#but for now i can offer you pastry videos on the internet and all of my love

[ravennm84]

The Laptop

So, I read a prompt from @charming-mage about Lila’s laptop being damaged and her mother finds out that Lila’s been lying to her and the school. I thought it was a cute idea and the girl would have no way of trying to turn things onto Marinette, so I went with it. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

It was a silly little accident that ended up exposing everything. Lila had accidentally spilt coffee on her laptop and caused it to short out. Her mother, being terrible with technology, had taken it to a repair shop to see if it could be saved. 

Greta Rossi had taken her lunch break and gone to the repair shop to check on the state of the laptop. The woman behind the counter, Evelyn, gave her head a shake, saying there was too much corrosion and the damage to the motherboard. “Best I can tell, you didn’t unplug it, take out the battery, or tilt it to let the liquid drain out away from the main components. That was pretty much a death sentence to this thing.”

Greta groaned at that. It would be expensive to buy her daughter a new laptop, but it was necessary so she could do her homework and communicate with her friends when akuma attacks were so bad that the school shut down. “Were you able to save anything?” She asked the woman.

“Some things,” she nodded, handing Greta a flashdrive. “Mostly your photos, some saved documents, I also noticed that you were emailing your daughter’s school when the laptop was damaged. I was able to save that conversation for you.”

Her hand froze as she stared at the woman. “Are you sure? I only ask because that wasn’t my laptop, that was my daughter’s laptop.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened slightly before nodding. “It was the first thing I was able to recover since it was mid-correspondence. I assumed it was your laptop since the emails were addressed to you and were signed by you. If that’s not the case… I think you should probably read those emails and talk to your daughter’s principal as soon as possible.”

A little uncertain of what the woman just told her, Greta called the Embassy to tell them she would be taking the rest of the day off. Going home, she plugged in the flashdrive and started looking over the emails that Evelyn had mentioned. Sure enough, they were between Principal Damocles and supposedly signed by her. The first emails were dated the day Lila had told her the school was closed due to akuma attacks, only the email said that she was pulling Lila out of school to go on a diplomatic trip to Achu. 

A little taken aback, Greta looked up the akuma incidents to see just how bad things were. She normally wasn’t permitted to look up these kinds of things at work, nor did she ever have the time since she had to make sure the Ambassador’s days were scheduled down to the minute and all the paperwork was ready to be signed. But now that she had a moment to look, she could see videos of Ladybug and Chat Noir defeating every akuma… and two of the akumas had been her own daughter! This meant that Lila had been lying to her for months!

The next email was from the day of the Scarlet Moth incident, she remembered her co-workers talking about it. That email to Damocles said that her number had changed and gave a new number, which just happened to be Lila’s number.

Another email requesting doctors notes for Lila’s numerous injuries and disabilities: tinnitus, a sprained wrist, a dislocated kneecap, and tonsolatius. Lila had responded with photocopied doctors’ notes that even Greta could tell were fake, and the principal had responded with gratitude for the prompt response.

Some of the more recent emails spoke about Lila being pushed down the stairs by another student and how a family heirloom had been stolen by the same student! Only to be followed by another email requesting another doctor’s note referencing a disease Lila claimed to have that makes her lie uncontrollably. Was the principal a total idiot? 

The most recent email, the one Lila had been working on when the laptop was destroyed, stopped mid-sentence as Greta Rossi told Damocles that she and Lila would be going on another extended diplomatic trip to London, as she would be working personally with the Queen of England. If Greta hadn’t been furious at her daughter before, she sure was now. 

Still, part of her wanted to have some faith in her daughter, so she would set up a test when Lila got home. Which, coincidentally, wouldn’t be long as she had spent a good few hours reading over the emails and she had finally looked into akuma reports that had occurred since they had moved to Paris.

Lila came home about half an hour later, texting on her phone with a cruel smile, but abruptly stopped when she saw her mother. “Mama, you’re home early. Is it because of the akuma attacks?”

“No, mia bella. I was just given the afternoon off, so I decided to spend it with you. How was school?”

Watching her daughter carefully, she saw her change in posture and expression as she began to do the same fake crying she did when she was 6 years old. “Oh Mama, it was terrible. The school got attacked by another akuma and Chat Noir was just so reckless, his Cataclysm destroyed half of the school. It got closed down until repairs can be completed again.”

“Mia Bella! You weren’t hurt, were you?” Greta asked, faking shock and worry. She suspected that Lila had completed the email on her tablet or a computer at school and sent it to Damocles. Now, her daughter was trying to make an excuse as to why she was staying home. But Greta wasn’t about to be fooled again. Oh no, she had given her daughter a chance and now she was going to make her pay. “That’s it, I can’t allow you to keep attending such a dangerous place.”

Lila stopped mid-sob to look at her mother in surprise. “W-what are you saying?”

“Lila, from what you’ve told me about Hawkmoth, the akuma’s, and those terrible vigilanties; I can’t force you to stay in such a dangerous place due to my job. Go to your room and pack, I’ll call your Zio e Zia in Italia and ask if they can take you in while I finish my assignment here in Paris.” Greta continued to watch her daughter as she spoke, her expression becoming more and more panicked and upset as she spoke. Lila had never liked staying with her uncle and aunt because they lived on a farm that was far from everything, had no internet or cell service, and Greta’s brother was of the mindset that if you didn’t work on the farm, you didn’t eat.

“Bu-but Mama, you can’t just send me away like this! What about school-”

“You just told me that the school was shut down again due to the attacks, and after all the other times the school has been closed, I doubt if you’ll be able to graduate with the other schools or even be accepted into lycee at this point. At least if I send you back to Italia, you’ll be safe and be able to go to school without worrying about being attacked.” Reaching forward, Greta took Lila’s hands firmly between her own. “Please understand, mia bella, I am your mother and I love you more than anything. Even if you’re upset with me, I must do what is best for you and your future.”

Lila didn’t bother hiding her scowl as she tried to tug her hands from her mother’s grip. Then the girl really looked at her mother’s face and realized something was wrong. “Mama?”

Greta returned her scowl. “I am very disappointed in you, young lady. I was giving you a chance to come clean and tell me the truth.” Lila’s eyes blew wide open and was about to say something, but was cut off. “I saw those emails between myself and M. Damocles on your computer. Funny thing, I don’t remember writing them. I also don’t recall changing my contact number, going on a diplomatic trip to Achu, or telling him about a bunch of injuries, disabilities, and diseases that you don’t have. I also don’t remember my bosses assigning me to go on another diplomatic trip to London to work with the Queen of England, seeing as I’m not an ambassador.”

“Wait, Mama! I swear, I can explain-”

“You’ve already said enough! You and I are going to the school right now to speak with M. Damocles. You are going to tell him everything that you’ve been lying about and I’m going to have a talk with him about your supposed fall down the stairs since I’m pretty sure you lied about that as well since I was never notified and you were never taken to the hospital.”

“No, Mama! Please-”

“Be quiet! If you dare try to fight me on this or say one more lie, you will be on a plane back to Italia tonight and spend the rest of your school career with your Zio e Zia, understand?

Pouting the entire time. Lila went back to the school with her mother and was forced to confess to everything she had lied about. M. Damocles also ended up looking at the CCTV footage, something that Greta thought he should have done in the first place, and showed that her daughter had not been pushed down the stairs and had planted the not-family-heirloom in the other student’s locker. Greta demanded that he tell Lila’s class exactly what her daughter had done and that he apologize to Mlle. Dupain-Cheng for getting her expelled. She also demanded the student’s information so she could speak with the girl’s parents and force Lila to apologize. Damocles, still thinking that Greta was an ambassador, told her about the bakery and promised that he would alert the class to Lila’s misdeeds before the two Rossis were out the door. 

Greta thought the Dupain-Chengs were wonderful people, offering them pastries as soon as they were upstairs and listened intently to her when she described the things that her daughter had been lying about. When she asked Marinette for her side of the story, Greta got even angrier at Lila. Threatening, bullying, and framing that poor girl when all Marinette had done was tell Lila to stop lying to her friends. Not only had she been lying to the school and her classmates, but all of Paris, if she were to go by the posts on the Ladyblog that Marinette showed her. She had never been more disappointed in her daughter. 

Once they got home, Greta forced Lila into her room and confiscated her phone and tablet. “I thought it was bad when you were lying to the school and playing truant, but now I find out that you are being a bully, and tempting a terrorist to attack you! How foolish are you?”

“Why are you believing that goodie-two-shoes ove-”

“I believe her because there is literally video evidence of you setting her up and trying to get her expelled! After what you’ve done, you’ll probably get expelled!”

“What!? But I didn’t do-”

“You bullied a student, committed months of truancy, forged signatures on doctors’ notes, and changed my contact information so the school couldn’t contact me. Any one of those are grounds for expulsion!” Greta shook her head in disgust when she saw the shock on her daughter’s face. Lila actually believed that she wouldn’t be punished for all the things she had done. Well, that was not something that she was going to allow, and she didn’t trust the principal or Lila’s teacher to do the right thing by her daughter anymore. “You know what, pack your bags right now. I’m calling my brother and putting you on a plane tonight. It’s clear that you need to learn some responsibility, and I highly doubt that you’re going to do that here.”

Lila tried to argue with her, but no amount of begging, pleading, or threats was going to change her mind. Lila was on a plane back to Italy within a few hours and Greta would be spending the next month cleaning up the mess her daughter had made in Paris. She was fortunate that she was able to keep her job. Luckily for her, her boss was a big fan of the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie and she had told him when she had brought in a big box of the pastries. That smoothed things over a bit, although she was no longer permitted to bring her daughter on assignments anymore. Greta considered that a small price to pay to keep her job, and maybe her daughter would learn that her actions have lasting consequences.

Taglist:

@2confused-2doanything @7-sage-7 @aadnrsstar @abrx2002 @bayball @caffeinetheory @cheshire5210 @chocolateherringtacofan @city-of-all-tunas @classycollectorreviewworld  @corabeth11 @darkened-flame @delightfulcookiesrecipespizza @fandom-trapped-03 @ghostmaster @iamblinkmarvelarmy @interobanginyourmom @izang @jesussavedevenme @kazedancer @kitten12113 @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @lilypotter2018 @lunataravler @maskedpainter @nerd-nowandforever @ola-is-dead @pandacatxd @plushbookworm @plz-excuse-my-inner-ravenclaw @raiderofthelostbooks @ramos123 @rowanrouge @seesea22 @seraphichana @tazer6787 @that-girl-sakea @thecrazyfantrollshasmoved @the-smallest-kittenz @tishwinchesterannabethjackson @t1dwarrior-of-earth @ulmban @with-forward-motion @wonderbat91939 @zoiechance

#lila salt #ml prompt #lila gets exposed #lila karma #mlbjustice

[flippin-fins]

Take this sinking boat and point it home

Summary: Post-Hawkmoth defeat, Marinette picks up the pieces of Adrien to make sure he knows what it's like to have a real family

Read on AO3

“Do you think he has a family?”

Chat’s words scattered her thoughts, and it took Ladybug a minute to remember where she was. They had just finished patrol, but recently had begun delaying their departures, spending more time on rooftops, enjoying each other’s company.

She turned her head to look at her partner. “Who?”

“Hawkmoth. Do you think he has a family?”

“I mean, I guess. Doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you think they know? Know he’s doing this? There has to be some kind of reason, right? Some motivation for all of this?” With one hand, Chat motioned to the city around them.

“Maybe they are his motivation, maybe he’s motivated by love.”

“Do you think they love him?”

“Chat, everyone has someone that loves them.”

Chat stilled at her words, and Ladybug held back the question on the tip of her tongue. ‘Don’t you?’

“Yeah, I guess so.” His words came out stilted, stiff, and Ladybug wished she could take her words back.

She never knew what to make of him when he responded like that. It always felt like those reactions came out of nowhere, an invisible minefield she had no right to ask about.

“I don’t think they would know,” Ladybug whispered. “Maybe he thinks what he’s doing is right, but I have to believe if he has other people in his life, they would try to convince him to stop.”

“Sure, maybe.” Chat was still looking out over the city, but his eyes were slightly unfocused, and she knew his mind was still elsewhere. “Why does he even want our miraculous?”

He finally turned to look at her, and Ladybug tried to contain her surprise. He didn’t know?

After a moment, she realized he really didn’t know. “The wish. If you combine the black cat miraculous,” she motioned to his hand, “and the ladybug miraculous,” and motioned to her ears, “you can make a wish. There’s some sort of major consequence though, but I guess he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.”

“A wish,” Chat echoed, turning back to look at the lights of the city. “What would you wish for?”

“There’s so many consequences, Chat, I wouldn’t want to wish for anything.”

“But if you could?” There was something in her voice, something that tugged at her.

“If there were no consequences, if I could have a wish, I dunno. I guess I’d wish to not have the weight of the city on us at 14. I think I’d wish for more time to just be a teenager.” Ladybug shrugged. “What about you, Chat? What would you wish for?”

He stays silent, still looking out into the night.

She wants to reach out, to know where his mind is, but maybe he didn’t hear her. Or maybe he’s thinking of the best pun to fit with his wish.

So she sits, and waits.

She almost forgot her question by the time he finally speaks, barely audible over the sounds of the city.

“I think I’d wish for my mom. Wish my family was whole again.”

His words haunt her that night, when sleep can’t come. His wish, and his earlier reaction.

But it was fine, probably just a bad night.

~~~

“I guess he did have a family.”

Ladybug turned to her partner, wide-eyed. She thought back to that evening on the roof a few years ago, when Hawkmoth’s identity was just an idea, not an actual person who was currently being loaded into the back of a police car.

They had retreated to a nearby roof, not ready to face reporters and their questions.

Chat didn’t deserve that. He deserved a moment of peace, of being able to step away from the situation and hopefully take a deep breath.

Last night wasn’t how she’d wanted to find out her partner’s identity, but at the realization of who Hawkmoth was, he had insisted. He’d been right, after all. Finding out who he was while facing off with their biggest enemy would have thrown Ladybug off, easily causing them to be defeated. Snatching the element of surprise from Hawkmoth had been important.

All she wanted to do now was drag him to her home, wrapping him in blankets and making sure he had all the pastries and hot chocolate he wanted, and snuggle in with him as he worked through everything that had happened that evening.

But the police had asked them to stay.

She’d negotiated with them, forcing the police to allow the duo to leave the immediate scene, offering to stay in the nearby area, visible in case they were needed. But there was no way she was letting Chat Noir stay there, no way she was letting Gabriel Agreste glare at his son, running his mouth and traumatizing him further.

Ladybug had expected him to beg for forgiveness, beg for freedom. The vitriol he spit was worse, and Chat’s statue impersonation at her side made her want to flinch at almost everything he said.

She’d never been more thankful to have her parents.

Ladybug had considered destranforming and calling her parents, asking them to pick her and Chat up. She probably should give them a heads up before bringing him home, but Ladybug had a feeling her parents wouldn’t mind. He’d always been told he could have a home there, and she could already picture her parents bringing extra pillows and blankets to her room, expecting someone would be taking in the model.

She should probably call them anyway, just to let them know she was okay.

Chat rested his head on her shoulder, and Ladybug’s hand came up automatically to run her fingers through his hair.

“He doesn’t have to be your family.”

Chat snorted, not moving to look at her. “It seems like it would be pretty difficult for Adrien Agreste to separate from the Gabriel Agreste legacy.”

“Sure, but you can make your own family. Nino and Alya and me,” Ladybug tried to contain her blush, or at least minimize her hesitation. “Even my parents would be happy to give you the family you should have had. They all love you.”

“Do you love me?”

Ladybug sucked in a breath. In all the madness or the evening, she had forgotten her school crush was also the partner she’d started to fall for. Forgotten she hadn’t told him who the other boy had been.

“Come home with me.” She reached out for his hand, squeezing it.

He finally sat up, turning to look at her. The hint of a smile ghosted his features, and it took everything in her to not wrap him in a hug and carry him off the roof.

“You know I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Letting go of his hand, she flicked his bell. “Then come on, let’s make sure this stray kitty finds a home.”

~~~

Clutching the coffee mug in her hands, Marinette’s eyes were glued to the television.

Images of last night flashed on the screen in front of her, and a video of Gabriel Agreste being loaded back into a police car stayed in the corner on repeat.

She kept an ear on the trapdoor to her room, hoping Adrien would stay asleep. She had taken his phone from him, hiding it so he couldn’t check the internet for mentions of him or his father. Marinette had been hoping to keep him calm, to make sure he knew he was safe, but it hadn’t mattered. He’d been up all night with grief stricken eyes and she’d been there, holding him while he broke into pieces in front of her. He’d finally fallen asleep as the sun started to rise, so with a slight motion to the kwamis, Marinette had slipped out of the room.

Tikki had offered to join her, but Marinette knew she had missed Nooroo and Duusu and waved her off. Tikki and Plagg could come find her if Adrien woke up, if he needed her.

Marinette’s phone buzzed and she barely glanced down before answering.

“You were there.”

Alya’s voice wasn’t questioning, but instead accusatory.

Marinette nodded as she spoke, as if Alya could see her. “Ladybug was there.”

“No one knows where Adrien is. Nino can’t get a hold of him, and you didn’t call Rena or Carapace last night so he’s even more stressed. The news says that Ladybug and Chat Noir took off when no one was paying attention, not answering any questions. You were there and couldn’t be bothered to reach out, to let me know you were okay.”

“We had other things on our mind.”

“Marinette, please,” Alya’s voice, her begging, snapped Marinette out of her transe.

Guilt radiated through her, and Marinette realized she should have called them. The two of them deserved to at least know she and Adrien were okay.

“Are you with him?”

Marinette chewed her nail for a moment. “Are you with Nino?”

“Of course I’m with Nino. We’ve been trying to contact both of you, and it’s easier if we can turn to the other and share whether or not we’ve gotten a hold of either of you.”

“How soon can you both come over?”

Marinette flinched as she heard Alya snap. “Nino, let’s go. We need to get to Marientte’s.”

A muffled voice responded. The only word Marinette caught was ‘Adrien’. She really should have called them last night.

“Alya, you really don’t have to drop everything. I just figured it would be easier to explain in person.”

“It’s too late, we’re already on our way. We’ll be there soon.”

The line clicked before Marinette could respond.

“Marinette?”

Marinette turned to the small voice that called her name.

Tikki floated in the air in front of her.

“Is he awake?” Her eyes flicked to the stairs and she took a step towards her room.

“No no, I just wanted to check on you. Last night was a lot. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Marinette shrugged. “Alya and Nino are on their way, so they can fill in with any extra support for Adrien.”

“But Marinette, I asked how you are doing.”

Marinette opened her mouth to respond, but a black blur cut her off.

“Sugarcube, can you keep an eye on the kitten for a minute? I need a word with your girl.”

Marinette stifled a laugh at Tikki’s face, but she turned and floated upstairs without a retort.

“I’m sorry, Plagg, I don’t have any Camembert. Would Brie be okay for you? At least until I get to a store?”

“We both know that’s not why I’m here.”

Marinette sighed, walking over to the kitchen sink to wash out her mug.

She couldn’t look at him as she spoke. “Do you think he’ll be alright? I should have seen this, should have done more.”

“How would you have seen this? You think I’m not upset? He was stuck in that house! Nooroo and Duusu were right under my nose this whole time!”

Marinette turned around, leaning her hip against the counter. She didn’t know what to say, how to talk to him without wanting to cry about how bad Adrien’s situation had been, about how she hadn’t even noticed.

“Alya and Nino are coming over, so you might have to make yourself scarce for a bit.”

“Am I not good enough to be around your friends?”

She glared at him for a moment. “Well Alya already knows about Tikki, but unless you want to reveal Chat Noir’s identity without his knowledge, maybe we should wait until he’s awake before you harass our friends.”

Plagg huffed at her.

Marinette lifted her hand to her face, barely stopping herself from biting her nails.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make it okay.”

“Pigtails, you just have to be there. I don’t think he needs anything else right now. Just friends.”

“Just a friend,” Marinette mumbled.

Plagg opened his mouth, but a knock on the door stopped him.

Marinette started to walk towards the door. “Have Tikki let me know if he wakes up.”

“You don’t want him to see his friends?”

Marinette paused, her hand on the doorknob. “I don’t want to wake him and bring him back to all the pain he felt before he fell asleep.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black blur go through her trapdoor.

Marinette tried to smooth her hair and plant a smile on her face as she opened the door.

Nino’s concerned eyes search her face as Alya launches herself at Marinette.

“I was so scared and you didn’t text me back and my parents wouldn’t let me go out so I couldn’t be there as a reporter or a friend and I had to watch the news but Ladybug and Chat Noir didn’t do any interviews and I was worried you were injured and something had happened and -”

“Would either of you like some tea?”

Marinette wished she wasn’t being smothered by Alya so she could see the reaction Nino had to accompany the noise of alarm he made.

“Nino, meet Tikki. She’s Ladybug’s Kwami.”

Of course Alya would take over introductions.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Nino. Hi, Alya. It’s lovely to see you again.”

