting 1b/1o).  And who's to say another landlord won't sell the property out from under me again?  >_>. Also, there's so few rentals even available currently - at any price.

The RV is my spawn’s preferred choice.    We've scoured the local markets and we've found a few rigs we could maybe scrounge up funds for if we work at it. Nice ones, too.  Like, I've lived in much shittier actual houses.  And there's an RV park neatly between where the spawn and I each work that would mean neither of us would have to drive/be driven to work.  That alone would save me a few hours of sleep and stress.  The monthly fee isn't anymore than the rent on this place.  Cheaper maybe, when factoring in that utility hookups that are included vs the house expenses.  Of course, RVs can run through massive amounts of gas and propane, the former less of if you're parked the entire time, but the later even more in that case.  There are a few listings I've found that are rigged with solar panels or rigged for solar.  That drops the propane a lot according to my research.  And if I were to do the build-a-house thing later, it'd give us a roof over our heads while we got that done.  Or if we suddenly did end up choosing the Texas option later for some reason, that trip could made easily and in relative comfort.  This option allows for the most long-term flexibility, but there's a lot of risk involved just in that I haven't worked on an engine in over 20 years and an RV and a car are very different.  So, I keep vacillating violently between thinking this is the very best option possible and that this is Russia and I am Napoleon.  I'm giving myself whiplash at this point.

Which leaves the very last option.  Buying.  There are two major personal points here and boy are they contradictory.  #1 - I would absolutely love to own my own place where everything was decided on by ME.  My vision.  My paradise.  Ideally, actually built by me (you know what I mean, don't give me that look).  A place I can leave my kids that they'll be able to visit (or live in for the one that lives with me) and remember me and what I love.  #2 - I am also terrified of owning my own place.  Like, on a trauma level.  Events of my childhood showed me the ugly side of what owning a place can do to people.  The idea of how horribly, horribly wrong it can all go leaves me shaky and nauseous and unable to sleep.  The first time it happened, I attributed it to the fact that I was already deeply unhappy in my marriage and the idea of owning a home with him was what was causing it.  Like, one more tie that I couldn’t cut, I guess.  And it probably added to it, but the entire ordeal that is buying and owning a house in the US is its own trigger.  I can't even count the number of times I've started this process and stalled out before it even got off the ground.  Either I put off the initial calls until I forget or it gets too awkward to bother with or I get so nitpicky about tiny details that the process doesn't get very far before everyone is fed up.  I put off steps until it undoes the whole thing.  It's probably just as well that the current prices would take me out of the running anyways. 

If I make it to July without an ulcer, I will count myself very, very lucky.

#IRL #I'm being evicted and it sucks

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 54

Warning: angst

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @ocfairygodmother​

The hours go by way too fast.

He’s tried to spend every possible moment with them. Devoting his attention, yet his very limited time, from the second he opened eyes and found four little -and still sleeping- bodies crowded around him. Two pressed against his sides, one laying across his shin and effectively pinning him down, the fourth right on top of him with their face nestled in the spot between his neck and shoulder. Some time in the middle of the night they must have snuck in -or their mother had carried them in- and he’d been none the wiser. A rare, deep, comfortable sleep somehow finding him on quite possibly the most stressful night of his life.  Never waking once due to nightmares of pain, or even when four of his five children either crept into bed with him or were placed there. And for an hour he hadn’t dared to disturb them; content with just watching them sleep and gently running his fingers through their hair and kissing the cheeks and foreheads of those he could reach. Listening to their soft, rhythmic breathing and feeling their bodies gently rising and falling against him. Marvelling at not only how beautiful and perfect they are, but the fact that someone like him -with all his past mistakes and bad decisions and inner demons- could ever be given, or entrusted with, such amazing little human beings.

He let them eat leftover birthday care and ice cream for breakfast. Managing borderline genuine laughs and smiles as he listened to them gush about it being ‘the best Sunday morning EVER’ and their excited, vividly detailed recap of yesterday’s events and the week they’d had at school. Heart crumbling with each passing second, wanting nothing more than to either stop the clock, or simply wake up and discover that all of it -Mahajan, the threats against his family, the mission in Mumbai- had been nothing more than a horrible, fucked up dream.  When they weren’t paying attention, he turned on the recorder on his phone; taking in every giggle and their little voices. There’s no greater, more beautiful sound than your own kids’ laughter; second to only how it sounds when they call him daddy. It will be awhile before he hears it again in person. If he even gets the chance at all.

That’s the bitter, heartbreaking realization. He may never get these moments again; it could be the last lazy Sunday they have together. Their last breakfast on the back patio. The last time he gets to ask them how their week at school went. It all seems so simple. So mundane. Things that he’s often guilty of taking for granted that he’ll miss so much if he never gets to experience them again; whether it be through their demise or his own. If it’s going to happen, he prays it’s the latter. That they’ll get the opportunity to grow up and live long, great lives. That their mother won’t have to endure a single second, never mind a lifetime, without any of them. She’d survive his passing. She’d grieve. Long and hard. But one day she’d likely move on; find someone that loves her and the kids and will do anything to make them happy. But she’d never get over losing one of her babies, never mind all of them. It would break her. Right down to her very soul. And she’d recover from it.

He took them swimming and surfing. Two hours in the water followed by a walk along the beach looking for shells and rocks and pieces of beach glass.  Each filling their small plastic buckets with whatever treasures they happened to find. He’d been in no rush; taking as many videos and pictures as possible and trying to commit every little moment to memory. They went for a hike in the woods. Playing ‘spot the wildlife’;   listening to the kookaburras in the trees and seeing kangaroos hop through the brush and the koalas clinging to trunks and branches.  Awed by how bright eyed and curious they are. Fearless. Smart. Everything that’s good and beautiful that exists in both their parents fully alive and flourishing inside of them.  They went out for lunch and to the park near their school. Leaving the car parked downtown and simply enjoying the walk with them. A tiny hand curled around each of his, another clutching the side pocket of her cargo shorts, Declan holding on tight as he perched upon his father’s shoulders. And he’d entertained every request for pushes on the swings; never denying their demands to go higher and higher. Smiling at the sounds of their laughter and their squeals and the grins on their faces. When they’d returned home they’d all taken a nap together. Somehow managing to  all cram together on the living room couch.

He’d spent his last hour with Addie. Just her and him in the old, creaky rocking chair in the nursery. Feeding her a bottle and holding that impossibly tiny body as close as he possibly could.  Eyes closed as he breathed in the soft scent that clung to her sleeper; feeling that silky hair against his skin and the way those small first tightly grasped the front of his t-shirt.

He doesn’t remember a time when four in the afternoon has come this quickly. And while Esme waits in the car -knowing that she won’t be able to hold it together during the goodbyes and how badly her children need to see her calm and composed- he stalls for as long as he possibly can. Double checking the contents of the backpack serving as a carry on and moving at a snail’s pace as he laced his boots; trembling hands making the simple task needlessly complicated. His chest aches; a pain like nothing he’s ever experienced before. A mix between tightness and profound emptiness that he can’t even begin to describe. Emotion sits heavily in his throat, threatening to choke him. And he sees the sympathetic smile that Kyle -with Addie along his arm- gives him. His brother in law is unusually emotional; they never quite seen eye to eye and Kyle has also held a lot of animosity and spite towards him. Truly believe that he’d ‘stolen’ Esme from the family and then proceeded to drag her into a less than appealing life.  But Kyle understands the enormity of the situation; how serious and dangerous it will be. And he knows full well that despite not even realizing it the kids could very well be hugging and kissing their father goodbye for the last time.

“Come here guys…” Tyler says, as he drops down to one knee in the middle of the front foyer. “...I gotta go.”

The twins are the first to him, and he gathers one in the crook of each arm and pulls them tightly into him. Two sets of little arms immediately curling tightly around his neck. His eyes shut tight as he holds them; a valiant attempt at fighting back the flood of threatening tears. And he places a hand on the back of their heads and presses kisses to their brows.

“You guys be good, yeah? Be good for your mom. Do what she says. Clean your room. Eat all your dinner. No mouthing off. Got it?”

They both nod.

“I don’t want to hear any different when I call to check on things, hear me?”

“You’ll come and visit, right?” Tanner’s voice cracks with emotion, tears brim in his eyes. “When we get there? You’ll come and see us?”

“You guys will have a good time with your mom. It’s a really nice place you’re staying at. Its got an indoor AND outdoor pool and its own theatre for watching movies and one of those massive wooden playgrounds you’re always after me to get. And animals. Crazy ones too. Like monkeys and tigers and a sloth and shit like that.”

“But you’ll come see us, right?” Tanner presses. “You’ll come and visit?”

“As soon as I can. I promise.”

“How soon?”

“I’m not sure, mate. There’s some things I need to do first. I’ll come as soon as they’re done, okay? Second I’m finished, I’ll be there. Alright?”

Tanner nods.

“I love you guys.” He presses another kiss to one forehead, followed by the other. “So much.”

“I love you, daddy,” TJ pecks Tyler’s cheek and then tightens his hold on his neck. “I’ll miss you too.”

“I’ll see you soon, mate. I promise.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Tanner laments. “Why can’t we go together? Why are you going before us?”

“We talked about this.” Tyler brushes his son’s hair away from his forehead and out of his eyes. “I gotta do some work stuff. Important stuff. Very important.”

“More important than us?”

“Nothing is more important than you, mate. And I’ll see you as soon as I can. It won’t be too long, I promise.”

“Okay,” Tanner sniffles. “I love you, daddy. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. You guys be good. No fighting. Especially with your sister. You know both she can kick your butts. Go on. Go and see what that crazy puppy is doing. Make sure he’s not chewing shit up.”

Millie moves in once he brothers run off. Perching herself upon his thigh and wrapping her arms around his neck; burying her face in the spot between his neck and shoulder.

“You be good too,” Tyler says, and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “No picking on anyone. And no beating anyone’s ass, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Be nice to your mom. Love on her a lot, okay? She needs a lot of love and she needs you and your brothers to give her that. I’m counting on you guys.”

“Okay, daddy. I’m sad you’re leaving without us, but I’m excited too. About going to visit where Ovi was born. Mommy says there’s lots of new stuff for us to try. Like food and stuff.  And a lot of fun stuff to see and do. I’ve never been on a trip before. I’m super stoked about it.”

He can’t help but smile. Relieved that she -with her shockingly keen instincts and her ability to ‘read’ situations- hasn’t picked up on any of the worry and the stress. “Mommy gets really nervous when she flies. So you sit beside her and hold her hand. I’m not there to do it, so you have to. Alright?”

Millie nods.

“I’ll miss you. But I’ll see you as soon as I can. I love you. So much.”

“I love you too, daddy. I made you something.”

“You did? What did you make me?”

She hops down off his thigh, then reaches into the pocket of her shorts. “It’s a bracelet. Like your other ones.  Mommy helped me a bit; got me the right rope so you could just pull it tight and it won’t fall off. See…” she holds the item in question in her hand. “...Mommy made sure it was big enough to fit you. ‘Cause you have big hands and wrists. I picked as many boy colors as I could, but I put some pink and purple in there, too. ‘Cause they’re my favorite colors. Do you like it?”

“I love it.” Tyler feels the trick of tears in his eyes and he lays a hand on the back of her head and presses a kiss to her. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. I’m gonna wear it right now."

Her entire face lights up. “Yeah? Really?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s just as nice as my other ones. Even nicer, actually. ‘Cause you made it.”

“I put my favorite colors in there for a  reason,” she says, as he allows her to slip the bracelet onto his right wrist; using the fingers of one hand and her teeth to pull it tight against his skin. “So that when you look at it, you’ll think of me and I won’t feel so far away.”

“Thank you. It’s perfect. Just like you.”

“Why are you gonna cry?” Millie asks, as she takes his face in her hands. “It makes me sad when you cry.”

“I’m just going to miss you guys, that’s all.” He pulls her into a tight hug, eyes closing to once more hold back the tears. “Why don’t you go and help your brothers with Saju. Keep all three of them out of trouble.”

“Okay,” she says, and brushes the tip of her nose against his. “You thought I forgot about that part, didn’t you.”

He grins. “I was starting to wonder.”

“That’s my favorite part. That’s our special thing. Since I was really little. Like Declan. That’s a long time ago.”

“Sure seems like a long time ago.”

“I love you, daddy. You be safe. Kick the bad guys’ butts.”

“I will. Just for you.”

She gives a brilliant smile and then kisses his cheek before rushing off, hollering after her brothers and the puppy. He winces as he stands; both knee and back stiff and aching. Not a good way to start a mission, that’s for sure. And he scoops Declan up and showers him  with kisses and spoils him with hugs and tickles until the toddler is giggling hysterically. He moves on to Addie, taking her from Kyle’s arms and holding her tight to his chest; a hand on the back of her head, eyes closing as he swallows around the knot of emotion lodged in his throat. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, cheek, and temple before handing her back to his brother in law.

“You be careful, hear me?” Kyle says. “Because these kids need you. My sister needs you.”

“I appreciate you going to Mumbai with them. She’ll need someone with her. Especially if…” he shrugs. “...you know.”

“I’ll be there for her. IF it happens. And just in case it does, thank you. For loving her the way you do. For being so good to her. And those kids. You're the best thing that’s ever happened to her; hands down. I hope you know that. And I hope you know that. That you don’t ever question it.”

“I don’t,” he says. “And I never have.”

“Take care of yourself, Tyler. Get shit down. Take no prisoners. Make those fuckers pay.”

“I will,” he promises. “No matter how I have to do it.”

****

The drive to the airport is spent in silence. He had turned down the   transportation that Anil had arranged; opting to send the others ahead so he could have those last minutes with his wife. They don’t need to speak; content with the quiet and finding even the smallest shred of comfort in one another’s presence. The things that had needed to be said have long been laid out on the table. Worst fears, lingering regrets and guilt,  apologies for any and all perceived wrong doings and harsh, hurtful words said during arguments; things that SHOULD have been said a long time ago. It’s been the struggle a of a lifetime trying to keep his emotions in check; wanting desperately to be what she needs at this moment. The strong, stoic one who always finds a way to keep shit together when it’s falling apart around them.

She knows how he feels; the fierce loyalty and unwavering faithfulness. Since their six month separation three and a half years ago, he’d been working diligently at being the man she needs. The one she deserves. Stepping out of his comfort zone and regularly attending therapy -both alone and as a couple- and legitimately putting his effort into being the kind of husband and father HE wants to be. Hands on. Devoted. Putting his family first and foremost instead of falling back into old habits and indulging in old vices. And the hard work has paid off. He’s become more attentive. Loving. No longer afraid to show emotion or affection or professing his feelings. He’d spent nearly his entire childhood and teenage years being told that all of that is simply unacceptable; it made him weak, pathetic. That he’d somehow grown into ‘less of a man’ and an ‘embarrassment’.

He’d never realized the extent of the damage it had caused. Years in the military and then as a merc had hardened his exterior and saw him bottling things up; pushing people away and shutting them out, convincing himself that his father’s words were true. He WOULD be viewed as a lesser man if he opened up; if formed  valuable connections with people and allowed himself to feel.  It had helped destroy his first marriage; one of the many nails in the coffin. And it had taken him until he was thirty five to to cross paths with someone even stronger and more determined -and stubborn- than him. Who didn’t view him as weak and damaged and never gave up on him even during even the darkest and most trying of days. Pushing back when he tried to push away. Holding on even tighter when he tried to force her out; believed that he needed to protect her from HIM. Someone so little but so mighty. With so much love and trust and tenacity inside that tiny body.

The last six month have been incredible. A change of pace and scenery doing both of them a world of good. A chance to devote themselves to their marriage and raising a family. And now this. Had it just been a return to the job and starting a business, it would be easy to cope with. They’d once again get used to the instability and unpredictability and he’d find that balance being the job and being a family man. But THIS. Mahajan and his threats and the known that awaits in Mumbai. There’s no way to ever truly prepare yourself for something like that. When the possibility of never seeing your family again is higher than it’s ever been.

Tyler knows she’s been struggling. Mostly in silence. Aware of the times she’s hidden herself away from both him and the kids in order to have an emotional meltdown. She hasn’t just been keeping the enormous effects of the situation away from the little ones, but from him as well. Not wanting to admit the full weight that’s been placed upon her; not wanting him to see the tears or how the stress makes her physically ill because she’s worried about adding more to his already overflowing plate. She’s always been like that; selfless to a fault. And he wants to tell her that. That it’s okay to just let it out instead of letting it eat her alive and cause more damage. Ironic, considering she’s usually one saying things like that to HIM.   But he’s at a loss on how to comfort her when his own emotions have been stripped down to their core; raw and painful. It had taken all her had to keep it together in front of the kids. And he doesn’t know if he has any strength left to keep it up.

