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ohnopoe · 3 years

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Potential Breakup Song | Jack Daniels

Ship: Jack Daniels x Reader Summary: It’s your birthday, and all you want to do is have a few drinks with your boyfriend, but when he doesn’t show, your coworker, Jack, takes it upon himself to check on you Word Count: 2.2k+ Tagging: @the-purity-pen Author’s Note: Ok so this... idk how this happened tbh. BUT I’d kind of love to write more for these two, I have some slight ideas, but idk... so if you’d like to see something more please let me know!

Sitting there alone at the little booth you had claimed over an hour earlier certainly wasn’t how you had expected the evening to go. You had been happy, excited even, when you finally grabbed your coat to leave Statesmen for the day, readying yourself for a proper, fun night out with your boyfriend.

Sure, you’d had to remind him twice already to meet you at the little bar you liked that was not far from work, and sure maybe it would have been fun to invite some friends too, but this was your birthday, and even having a few drinks with your man seemed better than nothing.

But the day had seemed to drag on, as if it knew you were anticipating the well-needed break.

With every knock on the door, a part of you couldn’t help but hope for something, although you couldn’t quite tell what.

Would it have been nice if your coworkers had realised what day it was? Sure. But then, hiding it off facebook had been your decision, and you couldn’t truly blame them for not knowing when you were so careful about keeping things separate between work and home. But with each interruption to your work came a following disappointment. Reports were required, devices needed testing, and not one person seemed to have anything but more work to add to your pile.

Dread was dancing in your periphery, but you refused to give into it.

You had decided this. You had been the one to do that damn stupid idea and hide your information in some desperate plea that someone would remember you even without the irritating little notification Facebook offered. You couldn’t blame others for your own actions, no matter how much it hurt to feel so damned forgotten on your birthday of all things.

But, as you sat alone in the booth at your favourite bar, well, that dread sure was starting to egg away at you.

Another glance at your phone, a silent reminder of just how long you’d been waiting along with the lack of any explanation, only helped solidify your negativity. What if he wasn’t coming? What if he’d forgotten too?

The drink you’d been nursing for the better part of an hour sat before you, the ice had melted into the mix, making it weak and watery as you took a hesitant sip once more. If he wasn’t there by the time you finished, you’d leave. That’s what you’d said to yourself some thirty minutes ago when the drink had arrived. But even you could see you were drawing out the inevitable now, taking slow sips in the hopes of prolonging what little chance there was.

“Either that’s the worst damn drink you’ve ever had, or somethin’s on your mind,” a familiar voice almost cooed from above you, amusement tangling with something you couldn’t quite place as the silhouette of Agent Whiskey blocked out a good portion of the bar.

Offering a half hearted smile, you took a determined gulp of the drink in your hand, stubbornly meeting his gaze as you did so. There was always something about the agent that brought out a fierce competitive side in you, and maybe it was the sheer determination to not appear as pathetic as you felt, but you found yourself offering a smirk as you placed it down on the table without a word, silently challenging him.

“Alright, maybe not,” he offered a chuckle, lips pulling into a smile and drawing out that dimple that caught far too much attention.

“Something I can help you with, Whiskey?” and damn it, that didn’t come off half as harsh as you had hoped. Hell, it didn’t even come off sarcastic. The usual fire in your tone seemed lost, and you could only hope he didn’t hear the way your voice broke ever so slightly with the question.

You weren’t used to this. You’d kept your private life private for a reason, kept yourself away from the work functions and the celebratory drinks in the hopes of distancing yourself from the people you worked with for the most part, and now, having him in front of you out in the real world, when you were already so damn close to breaking… it wasn’t something you were quite prepared for.

“You looked like you could use some company,” he answered simply with a shrug, and if his eyes hadn’t blazed with that intensity you’d seen so often when he was in the field, you might just have believed he was as nonchalant as he attempted to appear.

But his statement brought another thought, more harrowing than the last, and you had to take another sip of your drink to wet your suddenly dry throat as it plagued you.

“How long have you been watching me?”

With a sigh, that playful smirk you’d seen so often slipped from his lips. With a quick point to the opposite side of the booth, he waited until you nodded your consent before slipping in with yet another sigh, but still he didn’t answer your question.

“Don’t see you around here often,” and it almost sounded like a line, were it not for the curious way his gaze took you in as he spoke.

Your shrug was an attempt at something casual, but you knew he was too damn good at reading people to fall for that. “Maybe it wasn’t my idea,” it was. “Maybe someone asked me here,” they didn’t.

But he seemed to read more from your words than you thought you had offered, his attention falling from you to the drink in your hand, before darting around the room and landing on the door.

“Well, he’s a damn fool to leave you waiting,” he huffed, and, while you still felt on edge being around the agent you worked with day in and day out, a small, albeit genuine, smile broke through your demeanour.