Marinette felt one of Alya’s arms let go of her, presumably reaching out to wave at Tikki, or possibly pat the top of her head.

“Marinette, why did you have Ladybug’s Kwami? Did you steal it?”

At Nino’s words, Alya let go of Marinette to turn stare at her boyfriend.

Marinette snagged the opportunity to escape to the kitchen and turn on the kettle.

After a tense few moments, Alya spoke up. “Marinette, will you or should I?”

She tried to hold in a sigh, reaching over to grab a cookie for Tikki. “Go ahead.”

Nino glanced between the two girls, settling on Alya. She waved a hand between Nino and Marinette. “Nino, meet Ladybug. She’s much shorter in person.”

If she’d actually gotten any sleep last night, Marinette would have laughed at the way Nino’s jaw dropped as he rapidly looked between Marinette, Tikki, and Alya. Instead, she settled for a smile.

“No. No way.”

Marinette brushed some hair behind her ear, revealing her earrings. “Hey, Carapace. Nice to see you.”

“Ha ha, very funny. What’s actually happening?”

Marinette waited, letting it sink in. He stared at her earrings, then her hair, and Marinette could see him picturing her with the signature pigtails. It was clear the moment it clicked.

“Ladybug is my friend from school, the best friend to my girlfriend, and she sat behind me in class for years.”

“Yep, yes, and correct.”

Nino rubbed a hand over his face. “But we were 13 when Ladybug and Chat Noir first appeared.”

“Also true.”

The kettle whistled behind her, and Marinette turned to grab three mugs, pausing over a fourth. “Tikki?”

“Still sleeping.”

Focusing on her task, Marinette stopped her mind from wandering to the blond upstairs. She wanted to go up and check on him, but with Plagg and the other Kwamis upstairs, he was safe.

Handing Alya and Nino their mugs, Marientte grabbed hers and sat at the table. She motioned for her friends to sit with her, but Alya had already grabbed Nino and was on her way over. Nino still looked a little shell-shocked, but Alya had her reporter face on.

“Marinette, who is sleeping upstairs?”

“If they wake up and decide to come down, they can tell you themself.”

Alya frowned at her friend, but was ready to move on to the next question. Before she could speak up, Nino looked up from his tea.

“Do you know who Chat Noir is?”

Marinette choked on her drink.

“Of course not, don’t be silly. Right, Marinette?”

She avoided Alya’s eyes. “Actually, yes. He told me a couple of days ago. But I can’t tell you who he is. I’m only telling you who I am because I trust you, because Alya already knew.”

“Oh.” Nino looked back down at his drink. His eyes narrowed for a moment, and Marinette realized the television was still on, still reporting from the scene of the Agreste mansion. “Where is Adrien? He wasn’t involved, was he? Was he hurt?”

Marinette set her drink down. “He’s safe. I checked on him before I left. He had no idea about his father.”

“Of course he didn’t know. I just hope he isn’t being harassed. Has he reached out to you?” Alya reached out to grab Marinette’s wrist. “Was he okay last night? Should we have gone over?”

“I don’t think he wanted any of us to go there. I’m sure he’ll reach out when he’s ready.”

A crash sounded from upstairs and all of them jumped. Marinette and Tikki locked eyes, and Tikki passed through the ceiling as Marinette ran over to the trap door to her room. “I’ll be right back.”

She reached one hand out to open the door, but paused on the last step. “It’s me. I’m coming in, okay?”

She heard a muffled noise, and slowly opened the door just wide enough to squeeze inside, closing it behind her. The pile of blankets was a new addition to the middle of the floor.

Plagg was floating above the pile, pulling at the top of it.

“Adrien? Are you okay?”

The response was muffled, confirming her suspicions. Marinette padded over to the blankets.

“Did you roll off the bed and over the railing?”

The muffling came again.

Marinette looked at Plagg for a translation.

“He decided he wanted to come down the stairs, but was too cold to go without the blankets. Instead of throwing down a layer before moving, you know, like a normal person, he decided to take the stairs while still wrapped up. You can see how well that worked out for him.”

She stifled a giggle. Something told her that Adrien wouldn’t appreciate it.

Finding an edge, Marinette gently pulled on a blanket, revealing messy blond hair. A short moment later, green eyes followed.

She tried to ignore how red and puffy they were.

“Alya and Nino are here. They know I’m here and that I’m Ladybug, but they don’t know who is upstairs. They asked about you, but you don’t have to see them if you don’t want to.” She reached out, brushing some hair out of his face.

Adrien blinked slowly at her statements, and Marinette realized she probably should have slowly introduced any of those topics, instead of dropping them all at once.

He started moving his head around, and Marinette realized what Adrien was trying to do. She adjusted the blankets around his face, revealing his mouth.

“Which part of that do you want me to go over first?”

She busys herself with unwrapping him as Adrien decides.

“All of it?”

“You knew Alya knew my identity, and when she saw the news last night, she freaked out that I didn’t text her back. Her and Nino were together trying to get a hold of you and I, and between the news footage and hearing nothing from either of us, I think they freaked out. I invited them over, and,” Marinette grabbed Adrien’s shoulder, making sure he understood. “You are under no obligation to even see them, and I told them you would reach out when you were ready. Thanks to this,” Marinette motioned to the blankets on the floor, “and a misplaced comment by Tikki, they know someone is up here and was sleeping, but I did not tell them who. I didn’t want to say Adrien was here and have Chat Noir show up, or vice versa. As for my identity, Tikki was a little too excited to see Alya and I think she forgot about Nino’s lack of knowledge.”

“I am sorry about that, Marinette,” Tikki floated over.

“I figured he was going to know at some point. He is Carapace.”

Adrien watched them interact, Plagg floating closer to him but not quite settling on his shoulder.

Marinette turned back to her partner. “I told them Adrien was okay, well, okay enough, and that I knew Chat Noir’s identity and was in contact with him. They just wanted to check on you.” She reached out to hold his hand. “I’ll support whatever you want to do.”

“How do you trust me, after everything with-” he stopped, and Marinette squeezed his hand.

“You and me against the world, remember?”

He smiled. “Then let’s go downstairs.”

“Just you and me?” Marinette can’t help her grin.

“I think it might be time for Plagg to finally meet our friends, right?”

She really didn’t mean to knock him over. After all, she was certainly still sore from yesterday, so he probably was too. But his smile was so infectious, his happy, sunshine self so near to the surface, that Marinette couldn’t help but tackle him into a hug.

They froze at a knock on the trapdoor. “Marinette? Are you alright?”

Leave it to the reporter to check in on them.

Standing up, Marinette offered a hand to Adrien, leading him to the door. “Ready?”

“After you, Bug.”

Marinette felt herself blush, but pushed forward.

Maybe she should have offered Alya some warning, as the door opening spooked the reporter enough to stumble back down the stairs.

“Sorry, I just figured we’d come down here instead of having you come up.”

“We?” The hope in Nino’s voice made Marinette want to giggle, but nothing could prepare her for the expression on his face as her companion joined her on the stairs.

“Yeah, ‘we’. Maybe napping the day away isn’t the best choice.”

Alya’s yank on Marinette’s arm was the only reason Nino didn’t knock her over in his haste to hug his friend.

“You’ve been here the whole time? And you,” Nino turned to Marientte for a moment. “You didn’t bother to say a word?”

“I told you he was safe, that he would reach out when he could. It wasn’t my place to speak for him.”

Marinette saw in Alya’s eyes that she was connecting the dots, putting together everything that had been said. She’d always been good at puzzles.

“You’re him.”

Adrien’s head snapped towards the girls, but he forced the smile to stay light on his face. “Of course I’m him. It’s me, Adrien. Did you already forget? Don’t tell me my modeling good looks have given you amnesia.”

Alya looked at Marinette for the answer, but she couldn’t meet her friend’s gaze.

“If it was just Adrien upstairs, you wouldn’t have stopped us from going upstairs.”

“I never stopped you from going upstairs I-”

“You would have told us when we kept asking about him, You would have encouraged Nino to go see him. There was a reason you were vague about who was upstairs. If Tikki hadn’t said anything, would you have even told us?”

“Alya, I -”

“Unless you were worried about what we would find. Or who we might find.” Alya squinted her eyes. “You know his identity and you haven’t stuttered once talking around Adrien.”

“Alya it’s not -”

Alya spun around to look at Adrien. “Tell me, sunshine. Why would Marinette be afraid of what we would find if we went upstairs?”

“Oh she was probably worried about you finding me!”

Marinette and Tikki sighed as Adrien tried to snag Plagg, to hide him, even if it was too late. Nino looked ready to pass out.

Only Alya was smiling. “I was hoping for something more scandalous, but this is fine too. It’s nice to meet you. I take it you’re Chat Noir’s Kwami.”

“Chat Noir’s Kwami?”

Plagg turned around. “Is he always this slow, or is today a special occasion?”

Trying to channel her best Guardian voice, Marinette held back another sigh. “Plagg, don’t be rude. It’s understandable to be overwhelmed by learning the identities of Paris’s two main superheroes, especially when they are your friends from school.”

“But does he have to look so dumbstruck?”

“Plagg!”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck as he looked between Alya and Nino. “Surprise?”

Nino was still wide-eyed, taking everything in, but Alya stepped forward.

Adrien stilled as Alya approached. She looked back at Marinette for a moment. “You should have called us. Rena and Carapace or Alya and Nino. I get you two are a team and self-sacrifice and do it yourself, but we were worried sick.” She pulled Adrien into a hug. “You owe us that much.”

“Alya,” Marinette warned, stepping forward and ready to drag her friend away or bring everyone down the rest of the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take my hands off of your man.”

Marinette blushed, but before she could respond Alya was pulling her down the stairs towards the kitchen, Adrien and Nino following.

She didn’t know how it happened, but when there was suddenly pressure in her free hand, Marinette grabbed onto it like a lifeline. They’d come too far, been separated for too long. She understood he needed it as much as she did.

The four friends sat down on Marinette’s couch, as she was thankful her parents had chosen to open the bakery today, even with the craziness on the news.

Marinette didn’t realize she had tucked herself into Adrien’s side until she saw the look on her face. She moved to untangle herself, willing the reporter to put off those questions until Marientte could figure out the answers for herself, but the arm around her tightened and Marinette knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

Tikki and Plagg landed in their lap, sharing a cookie.

“Are we not going to acknowledge this?” Alya motioned between the two of them, snapping Nino’s focus from the two kwami to the duo.

“Your crush on Ladybug makes more sense.”

Marinette felt her eyes widen as Alya whipped her head towards Nino.

“You knew he had a crush on Ladybug?”

“I mean,” Nino motioned towards Marinette and Adrien, “doesn’t everyone know how Chat Noir feels about Ladybug?”

Marinette tried to turn to look at Adrien’s face, but his hold on her side kept her in place. She was pretty sure his face was pinker than usual.

“I just thought he was a big fan. How was I supposed to know he was her partner?” Nino rubbed his hand down his face. “How was I supposed to know both of my friends were out there fighting against Hawkmoth?”

Adrien’s grip slackened as he stiffened, and Marinette rubbed her hand on his arm. “You couldn’t have known. No one expected you to know. This wasn’t your fault.”

She could feel the couple’s eyes on her, but Marinette focused on the blond. “Adrien, look at me.” She reached out to pull his face, not waiting for him to move. His eyes were distant, and Marinette saw Plagg float to rest in his hair. “None of us blame you. No one should blame you.”

Whispering from the other side of the couch momentarily drew her focus. “Who would have thought that the top two people on my hit list would turn out to be the same person?”

Adrien’s watery eyes finally found her, and Marinette had to resist the urge to drag him back upstairs, to bury him in blankets and kwami hugs.

“He’s my dad,” Adrien whispered.

There was a flutter of motion, and then Alya and Nino were hugging Nino.

“He was your father. I’ll be your dad now.”

Marinette wasn’t sure if the wet laugh was from her or Alya.

“I think once my parents realize who I’ve been keeping upstairs, my dad will fight you for that title, Nino.”

Adrien’s soft crying settled across the room, and the three friends tightened their grip on him.

After a moment, Marientte leaned back to look at him.

“We’re your family, Adrien. We’ll always be your family.”

His eyes were red and puffy, but instead of the empty expression she expected to see, there was something else. Love.

How had she ever looked at Adrien and not seen her partner? How could she have looked at Chat Noir, turned down any of his flirtations? They were one and the same, someone she wanted by her side forever.

Marinette smiled at him, hoping she conveyed every thought running through her head. She leaned forward, burrowing her head into his shoulder.

Maybe tomorrow, or the next day, he would have to face the press, would have to go back to the mansion and release some kind of statement. But today, today he was here in her arms, and she knew that the best place for her to be was by his side, as long as he’d let her.

Partners, friends, family. Whatever he needed, she’d be there.

#My fic #miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #ladybug #chat noir #LadyNoir #hurt/comfort #marinette dupen chang #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe

[yukiobeyme]

Diavolo, of course, wants everyone’s approval. A marriage between him and Lucifer would be a merging of their families, and even though Diavolo doesn’t have much of a family left... Lucifer has a big one.

So Diavolo asks every single one of them. Some, like Beel, Levi, and Asmo, are easy. Others are a bit more difficult.

Mammon agrees, but only after he puts Diavolo to the test. (How can you expect to keep up with Lucifer if you can’t keep up with the Great Mammon!) Mammon essentially drags him on a heist. It’s the most chaotic day of Diavolo’s life (which is saying something), but neither one of them get caught, and he passes with flying colors.

Satan is a bit trickier. Normally he would claim that he didn’t care (and in a way he truly doesn’t. Lucifer is free to date/marry whoever he wishes), but the opportunity to mess with both Lucifer and Diavolo is too good to pass up. He also puts Diavolo to the test. (You’re very bold, but how do I know that you’re telling the truth? Declare your feelings for him at RAD’s next assembly, and don’t hold anything back). And much to Lucifer’s eventual dismay, he does exactly that. That assembly is one that goes down in history, and videos of Diavolo calling Lucifer “his precious little peacock” take over the internet. Satan, of course, gives him his approval, along with the recording that he took of the entire thing. Diavolo saves it on his phone. (Satan got an excellent angle of Lucifer’s blushing face!)

Belphie is the hardest, event though he never gave Diavolo a massive task. The two of them sit down, and Diavolo tries to have a heart to heart with him. But Belphegor hasn’t changed, and refuses to listen. And in anger, Diavolo shouts his true intentions. (“I’m trying to ask you for your permission to marry Lucifer!”). The conversation comes to a hault. Belphegor is surprised that he was even considered. (“But why should that come as a surprise? You’re a part of his family”). Belphegor then asks him why he wants to marry Lucifer in the first place, and Diavolo answers with a passion and earnestness that only he is capable of. And surprisingly enough, Belphegor relents. (“I don’t like you at all. And that’s never going to change. But you really love Lucifer I guess, so you can marry him if you want”). Diavolo pulls him in for a hug, and Belphegor angrily shoves him away. But Diavolo doesn’t care, he almost has everyone’s approval.

There’s only one person left.

Simeon is perhaps an interesting choice, but he is (or was) a part of Lucifer’s family as well. Outside of Lucifer’s brothers, he is the only one who knew Lucifer before the fall. This is the closest that Diavolo can get to asking for a father’s permission. It’s also the most terrified he’s ever been. With the others, he knew what to expect, and he knew that he would eventually be able to win them over, no matter what. But with Simeon...

He doesn’t know what Simeon is going to do, or if Simeon will ever agree to it. Yet for Lucifer, he is going to try. And he’s never going to give up, no matter what.

~ s8ncake 💚🎂

Look I got carried away with this, but it just got me going and I couldn’t stop. This is almost 2k words of wedding/married life/ and kids rambles. I’m so sorry. (Also I don’t know-how adoption works so I just made something up instead of researching it so I’m sorry)

Mammon also reminds Diavolo to get used to it and he is more than welcome to join him the next time Mammon does it. Honestly it bonding time and more time to learning about Mammon and Diavolo loves and adore every minute of it.

Levi was weary of why Diavolo wanted to meet with him. Diavolo tried to start the conversation with Anime but failed miserably. Then Diavolo just gets to the point and Levi is surprised, “Why do you want my permission?” But Levi says yes, and he will get Diavolo all caught up on Anime soon.

Diavolo knew Satan was giving him this task to embarrass Lucifer but Diavolo made it a reason to remind Lucifer how much Diavolo needs him. Both as a student council member, as his right-hand man, and as his partner. Diavolo poured his heart into that speech and even had his heart on his sleeve. In private Lucifer would call him a sap and pull him in a breath-taking kiss. He watches the video of Lucifer’s reaction in secret, but he cherishes it.

Asmodeus is so excited! Immediately tries to start planning the wedding then and there and Diavolo loves the enthusiasm but reminds Asmodeus that Lucifer hasn’t said yes and it’s a secret. Asmodeus swears he won’t tell a soul but wants to be apart of the wedding plan. Already listing possible venues, colors, and flowers.

Beelz was easy, asking him over dinner. Beelz was surprised but not too much. Nods his head and definitely says dessert is needed to celebrate and Diavolo can’t seem to disagree.

Simeon is surprised but really impressed that Diavolo would think to ask him. Goes as far as asking Diavolo if he wants to ask Lucifer’s father or even Michael and Diavolo stutters. Finally landing on, “I would love to but, I don’t think that has what’s best for Lucifer in mind,” Simeon laughs at how hard Diavolo seems to be thinking over this. And gives Diavolo his blessing with no strings attached.

When it comes to asking Lucifer to marry him, Diavolo is at a loss. While Diavolo wants to do it in public and then scream it to the world, he knows Lucifer would want it in private and more intimate. So, Diavolo pretended to have an emergency meeting. When Lucifer came Barbatos had just finished setting up for tea and there were Lucifer’s favorite sweets and pastries. Diavolo tries not to be sappy but he loves the blush on Lucifer’s face and how he squirms in his chair when he gave praise but Diavolo ends the speech asking Lucifer to marry him. Diavolo's gold eyes are bright with hope as red eyes meet his. “Such a sap,” Lucifer would kiss Diavolo’s temple before pulling him in a gentle kiss. “That doesn’t answer the question at hand here,” “Of course I will”

Then comes the wedding planning and Lucifer is more stressed than Diavolo ever imagined. Lucifer doesn’t know what to do about best man. He couldn’t possibly have all his brothers so how does he pick. Thankful the brothers come to him saying to just pick two of them. Lucifer ends up picking Mammon and Satan. Both are more than surprised, Mammon recovers the quickest, “Of course you want the Great Mammon!” The only thing Lucifer requests is to leave any jokes/pranks to the reception.

Lucifer swallows his pride and eventually goes to Simeon and ask him if he would be interested in handing him off to Diavolo. That there is no pressure, but he thought he’d ask. Simeon would laugh and say this is the second time he been surprised by the couple. “What was the first”

“Diavolo asked me your hand in marriage,” Lucifer short circuits for a moment, “I’m pretty sure he asked all your brothers too,” Lucifer isn’t emotional about it or that’s what he tells himself at least.

Levi claimed to want to be the DJ, Beel wanted to be in charge of food and dragged Belphie to help him, Asmo ended up being the second wedding planner, working alongside the royal wedding planner. Mammon and Satan claimed to have Best Man duties. In some ways, the planning was going a lot smoother than Lucifer thought.

The wedding was at the Castle and more or less a public event. Diavolo promises a smaller one for just close friends later, but Lucifer says the big one will be enough. The exchange rings, Lucifer had picked a white gold ring, something that contrasted with Diavolo’s yellow gold. There was a single blue sapphire in the ring and engraved with My Beloved. Diavolo had picked a simple gold ring with a ruby that was set in the ring, with My Forever engraved on the inside. While Lucifer wore the ring during the wedding and the reception Diavolo had a final gift beside himself to give to Lucifer and that was a matching gold chain, so Lucifer could wear the ring around his neck rather than wear it. Day to Day basis Lucifer does wear the ring on the chain, but for any events, Lucifer wears the ring proudly on his finger.

While they are married, Lucifer still prefers his office in the House of Lamination, “If I were to stay, neither of us would get any work done,” He just required to be back before dinner and any work he needs to continue is done in the castle. Then Diavolo is started to be pulled in the brother’s/ family’s shenanigans. The first time he stayed over at The House of Lamination after being married to Lucifer was different. Instead of everyone being stiff and on best behavior, they were normal, or at least what Diavolo thinks would be more normal. Levi comes in late, mumbling about being tired, and “Beel did you eat my breakfast again!?” Beel was stuffing his face, but occasionally checking to make sure Belphie ate something before class. Mammon and Asmo already arguing who is better looking Diavolo tells them “The answer is obvious, it’s Lucifer” which has Lucifer blushing and both of the brothers arguing and dragging Diavolo in it with them. Satan just ate breakfast and watched in amusement occasionally throwing fuel into the fire to watch it all unfold. Lucifer just pinched the bridge of his nose and drank his coffee. “I don’t know why you are encouraging them,”

Diavolo is ecstatic the first time Satan and Belphie come to him and ask to help them prank Lucifer. “He thinks he is safe in the Castle,” Diavolo is all for it and now they come to him occasionally to help with a prank and Diavolo loves every moment of it. No matter what the punishment from his husband will be.