“Millie gave you the bracelet.” Her eyes never leave the road as she speaks, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight, her knuckles and the tips of her fingers turn white.

“Yeah,” he nods, and glances down at the item in question nestled perfectly against the older, weathered ones on his wrist. Two of them have been around since Dhaka. Esme had painstakingly cleaned dirt, grime, and blood off of each bead and every bit of braided rope after she’d found them in the bag of personal effects the emergency room doctor had given her. And Millie was right; the purple and pink DO remind him of her. And it helps to alleviate some of the heartache.

“She’s all heart that kid,” Esme says.  “Especially when it comes to you. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for you. No one she loves the way she loves you. If something DOES happen to you, she’s the one I worry about the most.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. Maybe some bumps and bruises. A few stitches. I’ve had worse.”

There’s a glimmer of confidence inside  of him. Last night after they’d made love -twice- and she’d fallen into a deep and satisfied sleep beside him, everything that had  been nagging at him regarding specifics of the job had fallen into place. As if a light had been switched on inside of him; illuminating the troublesome spots and making them easier to see. All the  hours of analyzing blue prints and photographs suddenly coming together and his brain assembling the very detailed and efficient pieces of the puzzle. It isn’t the answer to everything -he’ll have to come up with new methods once the first couple of kills are complete- but it’s a start.

“You definitely have,” she agrees. “And if those things are all that happens to you, I’ll take it. Gladly. Because the thought of something worse happening...something Dhaka level…”

“It won't get to that,” Tyler assures her. “Look at all the guys going in. It’s not just me trying to get shit done this time. And we can always get more people if we need them. This is nothing like Dhaka.”

“In some ways it’s worse.”

“In some,” he admits. “In other ways it’s better. Not just me and Saju going up against a fucking army. Once we get shit ironed out, this will go good. Nice and smooth. As simple as checking a name off and going onto the next one.”

“You’re awful confident all of a sudden,” Esme remarks.

“Hopeful is more like it.”

A small smile tugs  at the corners of her mouth. “Sometimes hope is the only thing that does get you through shit like this. And I’m not worried about you going after the people in the list. I know you can handle that. I worry about when Mahajan catches on and figures out it’s you.   When he makes that bounty even bigger. How are you going to get around Mumbai with every gun pointed at you?”

“There’s always ways. I’ll figure it out when...and if...that happens. Let me worry about all that, okay? No sense you dwelling on it. You got an even bigger job ahead of you. Even more important.”

“I just hope I can do it. Keep it together for them. Because I already feel like I’m falling apart and the job hasn’t even started yet. What if I lose it? What if…?”

“You won’t.” He reaches out and runs a hand over her hair, then settles it at the back of her neck, lightly squeezing. “You’re a good mom. You’re an amazing mom. Everything you do is for those kids. MY kids. You got this. I know you do.”

Her smile widens but the tears shimmering in her eyes increase. “It’s so much harder this time. Saying goodbye to you. It’s never been this hard with any of the other jobs you’ve taken. “

“Well it’s not like any other job, is it. And don’t use the word. We NEVER use that word. Don’t start using it now. Goodbye isn’t an option; we decided on that a long time ago. That we’d never say that.”

“I’m just so worried. About holding it together for the kids, about you, about Ovi. It’s all just too much to deal with. Knowing what you’re out there doing and having to pretend like it’s not happening and like my heart isn’t out there walking around outside of my body. How am I supposed to be happy for them when all I can think about is something about to you? You’re half of those kids. And if we lose you…”

“You won’t. It’s not going to happen. I’ll be careful. You know I will.”

“That’s a lot of money, Tyler. That he has on your head. You KNOW what people will do for that kind of money. Look what we’ve done. Both of us have crossed people. Betrayed them. For money.”

“People who deserved it,” he reminds her. “Not one of them didn’t deserve it.”

“But look at the lengths WE’VE gone to. How far do you think someone who really needs the money will go to get to you? Those are the people I’m most worried about. The truly desperate ones who have nothing to lose. They're the most dangerous and we both know what they’re capable of. I mean, look how far that Farhad kid was willing to go for Amir Asif. How many Farhads are in Mumbai wanting to impress Mahajan?”

“I think you need to let me worry about things like that. I’m not a rookie; I know what I’m doing. Just have me in faith, okay? That’s all I’m asking. That you have faith in me.”

“I do. I always have. Bit that doesn’t I’m not going to worry. And don’t even try and tell me not to. You know I’m incapable of turning that part of me off. You always talk about how protective you are of me. Well I’m just as protective when it comes to  you. You don’t think I’d do anything remotely possible to keep you safe.”

“I know you would. And the next time a Care Bear comes at me, I’ll let you have the first shot at it.”

Despite the tears in her eyes and deep furrows in her brow, she still manages a laugh. “You are such an ass sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he admits, and then grins. “But you love me.”

She smiles. “Only on days that end in Y.”

****

At the airport she parks on the tarmac; Anil having chartered two separate planes, one strictly being used to transport all of the weapons, ammo, gear, and various supplies.  Long gone are the days of travelling by crowded Cessna or helicopter; both methods replaced by sleek, high end, fuel efficient jets. She sits behind the wheel with the engine idling, watching as Tyler heads across the tarmac, where Anil waits at the bottom of one of the jet’s stairs. And she tries to ignore how pronounced his limp is and the grimace on his face.  Bridging them up will get her nowhere. He’s stubborn to fault and will only get defensive or brush off her concerns. And the last thing she wants is already fragile emotions making a big deal out of nothing and one of them   -or both- walking away with hurt feelings or hostility. Because she’d never forgive herself if that happened; if the last words she even spoke to him were out of misplaced anger.

Instead she wages a valiant yet slowly weakening battle against profound worry and a heartache she’s never experienced before. It’s impossible to prepare for. The moment the person you love -more than you ever thought you could ever possibly love- walks away and you have to relegate yourself to the very real possibility that you may never see them again. That one day even your memories of them will fade; the sound of their voice, their smell, the touch of their hand, their face. The act of grieving a person that is still very much alive.

She watches as Anil greets him with a pleasant smile and a handshake. The two engaging in a brief conversation before Anil turns to address the three person flight crew and all five begin heading towards the truck. And she slides out from behind the wheel as they begin unloading the last three crates of supplies and gear and Tyler’s  two meager bags; an old army rucksack and a backpack that’s usually reserved for day trips with the kids. He’s always been a light traveller; two or three changes of clothes and hygiene products. Always shrugging his shoulders and saying he’ll buy more things if he really needs to every time she brings it up that he’s not nearly taking enough with him. And he always returns with the same amount of things as when he’d left; nothing new among the old. He lives simply. A hard habit to break when you’ve spent years not really giving a shit about your personal appearance. He’s happy just owning a couple pairs of jeans, old sweats and  taking the same three pairs of cargo pants with him on every job. Perfectly content in board shorts and tattered t-shirts he’s owned for god knows how long.

Anil steps to the driver’s side of the truck, greeting her with a warm smile and a kiss to each cheek before clasping one of her hands in both of his. He’s very much like his brother; a gentle soul stuck in the body of a man capable of so much vengeance and rage. She’d see it in Saju’s eyes.  There on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. A kindness and compassion underneath all those cuts and bruises and broken bones. He’d been weary; a former soldier turned family man, caught in a nightmare brought on by his own employer. Having to revert back to his ways of old in order to save the ones he loved.

“You look so much like your brother.” Esme gestures towards Anil’s apparel. “All black. It’s what Saju was wearing. That day on the bridge. It really is uncanny; how much you look like him. Almost like seeing a ghost.”

“You were the last one to see him. Alive. You were with him in those final minutes?”

“I was with Ovi. He’d told us to hide. Not to come out until he told us it was safe to. Neither of us were with him. But we saw it; what happened to him. How he died.”

“When it’s a better time, I’d like to speak with you. About Saju. About my brother. About his time on the bridge. What it was like for him.”

“It felt like hours. I was probably thirty minutes, forty five at the most. But it felt like it lasted a lifetime. Like it was never going to end and we were never going to get out of there.”

“We will talk. When things have settled down.   There’s things I’d like to ask you. About Saju. His state of mind. Things he may have said.”

“I don’t think we said more than a few words to each other. I don’t know what I could possibly tell you. We didn’t even know one another. I was just some girl he was supposed to kill. That’s it.”

“It would just be nice to hear about his last minutes. How he was. How he seemed. There’s no one else who can tell me these things. I want to hear them. I NEED to hear them.”

Esme nods in understanding.

“Schedule permitting, I will be at the house when you and the children arrive. I would prefer to welcome you myself; give a tour of my home and my property. But I apologize in advance if that can not be. It’s hard to say where the next couple of days will lead us all. Soon we will speak. But for now…” he takes her hand once more. “...I bid farewell. I’ve taken up too much of your time when there’s someone else more deserving of it.”

“Stay safe,” she says. “You have a lot of good people working with you.”

He gives a  soft smile of appreciation and then clasps Tyler on the shoulder as he approaches. “Take your time. There’s no rush. The pilot waits for us, not the other way around.”

“Must be nice to have that kind of pull,” Tyler remarks, watching as Anil crosses the tarmac. “That kind of cash. A private jet just to carry weapons and ammo and all that other shit? Talk about having money to burn.”

“This coming from a man who has millions of dollars in the bank, yet only owns three pairs of underwear,” she teases.

“Only need three if you don’t wear any ninety seven percent of the time.”

“Now you’re a math whiz too? You really ARE a study in a contradiction. You got everything?”

He nods. Eyes refusing to meet hers, top teeth dragging across his bottom lip. “You know what to do, right? If something does happen? You take the money and go. Leave and don’t look back. Change your last name. The kids’ too. There can’t be any trace of me; nothing that can lead guys like Mahajan back to you. Just go and don’t look back. Promise me.”

“I promise. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.” She lays her hands on his hips. “That all we have to do is talk about it. That all this will be over sooner rather than later and you’ll come and get us and we can go home. All of us.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen,” he vows.

“I know you will. I have no doubt in mind that it’ll happen. This isn’t the last time we’re going to see each other.”

He heaves a shaky sigh. “I really fucking hope it isn’t.”

Placing her forehead against his chest, she wraps her arms around his torso, hand rubbing his back. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know you don’t,” he lays one hand on the back of her head, the other on the small of her back. “I wish there was some other way.”

“This is harder than I thought it would be. We’ve been through a lot of these moments. You think we’d be used to them by now. But this one hurts. Way more than any of those ever did.”

He nods, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss your cold feet and your snoring.” She’s grinning as she tilts her head back to look up at him. “And the way you never complain when I steal all the blankets.”

“I MIGHT miss the way you talk in your sleep,” Tyler chides. “But I’ll definitely miss the way you wake me up some mornings.”

“You won’t get THAT kind of wake up call at the hotel.”

He gives a small chuckle. “I’ll come and see you guys as soon as I can. Soon as they tell me it’s safe enough. I’ll even wear the vest. Just for you.”

“You better,” she says, and both his hands move to the sides of her face; calloused palms gently cradling it as he kisses her. Long and soft and sweet. So tender it both takes her breath away and breaks her heart. The tears responding accordingly; hot and stinging as they find her cheeks.

“I love you, Esme. So much. I’ll always love you. Remember that, okay? Just in case.”

“I love you. More than you could ever know. And I’m so proud of you, Tyler. For how far you’ve come since Dhaka. For who you’ve become. No one can take that from you. How hard you had to fight. No one can take that.”

He manages to hold back his own tears, swallowing noisily before drawing her into a hug; as tight as that little body allows him to hold it. Eyes closed and his brow resting against the top of her head, her hands clutching at the back of his shirt. “I gotta go,” he says. “I’ll call you when I get there. So you know I arrived safe and sound.”

“Be safe, okay? And be smart. Think with your head, not your heart.”

“I will.” He kisses her once more, then presses his lips to her forehead. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, reluctantly releasing her hold on him. “You will.”

She watches as he goes. Those broad shoulders slumped, hands shoved in his pockets, barely balancing up when Koen speaks to him as he passes. He won’t look back. He never does. Always saying that that’s when he’s at his weakest; while walking away. And that if he glances even briefly over his shoulder, he’ll change his mind and stay. Even when the best thing to do is leave.

Koen gives a sympathetic smile and lays a hand on her shoulder. “How you holding up?”

“I’m not,” Esme admits, and the tears come in earnest. A tsunami of emotions that comes flowing through her body; wracked by heavy sobs that shake her from head to toe.

“Easy now...easy…” Koen coos, as he draws her into his arms. “...it’s all going to be alright. HE’S going to be alright. You know he is.  He’s a tough shit. And stubborn. Stubborn as all hell. No way he’s going to let this Mahajan and those drongos of his get the better of him.”

“All I can think about is what if that’s the last time I ever got to kiss him? That I’m ever going to feel those arms around me? Hear his voice? Smell him? What if…”

“Don’t you do that. Don’t you talk like that. That’s not what you need right now. That’s what HE needs. He needs you to be strong. For yourself, for those rugrats, for him. He’s always going on and on about how strong you are; how it’s one of the things that made him fall so quick for you.  Well now you’ve got to live up to that. Prove him right. You’re better than this; stronger than this. Don’t let him down.”

“It’s just hard. To pretend that everything is fine when it feels like everything is going to shit. Promise me you’ll keep an eye on him? Because he puts on a really good front, but what’s going inside is a whole other thing. And don’t tell him I told you to do it. That’ll only piss him off.”

“I know how to handle that shit head. Been putting up with him for quite a while.”

“And keep him away from booze. He needs to be sober to get this done. The last thing he needs is falling back into old habits. Especially with this job.”

“So I think that taking him to the strippers is out of the question?” Koen teases.

“I’m serious,” she sniffles. “He’s big and he’s strong and he’s intimidating as all hell. But he needs someone to watch out for him. To care about him. Make sure he eats. And sleeps. It’s important to me. That you look after him. I trust you with this. With him.”

“I’ve got you,” Koen vows. “I’ve got this. He’s in good hands.”

“And you take care of yourself, too. Be safe. And when it comes to the job itself, listen to what Tyler says. He knows what he’s talking about and he knows what he’s doing. No one is as good as he is at this. No one. He got me and Ovi out of Dhaka. If you want to stay alive in Mumbai, you have to listen to him. You have to trust him.”

“Gonna be weird taking orders from that little piss ant. I remember when I was in charge of him back in the SASR. Now he’s MY boss?”

“If you want to survive, you’ll do whatever Tyler says. No questions asked. I trust him...only him...with my life. Trust him with yours too.”

“I will,” Koen promises, then presses a kiss to her cheek. “Hang in there kiddo. Those littles need their momma.”

“They need their dad too,” Esme reminds him as he walks away. “Is it too much to ask that you bring my husband home alive?”

“Wouldn’t think of bringing him back any other way,” he says, then gives a wink in farewell, footsteps heavy on the tarmac as he heads for the plane.

****

The inside of the jet is both spacious and luxurious; black leather seats and couches, glass and chrome tables, a handful of flat screen televisions mounted on wood panelled walls, and a fully stocked bar. Nathan and Ovi are already taking advantage of Anil’s generosity and hospitality; a bottle of expensive cognac already cracked open, their laughter and boisterous conversation filling the cabin.  It’s a far cry from what any of them are used to. Not even Ovi, who’d experienced the comforts of wealth and had spent his time being chauffeured around in sleek town cars driving by armed bodyguards, had ever been in this particular lap of luxury.  And while it shouldn’t bother Tyler that they're indulging and in particularly high spirits given the enormity of the situation, it does. They're nauseatingly obnoxious and he wants nothing more than to beat the ever living shit out of them.

It’s just his mood; on edge, irritable, heartbroken. Drowning in the reality that he may never see his family again. That even though he refuses to acknowledge the word ‘goodbye, those hugs and those kisses from his wife and children could very well have been just that. The others don’t have that much to lose; single, no one to worry about outside of themselves. There’s no way they could ever begin to imagine what he’s going through; the profound worry and sadness that comes with having that much to lose.  And he doesn’t acknowledge their presence; ignoring their requests for him to join them and the offers of drinks and the murmurs of ‘what the hell is wrong with him?’.  He’d expected more from Ovi. But he’s young and impressionable and is affected by his surroundings and easily succumbs to peer pressure. And holds an almost unhealthy idolization of Nathan. Who’s young and single as well and easily attracts the attention of the ladies.