Levi kept true to his word and got Diavolo into a few anime shows. Some went over his head but others he really appreciated and understood why Levi liked it so much. And sometimes it turned into a marathon with the other brothers. Diavolo loved it, it finally felt like they all were a family.

Mammon even offered to take Diavolo on other adventures and heist and while Diavolo is always hesitant. He can’t truly say no unless he is busy. The lecture they both get from Lucifer is worth the shit-eating grins and laughs they shared to get there.

They talked about kids before, Diavolo for sure wanted them and Lucifer had always been on the fence. After three years of being married Lucifer brings up kids and Diavolo is over the moon with his excitement. Diavolo definitely asked what made Lucifer decide he wanted kids. Cue a very blushy Lucifer as he mumbles about seeing Diavolo with Simeon’s and Barbaros’ baby they had just adopted.

Diavolo sets everything up as soon as he could. They had decided they would want an infant/ young toddler. As they were led to the infant area, Diavolo turned to look at his husband and saw him a few paces behind them. Worried Lucifer had gotten cold feet, Diavolo walked over to him to reassure him they didn’t need to decide today. The words died in his throat when he saw Lucifer was watching two young boys, most likely twins, and a little girl.

In short, the boys were twins Darius and Lucas, and the little girl Lily. “We couldn’t possibly separate them, they are family,” Lucifer was serious as he watched over the children. And that’s how they ended up adopting three kids instead of just one.

Parenting was tough for both of them. Good Cop/Bad Cop was definitely a thing in the house and Lucifer always ended up being the bad cop. But Lily seemed to make a bond with Lucifer. To the point, most times it took Lucifer coming home/coming to her to get her to stop crying. Diavolo has countless pictures of Lucifer falling asleep on the couch with her laying on his chest fast asleep. Diavolo on the other hand was usually the good cop and the twins definitely tried to use that to their advantage. But neither would change it for the world, the castle was so much more alive. It was never as loud and lively when Diavolo was a kid. The twins had prince/royal lessons that they hated with a passion. They rather play as princes than study to be one. They would fuss about Lily not having to it, “She will start when she is older,” The uncles were definitely the twin’s favorite adults, both seemed to idolize Mammon, much to Lucifer’s dismays. Even Lily seemed to have a soft spot for Lucifer, “Much like her father,” “Shut it”

But at the end of the day, they had a huge happy family, something Diavolo was proud to show off. Especially with Lucifer by his side.

I’m going to cut myself off here. I could continue but I feel like I’ve added way too much and going off-topic.

#obey me dialuci #yuki writes #yuki rambles #someone take my computer away from me #Dialuci #Listen to me Lucifer and Diavolo would end up with more kids over time #like probably ending up with 5-6 kids #Simebarb makes an apperance #oops #s8ncake I love you #long post

[immergladsss]

Moonacre Week 2021

Day 1: Zoom/Video Call

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31641653

“For next class, please read chapter 9 and be ready to discuss the social and political impact of the Norman Conquest on England—and don't forget, your essays are due this Friday. Have a wonderful day and stay safe!”

Maria watched, unblinking, as square after black square disappeared from the virtual ‘room’. Not even the professor had their camera on.

‘This meeting has been ended by the host.’

The zoom window finally closed.

Maria blinked.

4:56 pm read the time centered against the starlit wallpaper of her Mac book screen. She turned to look at her planner that was strewn over her bed.

No more classes for the day.

Maria fell back onto her bed with a groan. She rubbed her dry eyes, not caring one bit that she was smearing the little make-up she coaxed herself into putting on that morning.

“ 'Dress the part’ they said. ‘It'll make you feel normal’ they said,” Maria mumbled to herself.

She didn't feel normal, all she felt was drained. It was the start of her second year at university… and well over six months into a pandemic that showed no signs of stopping.

She raised her iphone. 4:57 pm. The locking screen was of her family. A picture taken the day of her nephew’s first birthday, December 2019. Georgie was centered in the picture, sitting between her uncle Benjamin and Loveday. Maria stood next to her uncle, leaning over his shoulder, while Ms. Heliotrope, their nanny, was by her side with an arm around her back. To Loveday’s other side was Loveday’s father, Mr. De Noir, and her brother, Robin.

Maria wiped her eyes with the hem of her t-shirt. It felt like an eternity since she last saw them. She missed them. Unlike her roommates, she didn’t move back home at the beginning of lockdown. She had just started an internship, one that was supposed to go well into the summer. Yet only 3 months later, she and the rest of the interns were dismissed, with promises to still receive full class credits.

With public transportation being the only way to get home, she didn’t want to risk her or her family’s safety. Yet day after day, her longing for home depressingly grew like the number of covid cases.

María turned on her side and clicked her laptop back on. She opened her FaceTime app and typed in Loveday’s name.

She propped herself on her elbow and began the call. As she waited, she grimaced at her disheveled appearance. Her red curls were in a messy bun, black mascara smeared around her eyes, her university-themed t-shirt was slipping over her shoulder. The very picture of a work-from-home student.

Lately, she and Loveday had begun a new game, ‘Fashion: Covid’. They would jokingly judge each other's "outfit”, as well as the rest of the family’s, as though they were judges on Project Runway or Next in Fashion. Maria smiled. She couldn't wait to see what Loveday would tease her about today.

“Maria!” A husky voice greeted, “It's been a while—”  

Her eyes flew open as she slammed her laptop shut.

She scrambled out of bed and ran to her bathroom, stumbling over her laptop’s charging cables. Maria washed her face with cold water and soap, doing nothing more than smearing her make-up.

“Oh bugger...” Maria pried open her mirror cabinet, spilling some products as she grabbed her make-up remover. ‘What was Robin doing at the Manor?’ Maria hastily squirted the remover onto the cotton ball, splashing some on her shirt and cursing under her breath. She scrubbed her eyes, ignoring the sting of the remover seeping in.

She rinsed off her face. Grabbing her hand towel, she rubbed her face dry, and ran back to her room, diving right into her bed.

She opened her laptop. 5:01 pm. ‘Crap’. she took longer than she intended. Maria redialed Loveday, hoping he would still be there.

“Maria, what happened?” Loveday answered the phone. Her blond curls were tucked into a fish-tail braid that draped over her shoulder. She was wearing her uncle’s faded brown jumper from his university days.

“Hi Loveday… sorry my internet went down for a bit. You know how it is.”

Loveday nodded with a frown. “Your face looks a bit red, are you running a fever?”

“No, I—”

“Fever?” She heard Ms. Heliotrope shriek from the back. Maria was startled as Loveday’s camera began to shake, before finally settling a bit too close to Ms. Heliotrope’s face.

“Oh, my goodness, Maria you’re red! I must go to you at once!”

“Ms. Heliotrope, I’m fine! I just washed my face.”

Ms. Heliotrope narrowed her eyes, bringing the phone so close to her face that Maria could only see her forehead.

“I don’t believe you. If I take a plane, I can be there by the end of the day.”

“Hang on! Look, I’ll prove it.” Maria climbed out of bed and pulled out the thermometer gun her family had sent in a care package. Sitting back down in front of the camera, she pointed the gun to her head.

Beep. 36 C.

“See, I’m healthy. Besides, it’s much too dangerous for you to travel.”

Ms. Heliotrope looked crestfallen, almost as though she wished she had a reason to be with Maria. “Hmm… Alright my dear. Make sure you check your temperature every day and report to us any symptoms. Please take care and let me know if you need anything! I love you and miss you dearly.”

“I will Ms. Heliotrope, I love and miss you too.” Maria waved goodbye as the phone was passed back to Loveday, but her uncle intercepted it, planting a quick kiss on Loveday’s head as he took the phone from her grasp.

“Maria,” came her uncle’s gruff voice. Even during a pandemic, he was dressed smartly with his hair neatly combed.  “How are you doing? Do you need anything?”

“Hello uncle, I'm alright, thank you though. The care package you sent is not yet half empty.”

“Good, good. Only say the word and I’ll go pick you up myself. We miss you.”

“I miss you too but it’s too risky.”

“It’s worth the risk if it's to have you back with us.”

Maria’s heart ached. “Thank you, uncle, I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

Finally, the phone was handed back to Loveday. “I’d ask how you were doing but it seems everyone’s done so already.” Loveday chatted away, telling Maria about how bored they’ve been.  How Marmaduke’s cooking expanded to include various intricate pastries and bread. She recounted with a laugh how only Wrolf and Georgie seemed to love their constant presence.  Though Maria laughed and nodded her head to Loveday’s words, her eyes kept darting to the background trying to see if she could spot him. Loveday grew quiet, she watched Maria with a raised brow and crooked smile, waiting to see how long until Maria noticed.

“Oh, er sorry Loveday, I don’t think I heard you. Were you waiting on my response?”

“Its alright, it seems you’re looking for someone else?”

“No, no…” Maria said sheepishly, “but earlier, Robin answered the phone. He’s back?”

“Yes love. He returned about a month ago but was quarantining at the castle. He’s now running errands and getting groceries for both of our families. I always offer to help, but he insists, and you know how he gets.”  Loveday bit her growing grin. “Do you want to talk to him? He’s playing with Georgie at the moment.”

“Sure, why not,” Maria tried to say nonchalantly. Though she never outright confessed to him, her childhood crush on Robin was no secret. But with four years her senior, Robin always brushed off any comments made about them, saying she was just his best friend. Once he compared her to a little sister. That one stung. Though Maria tried to grow out of it, even having a few boyfriends through her teens, that never stopped Loveday from trying to set them up.

The camera turned black momentarily before turning back on. They were in the parlor now. Robin was on the floor, playing with Georgie and his action figures. Maria’s heart warmed.

His hair was much longer and held up in a messy bun much like hers, though she hated to admit he looked better in it. He wore a black t-shirt with faded black ripped jeans. There were a couple of black and silver chain bracelets on his wrist.

“Oh Robiiin,” Loveday teasingly called. “Seems like someone misses and wants to talk to you.”

“Loveday stop playing!” Maria hissed under her breath, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

Robin jogged over to the phone with a merry grin on his face. Loveday flipped the camera back around, blew a kiss at Maria with a wink, and passed the phone to Robin.

“Hey,” Robin greeted. “Cleaned your face?”

“No!” Maria lied against the growing blush.

“It’s alright princess, not all of us can look as good as I did in smeared eyeliner.”

“Oh please, you mean that emo phase you went through?”

Robin stilled. The corners of his mouth turned up into a faint smile. He shut his eyes as he threw his head back and clutched Georgie’s toy like a microphone. “I got your picture! I'm coming with you! Dear Maria count me in!” Robin sang at the top of his voice.

“Oh god no! Not that song again! You were so annoying! I’ll hang up if you don’t stop right now!” Maria threatened through Robin’s laughter.

“It wasn’t a phase. It was a lifestyle! I’m thinking of bringing it back. Reckon I’ll look better with it now.”

“Ugh, your ego has grown along with your hair.”

“Wouldn’t yours too if you looked this good in a bun?”

“Please, I’ve seen better.”

“Oh yeah, name a few.”

“Chris Hemsworth, Ben Barnes, Jason Mamoa, Orlando Bloom, Timothée Chalamet—”

“Alright, alright, I get it. And please don’t get me started on that Chalemutwat. Such a sap, can’t believe that’s what girls are into nowadays.”

“You're just sore you don't fit the profile anymore. Face it Robin, the rock and leather days are long gone. It's all about k-pop and softbois now.”

“Softboys are just fuckboys with flowers in their hair,” Robin grumbled in disgust.

Maria snorted, thinking about the time he wore a flower crown for a May Day festival. “So, I heard you got back a month ago?”

Robin was walking out of the manor. She could see the setting blue sky and moving landscape in his background. “Yeah… The parks closed down. Figured it was time to come back home. I’m surprised you aren’t here.”

“Aww miss me?”

Robin shrugged his shoulders and looked away. “Want to see the gardens?” Robin flipped the camera, showing her around the manor grounds. As he walked her through, he talked of how covid affected his job. The craziness of people. How some thought escaping to the outdoors was the solution, only to end up trampling on preserved wildlife and littering about.

Maria had settled down, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand, she wore a wistful look across her face with a soft smile. Robin paused. His eyes focused on the screen, and he swallowed.

“Such a shame that happened to the park,” Maria said. “I’d be heartbroken if something like that happened to your forest.”

Robin cleared his throat, “Erm-yeah. Really annoying.” He forced his eyes back to the gardens as he continued on his way.

The camera stopped moving as he sat by a tree and flipped the camera back on him. 

“You got an earring?” Maria asked leaning closer to the screen.

“Yeah, was thinking about it for a while.”

“Ooh! Show it to me.”

He brought the phone close, it was a black stud, with a charm of a red feather.

“I like it.”

“Looks good on me, eh?”

“Bring that ego down a notch and then we’ll see. How’s your father, I’m guessing he had to stop with his falconry lessons?”

“Yes, we shut down the school temporarily. The castle feels lonely.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“Really? I’ll teach you when you get here.”

“Okay! Oh, I took up archery—Well before covid shut it down.”

“No way.”

“Yeah, I can teach you that!”

“Sounds like a deal,” Robin paused, “are you really not coming back soon?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What if lockdown ends?”

 “Don’t bet on it. Words going around it’ll be like this until the vaccine comes out. Give it another six months, maybe a year.”

“A year?”

“Yep.”

“Bloody hell.”

Robin frowned. “When did you start cursing?”

“I’ve learned a thing or two at uni. Even got drunk!” Maria said with a proud grin.

Robin’s face fell. “When was this? Who were you with?”

“Oh, lay off. You’ve gotten drunk plenty of times. Don’t forget about that time you broke your arm after trying to climb my tower.”

“That’s not the problem. You’re tiny. Were you with trusted people? Who took you home?”

“Relax birdboy, I was with friends. We went to a pub. I got tipsy, not black-out drunk. My roommates and I walked ourselves home. I didn’t even have a hangover. And I’m not tiny, I’m average.”

“Just barely,” Robin said with a snort though he seemed to relax back against the tree. “Never, ever, get drunk without someone you truly trust. And remember the pack rule. People are shifty.”

“I know, I know. I still remember your lesson before I left for school. Besides with this pandemic, doubt that’ll be happening anytime soon.” Maria told him about school. The weird things she’s seen on her classmate’s cameras. How everyone seemed to care less and less. She was over it all.  

“You should just come back to Moonacre. Study from here. Even my friends are back, they’ve been helping me fly the falcons.”

“The gangs back too? So not fair. I miss them,” Maria whined. “I want to, but it’s too dangerous. My uncle’s the only one working right now, and the upkeep of that old manor is so expensive. I can’t risk their health. If I could get home safely, I would be there in a heartbeat.”

Robin got pensive. “Alright. Well, hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “I just told you that’s not likely. I already feel bad enough as it is. Don’t rub it in.”  

Robin shrugged his shoulders, “Never say never. I should let you go now, it's late and Loveday’s phone is about to die.”

Maria pouted, surprised to see the clock in the corner of her screen read 8:47 pm. “Wow, we don’t speak for ages and you’re already wanting to hang up. I see how it is.”

Robin shook his head with a chuckle and a sad look across his eyes. “You know that’s not the case,” he said softly.

“I know. I’m only teasing. Good night Robin. I…I miss you.”

“Good night princess. I miss you too.”

The screen turned black. Instead of Robin’s face, she now sat staring at her own glum reflection.

8:49 pm.

She closed her laptop and stared at the photo collage above her desk. Pictures of her adventures with friends and family adorned the board. In the middle was one of her and Robin competing in a race at that May Day Festival. Still wearing the flower crown, Robin was giving her a piggyback ride. She was laughing.  They lost after Maria freaked out when a bee landed on a flower in front of her nose, causing Robin to trip. It was the last thing they did before her leaving to school.

Sitting back up, she opened up her essay and began to type. Wondering when she would see him and her family again.

…A few weeks later…

A resounding knock came from the door. Maria frowned. She hadn’t ordered dinner yet… It was probably some package getting delivered. Shrugging her shoulders, she went back to work, deciding to deal with it later... Until the knocking came again. Then her phone lit up. Maria glanced at the screen, wondering who could be calling: Robin.

#moonacreweek2021 #incorrect-quotes-of-moonacre #theres supposed to be a second part to this... but i havent finished it #oops #the secret of moonacre #robin x maria #modern au #covid-19 #pandemic #marias bored #all time low #dear maria #i totally think robin had an emo phase #and he works the man bun #this was fun #i wish i could participate more #the prompts are soooo good #the possibilities

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and Go to London chapter 15

Synopsis: This is the story of (y/n), a successful actress, musician, musical producer and songwriter. After battling depression and breaking up a long relationship, she seeks for a change of air, escaping LA for a while going to visit some friends in London and there she meets Henry. -Disclaimer: some chapters are mostly smut.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Triggers:   talking about body image issues, low self-steem; bullying; mention of sex; talking about kids.

Tag list: Here’s the incredible people who showed me support (thank  you    so much for that) and people who asked me to tag them too  ☺️   (I    think I will write a few chapters of this story, if you want me to  tag    you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8    penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming   alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185​  

Disclaimer: First, there’s a song that reader writes for Henry; of course I’m not a songwriter - as much as I’d loved to- so the song is actually a song from Hannah Montana (yes, laugh but the song it’s perfect for him ♥). Second and lastly, you may not feel as reader relatable in some things, especially in this chapter, but I hope that you still can enjoy it.

Since you started to date Henry, those days of hating your body and yourself were starting to be part of the past. There was no doubt that he desired you and you were perfect on his eyes and made you feel perfect. You could be without any makeup and a simple ponytail or a bun and wearing pyjamas and he'd still made you feel like the most gorgeous woman on earth. You still enjoyed to get dress and wear makeup because it made you feel even better. Most days you felt amazing and the self-bullying started to fade out. But, you still have those days in which you didn't felt confident and beautiful. This was one of those days. You got up and try to put a pair of jeans and ended tossed them out and choosing a pair of leggings instead because the jeans didn't fit you so well anymore. Since the quarantine began, you felt a bit more anxious than usual, so you started to eat a bit more, and the fact that your amazing boyfriend loved to bake bread, cookies and other delicious pastries and meals didn't help you at all. You could go to exercise and your only cardio was the long love-making sessions with Henry every night, that made you burn calories, but no as much as you were consuming. You went to see Henry and seeing him made you feel worse. Contrary to you, he was losing weight but gaining muscle. He trained during the day with some gym stuff and sex made him burn more calories than you. You hated your slow metabolism. He was looking hot as hell and you felt the complete opposite. - Good morning, baby. I made you breakfast.- he greeted you as soon as he saw you. "Great," you thought sarcastically when you saw the waffles waiting for you. - Is there anything wrong? - he asked you detecting that you didn't really mean that. - I'm not hungry, that's all.- you replied, offering a smile. - You have to eat. Sit- he indicated you. - I don't want to - you said, pouting. - What's going on? - he questioned, worried. - I've gained weight. I cannot wear my jeans because they feel really tight and uncomfortable. - Sorry to hear that, but don't you worry. I'm pretty sure when this is all over you will lose that weight or just get new jeans. You look amazing, there's nothing to worry about. I assure you. - That's because you're a man and you're super hot. With me is different. If I get just a few pounds, I'll be all over the internet with people saying that I'm fat. That's what they do to us in Hollywood. - Don't pay attention to what people say about you. Somebody will always look for something to hurt you, just don't let them get to you. You are perfect now and will be perfect always, no matter how you look. - he said as he grabbed your face and gave you a kiss.- And by the way, men also suffer those things. - he said and he sat on a chair and made you sit on his lap.- I was bullied as a kid for being overweight. It affected me a lot and till this day does, maybe not every day, but it definitely makes me feel bad sometimes. Some days, I don't understand why you or anyone would think I'm "sexy" or why you'd like to be with me in the first place. Other days, very often, I feel this pressure of maintaining my muscles and being fit, because I feel like you'd not like to be with me if I don't look ripped and also, I'd trouble with the roles. - he explained looking at the floor as he talked. You grabbed his chin and kissed him. - Sorry baby, I didn't know that. I assure you that no matter your looks, I'll always want you. - your arms were around his neck, resting on his left shoulder. You put your head next to his. After a bit, you ate breakfast and asked him to follow you to the living room. He waited for you there as you went into another room in the house and soon appear with your acoustic guitar. You sat on the couch and he pulled a chair to sit in front of you as you prepared to play something. - When I was in LA, I wrote you a song. I tried to speak a little bit your language, cowboy. -you said winking at him and made him laugh. - Really? - he asked excitedly. - Yes. I hope you like it. - you said and started to play the song for him.

Smooth talkin', so rockin' He's got everything that a girl's wantin' He's a cutie, he plays it groovy And I can't keep myself from doin' somethin' stupid Think I'm really fallin' for his smile Yeah, butterflies when he says my name Hey! He's got somethin' special He's got somethin' special And when he's lookin' at me I wanna get all sentimental He's got somethin' special He's got somethin' special I can hardly breathe somethin's tellin' me Tellin' me maybe he could be the one He could be the one, he could be the one He could be the one, he could be the one He could be the one He's lightnin', sparks are flyin' Everywhere I go he's always on my mind and I'm goin' crazy about him lately And I can't help myself from how my heart is racin' Think I'm really diggin' on his vibe He really blows me away, hey! He's got somethin' special He's got somethin' special And when he's lookin' at me I wanna get all sentimental He's got somethin' special He's got somethin' special I can hardly breathe somethin's tellin' me Tellin' me maybe he could be the one He could be the one, he could be the one He could be the one, he could be the one He could be the one And he's got a way of makin' me feel Like everything I do is perfectly fine The stars are aligned when I'm with him And I'm so into it! He's got somethin' special He's got somethin' special And when he's lookin' at me I wanna get all sentimental He's got somethin' special He's got somethin' special I can hardly breathe somethin's tellin' me Tellin' me maybe he could be the one He could be the one, he could be the one He could be the one, he could be the one He could be the one

Henry couldn't stop smiling. He was so happy and you were over the moon knowing that it was you who made him feel that way. Seeing him so happy was the best feeling in the world. - I don't know what I like the most: the song or your voice? Mmm, let's called it a tie. - I'm glad you like it. - I loved it. - he assured you - So tell me, do you really think I could be "the one"? - he questioned, raising one eyebrow and putting and puppy face. - I think you are the one. - you replied. - I feel the same way about you.- he kissed you. Then, he sat on the couch and you used his thighs to sit on. You kissed for a little bit and then just caressed each other and talked for a bit about things like video games, the music you were working on while quarantining and his hobbies of painting little action figures of his favourite online game. After a bit of silence, you got lost on your train of thoughts. He also believed you were the one for him. Something inside of you told you it was time to confess to him that you've been postponing since you two became a thing. You sighed and decided to let it out. - Babe, there's something we need to talk about.- you said sweetly but let him know that was a serious topic. - Sure, is there something wrong? he asked worriedly. - You want to be a dad, right? - you put it as a question, but it was more a statement rather than a question. - Yes, I'd like to have kids, why do you ask? - I knew it since the beginning. With you is obvious that you want that and that someday you'll be an amazing dad. - you said and then paused for a minute while he looked at you confused - I've never wanted to be a mother. Kids were never part of my future and I don't let me get started in the idea of being pregnant, it scares the shit out of me. - you finally admitted. - I wanted to tell you about the beginning but then I really liked you and wanted to be with you. I didn't know that we actually would become a couple later on the road. And I like you so bad that I was afraid you would leave me, so I couldn't find the courage to tell you. - Henry remained silent. He didn't seem mad at you for not talk to him about it earlier; he was just trying the process the information and also he looked sad. You grabbed his chin and made him look at you.- It's crazy how in one month and a half you change my world completely. I like you so much. I know that we have a long road to ride, if we remain together, so we'll still have to get to know each other better to be 100% sure that the other is "the one" for us. I knew that, but I also knew that the kids thing was something important, so I've been thinking about it, a lot. I've questioned myself is motherhood is something I could do someday. Since I started to think about it, there's a picture -well, is more a scene than a picture- that keep popping in my head: A big garden on autumn, with the leafs falling from the trees and there's you, playing superheroes with a little kid, our kid. Kal is with you two. And me, inside the house, sipping hot tea while I watch you from the window with a smile in my face. Every time that scene appears on my head, I smile; I feel truly happy. But when I think about I'm still sitting on the fence. I think it could be something I would like to do with you, but I have to be completely sure. It isn't just about me or you, there's another life involved in this decision. So the reason I'm telling you all this is because I wanted to ask you to give me some time. I wanna go through all of this in therapy to know for sure I'll make what's best for everyone. If someday I realized I cannot do it, I'll step aside and let you go and find the person who can give you that. I'd never take that away from you. I hope that is me if we still are together, but if not, I'll let you go. But to know all of this, I need time. Do you think you could give that to me? I understand if you want to end this here because you want to be now with someone who's sure about wanting children, though. - you finished. There was a moment of silence. Henry was looking again at the floor, thinking. After a minute, he finally spoke. - That scene. I want it. With you. - he replied and looked into your eyes.- If you tell me that there's even a small possibility that someday that could be a reality, I assure you that I'll give you all the time you need. -he said and stroke your cheeks. You smiled at him and shared a sweet kiss.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #demivampirew

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Side Effects ch.3 (baon)

Summary: All Stretch wanted to do was drop off some pants to get altered for Edge’s cast. He’s obviously asking for too much out of life.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Past Injury, Coffee Shop

CH1 | CH2

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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Barista, Tailor...

Stretch shifted in his bus seat, garment bag over his knees and his eye lights carefully focused on his phone screen.

He’d only taken the bus once since the whole incident in California, but the one that ran the Embassy route usually didn’t have as many Humans as this one to downtown Ebott.

Today he could feel the looks from other people, Humans, crawling up his spine and it was a little hard to ignore. No one approached him at least, ready to spit some extra-strength vitriol into his lap, so they were probably just curious. That did happen sometimes, either because he was a little bit Twitter famous or because he was just a Monster in general. People frequently took discreet pictures of him or videos, and he tried not to take it personally. Heck, Keanu Reeves got the same treatment when he took the subway.

Stretch sometimes found those pictures on instagram or twitter. Depending on the caption, he’d even comment, hey, being amicable about the amateur paparazzi was probably good public relations.

But it was one of the reasons he usually wore headphones on the bus, even if, like today, he didn’t have them turned on. Friendly was good and well, but sometimes there weren’t enough spoons in the drawer, and headphones acted as a decent barrier of sorts to that shit.

Not that a lack of spoons was a problem today. He still felt weirdly energized after pouring his all into healing Red. What he honestly felt was hungry, hell, starving, his magic pleading for a quick snack or maybe a ten-course meal. Coffee he’d remembered to bring along, but with Edge out of commision, the level of baked goods in their house was hitting critically low levels.

Hm. The stop for the Beanery was coming up and it wouldn’t take up too much time for a side quest into pastry retrieval. Getting Edge's trousers to the tailor could wait a couple mo'.

When the bus rolled to a halt, Stretch hopped eagerly down the steps to the sidewalk. He could already taste those sweet, sweet lemon bars, might even pick up a cinnamon roll for Edge while he was in. He took a moment to dump out the dregs of his morning coffee, might as well get a refill while he was here, and headed in.

The bell jangling cheerily overhead was the same as always, but there was nothing normal about the way the entire shop froze in their tracks when they saw him. Baristas and patrons alike stopped and stared, and Stretch froze right along with them, resisting the urge to glance behind him, cause he was pretty sure he was what they were looking at and not some other skeleton Monster that crept in on his heels.

“um, hi?” he tried, lifting a hand in an awkward wave.

That seemed to get the record playing again. Before he could even lower his hand, Debbie was around the counter, Jennie and Daniel at her heels, paying no mind to the line of people waiting at the counter. Then again, none of them looked put out by the barista parade, they only stood and watched as Debbie dashed up to him and flung both her arms around his ribcage, almost making him drop the garment bag. Jennie joined her, and Daniel, and Stretch only stood there bewildered, caged in Human arms and patting whatever heads and shoulders he could reach.

“um, hey, guys? sorry i haven’t been in, things have been a little weird.”

“We know, dear,” Debbie said finally ,and to Stretch’s horror, when she pulled away, she drew up her apron to wipe at her eyes. “We’ve been watching everything on the news. Oh, sweetie, how is Edge doing?”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Well, fuck, he knew a few internet sleuths had figured out that Edge was one of the Monsters hurt even if he was such a stickler for privacy that his name wasn’t in any of the reports. Stretch hadn’t even considered that the people who knew Edge would be worried out of their skulls, fuck, he’d been home for almost a week, had no one bothered to let the Beanery in on it? What about Thomas at the book shop, he knew Edge, too...but no, he’d probably texted Andy.

Stretch abruptly realized the entire shop was waiting for an answer. Humans that he didn’t know by name, but whose faces he recognized, shop regulars who probably followed him on Twitter, nodding a greeting every time Stretch stopped in. Asgore hadn’t wanted him to post on Twitter about what happened because he was afraid it would open a can of worms and get people asking him questions that he probably shouldn’t answer.

(Which honestly, it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his fault his fingers worked faster than his brain.)

But obviously radio silence on Twitter wasn’t the answer either, not from all the worried faces around him. He needed to have a chat with Asgore on that front, but first it was time for some damage control.

“He’s fine,” Stretch said, loud enough for everyone in the shop to hear, “seriously, he’s doing okay. he’s a little bang up, he’d got a temporary cast on one leg, but he’ll be up again with a coffee craving in no time.”

To his dismay, instead of being reassured, Debbie burst into full-fledged tears and hugged him again. He leaned down to wrap both arms around her, squeezing tight, until her sobs trailed away.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Debbie pulled away and grabbed a napkin from one of the tables, wiping at her eyes. “It’s only...i was so worried.”

“We were all worried,” Jennie put in. Debbie’s niece was like a younger, taller version of her, complete with her own tears. Behind her, Daniel was nodding along. “When we saw that awful video. But when we called the Embassy, they couldn’t tell us anything.”

Ah, shit, of course they wouldn't, especially not about Edge since he wasn’t supposed to be a public figure. And they probably hit Andy with a gag order, too, so he wouldn’t even be able to say much.

Welp. Stretch didn’t work for the Embassy, thanks, and Asgore only mentioned Twitter. If they didn’t want him talking to people’s faces, they should’ve sewn up any loopholes before they let him out on the street.

“he’s fine, i promise,” Stretch said firmly, then he reconsidered. “deb, do you have a cell phone?”

Debbie blinked, but pulled an iphone out of her pocket. It was older and the screen was cracked, and Stretch made a mental note to deal with that somehow, but that would be later. For now, he opened up her contact list and added his number, labeling it ‘Skeletor’s Second Cousin.’

As he typed, he said, “next time, call me, okay? not that i want a next time but, you get me. call, text, whatever. i’ll tell you what i can.”

Debbie nodded, still a little teary, and backed away enough to let Julia and Daniel get in another quick hug before they headed back behind the counter.

“Come on, let me get you a drink,” Debbie said briskly. She took hold of Stretch’s elbow, leading him up to the counter like a lost lamb, “You look like you’re on your way somewhere.” Stretch followed meekly along after her like a good little sheep. Not like letting her get in a little mom-ing was gonna hurt.

He allowed Debbie to steal his travel mug, watching as she worked her magic to fill it. “yeah, edge needs some of his pants altered if he’s gonna be able to wear them with a cast, so i’m headed down to the tailor.”

Debbie actually paused, lips pursed, “I see. Let me throw in an extra shot of espresso, I have a feeling you may need it.”

~~*~~

Not much time later, Stretch had a chance to really appreciate Debbie’s foresight.

He knew the Monster tailor, Bruno, as a casual sort of acquaintance but not so much professionally, not since he’d been fitted for his wedding tux. Stretch’s style tended towards either off the rack or out of Edge’s side of the closet, and that was about as far as he liked to think about clothes.

His husband, on the other hand, probably had his t-shirts professionally tailored. Not that Stretch was about to complain, heck no, not when he got to reap the benefits of that view.

But it did kinda leave him in the position to be standing awkwardly, listening to Bruno moan about the travesty he was about to commit on some perfectly good trousers.

“It won’t work!” Bruno declared, for about the fifth time if someone was counting, and Stretch really, really was. “There is barely enough material in his trousers for his legs, he expects me to maybe coax the silk worms into adding more for a cast?”

Stretch shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, munching on his last lemon bar as he watched the tailor pace. Everything on the overflowing tables rattled with every stomping step he took, the pictures on the walls hanging ever more crooked. Stretch couldn’t say he minded, it was kinda like getting a free show.

The sigh Bruno heaved was loud enough to shift all the pictures another inch, “The only way it might work is if I cut the seam all the way up the side and find a way for him to fasten them. The trousers won’t go over the cast, but he will at least be covered.”

“think velcro’s been proven to work,” Stretch offered idly. Even he shrank away from the look of pure distaste Bruno gave him, the void flickering in his vision as he almost shortcutted out to the sidewalk and to heck with the pants. Bruno was one of the rare Monsters who towered over him, with a pair of gleaming ivory fangs peeking out from his lips, the curling horns towering over his head well-polished. From the look of his shop, business was flourishing, which just proved that Human problems with Monsters wasn’t the way they looked.

“Is he planning on tearing them away in the middle of a meeting with heads of state?” Bruno sniffed. “Perhaps do a little dance for them?”

“uh...i hope not?” Stretch offered meekly. “i mean, probably should order a g-string too if that’s on the table.”

Bruno went on as if Stretch hadn’t said a word. “No, he is not. Hook and eye would work, buttons would be more secure, but.” He shook his head with grave misery, “No. he won't like it. No matter what I do, he won’t like any of it. No.” Bruno heaved a sigh worthy of any swooning Victorian heroine, sagging into a huge, squashy chair that creaked ominously. “I’ll do it, but I’m afraid he’s not going to like any adjustment I come up with. I certainly hope he doesn’t tell anyone he’s wearing one of my creations!”

“i’ll let him know to keep the business cards to himself for now.” Stretch leaned against the counter, plucking up a business card of his own to weave through his fingers. Oh, he was gonna regret asking, he knew it, but he was reluctantly curious. That might kill a cat, but hopefully skeletons got off for free. “okay, so, if what edge is asking for won’t work, what would you recommend?”

Bruno brightened instantly, illuminating like a newborn sun and clapped his huge hands with such exuberance that Stretch took a step back. “Ah, well! When it comes to something like a cast, there are a few options, oh, let me think!” He stroked a finger down one long fang, considering, “you both have such slender legs, but very shapely. Ah!” Stretch waited with morbid curiosity, almost expecting to see a bubble with the word ‘eureka’ come spilling out of the tailor’s ear. “I have it! I think he would be dashing in a business kilt!”

A what? “a kilt,” Stretch said, flatly. “that’s what you’re saying. that’s the big idea. not exactly original, is it.”

“Yes, yes, a kilt,” Bruno flapped an impatient hand at him, “and original isn't the question or suitcoats would have died out a hundred years ago! A sedate pattern, of course, nothing too flashy, not for Embassy work.” Yeah, as if that was Stretch’s big concern, that Edge might get stuck with something more appropriate for disco inferno than a business meeting. Then again, bell bottoms might work... “With a kilt cut jacket and tie, oh, yes, something in a dark wool, I think.” Bruno stood and marched over, Stretch bouncing along with every step, until he could lean in to whispered conspiratorially, “He’d look scrumptious and I don’t think I need to tell you that should be his natural state of being.”

“scrumptious.” Stretch repeated slowly, tasting the word. Yeah, okay, he kind of liked that one in the same sentence as Edge, he could warm up to this idea. “how long would it take to make something like that?”

Bruno’s expression turned into one from the sly family, his little smile widening to a toothy grin. “It’s entirely possible I have something in the works right now that might be suitable. If you’ll excuse the pun.”

Uh huh. He sure knew his clientele, didn’t he. “sold. let me know when i can pick it up.”

“I’ll have it done by the end of the week, along with the...trousers.” His distaste from the last word faded into a certain disturbing gleam that began to shine in Bruno’s eye and before Stretch could flee, he took hold of Stretch’s elbow, gripping firmly, “Now. Why don’t we see what I can do for you?”

“what? wait, no, i’m just here for edge!” Stretch tried, digging in his heels as Bruno began to pull. His sneakers squeaked on the tile as he slid along in the direction of the dressing rooms. “no, don’t! help! i don’t need new clothes!”

“Nonsense!” Bruno scoffed, “Everyone can use an addition to their wardrobe. Particularly when you come to me dressed like that,” He paused, his face twisting into a moue of pure disgust as he tutted over a perfectly decent sweatshirt and pair of track pants. “I couldn’t possibly let anyone see you leaving my shop this way. No, no,” He shook his head, tugging Stretch determinedly along. “My reputation won’t have it. Come now, let’s see what I have for you.”

Stretch gulped and cast a longing look at the door as he was hauled inexorably towards the dressing rooms.

Where was a damn explosion when you needed one?

-tbc-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[nosleepstillweak]

cruller

My favorite type of donut is a cruller. Pity the man that begins his own love story with a monologue about his favorite pastry, but I feel like there’s something to be said here. It’s not like your traditional cake or long john or eclair. A cruller is in an avenue all its own. For one, it just looks cooler. Who doesn’t like a twisty donut? The dough is shaped into this endless spiral that flakes beautifully in the oven. Furthermore, the consequent increase in surface area also leads to the creation of these little pockets that are the perfect space for the outer glaze to nestle into. Top the whole affair off with a flawlessly reduced jelly filling and it’s like eating ambrosia. This opinion definitely isn’t mitigated by the fact that a literal goddess is the one to serve me these treats every morning, yet I still face opposition.

“You’re just a fucking weirdo, Jason.”

These are the words of my donut-apathetic comrade, Malachi. He’s a bit of an old-head, if you were to ask me, but sometimes the bluntness of his responses are in my best interest. As of late, he has been the staunchest--and sole--opponent of my onset infatuation with the owner of our newly discovered cafe destination.

“These twists taste like garbage. Admit it, you just have a thing for Donut Girl.” A key indicator of his disdain is the fact he continues to call her “Donut Girl,” even though her name-tag would lead me to believe that she actually goes by Sadie. Then again, given my previous history with “Pizza Chick” and “Gas Station Lady,” it’s fair to say that I haven’t necessarily made the best name for myself when choosing my romantic interests in the wholesale industry.

“Unsubstantiated opinions on Sadie aside, you can’t tell me that this isn’t a damn good donut.” I mean, he could, but he’d just be a liar. I take another bite in between sentences. “Plus, I don’t think you saw the way she looked at me this time. That was definitely some sort of signal.”

I can’t say that I’m not offended by Malachi’s responding scoff. “Yeah, a signal to round up all the idiots. I can’t believe you’re twenty-three years old and you still crush after women like you’re in a teen drama.” He scowls at me as I finish off the last of the half-dozen with a smile on my face. “Those donuts literally taste like sugar-coated metal.”

“Oh, heaven forbid they contain the slightest hint of high fructose corn syrup.” In traditional old-head fashion, Malachi is the type to complain about foods nowadays being too sugary; he gets a headache from eating a rope of black licorice. “Gather ‘round, folks, Old Man Malachi is mounting the soapbox again to preach about the dangers of processed foods--”

“Oh, fuck you, I’m leaving.” He, rather dramatically, snatches the coat off the back of his chair and storms out of the bakery. I can’t wipe the grin off my face when I remember that we literally work at the same office and will see each other again within the next ten minutes. What I find to be less amusing is the fact that he left me the entire bill, including his cinnamon-free cinnamon twists and extra-large black coffee. In lieu of my irritation, I take the situation as just a form of preparation: true love isn’t cheap.

“Here’s your bill.” A slip of paper slides across the table and then I’m blindsided by the sight of an immaculate Sadie smile. Now that’s priceless. I can’t describe it in words, but it’s just so… damn. By the time I’ve regained my senses, she’s gone off to help the next customer. I glance over the receipt, fishing through my wallet to produce the proper total and a hefty tip. My eyes widen when I catch something hastily scrawled at the bottom of the slip: a phone number. Next to a poorly-drawn smiley face, but that’s beside the point; the Sadie of Sadie’s Bakery just gave me her phone number. As I get up to leave, I even catch a glimpse of her smiling softly in my direction. I more than happily return the gesture. Malachi will come around eventually, but this train is definitely already in motion.

***

I have to hand it to Malachi because the first few weeks of my relationship with Sadie did actually feel like a teen drama. Our initial correspondence was nothing to write home about. I’d pick up a cruller every morning at the bakery and we’d chat for as long as it took for Malachi to spitefully gulp down his coffee and claim that we were running late for work. In between breaks at the office, I curated a myriad of internet bakery memes. Then, at night, I would bombard our text conversations with dancing donuts and cake icing videos and pretend to not absolutely lose my mind whenever she responded with a laughing face emoji. This continued for a while until I had to stage a self-intervention from giving myself diabetes. Sadie was surprisingly understanding and even offered to make me a sugar-free batch; had Malachi not physically taken my phone and responded with “no and goodbye,” I would have accepted.

In spite of his continued opposition, the train kept on moving. Sadie was actually the one who asked me out; I know, the misogynists are quaking in their boots. After she made the first move at the bakery, I wasn’t super surprised that she proposed the idea of dating one morning when I stopped by to pick up an office order. That being said, her delivery did not keep me from turning completely red and whooping at the top of my lungs in the otherwise moderately quiet cafe. I honestly still don’t know why Sadie got so embarrassed; she literally owns the place. All that being said, Sadie and I were officially a couple. Now, I just have to let Malachi in on it so he can be a supportive best friend and help guide me through my new--

“Jason, I love you, man, but this seems like a terrible idea.” Okay, ouch. This hadn’t been the first time he’d ever said these exact words to me, but for some reason, they hurt more this time around. “This is so sudden! I seriously worry that you’re getting ahead of yourself. What do you even know about this Sadie girl anyways?”