He sinks into a seat near the front of the plane; next to the window with his back towards the others. Bag at his feet and his legs stretched out in front of him; head tilted back and his eyes closed, hands clasped and resting on his stomach. And hears Koen’s arrival on the jet; those heavy, clunky footsteps and his thick accent and loud voice. There’s nothing discreet about the man. Part of his charm, Tyler supposes. A fiercely loyal friend that will rip you to shreds with his teasing one minute, but fight to the death to protect you the next. And he hears a loud smack and then grins when Nathan protests the slap that had been delivered -Tyler guesses- to the back of his head.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Koen growls. “Don’t shit talk the man. Can’t you see he’s going through something? Shut your damn mouth or I’ll shut it for you.”

Within seconds he feels Koen’s presence by his side, then hears  a groan as   his friend drops into the seat across from him.  Only opening his eyes and acknowledging his friend when he feels the press of cool, smooth glass against his knee.

“Something to take the edge off?” Koen inquires, offering the bottle of cognac he’d snagged from the others.

Tyler shakes his head.

“Top shelf. None of that pig piss we’ve been drinking all these years. A couple of swallows won’t hurt ya.”

“Don’t want any,” he says, and closes his eyes once more.

“That was a test, anyway. Just to see how you fucked you might be. Good sign, I reckon. You turning it down.”

“I guess.”

“You gonna stay clean through this?” Koen inquires. “No stupid shit?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I’ll be on your ass to make sure you do.  You got too much riding on this to let the booze fuck it all up.”

Tyler scowls. “You don’t think I realize that?”

“I think your heart’s torn to fucking pieces and you might cave and try to find something to take a bit of the sting away.”

He scoffs. “What the fuck do you know?”

“I know you’re not the same bloke you were seven years ago. The one that made the jump off that cliff. I know you’re a guy that loves his wife and his kids with every fibre of his miserable fucking being. Who doesn’t think he deserves the life he has; someone that loves him, kids that adore him. And I also know you’re a guy that would die for them. No hesitation. And you’re thinking that’s likely what it’s going to come down to.”

Tyler smirks. “You’re a fucking shrink now?”

“Nope. Just an old, crotchety fuck that happens to care a whole lot about your sorry ass. And if you think you’re dying on my watch, you have another thing coming. And if you think I’m just going to sit back and watch you do something that’s going to fuck your life up, you’re wrong about that too. Because one screw up and I will beat your tail into the next century, drag you back to this one, and beat your tail all over again. Hear me?”

A grin plays at the corners of Tyler’s mouth. “Sweet talker.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type. Besides, I try anything, your little missus will kick my ass. And I bet she packs a bigger punch than you do. You don’t scare me. She does. Always the small ones. They’re sketchy. Cagey. No wonder you tow the line. Probably knock your ass into the middle of next week if you step out of place.”

“Probably.”

Koen takes a swallow of cognac. “You gonna be alright?”

Tyler nods.

“Because it’s okay if you’re not. You don’t gotta hold it together, you know. Anyone would understand if you fell apart just a bit.”

“I’m fine.”

“There’s no shame in it. There’s…”

“I said I’m fine,” Tyler irritably interjects. “Enough.”

“You know as well as I do that you’re not.”

He sighs.

“But  I ain’t gonna push ya. Nothing good ever comes of that. But I’m here for you. Just sayin’.”

“I appreciate that. But I’m fine. Drop it.”

“But I do draw the line at hand jobs or blow jobs.” Koen says. “Just so you know. I don’t care how big your muscles are or how pretty your eyes are.”

Tyler snickers. “You’d be the last I’d ask, so…”

“Now THAT’S hurtful. Always thought maybe you had a crush on me.”

“You’re delusional.”

“So does that mean you DON’T want me sneaking in your room tonight and spoonin’ with ya?”

Tyler laughs. “Fuck off.”

Koen chuckles, then leans over in his seat to tussle Tyler’s hair. “You’re gonna be alright, mate.”

Tyler nods, then sighs heavily and leans his head back against his seat once more.

They don’t speak for the rest of the flight.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

[catofulthar000]

<=== Go back

ad1ostoreador

As promised, Tav will transportalize himself to Tavros's hive coords, before too long. He just needed a little time to change into the darkest clothing he's got, and explain the situation to Gamzee, at least in part. When he gets there... he's lowkey agitated, but also kind of grim/set about the jaw, wings giving little twitches and rustles against each other, at his back.

fiduspawnMaster

He comes in on the pad in the corner in the large open block, at first glance, there doesn’t appear to be much damage. Tavros is sitting on the loungeplank at the opposite end of the block, leaned over with his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. Coming closer, the stairwell comes into view, the first flight mostly intact, but the rest leading up to his respite block smashed to smithereens, moonlight filtering through the hole in the roof. The skylights in the ceiling are all cracked too from the impact, though none have shattered. Tavros looks up slowly from his hands, looking frustrated, but under a thick layer of exhaustion. There's still a huge, blue blood stain on the rug in the middle of the block, not really well hidden at all under the table scooted over it. "Hey.... There's, Uhm, Some seafins, waiting on the coast. I can lead you, To where they are with them... I still have some following from a distance... The, Uhh, Lowbloods are all okay, And, The dragon's on her way, Uhm, Just in case, I guess..." She didn't actually live on the surrounding plains and cliffs, so it took her a little while to fly to his hive normally.

ad1ostoreador

Is that bloodstain fresh enough to smell, still, or...? Tav is admittedly distracted first by the damage to the stairwell, and looking over Tavros for any signs of injury. "Um... yeah... that's... probably for the best. It's good that the, uh, others made it out... how many more are there?"

fiduspawnMaster

The stain is a few days old by now, nothing to do with what just happened, but part of why he's so fucking exhausted looking. "Yeah, Uh... There were three ships. The goat sunk one of the two smaller ones..." He points out towards the wall of windows across from the lounge plank, one of them being a sliding door out onto the porch. Across the field beyond the cliff, on the ocea, sat two retreating scraps of color on the horizon. "You can, Go out through there, If you can't find the seafins from here..." There were faint sparks of copper glowing in his pupils as he kept up communing with the beasts tailing the fleeing seadwellers.

ad1ostoreador

"I'll... go up to the roof, and... reach from there, I think..." He looks toward the windows, then moves to let himself carefully out onto the porch. He can pester for (and notice) details after the immediate threat is dealt with... for now, he flicks his wings out to their full spread and darts up to a perch on the rooftop, staring out over the waves and reaching his communing outward as his own eyes start to show traces of that glow. He keeps a light touch that skims over the seafins his counterpart is already communing with, not wanting to disrupt that or confuse them, and ranges further, seeking out ocean beasts anywhere in the vicinity of the ships, the bigger and fiercer the better.

fiduspawnMaster

Tavros just nods, sighing and putting his face back down in his hands. There is plenty to choose from. The sea here is alive with beasts of the fiercer variety. He's been cultivating the coastline here as a haven for them for many, many sweeps. The remaining angry goat was still around, along with a school of large lancefish and smaller ripperjaws and sawmaws. There was even a whole bed of massive gulp eels nesting in the cliffside nearby.

ad1ostoreador

Maybe it makes him bloodthirsty. Maybe it's just... transference, letting some hapless idiot pirates who shot off their cannons in the wrong direction stand in for her. But as far as he's concerned, they gave up any right to appeal for mercy when they forced lowblood kids into crewing for them. He's done making allowances for shitty highblood bullies. There are an awful lot of predators in the surrounding waters, and while his first impulse might be to simply ram the ships with the biggest of them, he also doesn't want them to have time to bring their cannons around to face what attacks them. So... he starts small. The little, flickering silver-sided algae-eaters that move in schools, starting to converge on the ships, well beneath the surface, unseen and largely unnoticed. Harmless... but beginning to swarm there... and the gentlest of touches to get the nearby predators' attention, but keep them shying clear of the growing school.

fiduspawnMaster

The seadwellers pay the swarms no mind, busy barking orders at their crew as the ships move further and further out to sea, trying to get away from the beast infested waters. There's not much hope of that though, beasts are everywhere... The smaller ship lags behind the larger one, four masted and gaudily decked out with intricate carvings and gold leafing on most surfaces. The owner of this boat was obviously a wader of excessive means.

ad1ostoreador

Really, he just doesn't want them to think a single thing of it. Nothing to see here. Just a freak migration of a mega-school, which happens to be rising closer to the surface than usual, despite the disturbances in the water caused by the passing ships above. People tend to think about communers in terms of 'talking' to beasts, which in Tavros's experience isn't at all what it's really like. They don't really talk. They feel, they have urges and instincts, and they react, and the less sentient they are, the more instantly reactive. Communing with a school of small fish (or a swarm of insects) is more a matter of gently nudging at their sense of where 'food' can be found, guiding the school up and up, until the surface of the water all around the swimming seadwellers and the lagging ship starts to churn with small fish leaping out of it, simply from the pressure of the masses swimming below. It's a matter of moments before a fish lands, flopping, on the deck of the smaller ship. Then three more, bouncing and flapping wildly across the planks. Then, dozens, and more, as the massive school beneath the surface slowly swirls. The little fish aren't big enough to pose a real threat to either ship, or the swimmers. It's the predators in pursuit of the massing food source that do, and the bigger the gathered food source, the more appealing it all looks to them. The trickiest part of it all isn't urging the fish into motion... it's keeping track of the predators to keep their bite-reflexes subdued until after he can distinguish just what they're pursuing. A gulp eel breaches first, just enough for its massive, sharp-fanged jaws to yawn open, and one of the swimming seadwellers who was nearing the side of a ship to vanish between them, shocked, along with a mouthful of tumbling fish.

fiduspawnMaster

The waders who haven't grabbed on to the sides of the smaller vessel yet cuss and hiss in confusion as they're suddenly swimming through fish instead of water, buffeted and slapped around by small, shimmery tails. The rustys on deck startle at the leaping fish, a couple bronze and burgandy's staring in confusion as a gaunt looking olive seizes the opportunity to pounce on one of the fish flopping on the deck and shove it into his mouth, tearing starving at the living flesh. The boat rocks when the gulp eel breaches the water, jaws neatly closing shut around it's prey, gullet swollen with fish and water and one unhappy passenger before constricting, a fan of water spraying up into the air over the deck as it slides back down into the water with barely a ripple. For a moment the other wader's holding onto the side blink dumbfounded through the mist and moonbows before scrambling faster up on deck, the ones still in the water flailing and slapping furiously at the fish to try to keep swimming.

ad1ostoreador

The worst part, for Tavros, is trying to track, through thousands of fish-eyes, what any of them are looking at, individually. Right now, at least, he's confident enough that the ones still in the water are pirates and not lowblood 'crew', that he doesn't hold the circling predators back. Another gulp eel snaps its jaws shut, not far away. The bereft seagoat picks off another straggler, and a flurry of ripperjaws eagerly swarm a stray limb left bobbing in a violet cloud in its wake. Fish are still flopping everywhere, slicking the decks and churning the sea's surface, so they can't tell where to fire their cannons, and their swimming targets are mostly too small to aim at, even if they could. Tavros's eyes are glowing bright enough to be seen, now, if anyone were on the roof with him, as he brushes from consciousness to consciousness, coaxing and nudging and guiding the milling beasts around the two ships, shuddering and rocking the smaller one again as a larger gulp eel swerves against the hull, somewhere beneath the surface, with a hollow thud at the impact, and the scrape of sinuous scales against wood.

fiduspawnMaster

The smallest ship is already swaying heavily from the turbulence of the school below it, a million tiny bodies together creating a considerable force, and the bump of the eel is enough to knock a pair of wader's free as the last one scrambles onto the deck. most of the crew is knocked on their asses as well, exchanging shocked looks at the bubbling screams and mayhem all around, before looking almost as one to the three highbloods left on the ship. They're outnumbered six to one at least, and in a flash the rustys are on them, grappling and trying to shove them off of the deck and into the bloody chaos of the churning waters.. There are cries as one lowblood is slashed across the face, another's arm broken and a third goes flying across the deck, but together, they manage to haul her up and sling their captors overboard with three huge splashes.

ad1ostoreador

Tavros has to piggyback off the vantage point of a circling flapbeast, overhead, to get a better view of the scene, but when he does, he grins, all fangs, and the predators abandon their interest in the smaller ship, entirely, letting it bob unmolested as fish continue to flop their way across its deck, many spilling back into the waves. The summarily demoted pirates are quickly overtaken by those circling lancefish, eager for some of the bounty. Now, there's a bigger target to pursue. And also, a dragon approaching, in the distance, which he reintroduces his mental contact to, with a polite exchange of scent-identifiers (spiced cocoa, with a peppery, citrusy note and an edge of woodsmoke) and cheerful recognition.

fiduspawnMaster

As the last wader falls onto the long spine of a waiting lancefish, a cry rises from the smaller ship, part victory, part catharsis. It's course will begin to divert, no longer following the larger vessel, which has pulled well ahead by now. It's head start would be no help in escaping the dragon, however. The large, white beast cuts through the air like a blade, pink moonlight glinting off of it's pristine hide. There is a rumbling trill of recondition, her trajectory curving with new direction to cut off the larger vessel. She was not yet as big as a five mast galleon, but she didn't need to be. This ship had only two, and her wings were easily as big as it's sails.

ad1ostoreador

The sound of wingbeats might be the last dawning dread the highbloods running the larger ship ever really have the chance to experience. So tragic, how shooting a stray seagoat in the wrong place led to a freak feeding frenzy over a fish migration route, which in turn lured a dragon out to enjoy easy pickings in the ensuing chaos. What a shame. When those running the ship give a cry of warning and attempt to order it turned hard about to bring its skyward-aimed harpoon to bear on the approaching dragon before she can draw into range for her own attacks, a gulp eel loops itself out of the water and over the very prow of the ship, one enormous eye tilted unblinking toward the moons, then disappearing under the surface again as cold scales contract in a tightening coil and the vessel sways, ungainly with the sudden weight dragging at its nose and more fish hurling themselves onto the decks in a slippery flood. There's a warning creak from the prow-mounted harpoon, built to be launched at skywhales and other aerial threats, not to sustain this sort of twisting, torquing pressure at the mount.

fiduspawnMaster

The highblood's weren't the only ones to experience this dread, the lowblood crew scrambling to their given post, if they didn't freeze up entirely at the sight of the legendary beast. There were screams as the gulp eel breached, it's great net of a jaw like a sail itself as it looped around the brow, the boat jerking as it was dragged lower in the water and tilted forward. cannons and crewmen went sliding down the deck, two unlucky souls pitching over the rail into the churning water, a bronze and a gold. The bronze at least managed to barely keep her head above water, but the psiless gold sank like a stone, unable to swim at all. Above there was a resounding crack as the embelished bowsprit snapped right off, prow crumbling under the constricting weight of the massive eel. Chunks of wood rained down into the water, nearly hitting the struggling bronze.

ad1ostoreador

His eyes flare brighter as he reaches out to calm the churning fish around them and steer the frenzied sawmaws and ripperjaws away from the two lowbloods, creating a clearer, safer path to them for the seafins that pursue the ship. From there, he brushes against the seafins' minds, leaning stronger into urgent divedive chase don't-bite when he finds little of his counterpart's presence there. The gold needs immediate help, and the bronze's situation is nearly as pressing, and Tavros bares his fangs as he juggles frenzied predators' instincts with the blind chaos of the milling school of fish and the massive bulk of the gulp eel sliding past (glide under the fallen, buoy up, don't turn and gulp, ignore these tiny thrashing figures in favor of other-better prey) and the approach of the smaller, less-bloodthirsty sea-fins.

fiduspawnMaster

Tavros comes out of his stupor somewhat as a second presence spurs the seafins on, straightening up on the loungeplank and refocusing. What was going on? People in the water? people to help. He could at least do that much. Instead of sitting there being useless. He more actively encouraged the sleek creatures onwards, hoping his alternate would be able to tell he was taking over so he could focus on all the other chaos happening. It was easy enough for the big, nimble creatures to scoop up both of the floundering lowbloods in their dexterous paws, lifting them to the surface and rolling onto their backs to carry them on their bellies away from the malestrom. More seaflips joined at the periphery, seeking other troll's that might go overboard, and there were a few, especially with the encroaching dragon. A half dozen highbloods abandoned ship, preferring to take their chances in the wild waters than with such a terrifying skybeast of legend. A couple other lowbloods toppled overboard too as the boat continued to lurch and tip forward in the water. Tavros kept his full focus on scooping up warmbloods in the water, the seafins slipping between the predators to snatch any and float them towards the distant beach.

ad1ostoreador

It helps, and his tension eases a little as the other's mental touch firms, there, and he can back off monitoring the seafins, focusing on keeping the predators in check around the panicking lowbloods, while guiding their frenzy towards the colder overseers, and merely circling those he isn't sure about, until he can get a better look at them through other eyes.