“Uh, well, for one, she runs the best bakery in town.”

“Debatable. Dinah’s Breakfast Cafe has killer pastries.”

“Unlike Dinah, Sadie’s smart and funny.”

“And you learned this from your 2 A.M. meme conversations?”

“Okay, either way, look me in the eyes and tell me she’s not beautiful.”

“Do you really want me to call your girlfriend hot?”

I throw a straw wrapper in his face and pout, genuinely upset. “That’s not the point and you know it.”

“Look, dude, I can understand that your initial feelings may be strong, but I just don’t wanna see you get hurt again. Physically or emotionally.” Malachi fixes me with a serious look and I suddenly feel like sinking back into my chair. “Especially after Gas Station Lady, I was hoping you’d make a little bit of a better assessment of things. I mean, like, do you even know how old she is? Friends? Family? Does she have any past relationships? Who’s to say that she isn’t hanging out with one of her ex-boyfriends right now?”

That last comment was a low blow and more than a little melodramatic, but I suddenly feel like I don’t know enough about Sadie to defend her. Now that I think about it, maybe everything is moving too fast.

“Just… be careful, man. Maybe reconsider. Again, the last thing I’d want is for you to get hurt.” Malachi shoots me one last sympathetic smile before walking out of the breakroom. Maybe there’s some truth to Old Man Malachi’s words. I stare at the cruller in my hand for a moment. When I finally move to take a bite, something inside leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The jelly filling doesn’t taste quite the same as before.

***

After that awful conversation, I decide it's best to have a heart-to-heart with Sadie. Our text conversations dry up for a couple of nights and I try to avoid the bakery as much as possible to give myself more time to think. However, as it turns out, the inevitable conversation didn’t end up being as painful as I thought it would be. Sadie actually laughs when I tell her that I don’t know anything about her; she says the same could be said about me. We spend the rest of the evening making donuts together and giving each other a basic autobiographical rundown.

Sadie Marissa Jenkins II is a first-generation British--it was at this point in our month-long relationship that I finally noticed the accent--immigrant who’d moved here in order to pursue her studies in culinary arts at the local university. She lives with her older sister, and her dog named Muffin, and she prefers riding her bike to taking the metro. She spoke of no past relationships and is in fact not currently cheating on me with another man. I was quite happy, and a little smug, when reporting my findings to Malachi.

“If you think she’s the one, then knock yourself out.” He’s speaking very nonchalantly for a man who’s wrestling with a stapler. “She actually gave me a free coffee this morning, so maybe she’s worth keeping around.”

“So free coffee is all it takes to get Old Man Malachi’s blessing?”

“Hardy-har-har.” He flicks a loose staple at my forehead. “This better work out, because I’m not picking your ass up again when you get dumped out of a pizza delivery car in the middle of town.”

“At least she didn’t run out of gas.” I jokingly shoot finger guns in his direction, snorting when he feigns a shot to the chest as he exits the breakroom. There are still a couple of crullers left over in the Sadie’s Bakery box on the counter so I help myself to one--and immediately gag. Okay, they actually do kinda taste like metal. They’re probably just stale from sitting out all afternoon. Yeah, that’s probably it.

***

I decide to lay off the crullers for a while and instead take the time to learn more about Sadie. What I learn instead is that both of us have pretty uninteresting lives, but I think it’s the thought that counts. Plus, her accent is precious and I can barely pay attention when we have midnight baking lessons at the bakery. These lessons are always followed by her getting into my car, me offering to drive her home, and us making out in the backseat instead. This goes on for several nights and I have never once complained about it. That is, until tonight, when she decides to take a chomp out of the side of my neck.

“What the--!” I instinctively push away from her and inspect the injury with my hand. My fingers come away smeared red.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Her hands hover over me as I frantically press the sleeve of my jacket to my neck to stop the bleeding. “I got carried away. Did I hurt you?” I mean, judging by the fact that I’m literally bleeding, I think it would be fair to assume that she did, in fact, hurt me. Nonetheless, I manage a smile.

“It’s fine, Sades.” Probably. The bleeding has stopped, anyways. “Honestly. I mean, it’s not like you said some other guy’s name, or something weird like that.”

“What? What other guy? When was there ever another guy?” Sadie jolts away from me like I’m made of fire. “What do you know about another guy?”

“Uh, nothing! It was just a joke.” A bad joke. “An American joke.”

“Oh. I see.” She nervously picks at the leather of the car seat, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip.

“Really, the biting thing was fine.” Probably. I lean forward and place a small kiss on her ear. “In fact, dare I say that it was kinda hot.” I don’t know what response I was expecting, but I was not physically prepared for the look that she gave me when I pulled away. Then, we were back at it again. From that point in the night on, it was just so… damn. Maybe I was just hallucinating before; I think the crullers taste just fine.

***

“You look tired.” Malachi inquires with a wink as he takes another sip of his morning coffee. To be quite honest, I probably feel worse than I look; after the whole biting incident and my subsequent flirtatious response, Sadie kinda took things into her own hands. I think it’s fair to say that what happened in that car stays in that car. Probably.

“I was just busy last night.”

“Busy?” Malachi snorts into his cup. “With Sadie?”

“Oh, shut up,” I tiredly flip him the bird, “don’t say it like that. We’re literally adults. It’s not like teenagers kissing behind the bleachers, or something.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot when you got so mature. Just eat your damn cruller.” He shoves the half-dozen towards me and I nibble at one for a bit before taking a bite… which still tastes awful. Did she change the recipe for the filling? I need to talk to her about that. “Then again, maybe you’re right. I don’t remember them wearing scarves in August in teen dramas.”

I literally choke on the bite of cruller in my mouth. Okay, so maybe the biting incident wasn’t fine. You live and you learn.

***

“Uh, hey there, Sades.” I make my way into the sparsely lit kitchen of the bakery. “Whatcha’ up to?” My real question is, why does the kitchen look like a literal crime scene? There’s donut filling smeared all over the counters; there’s even some on the wall.

“Oh! Uh, nothing, just washing my hands. Cleaning up.”

“Did you cook something?” I look around the kitchen a bit. No pots or pans. Not even a baked good. “I don’t see anything.”

“N-No, not really. I was just preparing something for a batch I was going to bake tomorrow.” For a baker, that’s a totally normal thing to do. Probably.

“Alrighty, then. Should we head out now?”

Sadie smiles, but her face still seems tight. “Lovely.”

***

“Something’s off about Sadie, man. I’ve been getting these weird vibes lately.”

“Oh, so now you see it.” Malachi rolls his eyes, taking a bite into a fresh-baked, sugar-free twist. “Did you two have a fight? Does she not like it when you burp halfway through your sentences?”

“What? No, to both.” Well, actually, that’s a hard maybe on the latter. “Nothing specifically happened, per se, but, like, the vibes were off. She was acting really strange last night.”

“What’d she do, exactly?”

“Well, she…” Washed her hands? What exactly am I supposed to say in this situation? “...actually, never mind.”

“Good. Because, if you were about to say some kinky shit, I literally would’ve punched you in the face.” He chortles as I push hard against his arm. “Look, man, relationships are weird. Whatever’s on your mind, just work it out with her. Better now than later. Regret hurts like a bitch, dude.”

I stare down at the cruller in front of me and swallow thickly. “I think you’re right, man. I should just talk things out with her.”

***

Oh, god, I was wrong. I was so wrong. Screw talking things out. Malachi was right. Regret does hurt like a bitch. I should’ve listened to him, the first time. I wish I could go back and listen to him. I should’ve known something was wrong from the random nighttime hand washing. Or from the biting incident. Or from when any human woman found me to be conventionally attractive. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s just not human. She probably isn’t, given that she’s pulling this shit. She’s literally crazy, and I fell for it.

You wanna know what was in those crullers? The jelly filling: it wasn’t cherry or strawberry or whatever other random red fruit we thought it was. It’s straight-up human remains. ...Plus a shit ton of sugar and preservatives, but that’s beside the point. That’s why Malachi thought they tasted like metal. There’s iron and calcium in blood and bones; she was just feeding us metal. People. And I ate them! Almost every day! For two months! Oh my god, what’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with me?

Malachi, or Mom, or Gas Station Lady, if you’re reading this, just know that I love you all. Actually, this is an inner monologue; you’ll never see this. Poetic cruller bullshit aside, this is absolutely crazy. Oh god, she’s back. Oh god, she has a meat grinder. Why would she have a meat grinder? This is the worst day of my life. Oh god, this is the last day of my life. I’m about to die. She’s about to grind me into bits and make me into donut filling. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. I should’ve known better, I should’ve--

Fuck, Malachi, please, don’t eat the crullers. Don’t eat the--

***

“I knew there was something up with you!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh god, he even told me that you were acting strange recently--”

“Malachi, please, calm down. What’s the matter?”

“Cut the bullshit, Donut Girl. What did you do to Jason?”

A pause. Then, she smiles. “Welcome to Sadie’s Bakery, the best baked goods in town. Could I interest you in a cruller?”

[knightowl725]

Healing in a Graveyard, Ch. 4

Fandom: Critical Role

A continuation of my work for Fjorclay Week 2020′s modern au prompt. I make some important notes about really the whole fic on the ao3 post. Short version: Landlords dating tenants is not cool, at all. I’ve been writing this with the knowledge that Caduceus wouldn’t abuse that power dynamic. But in the real world? Everyone should make their own choices, but I, personally, do not condone it.

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828932/chapters/57397261

Chapter Four: Pink Blossoms

He awoke in the morning to the sound of metallic clanging.

“It’s breakfast ti~ime,” Jester’s cheery voice sang from outside his door as she banged - what? Pots and pans? - together. “It’s time to wake u~up!”

He heard distant, high-pitched cursing from the direction of Nott’s room, followed by a giggle from Jester and her thudding back down the stairs.

Fjord threw himself out of bed, slinking into the bathroom for just a few moments to wake himself up. He’d slept like shit. Hadn’t he set an alarm to wake up early? Caduceus had said he could help out later in the day so he could sleep in, but he’d still wanted to be up for meditation.

So much for that.

Fjord made his way downstairs and through the kitchen into the dining room, where everyone but Nott was settling around a wide array of breakfast foods. There were tall stacks of pancakes, waffles, piles of fruit, syrup in different flavors, breakfast sandwiches, bagels, and more laid out, all in their vegan varieties. Fjord wasn’t sure about the vegan version of some of these items, but after everything else he’d eaten that week, he was willing to try.

Caduceus stood nearby, having just set down the final plate of food. He looked rather pleased with himself in his purple apron. A bit of light from the window was falling on his face just so, and Fjord thought that he looked rather handsome in that image.

Which was a weird thought, and one he squashed back down. He didn’t need to get into that weird admiration-crush area right now. In fact, it might be the exact last thing he needed.

Fjord took his seat, Nott following shortly after. They all tore into the food, shockingly quiet for a few moments as everyone was lost to the joys of breakfast. What had seemed to Fjord like a ridiculous amount of food turned out not to be, as the Nein neatly polished it off.

“That was so good Caduceus,” Beau said, slouching a bit with a hand on her stomach.

The others echoed their thanks to a pleased Caduceus. Fjord couldn’t help the thought that Caduceus was the kind who needed people to fret over. He supposed the Nein was about as perfect a match as any.

Fjord considered spending his day studying, maybe trying to look at job postings. The thought reminded him of his rough night, of regretting ever leaving The Champions’ house even temporarily. But now, in the light of day and with a stomach full of pastries, he wondered if maybe it wasn’t the right choice. Maybe, if there was such a thing as fate, he was meant to be here now. Surrounded by friends, with the only stranger becoming a fast friend as well, in a beautiful nature escape, under the eye of a goddess that asks you to protect and preserve rather than consume and destroy.

Any of his plans for the day were dashed by his friends, who coaxed him into joining them at a pop up carnaval. It was a day full of Jester-levels of chaos, spurred on by Nott that he gave up trying to contain after about an hour. At one point, Caleb had gone off to read, Beau was trying to impress Jester by winning her a giant unicorn plush at a game, Nott was on top of a popcorn stand, and Yasha was showing a juggler how to actually perform.

He took a deep sigh, pulled out his phone, and recorded a clip of all of his friends in their shenanigans to send to Molly. Then, on a whim, he sent it to Caduceus as well. He was kinda part of the group now, right? That was the impression Fjord got, even if Caduceus couldn’t join them today. Visiting his sister, he’d said.

By the time they made it back to the Xhorhaus, everyone still laughing and jostling one another, it was nearly sunset.

Caduceus was sitting in his rocking chair, wearing an endearing straw hat that made Fjord smile instinctively.

“Caduceus~!” Jester called out. “The carnival was so much fun. Look what Beau won me!”

She raised the over-stuffed unicorn plush high overhead with pride.

“You should join us next time,” Fjord said.

He smiled wide, eyes crinkling. “I’d like that.”

He stood up, a little slowly as though he’d been sitting for a while. “Would you all mind very much if we fended for ourselves for dinner? I’m rather tired today.”

There was a chorus of, “of course!” and “no problem!” from the group as they poured inside.

“Ah, Fjord? Could I speak with you for a moment?” Caduceus asked. Fjord paused, then stepped out of the way of the others. Had he done something wrong?

Ah, shit. He’d forgotten.

“Right. I still need to earn my keep for today,” he said with a little laugh. “What should I work on?”

“It’s not that,” he said, distracted and gazing off across the Grove. “Actually, I’d like to skip our project work today, if you don’t mind. We can call it even.”

“Caduceus, are you alright? I mean, it’s not that I’m not grateful for a break, but you seem...tired.”

He met Fjord’s eyes to smile. “I am a bit worn out today, I’m afraid. But just tired. Calliope’s gym is very busy on the weekends. Too many people.”

Ah, that made sense. Fjord wasn’t bothered by crowds too much most days, but it was obvious that Caduceus, while sociable and friendly, was a more introverted man. In fact, it was a little strange to imagine the towering pink firbolg anywhere other than in the Grove.

“Of course. Is there anything I could do to help?” Fjord asked. “I could try making you something to eat? I’m, uh, not familiar with much vegan cooking, but I’m sure I could put together some of those sandwiches you left out the other day? The moss ones?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t impose--”

“I insist. We could call it my work for the day, if need be.”

Caduceus considered it. “Well, alright. I would appreciate it, Fjord.”

Fjord stepped towards the door. “You get settled again. I’ll bring out some food and tea, and then we can talk.”

“Right, thank you.”

Fjord disappeared indoors, suddenly daunted by the idea of cooking anything for Caduceus. And he offered to make tea? Caduceus was the type to make tea properly, to brew it at the perfect temperature for the exact amount of time that particular tea required.

He ventured into the kitchen, carefully sifting through the shelves so as not to upset Caduceus’s inscrutable system. He found the sandwich ingredients easily enough - it was the kind of recipe you could piece together just by looking at the meal. The tea he relied on the Internet for. A search told him honey lemon tea might be an easy one to make. He watched a quick tutorial and made himself meticulous notes.

After a bit of time, he had two plates of sandwiches, neatly cut in half, and two cups of tea. He placed them strategically on a large tray with a little saucer of honey, a tiny spoon, and a sliced lemon. He’d noticed Caduceus often added them to his teas, so hopefully that would be enough if he hadn’t gotten the flavor right.

Caduceus was still outside, his empty tea cup on the little rounded table, slightly unbalanced. Fjord set down the tray, shifting it so Caduceus’s half was closest to him, then sitting on the bench.

“Thank you, Fjord,” Caduceus said.

“I hope I did it justice.”

“I’m certain you did. You’re a quick learner.”

They enjoyed a quiet moment, the warmth of the day beginning its shift into a cool night.

“Did you enjoy the carnival?” Caduceus asked after a few moments, his sandwiches gone and tea between his hands. He always held it up to his chest like that, especially when he was sitting idly. It was a little cute.

“Yes, though it was tiring in its own way,” Fjord said. “You may have seen the video I sent.”

Caduceus chuckled. “I showed Calliope, and she got a good laugh out of that. Still can’t puzzle out why Nott was up on the popcorn stand.”

“I think the vendor said something that offended her? I don’t know.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” Caduceus said, straightening a bit. “I needed to talk to you.”

“Right.” Fjord felt the pit in his stomach return.

“Calliope runs a gym, and she has a few people she’s brought on staff,” he said. “She’s very proud, we all are. She normally spends her time between all the tasks, training, running the business, working reception, and the like. But she’s gotten a bit overwhelmed with the gym’s success.”

“Understandable,” Fjord said.

Caduceus nodded. “She told me she’s been having a hard time finding people she likes to help her out more. She really wants to find a part-time receptionist. I think she had one already, but she needs another. I mentioned I knew someone looking for work, and how you’d been helping me all week.”

“Oh,” Fjord said, unable to form any words beyond that.

Caduceus tilted his head thoughtfully. “She asked a lot of questions, most I couldn’t really answer, but she wanted to know if you’d like to speak with her about the job.”

“Oh, wow. Okay.”

“I told her I would ask, but that you might have other things planned. I don’t want to assume or push anything on you, but I do think you would like working at the gym. And it’s important to Calliope that her employees be, at least, accepting of the Wildmother, and I know you’ve been respectful of Her.”

“Of-of course.” Fjord took a deep breath. A job? The pay couldn’t be worse than it was at the cafe, so as long as he got the same minimum hours...Which it sounded like the gym was doing well enough to need him around a bit...And wasn’t it close by?

“I, um, I’d certainly like to talk to her more about it,” Fjord finally said. “I can’t promise anything, but I am interested.”

Caduceus brightened. “Good! I know it’s far from decided, but wouldn’t it work out just so nicely? I’d like for Calliope to have trustworthy folks around her, and she could use someone who is good with people on her staff. She’s a little rough, but she’d be much better to you than some of these other folks have.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Fjord had always had some level of charm, even in his more awkward moments. It wasn’t a surprise to hear, but somehow hearing it from Caduceus made him flush.

“Here, let me get you her number.”

Fjord entered Calliope into his phone after a few attempts at getting her name right.

“I’ll send her a text tonight. Unless you think I should call her?”

“I think a text is fine. I’m the technology-challenged one of the family, not her.”

Caduceus smiled at Fjord’s laughter. They finished up their tea, talking a little more about their day. Soon it was dark, with speckled stars overhead and invisible crickets chirping away. They said their good nights, and Fjord breezed through his nightly routine. Wash his clothes, brush his teeth, file at his tusks, check that his assignments were all in order, plan what he might need to study tomorrow, finish laundry, then crawl into bed.

Lying in the dark of his room, he pulled out his phone and stared at the new contact.

It didn’t hurt to ask about the job, right?

In the dark of night, all alone, he felt those familiar hooks dig into his chest, like something weighed him down. Avantika would be so angry if he took another job. It was as good as saying he wasn’t coming back. He might lose all his other things. All that time invested. All the comfort in having someone else to make his decisions.

But it was so damned warm here. The Blooming Grove, the Xhohaus, it was like a dream. Was it even possible that it would stay? If he reached for it, would it just vanish?

Mind shifting between possibilities, the cold comfort of pain well-known versus the warm but terrifying unknown, Fjord fell asleep with his phone on his chest and a single text message he didn’t quite remember sending.

Hey Calliope, this is Fjord, the guy Caduceus mentioned. He said you might have an opening for a front desk role at your gym, and that I should contact you. I’ve got a few years of experience in customer service, and I spent years on various ships doing all kinds of odd jobs. If you still have that opening, I can send you over my full resume if you’d like to talk more.

~~

He dreamt of the ocean. He was standing on the edge of a rocky outcropping, staring out into the softly turning waves. They stretched out before him, intimidating. Awe-inspiring. Eternal. Powerful.

He looked up into a bright blue sky, watching as it shifted. A cloud, or a face? A face made of a cloud, maternal, grew to encompass the sky.

~~

When Fjord awoke his mind raced with the...conversation he’d had with the cloud, the promise he’d made. His heart raced with his mind, and he took a moment just to breathe. Process.

The sun was just beginning to fill the room. Fjord looked around. It was the same room he’d woken in, what, six times now. It was his seventh day in the Xhorhaus. It was his last day in the Xhorhaus.

He planted his feet on the wooden floor, seeing his phone discarded face-down on the floor. He ignored it for now, facing himself in the mirror as he had done merely days ago. Days and yet a lifetime.

He looked disheveled. His hair was still too long, too gray for his age. His face was clean, fuller. His eyes were clear, his slouch more natural and less burdened. He looked...stronger. Somehow. Maybe not physically. Those kinds of changes didn’t happen overnight, after all, but still.

A flash of pink caught his eye, and he looked to the houseplant sitting on the dresser. It had flowered overnight, from nothing to a vibrant pink, pointed sort of flower. He stood and approached the plant, barely grazing the flower with his fingertips. He knew that shade of pink.