fiduspawnMaster

The ship is truly going down now as the gulp eel drags down the nose until it kisses the water. The dragon hovers above the sails, surveying the chaos as more waders are flung to the water, others clinging to the rigging and decks. Any lowbloods that hit the water are soon carried away to safety, and a handful of bronzes seem to catch on to what's happening, shouting to the others and encouraging them to jump off at one specific spot, so that only one area would need to be kept clear of predators. They quickly organize, grouping together and dragging those unwilling or afraid to toss them overboard into the waiting paws of the seafins.

ad1ostoreador

There's a channel kept largely free of predators, leading to the other, smaller ship and its mutinous warmblood crew, but the lancefish and sawmaws and a few trailing slithersnares who have drawn closer to the commotion out of curiosity unerringly pursue and drag down any officers who attempt to make that crossing. Increasingly, the only ones left on board the sinking ship are those who have built their entire trade from it and know no sort of warm reception awaits them beyond. The gulp eel's coils shift almost lazily around the destroyed prow of the ship, with another crackle of tearing wood and metal, which makes the young dragon bellow a challenge, wanting in on the excitement and smelling the panic and agitation from below. It takes more of Tavros's will, there, to urge her again to wait just a little longer, to be sure, to use her keen sense of smell to ensure no remaining captives remain trapped or chained or hiding belowdecks.

fiduspawnMaster

She growled, scenting the air as she dipped lower passes over the ship, tongue flicking out to tally every troll that had been aboard, each accounted for as presently clinging to it's deck for dear life, pools of color in the water, or fast retreating towards the other ship. No other traces remained and she roared again, the beating of her wings catching in the sails and driving the boat down further into the water. She would hold back no longer, alighting on one of the now nearly horizontal masts which groaned and creaked under her weight. She would smell this ship destroyed, and more than just smell it. Her eyes were burning with excitement from all the chaos, all the heat and light of the Alternian sun searing along the seam of her lids until they split, at last, washing the ship in scorching red that made the sodden deck steam. Roaring in imminent triumph, the lights from her eyes wavered, focusing and refocusing, a little clumsy the first time, but at last, like the suns rays focused at just the right distance through a magnifying glass, the light concentrated, condensed, and exploded in an orb of fiery heat that consumed the deck of the ship in a shower of gilt timber and flame. She was forced to catch herself on her wings as the ship fell into two pieces, masts snapping and sails catching flame as she flew higher over the devastation.

ad1ostoreador

The hard-scaled, cold bulk of the coiled gulp eel slides free of the shattered ship's prow, sinking safely back beneath the waves almost soundlessly as the ship catches alight behind it. A handful more of the upper-caste crew fling themselves free of the burning wreck, or are thrown with the explosion, but none of them will survive the waiting, circling sawmaws or smaller gulpers there, even as the massed super-school of fish begins to disperse itself naturally, darting off in a thousand different directions while the larger predators are largely preoccupied with combing the bobbing wreckage for stragglers and traces of blue and cooler in the water. Now that he's not guiding the school of prey-fish, Tavros is aware of a bit of throbbing behind his eyes, where the pressure has eased somewhat, and it's likely to get worse as he lightens more and more of the connections. He hasn't really had a reason to commune like this with such a large and varied number of beasts in a long time, and he's feeling it. He still needs to stay attentive, though, to keep any of the larger beasts from interfering with the ship that now carries the lowblood mutineers, and ensure the remaining seagoat vents its rage on wreckage and not surviving lowbloods, letting it maul at the broken-off bowsprit some distance away. Can't relax just yet.

fiduspawnMaster

Tavros keeps all his focus on the rescue, the last seafin scooping up the final lowblood onto it's belly, chittering as it swims backwards after the ship which has slowed it's retreat to allow the remaining rescued rusties to clamber aboard. A screamed cheer rings out at the explosion, anger and relief vented as the burning wreckage slips below the water. They should be safe now, sheltering below deck when the day comes, and making their way up the coast towards civilization. Perhaps some would even remain on the ship once the rest were dropped off, embrace the mutiny and freedom. No cold blooded soul will escape the jaws of the hungry beasts, even the dragon managing to poetically snap up the former captain as she curses the shitblooded scum that had to be responsible or this. When he could relax again, Tavros would be waiting for him with a mug of hot tea and downcast eyes, fangs digging at his lip as he twists the ring around his thumb. He definitely needs to thank him...

ad1ostoreador

It's a long stretch of minutes, at the very least, before Tav relinquishes the last light contact with the satisfied dragon with a warm little wash of gratitude for her, and reels back into himself fully, eyes no longer glowing at all and head well on the way to throbbing. He gingerly flies back down to the side door, and lets himself in, a little unsteady on his feet and drained. "...Hey, can I, uhhh.... just.... sit for a little bit?" He might just plunk down in a chair before Tavros has the chance to answer. (He might also catch sight of that blue stain in the process, though his pan isn't working fast enough to formulate a question yet.)

fiduspawnMaster

"Uhm, yeah, of course.... Thank you." He says as he watches him sit, carefully setting the mug within his grasp and eyeing him a moment. "Uhm... You okay? Do you... have psi strain? I, Uh, Have some medicine for that. It, Really helps with the panache." he offers, still fretting his fingers together.

ad1ostoreador

"That... is probably a thing that I have a little of, maybe, yeah," he admits, pressing the backs of his fingers on one hand to his forehead, and looking at the mug in front of him with only vague recognition. After a few moments, his other hand settles around it, and he summons enough mental energy to bring it up for a sip.

fiduspawnMaster

"Uhm, Okay, hang on..." He steps back, slipping around the corner across from his destroyed stairs into the ablution block. He returns a moment later with a glass of water and something cupped in his hand. He places the glass down next to where the mug had been and holds out his hand, a single pill resting in his palm. "Here, this will help..."

ad1ostoreador

"Thanks...." he murmurs, gingerly plucking the pill out of his palm and holding it for a few moments there, as he exchanges tea for water, and eyes the medicine. Then, he takes it, following it up with a few quick swallows, and sets the water back down in favor of pressing his condensation-cooled hand against his forehead, exhaling slowly. "...they're free now. The ones who they were... uh, keeping on their ship," he adds, a little lamely, though it's probably obvious. "...I don't know if you want to... go and meet them, or try to, um, keep anyone from knowing for sure someone helped. I think a few of them... had some experience, kind of, with communers, at least. They were... uh, making it easier."

fiduspawnMaster

He nods at the thanks and goes to sit on the loungeplank adjacent to his chair. "Yeah, I know, Uhm, I saw..." He mumbles, looking down at the floor again. "They're, uh, already heading up the coast. That's probably for the best..." he sighs, twisting at his ring again. "Did you...... Get, All of them?" He means the highbloods now, his guts twisting sick in his thorax at the lingering impressions of blood in the water.

ad1ostoreador

Tavros is quiet for a long moment, taking another sip of the water. In the moment, it was easier to immerse himself in the instincts of the predators and let them frenzy, than to really consider it deeply. And somewhere, far underneath it all, there's still the deeply buried anger he carries, about Vriska, and how easy it is to hear her shrill jeering every time he sees lowbloods cower that way, for a highblood playing out their personal dress-up power fantasy as a pirate, and how many people turned their heads and looked away. "....They, uh.... won't be hurting anyone, anymore."

fiduspawnMaster

He nods, should be relieved, but isn't. They won't be able to come back to destroy everything, destroy him, but they're also dead because of him, and that still makes his stomach feel sick and leaden. "Okay... Thank you." he says, because he should be thankful, even if all he feels is sick, sick and exhausted. He just wants to not think about any of the things that have happened in the last few days. It'll be hard though, with the stain on his rug, and now the wreckage in his stairwell...

ad1ostoreador

Part of it, for Tavros, is also that Alternia, for him, just sort of suspends emotional engagement. Of course there's a great huge messy bloodstain on the rug. It's Alternia. That's just how things are, here. He stares at it, a bit vacantly, and picks up the tea again for a drink of that, instead. "....What happened?" He motions vaguely at the stain, weary. "Did someone, uh, come scouting?"

fiduspawnMaster

His ears twitch up, snapped out of his own thoughts before angling back as the subject registers. "Oh, Uhm, No..... It was, Uh, anons I guess... They... temporarily, killed Loom, While they were, Uhm, Hanging out with me......" There's a hint of derision in his voice at the word temporarily, as if that made it okay, as if it wasn't still a horrible thing to happen to someone. He's still angry about it, and upset, sad for them, for the unfairness of it... He sighs again, closing his eyes and hanging his head. He's so tired...

ad1ostoreador

at 1:16 PM

There's a beat or two of confusion, then dismay/disgust, his ears pinning back as he eyes the spot again. "....oh. That is... um.... not a thing which I imagine anyone would... appreciate happening. Are... you okay? It's... temporary?" He's very tired of gray-magic maliciousness, temporary or otherwise. It's the kind of thing that happens, in the kind of place where a bloodstain on the rug is just another night, and he doesn't miss it at all.

fiduspawnMaster

"Yeah... Yeah..." He mumbles, scratching his claws through the stubble on the sides of his head before threading his fingers together and pushing them forward through his mowhawk, then back again. "Uhm, They said it was, Maybe only for a week? Or something? They're a ghost right now I guess..." He sighs.

ad1ostoreador

He winces a little, rubbing a hand over his face again, then going back to resting his elbows on his knees, head hanging slightly. "...That's, um, awful, still... I'm sorry..."

fiduspawnMaster

"Yeah, it is..." he agreed quietly, though thinking of Loom more than himself. His posture was similar to his alt's just taking a moment of quiet when it comes. Hopefully the medicine should be kicking in by now

ad1ostoreador

It's starting to help, at least, lessening the pounding discomfort gradually, as his ears droop further out of their back-slanted, tense state. "...are you, uh... going to be okay with..." He gestures vaguely at the cannonball where his stairs should be. "...for tonight, I mean? Until... you can get it fixed... and if we can help, or bring materials or something... let us know?"

fiduspawnMaster

He sits up a bit, glancing back over his shoulder and biting his lip. "Uh, I should be okay tolight, I think I have stuff to cover the hole anyway, And, My window is unlocked, So, I can fly up to my respite block..." He lets out a weak huff, half amused. Silly of him, still leaving his windows unlocked, at his age, as if Pupa Pan might still come to take him away. It was a habit though, one he wasn't likely to stop, and one that turned out convenient in this situation at least. "Uh, Thanks though... I guess, Wood is kind of hard for me to come by... Maybe next night? Uhm, I don't really feel like working on fixing it now..."

ad1ostoreador

"Um, yeah... not right now, for sure... you need to, uh, get some rest and stuff, too..." He's just too drained to contemplate the logistics of cutting down a tree and sawing it into planks, right now. "Gamzee wanted to... be here, but. I wanted to come. This time."

fiduspawnMaster

"Yeah, you too..." he agrees. Things could wait, he wasn't in immediate danger any more, thanks to Tav. His ears twitch a bit at the mention of Gamzee wanting to come, frowning, a little confused. "Uh, right... Uhm, Thanks again, For everything." He sighs once more, leaning back into the padding of the loungeplank some. "Uhm, I'm probably just going to lay down for a while... You can stay, Uh, Relax, Until your pan feels better if you want..."

ad1ostoreador

"It's... fine, I think I will just, um, go back, and relax there, so he isn't worrying, either...." A tired not-quite smile, and he puts down his mostly-empty mug on the table, levering himself to his feet with a rustle of his wings. "I'll, uh, let you do your resting, and... go."

fiduspawnMaster

He watches him stand, nodding and managing a tired smile. "Uh, Yeah, That would probably be good... Thank you, Again..."

ad1ostoreador

"I couldn't have... um... stood back and not..." He offers a tiny shrug, unable to explain the compulsion better than that, and turns back to the transportalizer pad, reaching for his personal device as he does. It's time to go home...

=== End.

#action post #ad1ostoreador #death #impalement #blood

[let-it-raines]

Storybrooke Haunted Farms

“Want to be chased through a corn maze? Take a ride in a trailer full of hay in the middle of the woods? Play paintball with zombies? Explore a haunted ghost ship? If this sounds like fun to you, come to Storybrooke Haunted Farms where the fun is cheap and the thrills are terrifying. Open from October 1st - October 31st.”

Emma Swan has been working at Storybrooke Haunted Farms for the past four years, and she’s done everything from work the haunted hayride to chasing paying customers through a corn maze with a fake chainsaw. It’s always been a good way for her to make a little extra cash for the holidays for her son, and it’s most likely the best time she’s ever had working.

That is until her assignment changes and she’s made to work on the pirate ship exhibit with Killian Jones, quite possibly the most obnoxious man alive.

Rating: Teen-ish

A/n: I told myself that I didn't have time to write a Halloween story, but then my brain was like “what if” and I figured I’d do something for @cshalloweek​ even if this doesn’t really fit a theme. So here we are! I hope you have a spook-tacular time reading 🎃

Found on AO3 | HERE |

Tagging: @captainsjedi @wellhellotragic @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods@idristardis @karenfrommisthaven  @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81

-/-

Laces tighten around Emma’s back, and her breath hitches as her lungs are very literally constricted from the corset that’s being tightened to cinch her waist and push her breasts up several inches higher than they should ever be.

The money may not be worth this.

There’s another tug, and Emma gasps as she leans forward to curl her fingers around the edge of the antique vanity in front of her, her eyes squeezing shut as she imagines herself to be literally anywhere else.

Anywhere.

And she hasn’t even had to put on the skirts or the top or had her hair pinned back so that bobby pins are sticking into the back of her neck to give her a headache.

“Mary Margaret,” Emma gasps before clenching her teeth as yet another lace is tightened, “it’s too tight. I’m not going to be able to breathe.”

“You’ll become accustomed to it. I promise. It’s really not that bad.”

“You only say that because you’re not wearing one, which is complete and utter bullshit by the way.”

Mary Margaret sighs behind Emma as she tugs again, and Emma’s eyes fly open so that she can see her face in the mirror. And her boobs. And an unnaturally tiny waist. This is not normal, and there’s no way that she’s going to become accustomed to it.

“You know I don’t make the decisions on the costumes. That is completely and totally out of my hands.”

“Your mother owns the place.”

“Step,” Mary Margaret corrects. “Step-mother. She owns it.”

“Yeah, but your mom owned it first. It was her brain child, and I feel like you should get some say in what costumes and attractions people get to work in. I wore jeans and a plaid shirt last year, Marg. I’m having to wear a full-on corset and medieval dress this year. How the hell am I supposed to run?”

There’s a final tug, and Emma almost pops out of the corset. “I don’t think you are. I mean, the haunted ship is our newest attraction, and it’s not going to be like the hayride or the corn maze. There’s not a lot of running after people. It’s more like jump scares.”

“But I hate jump scares.”

“You like the money, and you fit into the costumes we ordered. If you really hate it, I’ll see if you can get put on the rotation for the zombie paintball.”

“I would rather walk around this place in nothing but my underwear than be a team member for zombie paintball.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

It takes another fifteen minutes for Emma to fully get into the costume. There are layers to it, far too many skirts than should ever be necessary, but it’s apparently some kind of authentic costume for a bar wench that would serve pirates in whatever century is being depicted on the ship. Emma doesn’t know, and she doesn’t really care about historical accuracy. All she cares about is the fact that every night for all of October, she’s going to be putting on fifteen layers of a dress and a corset and having her hair teased to look like it hasn’t been brushed in days. At least her makeup is relatively normal.

If smearing mascara down her cheeks and powdering her face to make her look paler than usual is normal.

At least they’re not doing her hair or her makeup today. Just this dumb costume.

Leaving the trailer where the costumes are kept, Emma makes her way outside as a gust of chilled air moves over her, causing goosebumps to immediately rise on the exposed parts of her skin. At least her legs won’t be cold with all of their layers. The rest of her might just freeze to death, however.

It’s only September right now, but from experience Emma knows just how miserable October nights are when not wrapped up in coats and scarves and the warmest knit cap that Emma owns. With how things are now, she knows that this year is going to be even more miserable.

Sucking it up, Emma kicks her leg forward to give herself more space to move, and she follows the pathway in the woods down to get down to the pier. The leaves have already started to change colors, most of them beginning to fall to the ground, and they crunch underneath her feet as she follows the familiar path. There are men up in the trees setting up rigging and hanging props, and she spots Jeff hooking up the speaker system that plays throughout the grounds for music and in rare cases, emergency announcements. Emma has only heard of children getting separated from their parents in her time here, but she does know that there was once an issue with a chainsaw and someone’s foot.