It was surreal. He didn’t know if he was still dreaming or experiencing a mental break, but some deep, certain part of him knew it was neither. He dressed and went through his morning routine with a strange calmness over him. When he returned to his room, another shock awaited.

He turned back to his bed, intending on gathering his phone and making his bed, but more color caught his eye. Outside his window, that large, beautiful tree he’d come to admire had burst into color. It’s usually vibrant green leaves were now overwhelmed by bright pink flowers.

Caduceus stood beneath the petals, dressed in the long teal-pink robe-esque coat he’d worn earlier in the week. His back was to Fjord, a staff in one hand while the other extended out to catch a falling petal.

Fjord pried open the old window and leaned out. “Caduceus!”

Caduceus turned at the shout of his name. “Fjord? Look at this! I’ve never seen--”

“It’s amazing! Wait a minute, I’m-I’m coming downstairs.”

Fjord hurried from his room, leaving his window and door open in his haste. He tore out the front door, leaping down the porch steps to jog to the tree.

Caduceus was waiting, smiling with childlike delight as he was gently showered in pink. Petals had caught in his hair, a near-matching color. He laughed.

“I’ve never seen this happen, never heard of it happening,” Caduceus said. “I… I should take a picture. At some point. For my family.”

“I think I--” Fjord caught himself. Who was he to act as if he might be the cause of this? A minor miracle amidst another family’s home for centuries, where they had all worshipped a goddess he stumbled across in a dream, and he was going to try and claim it was about him?

“Do you know something, Fjord?” Caduceus asked in sincere curiosity.

“No, I couldn’t possibly. I just…”

Caduceus watched him expectantly, wise eyes waiting for him to come clean.

“I… I had a dream last night. About the Wildmother.”

Caduceus straightened, leaning towards him in intense interest.

“She asked me… To serve her, I think. Like you do, but different?” Fjord relayed the dream, the vision of the ocean, all that the Wildmother had told him, the promise he made, even the flower on his houseplant.

Caduceus’s smile slowly widened until it looked like it might split his face in his joy. “This is wonderful, Fjord!”

“Is it?” Fjord said. “I’m a bit nervous, if I’m honest.”

“You’ve been lost to this darkness for some time, I understand. Something drew you to it.”

Fjord looked down for a moment. “I...wanted guidance, I suppose. Purpose. Not to figure it out alone.”

“The Wildmother can give you those things, if you’d like for her to. And from what you’ve shared, I think some part of you might.”

“I’m sorry,” Fjord said. “I don’t mean to make this about me, I’m sure--”

“It is about you,” Caduceus said, almost confused. “She has chosen you to join her following, to take under her wing and her protection. There are no coincidences Fjord. This tree did not burst into flower for the first time in my life the night after you accepted its goddess by chance. She gave you a sign, several of them. First, when you were brought to her temple here, then when you met me, and more this morning.”

Fjord didn’t know what to say. He looked up at Caduceus. The man was smiling down at him, brimming with joy and pride. Was Caduceus proud of him?

He felt something push at his eyes.

Caduceus looked up into the tree. “This is a blessing, Fjord. I sensed you were meant for greater things than serving destruction, but it seems She has surprised me once again.”

Fjord managed a laugh. “She is certainly surprising.”

“Today is a special day,” Caduceus said, still smiling. “Would you help me finish breakfast? I think I’d like to bring it out here.”

“Of course.”

#my writing #fjorclay #critical role #teahaw #multi-chapter

[goonlalagoon]

The Great Haus Bake-Off || Check, Please!

I have no memory of what caused me to start writing this, but been re-reading some Check Please fic and finally got motivated to go back and finish it...

(also on Ao3 here)

No-one was quite certain, later, who started it.

 It had been a post-practice brunch, they all agreed, sometime in that period when everyone on the Internet - or at least, about thirty percent of the parts of the Internet that Bitty frequented and re-tweeted things from - was obsessed with Great British Bake Off, and someone had eventually said “It’s baking, it isn’t like it’s exciting”, and it seemed like almost everyone in the room made a sound of thoughtless agreement.

Then came the terrible ‘clang’ of an oven door being closed.

 Instantly, the room fell silent. The look Eric Bittle turned on them all would freeze enough water for an ice rink, and for a long moment everyone at the Haus kitchen table was both trying to remember whether they had said the terrible thing, and wondering with deep seated horror whether if no-one owned up Bitty would actually withhold all baked goods.

 Chowder actually gulped when he began to smirk.

 “Oh, really? Y’all better be ready to put your money where your mouths are.”

It’s really only supposed to be a small thing. Bitty plans to just get the boys to try and make something - maybe a pie, or maybe he’d give them something fancier, patisserie of some kind - which they would all inevitably fail at but would probably make fools of themselves in some deeply entertaining fashion while baking. But Lardo listens to him patter on about it for fifteen minutes, swallows her pie, and grins.

“Say, Bits? You reckon we could turn this into a Samwell Men’s Hockey publicity thing?”

 They even manage to get a sort-of sponsorship out of it by dint of Lardo sidling up to the manager of the cute little store Bitty goes to for baking apparatus - he’ll compromise on many things for the sake of budgeting, but when he needs another pie dish or his scales go on the blink, Eric Bittle is not afraid to invest - and cheerfully explaining the entire story. The manager is delighted and insists on being a judge in exchange for giving them a deal on some of the key equipment, because Bitty loves his teammates to pieces but wouldn’t dream of letting them near his mama’s set of cake tins for love nor money.

When the delivery arrives he discovers that the manger has even managed to get them cake stands patterned with skating boots and little snowflakes.

One of Lardo’s arty friends agrees to film it in exchange for permission to submit it as part of his film and media portfolio, and Bitty indulges himself in a full rerun of every episode of Bake Off aired so far to gather ideas.

Lardo joins him for most of it, already planning the spiel she’s going to stick up on the SMH website to cover the event and organising a few people for taste testing (with a guarantee of a Bittle produced rendition of the days challenge in case all other offerings are truly inedible as they both half suspect they will be)

 Meanwhile, the rest of the boys begin to panic. Baking is not a skill that was widely associated with the SMH Haus before the arrival of Bitty, and their main interaction with baked goods is still firmly on the consumer end of things.

Ransom is seen carrying a stack of cookbooks up to his chin across campus from the library, and spends his evenings memorising recipes with the fervour he usually saves for last minute test revision. No-one quite dares use the Haus kitchen to practice, because what if they damage Bitty’s baking stuff he will either cry or kill them or both, and take over miscellaneous dorm kitchens to try and memorise the basic sponge recipe. A bemused Farmer lets Chowder use her kitchen, and promptly tracks down Bitty to ask what on earth is going on, because “he accidentally used salt instead of sugar and I know for a fact he’s done that several times before, why is he trying to bake again now??”

(She joins in with the GBBO re-watch and makes some excellent suggestions for possible challenges.)

Shitty attempts to make macarons, because he suspects that Bitty is going to make them all suffer. He pokes his failed attempt and concludes that Bitty may be prepared to make them all suffer, but he also loves baking too much to inflict this level of horror on himself, surely?

He largely stops trying to prepare himself and instead starts waxing lyrical about baking in the context of gender roles, mostly the hypocrisy that being able to bake a cake is still considered an essential life skill for a girl, but no one has ever thought it unreasonable that he has never baked a cake before in his life, and winds up on Wikipedia at three fifteen A.M. having gone down a Google rabbit hole that has somehow led to him reading the page about the societal structure of meerkats.

 In the end, Bitty decides on three challenges, as a nod to the format and a fun way to get some variety; cookie decoration (he’ll provide the prepped dough, bake ‘em once everyone’s used whatever cookie cutters they want, and then they do the decoration), mini-cake construction (everyone gets a batch of miniature sponges, their choice of how to glue the two layers together and add finishing touches), and one actual baking round - the showstopper pie.

Lardo makes a schedule, because the Haus kitchen won’t take all seven of the team who got themselves into this mess trying to work in it all at once, so that they rotate between stages and go in batches to Murder Shop ‘n Stop to buy their pie filling ingredients.

 It’s a disaster, and Bitty watches the chaos unfold with entirely unconcealed glee, keeping up a cheerful voice over - and if his chirps happen to distract the boys and lead to much panicked responses and second guessing, well, that’ s just the nature of baking in a high-pressure environment, isn’t it?

The first round of judging involves a lot of guesswork. Admittedly, Chowder’s blue and white creations are a lot easier to figure out if you’ve seen the inside of the boy’s room and could reliably guess what he was going to attempt, so there are a lot of puzzled looks exchanged amongst the judges until someone makes the link with the Sharks hoodie he’s wearing.

It turns out that Dex can do a pretty neat galaxy icing pattern if he puts his mind to it, even if he got the consistency wrong; Bitty may actually have to try it himself, sometime.

(”Jack, did you…did you actually do maple leaf cut outs with a maple glaze? That’s…”

“Gotta stay on brand, eh? And I was told I wasn’t allowed to do plain circles and decorate them as hockey pucks.”

Most of the minature sponge cakes are gradually sliding more and more lopsided as the various attempts at butter-cream or other fillings prove unable to hold. Holster has somehow managed to cut his at almost a perfect diagonal instead of in half; Nursey simply gave up and presents his as an ‘open sandwich’ rather than trying to glue the layers back together.

 (“Shits, what did you even put in the middle of - is this marmite? Did you - did you seriously - why?”

“Listen, love it or hate it, and I happen to love it. Sweet and savoury, a classic combination -”

“Marmite victoria sponge is not a classic combination, Shitty.”

“I was told to be creative, thank you very much, unlike those of us who went with jam and butter-cream.”

“I like jam and butter-cream. Anyway, I did use apple jam, that’s not typical. And I put maple syrup in the -”

“Bro, I am also from Canada, and even I will say that is incredibly Canadian of you.”)

Bitty almost weeps when he sees the final range of pies produced. He was braced for them to be terrible; he just wasn’t quite prepared enough. For a moment, he wonders if this whole stunt was really worth it.

 Fillings are burnt while pastry is undercooked to the point of being raw - or the filling is horribly flavoured and the pastry overcooked until it’s about the consistency of wood chips.

Ransom has managed a surprisingly pretty lattice over three-quarters of his pie, but ran out of pastry for the last section. Chowder forgot to leave air-holes in the lid of his (and put salt instead of sugar in the filling).

Nursey isn’t sure what ingredient he forgot, but it was clearly one of the essential ones.

But there is one pie that actually looks…if not something that Bitty would have baked himself, at least something he wouldn’t be instantly offended to be connected to. The lid is a near perfect golden brown, with precisely spaced snips to let the steam waft gently out. The pastry is precisely crimped around the edge of the pie dish, with the excess trimmed away to leave a clean margin. The filling is sweet but not sickly.

 The decorative pastry maple leaves add a certain artistry, the main judge declares with the pleased smile of someone who knows they were created with a cookie cutter bought from his own shop.

The video of Jack being presented with an ice-skate patterned cake tin and a matching apron as he’s declared the ‘Samwell Hockey Haus Bake-Off Champion gets re-tweeted by Bob Zimmerman within five minutes of being posted, to a flurry of Twitter activity.

Lardo and Bitty were definitely not expecting their slightly-spite-motivated publicity stunt to go quite this public.

 (It was a really good pie, though.)

#Check! Please #OMGCP #omgcp fic #my writing #I...can't remember what sparked this idea but it's been sitting 3/4s finished in my drafts for ages #I actually cannot recall if Jack's love of maple syrup is canon or fanon at this point #or at least his insistance on using Proper Maple Syrup

[pricesmosun1970-blog]

I love for either HW2 or DOW3 to be the game that dethrones SC2 in terms of competitive RTS but I don think it possible right now. Dumping money into HW2 esports BEFORE they even determined if there is interest in the game competitively is a waste of money. I think they should instead wait and see what community develops around the game and then determine the demand for it before adding HW2 to their Halo Esports league.. For hikers who are eager to take their scrambling and climbing skills to the next level, Buck Mountain might just be the perfect 10,000 plus feet (3048 plus meter) starter destination. In summer, the terrain is green and gentle at the base of the mountain and grows rockier, with scrubby vegetation and year round snow caps as you gain elevation. In fall and winter, the mountain is blanketed with heavy snow, and in spring, avalanche risk and wet conditions make hiking Buck Mountain unadvisable.. Another thing that your self consciousness leads me to believe is that you are not a bad person. Bad people and assholes either justify everything that they do through fucked up logic, or just plain can see past their own entitled asses. I just a stranger on the internet though, I don know about your personal life.. Take a small paring knife and run along the inside of the mold. The custard should not run when the mold is removed. He grew up in his grandfather's pastry shop, "Au Nid de Friandises, " on the French Riviera. I have a genuine question about these calendars. Was she selling individual calendars with different things in each one? How was it possible for 고흥출장마사지 her to repackage some things she already used/tested? These weren mass produced, correct? So everyone was receiving totally different items? She individually made. How many calendars? That doesn really 고흥출장마사지 seem cost effective, even if she is repackaging things from other calendars. I have a bachelor in biology and had originally decided physical therapy. Got into a super expensive school actually and decided to go respiratory therapy instead. Right now it seems like a good decision for me because I work with people, get paid in the mid 20s (midwest), and have more options to move up with my bachelors. I have a 4 year old client who can talk your ear off about an episode of Sesame Street, but in the heat of the moment, when he upset, he can even remember how to say, "I sad." It so frustrating for them to be so helpless with language. So narrating his feelings will help him learn to express them himself. When he crying, saying things like, "You frustrated, you wanted to play more, it so hard when mommy says "no"," etc may make a big difference for him.. Basically they take anybody links to subbed videos, and aggregate them on their own site. They might only have made fractions of a penny from each click, but it would all add up, and it was from material that subbing teams were expressly releasing for free. I remember towards the end they started trying to go legit, like Allkpop did (and that another story), providing original subs for RM. A two colored bead is free to rotate inside each cavity. When a printer applies a voltage to the surface of the sheet, the beads rotate to present one colored side to the viewer, offering the ability to create text or pictures. The images will remain on the paper until it's fed through the printer once again.

[welllpthisishappening]

Where You Can Still Remember Dreaming (4/35)

Killian Jones, former crime reporter, was not happy to be home. It hadn’t been home in a very long time, after all. Home was an abstract construct that existed for people who didn’t know as many adjectives for blood as he did. Home wasn’t New York City, but it certainly wasn’t Boston or New Orleans either and he’d always gone where the story was. And he was positive Emma Swan was one hell of a story.

Emma Swan, pro video game player, desperately wanted to find home. She thought she had, a million years ago in the back corner of a barn and a town and faces she trusted. But that had all blown up in her face and it didn’t take long for her to decide she was going to control the pyrotechnics from here on out. So now she was in New York City and a different corner and she kind of wanted to trust Killian Jones.

Neither one of them expected a year of of video games and feature stories to dredge up old enemies and even older feelings, but, together, they made a pretty good team.

Rating: Mature. Word Count: 9.4 K of Emma Swan background and flirty text messages. AN: Hey, uh, let’s play some video games, huh? And learn why Emma didn’t really want a year-long feature story about her video game team. It’s time to try and qualify for the League (which is really a tournament, honestly) and I cannot thank you guys enough for the serious kindness you’ve shown in regards to this fic. It’s been incredibly nice. We’re just getting started.  || Also on Ao3, FF.net and tagged up on Tumblr ||  Tag List: @jamif ; @alicerubyfloyd ; @courtneyshortney82 ; @jennjenn615 ; @artistic-writer ; @onceuponaprincessworld ; @kmomof4 ; @nikkiemms ; @resident-of-storybrooke ; @whumped-natascha-remi-ronin ; @coliferoncer ; @strangestarlighttree ; @tiganasummertree ; @game-of-once-upon-an-outlander (Let me know if you want to be tagged or don’t or, like, how your day is going.)

She wasn’t sure what was more annoying.

The very loud alarm she could hear a few inches away from her head, whatever David was shouting on the other side of the door or the horn honking just outside the window of her room. It wasn’t her room.

It wasn’t even really a room, per se.

It was a...corner.

And David wasn’t really on the other side of the door, he was on the other side of a partition that Mary Margaret ordered off Amazon for nineteen bucks a week before Emma had descended on their apartment with one suitcase in her hand and the hope that, maybe, this could work.

This had to work.

They’d find out in a few hours if it could.

A few hours from now, Emma would walk back into the apartment with one of two options in front of her – either she was as much of a complete failure as that tiny, nagging voice in the back corner of her brain promised her she was and even the idea of playing video games professionally was absolutely insane or, and this is where the hope came into play, she was the quasi-captain of the only all-female pro Overwatch team in the league and they were well on their way to splitting a four-million-dollar championship check with their names plastered across the internet and a string of feature stories written about them on The Daily Caller and and a national spotlight that would, maybe, lead to more money.

God, those feature stories.

God.

Killian Jones.

She was going to see Killian Jones that afternoon. And that didn’t terrify her. Absolutely not. She was worried about the game. And four million dollars. She couldn’t even imagine four-million-dollars, let alone imagine winning an inaugural tournament that promised just historic. Probably with a comically large check.

It had nothing to do with Killian Jones or how blue his eyes were or how she kept replaying that slightly awkward, slightly strained, undeniably sweet conversation they’d had the week before.

“Shit,” Emma mumbled, slamming her hand on her phone and promptly knocking it onto the floor. She could barely make out David’s laughter a few feet away and what sounded like cabinets slamming shut and she hadn’t actually turned her alarm off.

“You know,” David shouted, throwing what sounded like a pillow full of bricks at the partition. The whole thing shook, nearly falling on Emma and her air mattress and it would almost figure that she’d get taken down by nineteen dollars worth of plastic before she even stood up.

She needed to be more positive.

She needed to find her super cheesy team-branded t-shirt. That cost more than the plastic partition.

“Were you ever going to finish that sentence?” Emma called back, finally pushing herself off the air mattress and half of it had deflated during the night. That wasn’t a sign. God, her phone was still making noise.

David chuckled again, kicking at another cabinet and drawing the mumbled reprimand of Mary Margaret – who was absolutely going to be late for work so she could see Emma off or something equally maternal. “Yeah,” he said, padding across the apartment and leaning around the still-wobbling partition. “You need to learn how to control your electronics. And work on your hand-eye coordination. It sounded like you nearly knocked off your whole little compound over here.”

Emma scowled, but that was as good a word for it as any. She didn’t bring much with her to New York – didn’t have much to bring to New York – but David and Mary Margaret had offered up, at least, three quarters of their living room without question, pulling an ancient air mattress out of the closet and buying an entirely new bed-set, with a questionable amount of flowers on the sheets, and pushing the coffee table against the wall so Emma had somewhere to keep her phone and her laptop.

It was, exactly, what they’d always done.

And Emma would never get used to it.

“Compound Godzilla,” David continued, eyes bright and wide and far too confident. In her. He was confident in her. Even when he was insulting her and comparing her to lizard monsters.

“Yeah, but you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with the damages,” Emma reasoned. “So you know, in the grand scheme….” “Of? “Of whatever joke you’re trying to make. Very badly I might add.”

“That’s rude, Em,” David said, but there was a laugh just on the edge of his voice and Mary Margaret was already humming under her breath. It was so goddamn domestic Emma couldn’t quite believe it was real.

She shrugged. “You need to work on your jokes. These are getting stale. And you’re the only who nearly knocked over the partition. I just almost cracked my phone.” “Whatever,” he grumbled and Mary Margaret’s humming had turned into open laughter, far too well-acquainted with whatever early-morning war of words Emma and David were staging in the corner. “I’m not going to provide you with any caffeine or the vast array of breakfast pastries I’ve procured from the place down the block.” “Did you just swallow a dictionary?” “Thesaurus,” Mary Margaret corrected, flashing a smile over her shoulder and she’d already taken a shower. Emma hadn’t even heard her wake up.

There was probably a reason for that. That stupid voice in the back corner of her mind did jumping jacks, bouncing off the sides of her brain as it tried to grab Emma’s attention and provide an explanation she didn’t really want to her – because the kids in the foster homes always cried, quiet sniffles and even louder wails, wondering what they’d done wrong and when someone would decide they were enough and they could leave and, maybe, get just a bit warmer.

It always seemed to be freezing in those houses.

And, somewhere in between Hartford and Minnesota and a few weeks on the street in Boston, Emma had developed the ability to sleep through anything – crying or wailing or chattering teeth or, apparently, Mary Margaret taking a shower a few feet away.

“Em,” David said, tugging on the edge of her sleeve and jerking her out of the past. “You went all glossy for a second there. Was it because I totally impressed you with my vast and detailed vocabulary?” She rolled her eyes, taking a step towards the kitchen and accepting the mug Mary Margaret offered her. “I promise,” she said. “It had absolutely nothing to do with that.”