That’s why everyone has to sign waivers now – employees and customers alike.

Welcome to Storybrooke Haunted Farms: The Scariest Place in Maine.

Emma’s been working here for the past four years. It’s a seasonal job, only half of September for training and costume fittings and the month of October for actual work, but it pays better than being a waitress at Granny’s does all year. It’s a great atmosphere working there, but the tips are not great unless she gets one of the good shifts. She needs more money than she’s getting, and scaring the shit out of people isn’t a bad gig.

Well, it wasn’t when she was hopping up onto a moving trailer full of hay and people and frightening the people who were screaming the loudest as well as those who were quietly shaking in fear. The haunted hayride through the woods is by far the least terrifying attraction that they have here, but it’s definitely the most fun for employees to work. Then again, Emma loved working in the corn mazes where people paid her to chase after them with a chainsaw (fake) or in the set that was made to look like an abandoned hospital wing. Though, in that last one she had to wear one of those awful slutty nurse’s costumes, and heels, and that was difficult to move around in as well.

Not like this costume though.

She keeps having to kick her legs to not trip over the stone pathway as the thatch of trees thins out and the ocean comes into view, salt thickening in the air and the sun shining a little brighter down onto her skin. And there, in all of its glory, is a massive ship with tall white sails that are currently being sliced up and painted to look battered as fake moss is added to the sides of the dark wood. None of this will be noticed in the dark, of course, but Regina is nothing if not excessive in her decorations. Anything to make more money when she doesn’t exactly need it.

At least she never shows up to the actual site. That would be more of a nightmare than any of the attractions.

(It’s also how she’s going to get out of having to wear this costume every day.)

“Emma,” a voice calls out, and she twists around to look at Graham Humbert standing with several planks of wood over his shoulder like that’s not big deal.

“Hey,” she greets, not really stepping closer for fear of getting accidentally knocked out. “What do they have you building today?”

“The bridge to the ship. She’s a beauty, don’t you think? Are you working on her this year?”

“What gave it away?” Emma reaches down to grab at the sides of her skirts, picking them up before letting them fall down with enough power that leaves scatter beneath her. “I don’t exactly know my role yet, but they’ve got me in this costume for it. I wish we could do dress rehearsals in normal clothes.”

His eyes flicker up and down her body, and instinctively, she wants to reach up to cover her chest. However, she knows that will just make her boobs looks bigger, and as nice as Graham is, she’s simply not as interested in dating him as he is with her. He’s more of a friend to her than anything, and he’s a really good influence in Henry’s life. If she were to date him, she’d just fuck things up and make him no longer want to spend time with Henry. That’s what happens every time she gets involved with anyone.

“Authenticity, I believe,” Graham finally says back, his eyes landing on her face. “I think it’ll be a fun attraction to work. I’ll have to come by and check it out once you guys open.”

“Is the Sheriff really supposed to pay to be scared by other people?”

“It’s a fun time. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t come here at least once a year.”

“Well,” Emma starts, already the slightest bit uncomfortable with the way that Graham is swaying closer to her with the wood, “thank you for your contribution that goes toward my son’s Christmas gifts. I’ve got to go to rehearsals now. Make sure that this bridge is steady so I’m not falling into the ocean, okay?”

Graham salutes her before she’s stepping away from him and heading down to the docks, nearly tripping over her dress and the uneven ground. If this continues, she’s going to the costume department and getting a pair of pants to work in. Pants would definitely be better than this.

People are already milling around down here, most of them in tattered pirate costumes with cups of Starbucks in their hand, and while she recognizes a few of them, most are new to her and must not frequent Granny’s too often or only come during Ruby’s shifts at night so that Emma would have never run into them. She recognizes Will Scarlet, though, and she waves to him before turning to take a shaky step up onto the ship where she comes face to face with a man dressed in all black leather with a red vest that’s nearly unbuttoned all the way to his navel.

What in the world?

Emma trips again on a piece of loose board before catching herself and looking up past the dark chest hair and skull and bones silver charms only to a stubble-covered jaw that belongs to a man with some of the bluest eyes that she’s ever seen. He must have gone through makeup today because his eyes are lined with black eyeliner and his hair is messily coiffed, and Emma feels the slightest bit of fire stir in her belly that she immediately tampers down.

Who the hell is that?

“You okay there, lass?”

Emma almost stumbles again at the deep timber of his voice, and she is definitely asking if she can get an alternate costume that includes pants. This is ridiculous.

“I’m fine,” she huffs, brushing her hands against her skirts and turning away from him. “It’s this damn costume. I’m so uncomfortable.”

“Your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear”

“Ha,” Emma scoffs as her eyes roll and her mind immediately decides that she hates this guy. Who is he to try to joke around and compliment her? She doesn’t even know him. “You’re hysterical. Is the abundant amount of cleavage you have showing your choice or the company’s?”

“A combination of both.” He uncrosses his arms and his legs and steps forward so that he’s back in her space. A chill runs down her spine as the ship rocks beneath them. “I’m not particularly modest.”

“I assumed.” “What about you, love?”

“Not your love, and what about me?”

“Is the amount of cleavage your choice?”

Emma curls her hands into fists and turns to look at this obnoxious man who is way too comfortable with her, and the smirk on his lips does nothing to lessen the hatred that’s simmering beneath her skin. “It is obviously not my choice.”

“It’s a pity nothing can be done about that.” He sticks his hand out in front of her, and she almost laughs before she realizes that he’s serious. Begrudgingly, she reaches forward and takes his hand in hers. “Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan.”

“Swan,” he repeats back, his tongue visibly running behind the back of his teeth. Is it possible to hate someone so much within one-hundred and twenty seconds of meeting them? “I like it.”

“Oh, well, if you like it, I guess I’ll have to keep it forever, won’t I?”

Killian winks, and she imagines him having to wear a corset so tight that he can’t breathe too. It’s a weird form of torture, but it’s all she can focus on right now. Obviously the blood can’t reach her brain right now, and there’s only so long she can live like this.

She’s got at least six weeks.

Shit.

Emma opens her mouth to say something, most likely to tell him to go screw himself but in less friendly terms, but then there’s a loud clap from across the deck where David is standing on top of a barrel with a clipboard in hand. He was made to be a detective and a cruise director all at once. Emma doesn’t think that he married Mary Margaret simply so that he could be a part of the Blanchard-Mills Storybrooke Haunted Farms legacy, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it was part of the initial appeal.

Holidays are kind of a big deal in this town, and being in love with them is pretty much a requirement for living here. If they (whoever they are) find out that you don’t buy flowers for Valentine’s Day or candy for Halloween, they have the power to kick you out.

Probably not, but Emma has heard rumors. This is the best place she’s ever lived, and she’s not really a big fan of the thought of having to leave. Henry wouldn’t be either. He’s too in love with Ruby for him to want to leave.

“Okay,” David starts, his voice louder than the sound of a hammer hitting against wood and a saw cutting down the beams for the bridge between the docks and the ship. “So welcome aboard the Storybrooke Haunted Farms team. We’re excited to have you here, whether or not you’re new or have worked for us before, and my wife and I want you all to remember that while we want you to scare the ever-loving shit out of people, we also want you to have fun. But also to be safe. If you haven’t signed a waiver, please see Belle to my right to sign your forms.”

People shuffle across the dock over to Belle, and she begins handing out papers as Emma shifts her weight to one side, trying to put as much distance between she and Killian Jones as possible. He’s got to be one of those obnoxious people who thinks his looks can excuse his actions, and she is not here for that. But she’s also not here for causing issues at work before it even really starts, so she doesn’t want to make it too obvious that she’s moving away from him.

“So, this our newest attraction,” David continues with his arm outstretched to show off the ship, “and you guys are going to be our guinea pigs, so please bear with us on any issues or problems running it. We’re counting on you guys to notice problems and report them, so if you see a way we need to improve, don’t be scared to ask. Only our customers are supposed to be scared around here.”

There’s an awkward laugh that emits from everyone. It’s really a shame that David isn’t a dad yet because he’s already got the jokes down.

“Now, after all of our waivers are signed, Belle and I are going to hand out your roles before we start practice out here. We’ve got two weeks before opening, and while that’s not a lot of time, I know that you’ll all get the hang of things.”

“The Nolans are quite the optimistic bunch, aren’t they?” Killian questions, his breath hot as he leans into her ear. She jumps away, this time visibly putting space between them, and if someone doesn’t smack the smirk off his face before the end of October, Emma is doing it the day she gets her final paycheck.

“How do you know the Nolans?”

“Dave went to the Police Academy with my older brother.”

Great. That means Killian is here as some kind of friend to David, and Emma is going to have to be nice to him. This feels a hell of a lot like when she tells Henry to be nice to his classmates even when half of them are six-year-old devils.

She’s a really good mom, obviously.

“How do you know them, love?”

“Not your love,” Emma repeats as she steps away from him and moves to where Belle and David are handing out paperwork. “And they’re pretty popular in the town. Everyone knows them.”

“Well, I’m new to town, so I guess I’ll have to get used everyone who is popular  in town.”

“Okay.”

At that, she tries to dodge out of his way, but that’s a bit difficult when it’s a small area crowded with dozens of people all headed into the same direction, so he’s constantly at her heels. At least he’s not talking any longer, but it’s almost like there’s this overwhelming presence following her around, like he’s peering over her shoulder and waiting for her to slip up or fall into the charms that he very obviously thinks that he has.

“Emma,” David smiles when she walks up to him. The annoyance she’s felt from Killian fades away, if only for fifteen seconds, at the sound of a familiar voice who isn’t going to annoy her or try to flirt with her. “Your costume looks fantastic.”

“You know, that’s what I said, mate, but she didn’t seem to like my compliment too much.”

David’s eyes glance at her before fliting behind her to look at Killian, and from the smile that’s still on his face, Emma can tell that he does, indeed, know Killian Jones.

Of course.

“Do you two know each other?” David asks.

“No,” Emma blurts out.

“We just met a few minutes ago,” Killian explains as he bumps his shoulder into hers like they’re old pals. “I think we might be fast friends, me and Swan.”

Emma can’t hold back her scoff, even when David’s eyes slant at her. “Yeah,” Emma sighs as her hand moves behind her to slap Killian’s back, “fast friends. That’s exactly how I would describe the two of us.”

Her stomach drops, which really doesn’t help anything when the corners of David’s lips turn up and stretch all the way up to his eyes.

“That’s actually perfect.”

“And why’s that?”

-/-

“He has me playing some kind of damsel in distress,” Emma huffs out as she paces back and forth in the kitchen of her apartment, a glass of wine in her hand that she really wishes had more alcohol in it. “I mean, it’s not technically a damsel in distress, but it pretty much is. I have to work with this jackass who thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips with his pirate costume and deep accent and the way that he swaggers across the deck, and the two of us have to act like some kind of old-timey couple on the bow of the ship pretending that we’re in love and having a fight to distract everyone from the people sneaking up behind them before he’s pushing me off the side of the boat.”

“What’s a jackass?” Henry asks her from his seat on the couch in the living room, and Emma immediately reaches her free hand up to cover her mouth.

“I shouldn’t have said that, kid,” Emma apologizes, flashing him a smile as Ruby snickers from her spot sitting on the counter. “That’s not a word we use. I’m sorry.”

Henry shrugs his shoulders and goes back to watching his Ninja Turtles Show. There’s no reason she should have such a good kid, but the universe obviously decided that she needed some kind of good luck.

By far the best thing ever to happen to her even if the circumstances of her pregnancy sucked.

“Is it really that bad, though?” Emma’s head snaps back over to Ruby to see her tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Like, I saw this guy when he got into town. He’s apparently moving here and staying at Granny’s until he gets an apartment. He’s not a bad looking guy, Ems. In fact, I would say that he’s attractive. How bad can it be to be paid to flirt with him while he’s wearing all kinds of leather and eyeliner and looking sinful?”

“I am hooked up to a rigging system and get thrown off the side of the boat.”

“Okay, granted, that part is bad, but it’s not all bad. You literally used to have to run for hours a night with a chainsaw to scare people. This is much better.”

“I don’t think you understand how bad this guy is.”

Ruby arches a perfectly manicured brow and tilts her wine glass to her lips. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“I usually don’t.”

Ruby’s eyes look over to Henry, and that’s when Emma knows that she really  doesn’t want to hear what Ruby is going to say. “Henry is how old? Six?”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re twenty-four, correct?”

“Yep.”

“And you’ve had one boyfriend since he was born, right?”

“It’s been more than one.”

Ruby holds up her hand and bends one finger back before pointing that one finger at her chin. “Walsh Osbourne is the only one I can think of. Would you like to enlighten me as to who the others are?”

“I have been on dates with men other than,” Emma makes sure to lower her voice so that Henry can’t hear, “Walsh, but I haven’t introduced any of them to Henry after him. I can’t take the risk that Henry is going to get attached.”

“Which is exactly why you won’t date Graham.”

Emma’s cheeks flame up. She really needs more wine, but she’s working the early shift at Granny’s tomorrow and still has to go to practice tomorrow night. “I don’t want to date Graham. He’s a nice guy, but I’m just not in the mood for dating. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I literally spend most of my day working multiple jobs. When I’m not working, I’m taking care of my kid. That’s what happens when you get knocked up at seventeen and have literally no resources.”

Ruby raises her hands in the air, an apology already on her lips, but then the volume mutes on the television and Henry is moving over to them in the kitchen, his mop of brown hair messily situated on top of his head as he opens up the fridge.

“What are you looking for, kid? I’m pretty sure you ate dinner at Granny’s with Ruby.”

“Yeah, but I’m thirsty, and water just isn’t cutting it.” He turns to smile at her then, and Emma’s heart aches over how much he looks like Neal. Couldn’t he at least have gotten a little bit of her in him? Would that have been too much to ask? “Can I have orange juice?”

“No,” Emma says as she steps over him and grabs the gallon of milk from the shelf and turns around to place it on the kitchen countertop while Ruby hands her a glass from the cabinet. “There’s too much sugar in orange juice for you to have it this late at night.”

“But it’s Friday, Mom.” “And?”

“I don’t have school in the morning.”

“Yeah,” she smiles as she pours him a small glass of milk, “I know. You’re spending the day with Mary Margaret and David tomorrow while I’m at work, and I can almost guarantee that one of them will give you all kinds of sugar so that you never go to bed ever again.”

His lips stretch into a smile so large that Emma can see them under the clear plastic glass. “That would be the coolest thing ever. Can I wear my Ninja Turtles costume tomorrow?”

“Now, that, is something I can agree to.”

Henry nods his head and walks back to the couch, and Emma smiles to herself before turning back to look at Ruby who is sipping her wine. Emma wonders if maybe just maybe she’ll have forgotten the conversation they were having, but that’s unlikely.

“Hot pirate dude makes you all tingly inside, and you’re nervous that you’re going to act on it.”

Yep. Ruby isn’t going to let this go.

“That is not true. I am not going to sleep with him.”

“Whatever you say. I think he’d be a good one to bang one out with so you can release some of the tension in your shoulders.”

“I’m going to kick you out.”

“No, you’re not,” Ruby sighs as she gets down from the counter. “You and Henry love me too much to do that. Isn’t that right, kid?”

Henry doesn’t say anything, too furiously blushing at having Ruby talk to him to form words. Poor kid has it bad.

-/-

The morning shift at Granny’s on Saturday is as hectic as ever, none of the tables ever emptying out and nearly every single person being annoyed until they get their coffee, and if Emma didn’t like the tips that came with working one of the busiest times of the week, she’d request another time. One day she’s going to have to find another job, garner some skill set that will actually give her normal pay and normal hours, but she hasn’t exactly figured that out yet.

Thankfully, cost of living in Storybrooke is not high.

Being a waitress still sucks sometimes, though. She has enough of cleaning up after other people at home, and if one more person tells her to smile when she’s cleaning a table where their kid spilled syrup, she will lose it.

And then probably lose her job.

But she does finish work around two with a little bit more cash in her pocket, and that’s all that really matters. That’s also all that matters as she drives her yellow bug across town to Storybrooke Haunted Farms so that she can get into costume and go to practice.

(Mary Margaret agreed to letting Emma buy a costume with pants for some of the nights, and she’s never been so excited over such a little thing.)

The grounds are pretty much empty when she gets there, and it’s weirdly peaceful that way. It’s a beautiful place, almost completely out in nature, and if it wasn’t for the fact that someone is driving around in a golf cart with a pile of fake dead bodied behind them, Emma could forget that this is all one big Halloween event.

Mary Margaret said that she was down by the docks with Henry supervising the continuing construction on their pirate ship, so Emma heads down that way, not bothering to change out of her uniform quite yet. She just tugs her red leather jacket a little more tightly around her as the air gets a little bit cooler the closer she gets to the ocean.

Emma sees Mary Margaret first. She’s sitting in a golf cart, the red one she always drives, but there’s no Henry. If Emma didn’t know that Mary Margaret was one of the most responsible people on the planet, she’d take off running looking for her kid, but there’s no way that Mary Margaret has lost him.

“Hey,” Emma greets as she slides into the seat next to her and catches a glimpse of Mary Margaret’s text to David, “where’s my kid?”

“Killian is giving him a tour of the ship.”

Emma blanches, and it takes everything in her not to run down to the docks and pull Henry out of there. Why the hell would Mary Margaret pass him off to a stranger?

“You just let my son go hang out with a stranger? That seems safe.”

Mary Margaret looks over to her with a shake of a head. “Killian is not a stranger, Emma. We’ve known him for years. Plus, you know him. He’s your scene partner.”

“I’ve known him for less than a week. I don’t send my six-year-old off with people I’ve known for a week.”

Mary Margaret clicks her tongue, and Emma scoffs before crossing her arms over her chest. What is this guy’s deal?

“Killian is a nice guy, maybe a little rough around the edges, but Henry saw him walking around in his pirate costume and lost his mind and begged to go talk to him. Killian played along with it, acting like he really was a pirate, and Henry asked him if he could show him the ship. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“The big deal is that the guy is a flirtatious ass, and he didn’t need to know that I had a kid.”

Mary Margaret’s lips part, but she never gets to say anything. “Mom,” Henry yells out as he runs toward the two of them at what she knows is his fastest speed, “Mom, Mom, Mom.”

“What?” Emma laughs, willing away all of her negative emotions to put a smile on her face as Henry gets closer to her, Killian unfortunately following right behind him. “You’re going to be out of breath if you keep running that fast.”

Henry keeps running until he comes to a skidding stop right in front of the golf cart. His cheeks are red and his chest is heaving, but there’s an undeniable joy in those brown eyes of his. As annoyed as she is that Mary Margaret sent him off with a guy who she doesn’t like, at least he’s happy.

“Mom, I have had the best day. I got to eat pancakes with David and then they let me go up into the treehouse and then I met Killian and he gave me a tour of the pirate ship. Is it true that you get to work with him on it? Really? Do you get to be a pirate? I want to be a pirate! Can I be a pirate for Halloween?”

“Woah,” Emma laughs as she pulls Henry up onto the cart so that he can sit in her lap as she pushes some of his hair back, “slow down and take a deep breath. Not even the Flash goes this fast.”

“I want to be a pirate for Halloween,” Henry says a bit more slowly, his words still coming out the slightest bit stilted, “because pirates wear cool clothes and have swords and get to talk all funny sometimes. And they hunt for buried treasure. Do you think there’s buried treasure here?”

“I – ”

“There might be,” Killian adds in, and Emma is going to bite off her tongue and fill her entire mouth with blood to keep from spewing every word she’s told Henry that he can’t say out at Killian. “I think we’d have to find a treasure map to know for sure.”

Mary Margaret gasps next to Emma, and she quickly turns to the side to look at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, seriously. What? You don’t get to just gasp like that and then not tell me what’s going on.”

“I will tell you later when we aren’t around so many people, but I have an idea for an activity.”

Emma narrows her eyes, but Mary Margaret doesn’t pay any attention to her, immediately pulling her phone back out and typing something in that Emma can’t see because Mary Margaret turned the brightness down.

“Or,” Henry suggests to Killian, obviously still stuck on this whole treasure map thing, “we could use those things that old men use on the beach to find money.”

“We could, lad, but do you know where we’d get one?”

“Probably from an old man.”

Emma squeezes Henry a little tighter and buries her face in his hair to try to stop laughing. He needs a shower, but that’s going to have to wait until after her practice.

“Henry,” she begins, “why don’t you and Mary Margaret go check out what else is going on around here while I go to practice? I’ll come get you when I’m finished, and then we’ll go to dinner, yeah? I’m thinking grilled cheese.”

His eyes light up with his smile, and Emma’s heart pangs the slightest bit. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” She leans down to kiss his cheek over and over again until he’s a giggling mess. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

It takes a few minutes before Mary Margaret and Henry drive off, and then she’s left alone with Killian as he kicks his heel into the ground and digs up a bit of dirt and sand. He’s in his costume today, the same one as before, but this time a long black duster has been added. If it’s anything like her dress, Emma knows that it has to be heavy, but he doesn’t seem to have any problem moving around in it. And she swears that even more buttons are undone on his shirt so that she can see more of his stomach and the hair that seems to go all the way down.

Who even is this guy?

“That’s a nice kid you’ve got there, Swan,” he tells her. She nearly jumps at the sound of his voice, and Emma realizes that she let her defenses down, if only for a moment.

She shouldn’t have.

“I tend to think so, and no, I’m not biased at all.”

Killian flashes a smile, and her stomach flips without her permission. “I think so without any bias. He was so curious about everything. It was great. I think I’ve turned him into a pirate yet.”

Emma’s lips curve up before she remembers who she’s talking to. It’s so easy for her to forget things when someone is gushing about Henry – she likes to think she isn’t a total screw-up when it comes to him – and she doesn’t need to be doing that, especially not around this guy.

“Look,” Emma starts as she crosses her arms over her chest, “thank you for spending time with Henry today. That was really nice of you, but I’m not going to suddenly fall into your arms because you know how to charm a kid. And I don’t want you thinking that I’ll date you if you’re nice to Henry. That’s not how this works, so if you’re using him to get to me, you can stop.”

His brows furrow together, two dark black patches of hair nearly forming into one, and the smile that was on his lips curves downward into a scowl as his shoulders straighten up to make him taller than she knows that he is. “You may not believe me, love, but I had no intention of using your kid to get in your pants. Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

And at that, he turns around and walks away, his coat swirling behind him, while Emma is left standing there wondering what the hell just happened.

-/-

For the next two weeks, Emma splits her time between waitressing, spending time with Henry, doing final run-throughs for Storybrooke Haunted Farms, and very occasionally sleeping. It’s hectic. Honestly, she might be delusional and imagining some of the things that have happened, but she’s going to chalk that up to lack of sleep and extreme physical activity. Her feet probably don’t fit in anything other than her sneakers because they’re so swollen from her standing for about eighteen hours a day.

It’s a lot.

But it’s also her favorite time of the year.

The temperatures have officially dipped to the point where she can wear jeans and a thick sweater every day while sipping on hot chocolate, and all of the leaves have changed colors so that everything just feels like fall. It’s the best time of the year, and Emma will not change her position on that.

Except, well, the fact that working at the Haunted Farm is an actual nightmare for her this year.

(They do, however, have a new kid’s attraction that’s a treasure hunt and not at all scary, and Emma is thankful that Mary Margaret got the idea and executed it so that Henry has somewhere to stay for a little while before Granny picks him up and takes him home to go to sleep.)

It’s going smoothly, relatively speaking. She’s got her routine down, even the part where she falls off the ship and suspends in the air while a speaker plays a splashing sound as fake thunder roars above them, and she’s got all of her scenes with Killian memorized to the point where she doesn’t jump when someone screams anymore….but it’s all like torture.

Emma has always prided herself over not caring too much about people she’s not close to so that she can save that emotional energy for something more important, but something about Killian Jones makes her feel horrible for pretty much being a bitch to him all the time. He is most definitely still this conceited, self-centered, far too flirtatious guy, but he is also the first person to help someone out when they get too freaked out by the jump scares, the guy who will bring people coffee (even her), and he never fails to make Henry smile even though Emma’s pretty sure that she scared Killian more than she has scared any of the people who pay to come to the Haunted Farms.

She hates it.

She hates that he’s probably a good person who wasn’t actually using Henry to get into her pants. That’s not something she’s totally decided on, but she feels a little more guilt every single time he opens his mouth to say something, takes one look at her, and then either turns away or makes some kind of innuendo that causes her cheeks to flame up.

Nothing about Killian Jones makes any sense, and for some reason her mind wants her to care about him.

It’s the law of proximity or something. That has to be it. They’re spending over half of their day together, every day, and it’s some kind of biological reaction to be tricked into wanting to know the other person so that things aren’t awkward.

Emma would honestly rather things just be awkward.

At least right now they’re in the middle of a shift, and there’s not exactly time to make awkward small talk. Instead, she’s sitting on a wooden barrel in the corner waiting for a new set of customers to walk across the bridge so that they can get this show on the road.

Or on the sea. It’s whatever.

The music starts playing over the speakers that are attached to the ship, and Emma slowly stands from the barrel, smoothing out her skirt and rubbing her hands over her arms to try to get the chill bumps to go away. It’s a little past ten o’clock, the sun having set several hours ago, and the only real light is coming from the way that the moon reflects off of the ocean. They’ve got these smoke machines out here to make everything look a little hazier, but it’s really not needed. It’s already hard to see a damn thing.

Killian follows right behind her, his duster hitting against her back, and she’s the slightest bit jealous that he gets to wear a coat. It’s under forty degrees out here right now, the ocean not helping that at all, and Emma is never going to be warm again.

“You ready to do this again?” she asks Killian.

“Aye,” he whispers back. “You know, I don’t mean to upset you Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”

A chuckle escapes from her without her permission, but she quickly corrects it and gets into position so that she and Killian can begin their fake fight.

Getting paid to fight with an (kind of) asshole? Quite possibly the greatest job she’s ever had.

They start their back and forth as people move closer to them, their eyes wide as they take in the ship from a new perspective, but Emma makes sure that her eyes only stay focused on Killian as he glowers above her with his hands resting on the buckle of his belt.

“But you said you loved me,” Emma screams out, pushing her hands against Killian’s chest.

“I’m a pirate, darling,” he seethes, stepping into her space and dipping his head down so that they are eye-to-eye. “I don’t love, especially when it comes to a bar wench like you. You’re more entertainment than anything else.”

Emma pushes back at him as she steps backward, moving closer and closer to the edge of the ship while Killian crowds her in, still spitting words at her to keep everyone entertained. Emma feels her harness tighten, the technician obviously preparing to fling her off of the ship now, and Emma sucks in a deep breath in preparation.

She is not working this attraction next year.

“It’s a pity that you thought I loved you, truly. I think you would have been nice to keep around.”

Her heart quickens at the sound of Killian’s words, the ones that are the final warning sound before she’s flung off of the ship, and then she’s being pulled back and suspended into the air, the harness tightening around her chest as the fake thunder rolls over the speakers and the audience gasps. They’re about to be scared shitless too. They just don’t know that part yet.

And then there’s a snap.

And Emma’s falling.

It’s quick, really. She doesn’t have time to think or do anything, not that there would be anything for her to do, before every last breath is being shocked out of her as sharp icicles poke around her and everything goes black.

The water is freezing around her, and her lungs are like bricks inside of her, the heaviness of her dress weighing her down, and even though Emma knows that she needs to swim to the surface, the shock of it all is making it a little difficult. She can’t see or breathe or even think, and her legs are simply kicking while her arms are flailing in search of something, anything.

She is not going to drown in the ocean wearing some kind of medieval dress.

She is not going to leave Henry this way.

Henry.

Oh shit. That seems to knock a bit more sense into her, or at least some kind of panic, and her arms are even more frantic as she’s moves through the icy water, just trying to find air.

She needs air.

Suddenly, Emma feels hands on her arms, and there’s actual movement happening, her body feeling it as she moves in what direction she thinks is up, and then for the first time in what feels like hours, she can breathe.

And she can see.

“Swan,” a voice gasps out, and she blinks away the salty water to see Killian’s face directly in front of hers, his hair matted down against his forehead. “Swan? Are you okay? Emma? Emma, are you alright, love?”

“Cold,” she manages to gasp out, and he nods his head in response before they’re moving again.

Emma’s senses are beginning to come back, but her head is still foggy. One moment she’s drowning in the darkness and the next she’s being pulled onto soft sand, her clothes feeling too heavy for her body to hold up. There are so many noises, voices and screams and the damn music still playing over the speakers, and Emma can’t focus on any of it. It’s too much stimuli, too many distractions, and she barely even notices the fact that Killian rips off a few layers of her dress before hoisting her into his arms while murmuring words she can’t quite pick up or understand.

What is happening?

“Emma,” Killian repeats, and all the sudden she looks around and she’s inside of one of the offices near the front of the farms. “Emma, I really need you to look at me, okay?”

She blinks a few more times before turning away from looking at the office to looking at Killian. His eyes are so blue. How is that possible?

“Do you think you can strip out of these clothes yourself? Or do you need help? I can do it or we can wait for Mary Margaret to get here. She’s on her way.”

Those words snap Emma back into reality, and she can feel absolutely…everything. Her lungs are burning, her skin is like ice, and it hurts to breathe right now. She probably hasn’t stopped shivering in hours.

“I need…you’ve got to undo the corset, and then I can do it.”

Killian nods his head before walking around her, his fingers quickly undoing the corset until it’s no longer constricting her chest, and that makes her breathe the slightest bit more easily. When he’s finished, he tells her to undress and change into the clothes that are sitting on the chair in front of her while telling her that he’s going to step into the other room to do the same.

Why does Killian have to do the same?

Oh, right, because he was in the water with her. He pulled her out of it.

Laughter bubbles up within her belly, warming her, while she sheds the last of the wet clothes and picks up a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that have Storybrooke Haunted Farms written across them in this awful orange color. But it’s either freeze to death naked or put them on, so she puts them on with still shivering limbs and laughter still escaping her lips.

Her harness broke, and she fell into the freezing cold ocean.

Holy shit.

“Swan?” Killian asks as he steps back into the room wearing the same awful clothing that she’s wearing. “Why are you laughing?”

“Did I,” she starts, unable to finish. “Did I…did I…did I fall into the fucking ocean and have to be rescued while working at a fake haunted ship? Is that a real thing that just happened to me?”

“Aye,” he says a bit hesitantly before picking up a blanket and wrapping it around her while his hands rub up and down her shoulders. Holy shit that feels good. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Emma laughs, leaning forward to bury her face in Killian’s shoulder. He’s warm. How is he warm? He was in the water too. She knows that she didn’t hallucinate that. It was real. “No, I’m not okay. What even is happening? This is ridiculous, and I’m still not convinced that I’m not going to roll over in bed and wake up to find Henry having poured a bucket of ice down my back or something like that.”

Killian’s chest moves beneath hers, and she feels his hand shift from her arm to her back, quickly moving up and down over the blanket. It feels so good and warm, and she might stay like this forever.

“Is that something the lad would do?”

“No, not at all. He’s too good for that. It’s something I did as a kid, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, I hated my foster dad one time, and he refused to turn the heat up to make it warmer in the rest of the house, so I poured a bucket of ice on his bed. I got reassigned to a different house two days later, but let me tell you, it was worth it.”

Killian laughs again, and she feels it underneath her cheek. “That sounds exactly like something you would do. My brother used to pull shit like that, too, to our dad. He was always getting onto me for misbehaving, but then he’d cut holes in the crotch of Dad’s trousers.”

“This the brother that went to the Police Academy with David?”

“One and the same.”

“Where does he live now? Is he moving here too?”

Killian’s hand stills against her back, just for a brief moment, before starting up again as Emma nuzzles her nose a little further into his t-shirt that smells like detergent. Later, Emma knows that she’ll regret holding onto him like this, but right now, all she cares about is the fact that she’s finally starting to feel warm.

“Liam was killed in the line of duty two years ago, so I don’t think he’ll be moving from his plot in Boston.”

Emotion burns in Emma’s throat, weighed down by everything else that’s happened tonight, and someone should probably take her to the hospital for lack of airflow. This can’t be healthy. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

“Don’t be. ‘Tis not your fault. It is why I moved here, though. Believe it or not, it wasn’t to push you off of a ship while people are chased around by zombies wielding paintball guns. It was somewhere with a familiar face without having to move back to England, where I haven’t actually lived since I was a teenager.”

Emma huffs into Killian’s neck before wrapping her arms around his waist and rubbing up and down his back in the same way that he’s doing now. She doesn’t like to think that she needs saving, and she usually doesn’t…but tonight she did, and the least she can do is help to warm him up in the same way that he’s doing to her.

“I moved from Boston too, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “That’s where…I met Henry’s dad the summer before my senior year of high school. He was older, cooler, you know? And I found out I was pregnant halfway through that year. It was…” She stops, not really wanting to get into all of it with this man she doesn’t really know as well as not wanting to relieve it for herself. “It wasn’t a good time, pretty much, and I needed someplace new. This town has pretty much been the only thing that’s kept me on my feet.”