David’s smile wavered for half a moment and he shot Mary Margaret a nervous look, meaning flitting between them and nearly becoming another sentient being right there in their kitchen. Emma sighed. “Ok,” she mumbled, taking a sip of hot chocolate-coffee hybrid and they’d bought her cinnamon. She shouldn’t have been surprised. “That’s not what I meant it like.” “Are you nervous?” Mary Margaret asked softly, a picture of support and belief and something that felt like certainty. Emma clearly hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

“About the game?” Mary Margaret nodded. “No, no, I am absolutely not nervous about the game. We’re good and we’ve practiced a shit ton, enough to drive Granny absolutely insane and we don’t even have to win. Technically.” “You’re totally going to win.” Emma bit back her immediate response – a string of practicality and low expectations that absolutely did not belong in the same room as Mary Margaret Nolan.

She’d been part of the package deal that came with arriving in Storybrooke and life with the Nolans and enough love to almost make up for everything else.

Actually, arrived was generous. Emma had kind of stumbled into Storybrooke, nothing more than a few dollar bills stuffed into the back pocket of her ripped jeans and a blanket clutched tightly in her hands and she just needed somewhere to sleep. She didn’t expect to find a barn and a corner that was almost, nearly, sort of warm.

David found her the next morning, legs tucked up underneath her with her blanket under her head and hay stuck in her hair. Honest to God hay.

She’d run away. The house had closed a week before and there just wasn’t enough money to support a run-down building and a dozen orphans that no one wanted. Including the national government. Or maybe just Maine. Emma never could remember who was in charge of that.

It didn’t matter.

The only thing she’d known was they were going to move her again and she was just supposed to agree to Florida and another fresh start and she’d started running before she’d even really considered any other option.

She was going to run again as soon as David found her, hand balled up into a fist and halfway through the air when he held up his hands in surrender and asked what she was doing here and promised a hot meal and maybe a shower if she’d just follow him inside.

Mary Margaret was sitting at the kitchen table with Ruth when the door slammed shut behind Emma. She gave her a new set of clothes and, it seemed, Emma had found a family.

Even when she didn’t want it.

Especially when she didn’t want it.

“I know, I know,” Mary Margaret said, nudging her elbow into Emma’s side with a familiarity that made her stomach clench. “You only have to be in the top eight. Doesn’t mean I totally don’t think you’re going to absolutely wreck.” David nearly dropped his coffee. “Absolutely wreck,” Emma repeated slowly, eyes flashing up towards a determined Mary Margaret.

“Yes. Absolutely. And completely. C’mon. That’s a gaming term!” “You’re just digging yourself into an even deeper hole here, M’s. You are painfully uncool.” Mary Margaret stuck her tongue out, rolling her eyes dramatically and jumping onto the edge of the counter next to Emma. She rested her arm on Emma’s shoulder, elbow pushing into the side of her neck and it probably would have been uncomfortable it weren’t so normal and, not for the first time, Emma was glad she’d stumbled back into this life.

“She looked it up,” David whispered conspiratorially before taking a far-too-large bite of bagel and, somehow, smiling at Emma. Mary Margaret clicked her tongue in disapproval, but it wasn’t a disagreement either and Emma wondered when she’d had the time.

Probably in between attacking major website editors with plans and making sure Killian Jones wasn’t actually trying to kidnap two kids from a summer program with the promise of ice cream on his lips.

Shit.

Killian Jones.

Emma needed to drink more coffee and get some food in her and a slightly more professional mindset. There were rules about that, right? Ethics or something. A reporter wasn’t supposed to date whoever he was writing about.

No, probably not. Definitely not. And she wasn’t thinking about dating Killian Jones or or a sentence that included both Killian Jones and lips or even really talking to Killian Jones – far too focused on the game and winning and keeping her personal life, decidedly, personal.

She could be a good story without the depressing history and vaguely troubled past.

Definitely not.

Primary fire, secondary fire, obliterate every enemy – and that stupid, annoying, asshole voice in the back of her brain. It would be fine. She probably wouldn’t really even notice him. For the entire goddamn day.

“I think she’s playing the game,” David muttered, pouring another cup of coffee and, God, he’d showered too. How had she slept through all of that?

“I’m thinking what the best way would be to take you out,” Emma lied and David didn’t look like he believed a single letter of it.

“I bought you baked goods. A plethora of baked goods.” “That was actually kind of nice,” she conceded. Her drink had gone cold. “God damn. Although there are a questionable number of cinnamon-raisin in there. What time did you have to get up to make that happen?”

David shrugged. Painfully early, then. “It’s an important day, Em,” he reasoned. “And maybe I just wanted cinnamon-raisin for the week.” “Yuh huh.” “How come you don’t have to actually win to win?” “We’ve been over this twenty times already,” she sighed, but she kind of appreciated too. If Emma kept running the plan, the one that decidedly ignored Killian Jones and his far-too-blue eyes and nicknames and on-the-record questions, then she could stay focused on the goal. She could absolutely wreck – as Mary Margaret would say.

“Humor me.” She took a deep breath and Mary Margaret reached over her shoulder, tugging the mug out of her hand to fill it with scalding hot liquid. God, it was like being fifteen again. Emma was a better video game player now.

“It’s a qualifying tournament,” Emma started. “So there are sixteen teams today, from all over the world, who didn’t get the automatic bid. It’s because none of us have fancy, corporate sponsors and we’re some kind of Overwatch plebs in the eyes of the league, so, they put us in a different bracket and make us play each other.

The seeds coming into this were a total joke though. They, literally, just put our team names into a hat and that Zelena lady who’s in charge of everything picked out pieces of paper and that’s where we ended up.”

David snorted over the top of his mug and he’d mixed peanut butter and cream cheese on his cinnamon raisin bagel. Emma tried not to actually gag. “Ruby’s very mad about that,” he said. “She’s brought it up every single time I’ve talked to her in the last forty-eight hours.” “How many times are you talking to her in the last forty-eight hours?” “A couple,” he mumbled and it sounded a bit like an admission. Emma’s pulse accelerated and she was positive she was missing something. David’s nervous glance towards Mary Margaret all but confirmed it and they were talking about her. God.

“Yuh huh,” Emma repeated, eyebrows pulled low and frustration brewing in the pit of her stomach and she was fairly positive they were talking about that phone call she’d made on the other side of the plastic partition on Friday night.

She was going to kill her whole goddamn team.

“And what seed are you guys?” Mary Margaret asked quickly, trying to refocus the conversation and keep Emma from throwing things in the middle of her kitchen.

“We are fifth,” Emma answered and maybe she was as upset as Ruby was about this whole seeding debacle. Maybe Killian Jones, award-winning reporter with a history Emma was positive was also a story, should write about that.

That, however, would require her to talk to him long enough to suggest story ideas.

What a mess.

“And playing?” David prompted. Emma rolled her eyes. They’d really gone over this twenty times already, had discussed it in detail in the back corner of Granny’s on Saturday night, Ruby’s voice rising with every sip of alcohol until she and Anna seemed to be having some kind of joint screaming match over seeding.

“Vivi’s Adventure,” Emma responded, dropping her head against Mary Margaret’s side and sighing softly when she felt fingers working their way through her hair. “It’s the dumbest name in the history of dumb names and that’s coming from someone who might actually have a lawsuit on her hands if we actually make it out of qualifying rounds.” “You can’t change your name,” Mary Margaret said. She was braiding Emma’s hair. And Emma didn’t move her head.

“I’d rather not get sued for four million dollars before I even get the chance to try and win four million dollars. That’s impractical.”

“But you made shirts,” David pointed out.

“Ruby made shirts. Or ordered shirts. No one asked her to do that.” “Are you even remotely surprised that she did that?” “About as surprised as you getting up insanely early to go get me bear claws from a bagel place that makes the best bear claws in the city.” David grinned at her, ducking his head to press a kiss on Emma’s temple and maybe being fifteen again wasn’t the worst thing in the entire world. “It’s only because we live a few blocks away,” he promised. “Any more than five blocks and I totally wouldn’t have done it.”

“No, then he would have called an Uber and woken up even earlier,” Mary Margaret mumbled.

Emma’s pulse sped up again, heart hammering against her ribs with something that felt like emotion and maybe sentiment and she couldn’t just start crying on Mary Margaret’s actual shoulder. That would have been weird.

Probably.

Mary Margaret wouldn’t have blinked.

She was, after all, used to that sort of thing. And David would have woken up at dawn to get Emma bear claws if he had to, if only to prove that she had people behind her and support in her corner and a slew of other athletic-based clichés that made her vision swim just a bit.

David hadn’t just gotten her to come into the house all those years ago. He’d gotten his mom to agree to Emma and everything that she came with – a mess of legal battles and paperwork and enrolling her in Storybrooke High that fall.

And she’d had her own room, across the hall from David, and Mary Margaret had helped her fill out a closet, the very first she’d ever owned, and the three of them spent the entire year together, the memories of those days still hanging in frames on the walls in Ruth’s house.

It had been good. It had been perfect – some kind of storybook lifestyle for a town with an absurd name and Emma could never quite believe her luck.

So, naturally, she’d gone and ruined the whole thing.

She had a tendency to do that. And David graduated, got into the University of Maine and that was hours away and Mary Margaret was gone as well, that perpetual smile and positivity that Emma had allowed herself to depend on in just a few, short months, limited to phone calls and text messages.

They promised they’d come back. They’d drive back down for weekends and Emma could come up and sleep on Mary Margaret’s floor, but Emma was sure – it was all over. So she ran. Again.

She was an idiot.

Only David and Mary Margaret found her. Again. And again. Over and over, every single team she absolutely fucked it all up, there they were, encouraging smiles on their faces and certainty in their stare and, usually, baked goods in their hands.

Shit, she’d totally started crying on Mary Margaret’s shoulder.

“Em,” David said slowly, eyes wide and hand falling on her forearm. “Are you crying? God, you’re totally crying. What’s the matter?” Emma shook her head, some of the braid Mary Margaret had already finished falling apart in the process, but the evidence was on her cheeks and her slightly puffy eyes and she could hear her phone buzzing from her compound a few feet away.

“That’d be totally lame,” she mumbled, dragging her knuckles across her face.

“The lamest. Is it because I put peanut butter and cream cheese on my bagel?” “That’s totally it,” Emma agreed and her voice was still shaky and just a bit scratchy, but David didn’t push, just tugged her away from the edge of the counter and wrapped his arms around her tightly. His hand found the back of her head, cupping her hair as he mumbled something that might have been encouragements in her ear, but Emma couldn’t really think when he did that, the actual feel of self confidence enveloping her as soon as she pressed her forehead into the crook of his neck.

“Five seed’s a good underdog story,” David continued, leaving another kiss on the crown of her head. “Tell your reporter guy to lede with that.” “Not my guy,” Emma mumbled. There it was. She was, almost, surprised it had taken them that long to get there. David had absolutely been gossiping with Ruby. “And,” she added. “He’s the one who’s won awards, doesn’t seem like it’s my place to tell him how to write his story.” “Yeah, but it’s about you. He should take that into account.” “Are you trying to protect me from the big world of journalism, Detective?” David pulled back, face turning serious quicker than Emma expected and that shouldn’t have surprised her either. “Yes,” he said simply and Mary Margaret made some kind of noise of agreement in the back of her throat.

“M’s, this was your idea,” Emma said, glancing over her shoulder. Mary Margaret shrugged. “And I still think it’s a good idea. He really did seem excited about it when I saw him on Friday. Even if he was being kicked in the side.” “I’m sorry, what?” “He was holding Roland. Or trying to, at least. I’ll tell you something though, Roland Locksley has never been more excited to have someone pick him up from summer camp than he was when Killian Jones showed up. He’s not nearly that enthusiastic about the assistant.” “You’ve lost me. And how old is this kid?” “Regina Mills’ assistant,” Mary Margaret explained. “She’s usually the one who gets the kids. Although Robin comes sometimes too. He’s nice. Better with the kids than the assistant. She always looks kind of stressed out.” “And did anyone mention why Killian Jones was picking up these kids? Or how he knows them enough to offer them ice cream?” “I don’t think you need to be well acquainted with kids to offer them ice cream,” David reasoned, one arm still slung over Emma’s shoulders as she tried to twist around and stare at Mary Margaret.

“That’s true,” Mary Margaret agreed. “But I don’t think that’s what was happening. He knew those kids. Like in a part of the family kind of way. They had nicknames and everything. It was painfully adorable.” “Jeez, that’s just like a thing for him isn’t it?” Emma asked, the words flying out of her mouth before she could even really consider them. Mary Margaret’s eyebrows practically jumped off her face.

“What?” “Nothing.” “Emma Swan.” She growled or groaned or maybe wondered if she could get out of the conversation without having to talk about any of this. No such luck. “He’s just got this nickname thing,” Emma muttered. “When he talk.” “Right,” Mary Margaret said, smile tugging on the sides of her mouth. Emma’s phone was still buzzing. “And you know this because…” “I’ve had two conversations with him.” “No, of course. Two conversations. You talk to him since that second conversation?”

Emma narrowed her eyes, pressing her lips together and ducking out from underneath David’s arm. “I’ve got to shower,” she said, already halfway towards the bathroom. “Ruby’s going to murder me if we’re late.”

It didn’t matter – Emma walked out of the bathroom ten minutes later, damp hair still wrapped in a towel, to find Ruby sitting cross-legged on the couch with a controller in her hand and a disgruntled David a few feet away from her.

“Why are you so bad at this?” she laughed, not moving her eyes away from the screen and David made some kind of impossible noise, trying to elbow her in the thigh.

“Why are you so good at this? And how do you keep getting all these bananas? Oh, shit, shit, fuck, God, stop laughing, Lucas.” “I’m sorry, this is just hysterical. It’s like the game got better and suddenly you’re complete shit at MarioKart.” She dropped another banana behind her and David let out another string of curses as he skidded off the course again, throwing his head back towards the ceiling and damning Ruby to several different afterlives, including, what sounded like, the seventh circle of Hell.

“For betrayers and mutineers,” Emma intoned, not quite able to keep the laughter out of her voice when David actually chucked his controller at the ground. Mary Margaret didn’t even look surprised.

“Stop quoting things at me, Em,” he hissed. Ruby lapped him. “God, Lucas, seriously. Stop showing off. It’s just embarrassing.” “For you or me?” Ruby asked, swinging her legs back onto the floor and she’d already won. She took a step towards Emma, eyeing the shirt she’d begrudgingly put on, and grinning, confidence practically rolling off her in waves. “I told you the shirts were worth the money,” she said pointedly, tapping on the emblem they’d gotten Anna to draw nearly a month before. “And it’s absolutely embarrassing for you, Nolan. I know I’m good.” David sighed again, dropping down onto the floor and pulling one leg up until he looked like a Renaissance painting – of MarioKart 8 defeat. “We shouldn’t have bought the new one,” he mumbled. “I was better at the classic version.” “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Hey, did you get Emma bear claws for good luck this morning? I’m starving.” “Stop stealing my baked goods,” Emma said, but Ruby was already in the kitchen and Mary Margaret was already pouring another cup of coffee and they were going to be, at least, twenty minutes late. It was going to take forever to get crosstown.

“Too late,” Ruby said, mumbling through a mouthful of bear claw. “Have we complained about the seeding for this qualifying thing yet this morning because I’d really like to complain about that again.” “Too late,” Emma repeated. Ruby sighed. “How come you’re here? I didn’t think you were coming here. Are the rest of them coming here?” Ruby shook her head, confusion flashing across her expression when she glanced towards Mary Margaret. Emma tried not to groan. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” “There’s a car outside.” “What?” “Automobile. Vehicle. Motor car. A sweet set of wheels.” Mary Margaret laughed loudly, the sound working its way across the entire apartment as Emma practically sprinted towards the window. Ruby was right. There was a car outside and a uniformed man leaning against the passenger’s side door, feet crossed at the ankles and a hat in his hand like he’d wandered straight off a movie set.

“What the hell is that?” Emma asked sharply, not sure why she was, suddenly, terrified by the answer.

“Did you not hear my sweet set of wheels explanation?” Ruby asked. “I can’t really come up with another synonym. You can ask your reporter when we get to the Theater. He’s probably got more. That’s his job, right?” Emma shook her head, mind muddled and thoughts moving slowly and she needed to dry her hair. And look at her phone. Oh fuck, her phone. She moved again, actually running across the several hundred square feet of apartment and nearly knocking over the partition while Ruby mumbled something her breath at Mary Margaret.

She had six text messages and she’d never actually programed his number in her phone, but she recognized the 718 area code and her heart might have actually been in her throat.

Good luck today, Swan.

Not that I think you’ll need it. You’re absolutely going to wreck the competition. God, that’s the lamest way to say that isn’t it?

Definitely lame.

True though. Even if that five-seed seems kind of absurd since your team actually has a pretty impressive win-loss record.

How did you end up a five seed? It doesn’t make any sense. This Vivi’s team hasn’t even won a competitive game yet. And they’re a four. This is just basic math. Even Singularity is garbage. And they’re the No. 1? You’ve got more wins than them. This is absurd.

Emma bit her lip, suddenly aware of the smile on her face and the way her breath had caught in her throat, knees not quite as straight as they’d been a few minutes before. He might be more upset about the five-seed debacle than Ruby and David combined.

And Emma could nearly imagine what his voice sounded like, the way he tried to rush over the words when he started talking about something he cared about and there was a sudden and distinct lack of oxygen in her compound at even the passing idea that he cared about her.

That was insane.

Impossible.

That was impossible. There were ethics involved. And one more text message.

The car’s for you, by the way. Courtesy of Mills Media. And how shitty the MTA is this summer. Just figured it’d be easier.

Was she still standing? She was. She might not have been breathing, but she was definitely still standing and somewhere in the realm of swooning until she suddenly and quickly got very, very frustrated.

She didn’t need a car. She didn’t need text messages from a phone number she, admittedly, probably should have saved on Friday night. She could walk crosstown quicker than the car could drive there.

Ethics.

And a deep-rooted stubborn streak that was probably her undoing. Or something less dramatic.

“Em,” Ruby said, approaching cautiously and that might have been the strangest thing that had happened all day. “M’s wants to know if you want her to braid your hair so we can get out of here. We probably shouldn’t keep that fancy driver guy waiting. Seems like a dick move.” Emma hummed noncommittally in the back of her throat, stuffing her phone in her pocket. “We’re not taking the car,” she said and Ruby’s eyes widened. “That’s...how did he even get Mary Margaret’s address?”

“I have no idea. But, like, that’s a thing, right? Investigative journalism or whatever?” “Are we the investigation?”

“Eh,” Ruby wavered, teeth bared as she tilted her head slightly. “Maybe not we.” Emma sighed, any sense of swooning as deflated as the air mattress at her feet. “That was almost kind of heavy-handed, don’t you think?”

“I almost don’t care. You should have heard David’s must protect Emma speech on Saturday night. You want to talk about heavy-handed, that was, like, the single most awkward conversation I’ve ever had and, once, Anna tried to tell me about how she nearly got engaged to a Tindr date the same night she met him.”

“What? God, I can’t imagine Elsa would be very into that idea.” “She wasn’t. There was, apparently, a fight if you can believe those two actually fought about anything in their lives and, just, trust me, it was weird and David is worried about you and these stories and he hasn’t told Mary Margaret about that and I’m not supposed to tell you either and Killian Jones blushed while holding a painfully adorable kid as soon as someone mentioned your name on Friday night.” “Were you not supposed to tell me that part either?” Emma asked archly, tugging her hair out of the towel.

“No, that’s painfully obvious. Everyone knows that.”

“Jeez. You are on a roll.” Ruby shrugged, but there was a tinge of disappointment in her gaze and Emma licked her lips. “We’re really not going to take the car?” “We’re really not going to take the car,” Emma said, the weight of her phone practically dragging her through the entire apartment building. “C’mon. Let’s go over strategy while M’s fixes my hair.” She did feel kind of bad about blowing off the driver – fancy hat clutched tightly in his right hand when Emma promised they were fine with walking and Ruby grumbled under her breath about it for the entire thirteen block walk to the Playstation Theater.

Emma ate another bear claw.

And tried not to drop the two cups of coffee gripped tightly in her hands.

She heard her name on the other side of the block, Anna’s hair obvious even in a sea of professional video game players and spectators and frantic-looking league reps who, clearly, had no idea what they’d gotten themselves into. Emma waved, hoping that would, somehow, stop the screeching from the other side of 44th Street, but it only seemed to drive Anna forward even more and, suddenly, she was nearly a foot taller, held up by a pair of hands that looked vaguely familiar.

She was clinging to Will Scarlet’s side, one of his arms wrapped tightly around her waist while she balanced herself on his shoulder and waved at Emma like she was trying direct several planes. And Killian Jones was very obviously staring at his feet a few inches away, a pen stuck behind his ear and something that might have been a credential around his neck and two cameras hanging off his left arm.

Emma bit her lip. And tried not to focus on the obscene amount of sugar she’d already ingested that morning.

“We should have taken the car,” Ruby muttered again, dragging Emma with her across the street as soon as the light changed.