“Technically, it knocked you right off of them tonight.”

It’s the perfect time to make a joke. Honestly and truly it is because Emma could already feel herself pulling away and becoming uncomfortable with where this conversation was heading. She doesn’t just tell people about Neal or being in foster homes or any of it, and here she is letting it all out to a man she told herself not to get close to.

It’s also the exact moment that Mary Margaret walks in followed by David, and she and Killian spring apart so that they’re no longer standing together. Mary Margaret worries over the two of them, talking far faster than usual and giving them both jackets and more blankets along with socks, all of them from the merchandising table, before David hands them cups of hot chocolate, which may be the best hot chocolate that Emma has ever had.

That’s saying a lot considering how Emma is with her hot chocolate.

Things are overwhelming and wild as David explains the mechanics behind her harness snapping, and as quickly as David and Mary Margaret come in to check on the two of them, they’re having to leave to go check on the crises that are happening around town, and she’s left sitting in an office, still shivering the slightest bit, wondering where the hell does she go from here.

The answer to that question is apparently nowhere. She and Killian get sent home that night with instructions to come back in the morning for new assignments and to fill out some paperwork over the incident. They’re having to alter the performance that happens down at the ship, apparently, and while Emma expects to simply have her role slightly change, she ends up getting assigned to the hayride path with Killian. It’s a little sad to have to do this halfway through the month, but at least now she can wear jeans and flannel and hide her hair under a terrifying mask instead of having to have it teased every day.

And she won’t be falling into icy cold waters either. That’s definitely a plus.

Killian takes to scaring people on the hayride like a champ. He easily manages to jump up onto the trailer, oftentimes without anyone noticing, before screaming bloody murder and making everyone else do the same. One time, he manages to sit down between two couples without them noticing because they’re too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats, and the way they jump when Killian claps his hands together makes Emma jump off of the trailer and stumble back into the woods so that she can laugh without breaking character.

What she would give to have their faces on camera.

Things…shift in a way once they start working on the hayride instead of the ship. Emma had seen Killian’s good side before, had acknowledged it if even only to herself, but she still rejected it in a way. She didn’t want to see him as anything other than a cocky asshole who was using being nice to Henry to get into her pants, so Emma didn’t let her perception of him change.

Not until now.

Killian’s still a cocky asshole, but Emma’s starting to understand that the innuendos and his flirting might be a defense system. There’s something underneath the smirks and moving eyebrows, and while Emma doesn’t necessarily want to find out what it all is, she wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.

And he really is good with Henry, which Emma actually appreciates.

Apparently, when Killian isn’t scaring people for money, he works at Henry’s school as a receptionist for the front office as some kind of temp job, something no one seemed to deem important enough to tell her. Emma only found out when she called up to check Henry out to take him to a dentist appointment and she heard a familiar voice on the phone.

And now, somehow, he’s sitting across from her on a park picnic table as Henry climbs up and down the playground, his movement only slightly stilted by the giant puffer jacket that Emma has on him. She has no idea how Killian was out here running with only a thin pullover on.

“So, is he still going to be a pirate for Halloween tomorrow, or has that changed now that his mum has gotten pushed off a pirate ship and shunned to the hayride? I guess he could be a scarecrow, but I’m pretty sure six-year-olds aren’t into that.”

“No,” Emma sighs as Killian moves across the monkey bars and Emma braces herself for disaster, “I don’t think he would be. He’s got the pirate costume and still wants to do that. I’ve had to keep him from wearing it around the house so that he doesn’t mess it up before tomorrow.”

Killian raises his brow. “How exactly are you going to take him trick or treating when we have work? Isn’t that something that happens once the sun has set?”

“He’s six. we go in the middle of the afternoon, and then I drop him off to stay with Granny for the night. It’s not the best situation, but it’s what works for us.”

“You’re a good mum, Swan.” Emma feels hear rise in her cheeks, and she reaches up to brush her hair behind her ears. “With a good kid.”

“Yeah, he is pretty great, isn’t he?”

“Mom,” Henry shouts as he jumps down from the playground and runs toward the two of them, his cheeks flushed and hair pushed back off of his forehead, “I have an idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nods his head, bright smile on his face, before stepping closer to her and cupping his hands around his mouth up against her ears. “Killian should come trick or treating with us tomorrow, and you can give him some candy to tell him that you like him.”

Emma nearly falls off the bench, and her heart takes off like a freaking rocket. For one, Henry just said that loud enough for everyone in Storybrooke to hear, but mostly, he just said that so that Killian could hear.

But also, why in the world does Henry think that she likes Killian? Where the hell did he get that idea.

Hesitantly, Emma looks over to Killian to see that he’s on his phone, very obviously faking texting someone, and as much as she appreciates it, there’s no getting around the fact that he heard Henry say that she likes him.

Which she doesn’t.

Not at all.

That would be ridiculous. And dumb. And a horrible, horrible idea.

But he is a very pretty man on, like, a vain level, and Emma will admit that she can sometimes be a little bit into vanity. And he is good at banter and flirting and making her laugh and causing a smile to curl onto her lips. Maybe, just maybe, there might be butterflies the flutter around in her stomach, but Emma has very adamantly been chalking that up to the fact that her eating hasn’t been the most healthy lately.

No, she doesn’t like him. That’s not a thing that happens.

Except maybe it is because she does get excited to go to work, possibly a little bit more than usual, and there are times when she purposefully makes sure that she inches a little bit closer to him so that they have to talk.

Oh shit, her six-year-old just had an emotional revelation for her, and she doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Feelings are not her strong suit.

And neither is dating a man who her son is attached to. That’s just…what happens when he leaves? They always leave, and while Henry hasn’t known Killian for that long, she just knows him not showing up anymore would upset him.

But Killian wouldn’t do that, right?

“You know what, Henry,” Emma starts slowly, her voice cracking a little bit, “you have to ask Killian if he wants to come with us, okay? He might be busy.”

“Okay,” Henry whisper-shouts back at her before walking across the table and whisper-shouting into Killian’s ear as well. “Will you come trick or treating with us tomorrow and let my mom give you candy because she likes you?”

Emma groans and lets her head fall to the picnic bench, not caring about the weird stickiness that’s left there. Anything could be better than this.

“Yeah, lad,” Killian chuckles, and Emma peeks up to see Killian winking at her, “I think I can do both of those things.”

Killian shows up at her apartment the next day wearing his full-pirate garb, eyeliner and fake jewelry included, and it goes along perfectly with Henry’s costume as well as the costume she’s wearing. It’s not the bar wench one because that is in a trashcan somewhere, but it is the one that includes pants and these really cool boots and a vest that she’d probably like to wear on days that it’s not Halloween. Emma ignores the fact that they look like a family, especially when at least ten different people comment about how cute they all are, because this is about Henry and his happiness. This isn’t about the battle that’s been happening in her mind for the last thirty-six hours.

There is absolutely no reason for her to be able to have good things like this. She’s a screw up foster kid who has never had anyone love her the way that she thinks she’s supposed to be love, but she has this kid who, even on his worst days, she would do absolutely anything for. He came from such a dark place in her life, one that she didn’t think she could get out of, but here she is in a town that supports the both of them.

With someone who has spent the past hour talking in a strange accent to indulge Henry and make him laugh while they stuff their face with more candy than Emma would usually allow.

Today is a good day.

And it continues that way when she drops Henry off with Granny so that she and Killian can go to work, the two of them changing out of their pirate garb and back into comfortable jeans and flannel with the ridiculous masks that they’ve been changing up every day. It’s one last day, one last night, and Emma can’t wait to share the shit out of some people.

-/-

“Did you see her face?” Killian chuckles as they walk through the woods back to the clearing behind the front office building. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone be so terrified by a clown mask.”

“Clowns are creepy. That’s why they make horror films about them.”

“Aye, I know, but you have to admit that the woman’s face was priceless.”

Emma bumps her shoulder into Killian’s, and he looks down at her to smile, the moon reflecting off of half of his face. Those damn butterflies are not moving around in her stomach at the sight of his smile. Nope. Not at all.

“It was,” she admits as a few hundred people come into view, all of the employees over the past month gathering together for the wrap party that Mary Margaret and David throw for everyone full of drinks and junk food and all of the Halloween candy in the world. “That’s what will have to carry me over until next year.”

“Good. You want to grab some pizza and a few beers and go hit the hay?”

“You want to go to sleep?”

“No, Swan,” he laughs as his hand comes up to wrap around her shoulder, “not quite yet. I meant we can go sit in the trailer of the hayride. No one seems to have occupied it.”

Emma’s eyes glance over to where the trailer is parked, and it is, indeed, empty. “Yeah, I think that would be okay.”

They load up on food and drinks, carefully balancing them in their hands, before walking over to the trailer and easily climbing up onto the trailer, settling down into the middle and placing their plates of food up onto the haybales. She’s probably going to have hay stuck in her clothes and her hair for the next week and a half, but it might almost be worth it.

The pizza and beer are cheap, but after hours of running around, that doesn’t matter to Emma at all. Besides, the conversation is good, Killian telling her about his adventures in interviewing with Leroy to see if he can get a job on his construction crew since that’s apparently what he did back in Boston after he left the Navy earlier than planned due to Liam’s death.

There’s so much that she doesn’t know about him, that she can’t know after only knowing him for a month and a half and only tolerating him for a little less than that, but maybe Henry was right in his assumption that she might just like the guy who pushed her off a ship and almost caused her to accidentally drown.

Something she likes to remind him quite frequently only for him to remind her that it wasn’t his fault and that he did save her.

They can agree to disagree.

(They’re both technically right.)

A sharp wind comes moves through the woods, and a shiver runs down Emma’s spine so that she has to tighten her coat around her a little bit more. She needs a beanie, pretty much desperately, but there’s not a lot she can do about any of that right now. She’s been colder than this before. She’ll last.

And it’s such a nice night with the stars up in the sky and the moon shining overhead, no deadlines or schedules looming over her for at least a few days, and all Emma can do is relax in it, leaning back into Killian’s shoulder and sighing in relief.

He taps his foot against hers then, and Emma ignores it. But then he does it again and again and again until she looks over at him to see him holding a Kit Kar bar in between his fingers.

“What?” Emma groans. “Why are you being so annoying?”

His eyelashes flutter down then, just for a moment, before he’s looking up at her with a soft smile that she’s only seen from him a few times before. “I want to give you this piece of candy.”

“Um, why?”

His eyes roll, and Emma doesn’t know what to think of it because there’s really no reason for him to be so exasperated. “Your son, brilliant lad that he is, told me that if I like you, I should give you some candy. This is me giving you candy.”

Oh.

Emma’s heart stutters. Actually, it probably completely stops. She’s having a hard time knowing exactly what’s going on when her head is a mess, a mix of alcohol and confusing feelings and a little bit of being terrified of making the wrong mood, but Killian most definitely just took dating advice from a six-year-old and told her that he has feelings for her.

She’s really not ready for Henry to start dating if he’s going to be able to do things like this.

With a small, trembling smile on her face, Emma turns around and finds a red Starburst on her plate and reaches over to hand it to Killian, whose smile stretches up to his eyes now. “Okay, but just so you know, this candy is going to come with some stipulations, okay?”

“Like what, Swan?” Killian asks even as the rough pads of his fingers come to cup her cheek, pulling her closer to him so that their mouths are so close that she can’t tell whose breath is whose as it comes out in white puffs of air. “Because if it’s about Henry, he’s already given me a stern talking to about how I’m only allowed to make you happy and not sad like his dad did.”

“Did he really?”

“Aye, love, he did. And I understand that there will be boundaries and limitations and that Henry comes first. I want him to come first, always. I just – ”

Emma doesn’t let him finish before she’s pressing forward and gliding her lips over his and wrapping her arms around his neck in one swift moment. They’re both still at first, and Emma takes in the fact that his cold lips taste like pizza, beer, and chocolate. It’s not the best combination in the world taste-wise, but it is pretty good in general. So is the kiss when Killian starts moving his lips against hers, tugging her closer with his hand and tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss, mouths quickly opening and tongues lightly swirling together in a slick, wet slide.

She’s had first kisses before, more than she’d care to admit, and as absolutely magnificent as a lot of them were, Emma doesn’t think her heart has ever felt quite this way – like a mix of happiness and magic and a little bit of Halloween spirit.

It is the best holiday of the year, after all. She can be whoever she wants.

Right now, though, she doesn’t want to be anyone other than Emma Swan or be anywhere other than in this moment.

-/-

They don’t tell Henry that they’re dating for four more months. It’s hard to keep from him, honestly, but Emma knows that it’s for the best. Things could still go wrong, her fears are still valid, and Henry is easy to accept the fact that Killian sometimes spends a little bit more time with them than usual. But still as his mom’s friend.

It’s pretty easy for Henry to accept when Killian makes the transition from friend to boyfriend.

Even easier when he goes from his mom’s boyfriend to his step-father. It makes picking out family costumes for Halloween even easier.

(Emma is ignoring that Henry will eventually grow out of liking doing that.)

Killian gives her a piece of candy every day to make sure that Emma knows that he has feelings for her.

She’s got a pretty good idea.

#Storybrooke haunted farms #cs hallloweek #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #Captain Swan #captain cobra

[queensdivas]

Hidden Blade Chapter 3

Okay. This is one long ass chapter so be prepared. It’s about 5k if that shows you how much fun I had with this. So. Have a blanket, cheez-its, some water, a shot of absinthe and ready to have some good ass writing! Jk my writing sucks but some of y’all like it for some reason? 

Also! I’m going to be writing a Eugene Sledge fic if y’all haven’t heard yet. Please message me directly if you would like to be tagged it in. It’s gonna be good and I can feel it in my soul that this one is gonna hit home. (If you don’t believe in my historical fiction writing. Read 39’ and The Great Mazzello). 

ALSO! Never drink absinthe straight up! It’s way too strong for the human body. Here’s an article. www.absinthes.com/en/themag/the-absinthe-ritual/how-to-drink-absinthe-4760

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Dear God he looks like he snorted about 5 grams of cocaine and thought it would be a good idea to turn into Susan! Does he have a tennis ball in his crotch? Dear God what the flying fuck is going on? At Least two looks somewhat natural in her role while three just looks, he looks like a California surfer douche who thought the new trend of the year was tennis! Okay I’m done for now. 

So. Now for the plan of action. One is heading to the track to listen in on the conversation with the Generals and the dealer. Once they get done with the trade, four and I followed him to wherever he’s keeping the gas, kill the supplier, destroy the supplies, and then come back to the hotel for a long time in the jacuzzi! 

We sat in the parking lot of the race track with the engine off waiting for one to give us the cue. We needed to fit in today, so one bought a Hennessey Venom GT, while Four and I looked like something you would see on the cover of Afar Magazine. Yet we sit here in our usual clothes of sports pants, thin shirts, tennis shoes, and a crap ton of water and Powerade in the back. Ready to go kill an arms dealer! 

I read over the binder again as these instructions we’re becoming a little more easier. Let me give you the spark note version. So you pop the hood off the chamber of where the gas is stored. They put the gas into a very fragile glass tube so if we break the glass we’re kind of fucked. But anyhow. You have to disarm the tube it’s around so that it will dispense the gas.

Remember the really cool scene in Jurassic Park where that dude was putting the Dino DNA or whatever into the bottle of shaving cream? Basically that except we have multiple bottles of shaving cream to move, a very small window before more people show up to kill us, no park to keep the power running, and no threat of dinosaurs. Just people with really big guns! 

So after moving the gas from the compound to the desert, which is where five and seven come into play. We found an abandoned bomb shelter from where the US Government was testing in the 50s all the way up until the 90s. One obviously bought it so we toss it down there and destroy it. 

That’s the plan. Disarm the gas, take it from the compound, throw it in a bunker and keep Turgistan away from their gas attacks. Sounds pretty easy doesn’t it? But if Florence turned into the shit show that I read on Google then we’re totally fucked! 

“You ever wonder why rich ass holes have to have loud race cars?” I asked as I closed the binder. 

“I mean. When you truly think about it, a lot of old rich white dudes have tiny penises. And what do tiny penis people do?” He’s got a good point. 

“They cause world wars and bomb their own country.” One butted into our conversation as we saw the dealer begin walking out of the track. 

“You guys got a lock on him?” One asked as Four turned on the car. 

“Yup. He just got into his SUV. Meet ya in the desert, over and out.” I pressed the button for the convertible hood to move back on top as Four revved the engine a little bit. He licked his lips as he was so damn eager to floor the accelerator. We waited for the SUV to almost get out of sight. 

“Just don’t be stupid because I get kind of CAR SICK!” He floored it leaving a trail of smoke behind us and the smell of burned rubber. OH god I get car sick and this is a very smooth ride! 

He had his five minutes of glory till we caught up to the SUV but being a few cars behind him. Trying not to look suspicious obviously which is easier than it sounds because we were behind two other very big sport cars. My stomach on the other hand is not have it’s five minutes of gloRY! Four made a sharp turn off the strip as I felt my stomach turn into more knots. Oh dear god. You’re on a smooth ride in a plane, with slight turbulence because a bumpy ride is a fun ride! A bumpy ride is a fun ride! 

“Why don’t we turn on the radio.” I nervous laughed as I turned on the radio to get a blast of Elvis Presley through the speakers! TOO MUCH VIVA LAS VEGAS! Quickly changing the station to first classical music, then Mexican rap, and then finally a regular radio station. Which lead to Four turning it off because absolutely nothing good was playing. 

“Well shit. Sadly nothing good is on. Do you do any pregame music for this or just go head on in?” I asked him as we began leaving the Vegas strip and out into the desert. One couldn’t find a house layout of this dudes place which is kind of shocking because I thought a billionaire could get anything! Four slowed down as the last car that was blocking us disappeared. 

“Usually I’d rather just go head on in.” He was taping on the steering wheel with his leg really shaking hardcore. Is he getting nervous? Didn’t think anyone in this squad gets nervous since about all of us are hardcore killers! Well he is a thief so that kind of makes sense because I imagine killing people isn’t something he usually did in his career. 

“Hey. I imagine this isn’t the first time you’ve broken into a dangerous compound, wanna know what I do before I get nervous?” He turned his head to me as I reached into my bag to pull out a bottle of Absinthe Eichelberger and two shot glasses. 

“Takes the nerves away. Once we make it to the compound we’ll have a shot so that the Green Fairy will give us great fortune.” The SUV turned into what looked like a large fortress as we continued on, so we didn’t look suspicious towards them. We kept going until we were about a mile away as I pulled out my binoculars to watch them enter in the code to open the gate. Damn it! Can’t get a good look from this far. Get to it in a minute after a shot. 

I poured us a shot then added some water to make sure we get the full affect. I handed him the glass as we clink our glasses together then down the hatch! Ah that’ll do it! We climbed out of the car to open the truck for our bags. He threw on his satchel as I for my book bag. I looked through my binoculars again to start the counting of the security cameras. 

One..three..seven..nine..twelve and it looks like the only side the cameras that is somewhat accessible is the west side of the compound. There’s some type of tree that easily blocks one of the cameras. So. There’s about two ways we can do this and be successful. We can either A, we climb on the south side of the fence and find the gas. Or B, we try to get through with our car and possibly get shot since we don’t look familiar whatsoever. I’m going to with Plan A. 

“So the westside has the least amount of the cameras and the best point of entry.” I told Four as he popped open the back of the trunk and threw his book bag on as I reached for my bag. Throwing it on my shoulders as he closed the door and locking it. 

“You ready?” I asked as we began doing some quick stretching and loosen up the tension. 

“Always.” We looked over at each other for a split moment as he looked a little scared. Me? Totally not shitting my pants over the fact I’m robbing a toxic compound. 

We darted towards the west side as he followed the direction of the security camera. It began turning towards the opposite direction towards one of the other cameras. We made it to the wall as it turned the other direction. Just in time. Phew. I looked straight up as I got into my bag for the chalk powder, pouring a little on my hands then passing it to over to Four. 

“So how do you scale walls then?” He asked as I looked straight up the wall. This place is definitely old so the walls have the knocks and crannies for an experienced climber to do their thing. 

“Quickly yet carefully. You first.” Telling him as he didn’t move an inch up the wall.

“No you.” I don’t wanna go first! I’m new to the team! Newbies go last! 

“No you!” We stood in front of each other till he reached into his pocket and pulled out a penny. 

“Heads you go first. Tails I go.” He flipped the coin, caught it, then showed it before us. Tails! 

“Yes! Have fun. Don’t die.” I chuckled at him. He groaned as he began climbing up the wall as I began planning my scale up the wall. He reached the top, looking over the wall to then motioned for me to follow up. I began climbing as he hopped over the wall to land in bushes. 

“OW! Pointy!” As I looked down to see him crawling out of the pointy bush. I looked to make sure no guards were looking over in our direction. I climbed then fell straight into the bush for a not so soft landing. 

“Gaaahh.” I whispered as I quickly crawled out then behind the massive palm tree. A few people came out of the SUV then more out of the house. A fat man came walking out with his hands opened wide to the dealer himself. 

“You made the deal!” One of the men cheered as the dealer clapped his hands.

“Tell ya what. We finish some of the work then we head back to Vegas for a trip.” They laughed amongst themselves as we began moving towards the back of the compound. If this is where they make it, then I’m assuming they’re storing it in the basement of the compound because there’s no way this dude lives here, it’s not nice enough and it’s right outside of Vegas.

“Okay. So the gas is either in the basement of this building or it’s even back more of the compound.” He pointed to the side where it kept going way more. 

“Alright. You check this house, I’ll head further back to see what we got.” We nodded till we noticed more people were coming out of the house, music started playing, and even a mariachi band came out? Two guards came walking by where we were then stopping a few feet away from us. 

“So they got all the gas down in the cellar of the shed?” What a coincidence! Glad to know they got all the gas down in the cellar of the shed. Seems kind of rushing don’t you think? But ya know whatever makes my job easier than it needs to be. 

We made our way over to the shed as a pack of women were standing around the balcony, talking, looking half naked, and doing cocaine off each other? Hollywood really needs to nail how these bitches do cocaine. Four stopped for a second as one of them tossed over the top of her shirt as her titties appeared before him. 

“Four stop looking at the titties!” I ordered as I continued sneaking to the shed. I double checked to see if Four was following me, he’s still looking at all the now naked ladies on the balcony.

“Just a few more seconds.” I rolled my eyes as I grabbed his ear to start pulling him towards the shed. 

“We’re dead and have a free night in Vegas. Just go on pornhub and watch your titties when we get back to the hotel!” I told him as we made it to the shed. He took one last look then got back into the game. 

Four opened the window slowly as he climbed in as I quickly followed suit. I then closed the window as quietly as I could as Four busted open the cellar where the gas was being held. A foul stench of chemicals came out of the cellar. He reached into the bag to pull out two gas masks for us just incase something goes wrong. 

“Got our shaving cream?” I asked him as he pulled out one of the bottles as I shined a flashlight into the basement. Nodding as we placed the mask over our faces then down into the dark hole of death. 

The only light was my flashlight so no one would notice the lights or us moving around in the cellar. There were tables around the room with the materials they’ve been remaking the gases with. So they’re not in the bombs which is nice and makes us skip a whole bunch of steps. The only light besides my flashlight were tiny little windows that let only a little sunlight entering the room to show us the outline of the shelves. They haven’t started the production of too much gas so we hopefully have enough room for everything. 

“One we made it in the cellar where the gas is. Starting our extraction.” I told one as I slid off my bag to start pulling out the bottles of shaving cream. I screwed open the bottle as we began shoving the chemicals into the bottles as quickly as we could. 

A weird chirping sound began ringing throughout the cellar as four was too focused on trying not to drop any of the chemicals. It sounded like a mixture of a dying bird and a baby. It’s cries sound very familiar of one of a tiger. I grabbed my flashlight and began following the sound of the chirps. I was lead to the corner of the room where this little ball of orange, black, and white was curled up in the corner of the room. It lifted it’s head up and the poor thing look so malnourished oh my god! 

I took off my jacket as the cub tried getting up, but it’s legs we’re so skinning that it could barely hold its own weight. Should I be taking you home? Yes. I wrapped it up in my jacket as the door above us busted open and what sounded like elephants running upstairs. 

“Eight what are you doing?” Four asked as the cellar door opened as we both scurried around to hide behind the tables. Okay this is a horrible idea but the only way I’m going to get myself out of here is putting the cub in my bag. Dear God please don’t hate me little one, but you’re gonna have an endless amount of meat when this is over. 

The guards came running down the stairs as I looked to see my book bag was only a few inches away from me after finding a table to hide behind. I put the cub on the ground as it stayed in the hoodie so I could try to reach for the hoodie. 

“Hey! Who's been touching the goods?” One of the guards barked as they turned off the safety of their guns to start scoping out the cellar. I slowly rose from behind the table to see more of them coming down the stairs. Shit shit shit! Getting down as I turned the corner to just snatch my bag. I shoved the hoodie into the bag, leaving it opened at the top as the cub stuck it’s head out. I then put the bag on my shoulders as I began crawling through the cellar. 

Ya know. If you take a bottle of ethanol and basically treat it like a Molotov cocktail, you can burn down a building much nicer than any regular whiskey and fire. Four was ready to kill one of the guys as I motioned him to stop, then pointing at the bottle of methanol. He nodded as he pointed to the cellar stairs as a cue for us to go up, Molotov those fuckers and kill a little birds with one stone! 

On three I grab the bottle. One..two..THREE! I snatched the bottle almost knocking over a bunch of dishes. Shit shit shit! Four made his way up the cellar stairs as I crawled as quietly as I could to the stairs as the guards were beginning to come in my direction. Just stay calm..no need to panic! Just run up the cellar stairs and dump the ethanol! RIP IT OFF LIKE A BAND AID! 

A very loud crash happened as one of the guards accidentally fell over one of the shaving cream bottles which gave me the cue to run up the stairs. I climbed up the stairs then popped open the bottle of ethanol to start dumping down the stairs. Once it was soaked into the wooden stairs, I kicked it down the stairs as Four pulled out his lighter then launching it downstairs. He then slammed the cellar door shut as we made a break towards the closest wall. 

“Well not exactly according to plan.” He threw off his gas mask as we hid behind bushes. I think at this point we’re just waiting for the place to go BOOM! And I’d really like to see it go absolute boom because that means we just saved so many lives! The tiger chirped as four looked over to the back of my bag. I didn’t move at all as it’s head popped out of the bag which made Four almost scream. 

“Why do you have a tiger in your bag!?” He whispered yelled as I turned to him. 

“Why don’t you have a tiger in your bag hm?” I asked him as he rolled his eyes then just stared me down. 

“We can’t bring a tiger back into the airfield! One will get rid of it!”

“I plan on raising it! I’ve worked with big tigers before!”

“Oh really!?” 

“Yes real..” The shed exploded as we ducked down covering our heads as the explosion was beginning to ring through our ears. FUCK THAT WAS LOUD OH MY GOD! 

The heat felt like it was going to melt our skin off our body and that's when we decided to make a break for it up the wall. I was the first climbing up as quickly as we could as the guards began yelling behind us! Crap crap crap! 

“FOUR HURRY YOUR BUTT UP!” He was right behind me as they began shooting at the wall. I made it to the top then just jumped for it hoping that I don’t break my legs! I landed on the ground. Four landed right behind me as we made a mad dash towards the car. 

“ONE PLANS CHANGED! WE BLEW UP THE SHED!” I yelled as he started the car as the place began catching on fire. 

“What do you mean you blew up the shed? What the hell is going on?” I threw the bag into the foot area of the car as Four ran to the otherside of the car as he didn’t even close the door, just slammed on the accelerator then shifting into the fastest gear. 

“I’m not much of a driver as six was, but hopefully we can get far enough away from this place.” 

“Who was six.” He got quiet as he shifted gears as we slow down a little bit as we got close to Vegas. 

“Six was a good friend before he got killed in Florence.” Before he could finish his story, one yelled straight into our headsets wondering what the heck has happened. 

“Four! Eight! Are you two done having fun?” He yelled as I moved the ear bud out of my ear so I wouldn't go deaf! 

“Well we destroyed the gas by burning the whole compound down. So mission accomplished on our end! Meet you back at the airbase in the morning. Four and eight over and out.” I yanked off the radio as I dove into the bag to pull out the cub. 

“Four. How much do you think a few pounds of ribs are in Vegas?” I asked him as the cub was dead asleep in my hands. 

“Ten pound ribs?” He asked as we turned towards Vegas. 

“Make it fifteen. With a side of mashed potatoes.” Great minds think alike! The Tiger cub woke up a little as she began yawning. 

“I think I’ll call you Anya.” Her beautiful yellow eyes opened wide as she tried licking my hand a little. 

“That’s adorable oh my god.” Four commented as we were pulling up into the hotel. Damn right one got us a room at the Bellagio. I also think two and three are somewhere in here with us but on different ends obviously. He reached into the back for one of the bottles of water, pouring it into the empty shot glass from the absinthe. I held it up to Anya as she began slurping up the water from the glass. 

“Tomorrow I’ll find some sort of wildlife sanctuary. As much as I would love to take care of her and turned her into a fighting machine, I’ve seen what control does to animals for most of my life. We’re just going to get ya to a bigger place with better help. Sound fun Anya?” She was so focused on the water she probably didn’t even hear me. 

I know I focus on dealing with the horrid people of the world, sexual predators, corrupted Government leaders, and drug lords. But from this moment on. My ass will be going after poachers who hunt animals for money. Just now have to add them to the list which will make it ten times larger. Worth it so that one day Anya and her cubs can run around Russia in their natural habitat. 

We made it to the bedroom as I put Anya down on the bed as she began sniffing around the room. Four immediately threw off his shoes and jumped onto his bed, picking up the phone to order room service. 

“So we’re doing ten pounds of ribs, potatoes, and?” He asked as I grabbed the large glass so I can put some more water in it for Anya. 

“See if they have any cheesecake. Make it an oreo cheesecake.” I poured the courtesy pitcher of water for Anya not to drink too much water. 

“You wanna finish your story about six?” I asked him as I threw off my tank top I had on to reach into my bag for my hoodie. 

“Six was a drag racer from somewhere out east who didn’t make me feel so out of place with the rest of them, till you joined the team.” My cheeks feel a little funny. They feel like they’ve been twisted a little bit as I tried to focus on Anya. 

“Well. I’m glad I’ve made your experience on this team a little more relaxing because I can imagine being in this doesn’t have it’s relaxing or happy moments. Now order the food so we can stuff our faces and make One’s bank have a heart attack.” I told him as he dialed for room service then noticed something on the tv. 

“Eight! We can go do a sky jump from Stratosphere tower!” Say what? I looked up from Anya to see an ad on TV about a bungee cord thing over by the tower. 

“You in?” 

“I’m in.” We’re two unknown people in this world and now declared dead. Let’s go have some fun then! 

~~

Now how do dead people usually have fun? Rob a bank, destroy a multi million corporation? Nope. You got bungee jumping and use the money to close it for the two of ya. Gotta love one’s money and how much can persuade two college students for the rest of their career. 

“Ya know after the amount of buildings we’ve both jumped, dangled, and even fallen from. Yet I still am a little scared that it’s going to snap and I die.” Trying to calm myself down as we made it to the jumping area. 

“Think of it as that jump oh my god this is going to be fun.” He was getting excited as he was the first to be put in the harness. He complained about jumping over a wall into a compound but now he’s dying to jump from a very tall needle thing in Vegas? Of course. 

“See ya at the bottom.” He got a running start as he made the jump. I could hear him screaming in joy the entire way down. Is he doing flips? Oh my god it’s like being back home again. My body began to relax as it has before when I used to fly through the air when a time was much more simpler and full of color. 

I was strapped into my harness as I made the running start just as four did! When my feet jumped over the edge it felt so damn freeing! The wind was rushing through my hair as I could hear the trumpets, trombones, drums, and the entire orchestra of a life before my true colors came into play! 

“HELL YEAH!” I yelled as I finally did a front flip as I was getting close to the bottom. Four caught me from my jump as I tried to regain my balance from the jumping rush. He took a step back away as the kid came to help me out of this 80s tracksuit. 

“Oh my god that was so much fun! I forgot how much fun that was oh my god!” I laughed as the other college student helped me get out of the yellow and blue jumpsuit. 

“When we’re done with the whole turkistan mission. I think we need to take a climbing trip.” Four made the comment as I climbed out from the jump suit. A climbing trip? 

“As in climbing a mountain?” I asked as we began walking off the target zone. 

“Something a little smaller. Why not go scaling something in Wyoming or even Utah. I’ve heard there’s a lot of rock wall climbing out there.” Is he asking me out on a nature date? Or just a date in general? Although I’ve heard the southwest of America definitely has some beautiful views that is definitely worth the climb. 

“Sure. Haven’t done a nature climbing thing in a very long time.” Well. Guess I have a date after we kill a Government leader. 

How romantic. PFt hahahaha!

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