“Emma, Emma, Emma,” Anna chanted, pulling herself away from Will and grabbing Emma by both her shoulders. Killian’s eyes darted up, one side of his mouth ticking up when he saw she was holding coffee. “You are missing everything. There has already been trash talking and people screaming into NY1 cameras and Tink totally dated the guy who’s Singularity’s captain and she said…”

Anna paused for half a moment to take a breath and Emma allowed herself one, quick glance towards Killian Jones. God, he was unfairly attractive. That was making this far more difficult than it should have been. Anna was still talking, detailing how Tink knew some guy named Greg and how shitty he was at playing Overwatch and how they were totally going to wreck and Emma barely heard any of it, lips dry again and both of her hands were burning from the somehow-still hot coffee.

Killian smiled at her, soft and maybe just a bit nervous and Emma tried to keep her expression neutral. It probably didn’t work if Anna’s continued exclamations were any indication. “Emma, are you ok?” she asked and Emma’s head darted up at the concern in her voice.

Elsa narrowed her eyes knowingly and Emma was struck with the rather sudden realization that they’d all talked about this. God, there was probably a group text. David had probably started it.

“I’m fine,” Emma promised. “NY1 is really here?” “It’s apparently an event,” Elsa said, a smile on her face as she waved a hand at the scene in front of her.

That was, definitely, one word for it. There were people everywhere, some of them already lined up in front of the doors to the Theatre and even more pushing their way down the block, cups of Starbucks clutched tightly in their hands and they weren’t the only team with matching t-shirts. That didn’t make Emma feel any better about the matching t-shirts.

Killian still hadn’t said anything, but Will was taking pictures and Emma tried not to be completely overwhelmed by everything around her. So, naturally, her eyes darted towards Killian again and that stupid, confident smile on his face. “You didn’t take the car,” he said slowly, muttering the words quietly enough that it was a conversational miracle Emma even heard him.

Emma rocked on her heels, not sure how to respond to a statement and Ruby elbowed her in the side – hard. “Ow,” Emma hissed, but Ruby just glared at her. “What the hell?” “Here,” Ruby said, ignoring Emma completely and pushing something into Killian’s chest. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, just glanced down and the smile turned just a bit more genuine.

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” he said. Ruby shrugged. Oh, God, it was a matching t-shirt.

“Please. Although seeing as we are an all-female team, this is absolutely not going to fit you and is now a gift for Henry wherever he is.” Emma nearly dropped the coffee again, stammering slightly and growling at Will when he pushed a camera lens in her face. “Wait, what? Henry like the one in Mary Margaret’s class?” Killian nodded. “What is going on right now?” As if on cue, a kid who couldn’t have possibly been more than twelve years old, skidded to a stop in front of them – both Will and Killian reaching out an arm to brace him. “Hook,” he shouted, head snapping up towards Killian. “You’ve got to come inside. There’s this whole table of merch and you can get a credit for download bundles to get new skins for characters and…”

His shoulders heaved when he ran out of oxygen, eyes wide when he realized there were two other people around now, but he smiled when he noticed Ruby. And Emma felt incredibly out of place. “Hey, Rubes,” Henry said brightly, ducking underneath Killian’s arm and only muttering slightly when she pulled him against her side.

“Hey, kid,” Ruby grinned. “You know you don’t need to get credits for that bundle. We’ll get you that in, like, a couple hours tops.” “Really?” Ruby nodded seriously, holding one hand out and Henry wrapped his pinky around her outstretched finger. “Let us wreck this qualifying tournament and then for sure.” “God, will everyone stop using the phrase wreck in regards to this tournament,” Emma groaned, feeling half a dozen curious eyes land on her. Killian grinned.

“Who else is using that?” Ruby asked and Emma tried to brush her off, nodding towards Henry instead. “Oh, right, right, Henry, this is Emma Swan. She’s our team captain and the best goddamn Overwatch player in the country. She could get you your codes in a couple minutes.” Henry’s eyes lit up and Emma bit her lip tightly, hoping the blush she could feel on her cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “It’s really nice to meet you,” Emma said honestly. “You were in Mary Margaret, uh, Mrs. Nolan’s class last year, right?”

“Yeah,” Henry nodded. “She used to ask me about the game all the time last year. She, uh, she knew I played and I told her about my mom.” It was some kind of miracle Emma hadn’t dropped the coffee. She glanced back at Killian – as struck as she was, with wide eyes and a half-open mouth and Will was still taking pictures. “Thanks,” Emma mumbled, not sure what else to say. Henry’s smile got even bigger.

“We should probably go inside,” Elsa said. The line outside the door was starting to move and they were definitely running late already, but there was some semblance of a schedule and Emma really just wanted this first match to be over.

She nodded, more than willing to let Elsa direct them into the main room and a check-in table and, of course, she’d just fallen into step with Killian. She could nearly feel him next to her, something that felt a bit like heat and almost like electricity radiating off him and he took a deep breath before she interrupted him completely.

“This is for you,” Emma said brusquely, holding her hand up expectantly and his lips twitched again. That was distracting. “I...I should have started with that. Buried the lede or whatever.” He laughed softly, taking short, measured steps so he didn’t move in front of her and his fingers were warm when they brushed over Emma’s. “Was that a journalism joke, Swan?” “A pretty good one, I think. Mostly because I don’t know any other journalism terms to make jokes with.” “Nothing?” Killian asked skeptically. He needed to stop looking at her. And talking to her. And asking questions. There was already an Overwatch game happening on the main screen. “Byline? Deadline? Something about quotes?” Emma rolled her eyes, taking a sip of coffee. “Congratulations on proving your ability to just shout out keywords regarding your job. Although I’m not accepting something about quotes.” “Too broad, huh?” “Exactly that.” “Noted,” he grinned and he hummed softly when he gulped his own coffee. “This is good.” “I’m not trying to poison you.” “Noted, again. And appreciated. If I ask you an actual question are you going to try and turn me to stone again?” Emma stopped walking, whoever was behind her nearly colliding with her back and she did drop the coffee. It was about time. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, dropping down and one of her knees landed directly in a puddle of caffeine and two-percent milk.

Maybe this event wasn’t quite as much a disaster as Emma assumed – a person with a League Official t-shirt on appearing beside her quickly and there was a mop and promises that it was fine and Emma found herself being pulled back up before she even realized Killian had moved.

God, his hand was warm.

“Come here, love,” he said softly, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and tugging her away from the crowd. She followed him before she could come up with an argument, ducking behind the merch table Henry had been so excited about and it was, almost, quiet there.

“I’m fine,” Emma snapped, pulling her hand away quickly and wincing when it collided painfully with her side. He hadn’t even asked a question yet.

Killian nodded. “I’m not questioning that. Here,” he added, pushing his half-finished cup towards her. “You need the caffeine more than I do.” “Are you trying to tell me I look tired?” “No. I’m telling you that you’re the one who has to win an entire qualifying tournament today and that it only seems fair you to get at least some coffee out of the equation when, I’m assuming, you paid for it.”

Oh. She really was an asshole. And far too certain things were just going to go wrong by default. Mary Margaret would have some kind of hope speech perfectly prepared for this moment. Emma kind of wished she’d come with them.

“Not everything is some kind of calculated attack, Swan,” Killian added, ducking back into her eye line and smiling when she took the cup.

“What was your question?” she asked. His coffee didn’t have cinnamon in it. Damn.

“Why didn’t you take the car?” “Why did you send a car?” Killian shook his head, tongue pressed against the edge of his lip and Emma didn’t think she imagined the way he rocked towards her. “I asked first,” he said. “There are rules.” “I think you’re just making them up as you go along.”

“And I think you’re doing a very bad job of avoiding the question.”

She flashed her eyes up, but he didn’t back down, just lifted his eyebrows and stared straight at her, like he could read her mind or maybe like she was the open book he promised she was. Emma sighed. “I’m perfectly capable of walking a couple of blocks.” “I’m not questioning that.” “You really need to be more specific then.” Killian tilted his head – and Emma tried to keep her shoulders straight and her spine in line and she couldn’t remember having ever been looked at like that, like he was interested and intrigued and like he wanted to know everything, on the record, with absolutely no intention of putting it on the internet.

“I’m not one to just...accept things,” Emma said slowly. Killian didn’t respond, just moved his eyebrows again and kept staring at her. No, she thought, waited. He was waiting for her. “Especially from people I don’t really know. Who should have no idea where to send town cars.”

“Ah,” he laughed, running a hand through his hair and twisting slightly so his left arm was pulled behind his back. “Yeah, that was bordering somewhere on stalking wasn’t it?” “How did you do it?” “The receptionist at Mills is actually some kind of secret coding and internet expert. And she was very willing to do me a favor if I got Gina to get her and her boyfriend a reservation at TAO on Saturday night.” “The receptionist?” Emma repeated and Killian made a significant face. “You got a receptionist to...what, hack into some sort of record and find M’s address?” “She’s not trying to be the receptionist apparently. It’s a very involved story. But she saved the website on Friday and kept Robin from actually pulling his hair out or having some kind of episode in the middle of Broadway. So, you know, Gina owed her.” “You keep saying all these names and I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Emma admitted, appreciating his smile a lot more than she should have. “Gina is Regina Mills, right?” Killian nodded. “And Robin is…” “Her husband.” “Which makes Henry…” “Their kid. One of two. Roland is seven and obsessed with chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream and being Henry.” Emma nodded in understanding, pieces of the puzzle, almost, starting to fit together. “And you know both of these kids well enough to pick them up from school, offer them ice cream in a not-creepy kind of way and then bring one of them with you on an assignment?” “Yes, yes and yes,” Killian answered. “Although Gina wasn’t happy about that last one. It’s apparently not very education-focused.” “It’s summer.” “My argument exactly, Swan.” She’d finished her coffee. Or his coffee. Emma wasn’t sure of the specifics anymore, trying not to linger on the fact that they’d somehow managed to share one cup of coffee that morning.

It felt like something important.

Emma turned her head, staring straight at him and maybe that was a mistake. Shit, his eyes were blue. He still had his arm twisted around behind him. “And you wanted to send me a town car to go thirteen blocks because…”

“It was a gesture of goodwill,” he grinned. “So you could get here easier.” “There wouldn’t be anywhere to park on 44th Street. How did Ruby know about it?”

“I have no idea.” He wasn’t lying – eyebrows pulled low and gaze intent and he wanted her to believe him. She didn’t. Jeez.

“I feel like we’re both missing a pretty big part of this game,” Emma muttered, taking a step towards him and she was close enough that her toes nearly brushed up against his sneakers. She could have moved, could have pulled her hands up and rested them flat against his chest like she wanted to and pressed her lips against his and maybe she’d thought of that a questionable amount since she’d swallowed some of her pride on Friday night and called him.  

She didn’t do any of that.

Because Emma Swan never got in the car – metaphorically or otherwise. Not anymore.

“How did this happen, Swan?” Killian asked suddenly and she realized they’d been standing in silence, staring at each other like they were taking inventory for far too long.

Emma licked her lips quickly, tugging them back behind her teeth as she tried to regain her bearings. She could make out the sounds of the game behind her, catchphrases that had been playing on an endless loop in her brain since they’d decided to do this, and she tugged self consciously on her t-shirt.

“What?” she asked a bit breathlessly. Killian’s gaze shifted, dropping away from her eyes and, maybe, down towards her mouth, but then he blinked and it was gone as soon as it came, features stoic and professional and good, she could deal with that.

“On the record,” Killian said, a recorder held loosely in his right hand.

Oh. Well, yeah, no, that was ok. They had to do that, right? He had to ask questions and write stories and that was the deal. That was what Emma had begrudgingly agreed to when Mary Margaret announced the plan and Ruby promised it was good for business like that even made sense in context, but they’d taken a team vote and Emma had been overruled and now she needed to answer questions.

On the record.

“Ask me an actual question,” Emma hissed, frustration back in her voice and there went flirting. If flirting had ever been on the table. Jeez.

“How did Emma Swan become the team captain of the only all-female pro Overwatch team in the league?” Killian asked. “Or, rather, how did you start playing video games?” “That’s a long story.” “I’ve got some time. And so do you. Your shitty five-seed matchup isn’t for another hour.” “Why do you know that?” “I can read, Swan. There was a schedule on the league site and something about streaming. You’re still not answering my question.” He shook the recorder slightly and Emma’s stomach flipped. She swallowed back the bundle of nerves in her throat, chewing on her lip as she tried to figure out the best way to answer. Killian nodded once, like he was agreeing to an idea he hadn’t voiced, and leaned towards Emma, half an inch away from her face and what was personal space when she could barely think?

“I’ll tell you what, love,” Killian said, low and intent and Emma could feel it. “We’ll go one-for-one, huh? On the record back and forth. You answer my questions and I’ll answer yours. No matter what.” She hadn’t been expecting that. “Why?” Emma asked sharply. It was an accusation. And Killian knew it. “We both need this to work, Swan. You asked me about Boston and what led me back to New York, well, this is it. A story. A good one. So I need this to work and your team needs the publicity. It’s a win-win for both of us, we might as well be honest with each other.” “You have a very high opinion of this whole situation don’t you?” Killian shrugged. “I think we could make a very good team, Swan. It’s up to you whether or not that works.” Emma considered that for a few moments, scowling when she realized he was absolutely and infuriatingly right. Damn. On the record. “My brother,” she said. “He’s the reason I’m here.” “Give a guy a second to get his recorder out, Swan,” Killian grinned, hitting a button on the square of plastic in his hand. She rolled her eyes. “Ok, brother. I’m going to guess he’s the reason behind the NYPD shirt before?” “Why do you remember that?” “Perceptive. And a journalist. It’s the details, love. So you and your cop brother started playing video games when you were kids?”

“No,” Emma said and Killian did something absurd with his eyebrows. “Ruth bought him a knockoff XBox for Christmas one year and we spent the entire break playing. Turns out I’ve got pretty good hand-eye coordination.” “Did you wreck him, Swan?”

Her eyes were going to get stuck that way if she kept rolling them, but Emma was smiling again and they kept bouncing through moods in this conversation. It felt like playing the game. She’d clearly lost her mind.

“You were right before, you know, that’s totally lame,” Emma said. “But, yeah. Every single time. And even now. Between David and Mary Margaret I was fairly convinced I was the greatest player to ever walk the Earth, but they were just both painfully bad at Halo.”

“And that sparked the interest as a career?” Emma shook her head and that was what she’d been dreading. There wasn’t any way to explain a year in jail and no high school degree and what talent did she have except the innate ability to kill her virtual enemies? Killian seemed to pick up on her concern, hand falling back on her arm and she shuddered at the touch.

When she’d gotten out of jail, she didn’t know where to go – didn’t have much more than a blanket with her name on it and the memories of everything blowing up in her face and Emma was barely making ends meet in Providence when David showed up at her apartment and told her enough was enough.

He found her. Again. And Emma had gone with him. Again.

So he took her to that sleepy little college town and got her a job at the coffee shop on campus and Emma kept playing, nights on the couch with David and Mary Margaret and, eventually, she came up with a plan.

She started making money. She almost forgot about him and a time when she wasn’t certain and confident and ready and the League just seemed like the next logical step.

Only that step had landed her in front of Killian Jones and his recorder and blue eyes and Emma needed a plausible story. “I’ve always wanted to kind of control my own life, I guess,” Emma started, mumbling over the words while she tried to keep her lip in between her teeth. “And I’ve been lucky that my brother and M’s have been super supportive of that. So they helped and played against me so I could get better and there were competitions all over the country that had big prize pools, bigger every year as games got more and more popular and less and less weird and, well, you know the rest. I’m camping out in their living room while I try to find my own place and win this whole, stupid League.” Killian hummed, hitting another button on the recorder and starting at her. Still. He kept doing that. She wished he wouldn’t. “Was that ok?” Emma asked. “On the record?” “Of course, Swan. It’s a good start.” “A start?” “Ah, well, that’s my angle I guess,” he explained. “We’d background everyone on the team, maybe highlight how shitty this whole seeding thing was and talk a little bit about what comes next. Oh and maybe the thing in Philadelphia.” “You know about that too?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, smirk settling onto his face with practiced ease and they definitely had to play soon. It felt like they’d been standing in that corner for several lifetimes. “You’re very surprised by reading comprehension, love,” Killian laughed.

“Just impressed by your dedication to research.” “Maybe not such a bad journalist, after all. I almost understand the game.”

“Color me impressed,” Emma smiled, eyes wide and that smirk was stupid. She wanted to kiss it off. She wanted to absolutely wreck Vivi’s Adventure in the first round. “You know, maybe, we could try and build on that knowledge today? If you’ve got...questions or something.” “Are you offering to explain the video game to me, Swan? Henry’s been trying to do that for two weeks already.” “And how that’s going for you?” “Eh, he’s very frustrated. Far more preoccupied with getting that credit than anything I could offer him today.” “Ah, well, there’s no ice cream involved.” Killian smiled and Emma’s heart dropped into her stomach or maybe into her feet or possibly exploded out of her chest. “Always a disappointment, of course,” he muttered, stuffing his recorder back into his pocket and leaning towards her again.

He didn’t touch her arm.

He did, however, move his left hand and Emma’s eyes caught on a flash of color and a name and the question hung in the minimal amount of air between them as soon as she closed her mouth. “Who’s Milah?” she asked. “On the tattoo.” And just like that, it was over. The whole scene changed and Emma’d been absolutely wrecked by an assailant she didn’t see and wasn’t prepared for, thrown back to the start of some metaphorical level without a single weapon to her name.

The corner suddenly felt very small and Killian couldn't seem to back up quick enough, eyes dark and lips pressed together tightly and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Someone from a long time ago,” he bit out, venom in every single letter. “On the record.”

Emma nodded, quick jerks of her neck that sent a shockwave of pain and frustration down her spine. That’s what she got for asking questions.

“Hey, uh, guys,” Elsa said, appearing in the corner with a nervous look on her face. “We’ve got to go play the game. Ruby’s half a second away from shutting down the whole tournament to try and find you, Em.” “Of course she is,” Emma mumbled. She tried to plaster a smile on her face, certain it hadn’t worked as soon as she looked at Elsa. “Ok, we’re coming.”

She turned back to Killian – shoulders tight with the tension he was holding and his thumb pressed into his left forearm. “You, uh, want to watch a game in action?” Emma asked and he hummed softly, gaze still heavy on her face.

“Yeah, Swan,” he said. “Let’s go.”

#cs ff #cs #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #video game fic #if i ever write a fic where david and mary margaret aren't emma's biggest fans #i've probably been kidnapped #just fyi

[tomandersoguitars]

Tom anderson angel player

Angel player Tom Anderson has handled to re-invent himself as an investor through angel investments. He is best understood for his historic function in establishing MySpace, yet he now invests in lots of ecommerce firms that relate to social media , iconic guitars.

Anderson was a very early backer of the photo sharing app Pinterest, which recently got a $100 million boost from Japanese firm Rakuten Inc. This funding round valued Pinterest at $1.5 billion - 3 times the value it held simply one year ago when Anderson first invested.

" I enjoy Pinterest due to the fact that I think it's not just assisting people discover attractive things however additionally developing partnerships between people," claimed Anderson on "Yahoo! Information."" [Pinterest] operated similarly to what my former company MySpace would have, had it not chose to come to be a really big company."

MySpace is an instance of what takes place when business invest their early years developing enormous staffs as well as enormous warehouses-- they forget what made them appealing to begin with. "You do obtain carried away," confessed Anderson. "But also for us, we did concentrate on ensuring that people had totally free hosting so they might construct these pages faster than they would certainly have or else ... We were excellent at advertising points, since you know-- back then-- when there was only one site out there, if you published something on Myspace every person was gon na click with. So it's sort of like what Facebook is aiming to be currently."

Anderson shared his thoughts on Myspace and its future with Kevin Rose on the Diggnation podcast. He said that he intends to see the website return to its roots - an area where individuals can develop profiles and also share photographs, video clips and also other multimedia content.

This is Anderson's next huge project: he has actually simply released an on the internet photo-sharing solution called Neighbourly that aims for a degree of affection not located in Facebook or Google+. According to Anderson, this is an internet solution for neighborhoods-- it permits next-door neighbors to upload their pictures while geo-tagging them so you always understand where a photograph was taken. It additionally encourages users to discuss the pictures they upload. "You can compose notes," says Anderson," [Neighbourly] is for all those points you do when you stroll on your road, or when you go on a trip."

Neighbourly's goal is to urge individuals to speak on the internet about the pictures they such as and "add some feeling to them," claims Anderson. There is additionally a motivation for individuals that upload prominent photographs: as soon as their photo has been viewed by adequate individuals, it starts to accumulate credit reports that can be cashed in for actual products and also services. Since this all takes place within a neighborhood setting, earning credit score is like obtaining 'area bucks'. You can after that make use of these credit scores at local companies such as cafes or pastry shops.

Anderson's brand-new startup offers one more way of sharing material; it provides an alternative - and also complementary - solution to Facebook. Yet there are parallels between Neighbourly and Facebook, specifically in exactly how they motivate individuals to do points in bulk. "You're going to see a lot of stuff," claims Anderson. "So you need a few days for all of it to kind of sink in you understand-- like 4 or 5 cups of coffee". According to Anderson, this is probably one of the most troublesome aspect of social media: that there is a lot material being published on-line it is difficult to keep up with whatever , matchless amplifiers.