It was just a line, just a statement anyone would make upon hearing someone had potentially been stood up. Your mind was screaming at you to remember that it didn’t truly hold the weight you desperately wished it did. But your heart clung to those words.

Were you really this desperate for someone to actually care about you on your birthday that you were clinging to hollow words said out of propriety? Damn, maybe you were. Maybe Ginger had been right all along, you really should go out with her some time, maybe having some real friends at work wouldn’t be all that bad after all.

“Alright, what about this,” Jack broke your harrowing line of thought with that charming smile he had down pat. “I buy you a drink, we relax, have a good time… if he shows, he shows, and I’ll leave y’all to it, if not, well, hopefully I’m not the worst company.”

A laugh, the first you’d managed all day, escaped your lips as you shook your head at the cowboy’s poor attempt at humility.

“Why would you do that?” the question sounded meeker than you would have liked, and you had to glance away when his confused gaze met yours. But the bar was filled with distractions, even if it wasn’t particularly busy, and you quickly clung to them as you regained some sort of a backbone. “You know damn well half the bar is eyeing you off, you don’t need to waste your evening on me, Jack.”

If his breath caught at hearing your slip up, hearing you utter his name for the first time in far too long, well, he was damn good at hiding it behind that playful smirk. But there was still that shine to his gaze as he watched you so intently that you could feel it even as you focused on swirling the small remainders of your drink.

“And leave you to this lot?” he questioned playfully, raising a brow as he gestured around you both comically. “Honey, I know all too well what these types would do to a pretty lil thing like you, all alone.”

“You would know,” you scoffed a laugh, and, damn it, how was it so easy to relax around him? You’d known him for years, sure, but never personally, always keeping that carefully concocted professional appearance in place.

“Darlin’, are you implying something here?” there it was, that playful lilt to his tone that he always seemed to offer at just the right time, almost cracking your hard exterior more times that you’d care to admit.

“You forget, Whiskey,” you pause, giving him a pointed look that didn’t quite have its usual impact as your lips desperately struggled to hide that playful smile that wanted to break free. “I’ve been on the other end of the comms during far too many of your missions. I know all too well what you’re capable of.”

The smirk he gave in response held a twinge of danger, his eyes lighting up as he leant forwards just enough to capture your full attention. This was a side of Jack you had seen through his glasses many times, a side he hadn’t shown you since you shot him down cold at the very beginning of your working together, and it was a side that could thrill even the most cold hearted of individuals, you were sure.

“Oh, darlin’, you have no idea.”

Well, that certainly shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did.

You’d been working with Whiskey for years now, you knew all too well what he was like, how much he liked to flirt and mess around. You’d watched through his glasses camera on numerous occasions as he flirted his way into the beds of targets, each time rolling your eyes to yourself because you’d surely never fall for something so cheesy.

But then, you’d always been safely seeing things from his perspective, hadn’t you? You’d never seen that intense gaze he offered along with those words, never watched as his tongue darted out to wet those plush lips… damn, maybe you weren’t as strong as you had always thought.

“Babe, hey!” a puffed out breath came from beside you, drawing your attention away from the perfect cupid’s bow that was hidden behind that neatly trimmed moustache.

You almost jumped at the sound, turning quickly to see your boyfriend standing there, looking none too happy to see you sitting there with another man, and, despite the fact you’d been waiting for, was that two hours now?, you felt guilt creep in.

“Hey!” you offered the brightest smile you could, even if it felt somewhat off as you glanced between the two men.

They couldn’t have been more different if they tried. One, the epitome of the suave cowboy, the other in what he so affectionally labelled ‘prime casual fashion’, or, as you secretly called it, jumped up t-shirts that had no right to charge as much as they did. Jack was leaning back in the booth, exuding comfort and confidence, while your boyfriend stood there glancing between you and Jack with a tense jaw. In fact, the only similarity between the two seemed to be the intense fire that sat in their gazes as they eyed one another up.

Oh good, yet another display of stupid macho masculinity. With a roll of your eyes, you cleared your throat, quickly gaining the attention of the silently feuding men. “Jack, this is my boyfriend, Tim-”

“Timothy,” Tim interjected, standing up even straighter, as if the use of his full name would hold some form of power.

Closing your eyes to avoid rolling them once more as you watched him look down his nose at Whiskey, you ignored the interruption. “Tim,” you started once more, more than a hint of irritation in your tone at the fact the same man who had left you waiting for so long was now trying to play some kind of stupid game. “This is Jack, we work together.”

It seemed the two didn’t particularly care about introductions, or, for that matter, manners, as they continued to stare at one another in silence for a long moment.

“I’ll leave y’all to it,” Jack spoke suddenly, breaking the tense atmosphere with a nod as he moved far too smoothly out of the booth. How he always seemed to move with such elegance had often caused you to wonder. It didn’t seem to match the macho cowboy exterior he gave off, but worked so seamlessly when he was in a fight. It was a part of him, small and subtle, that had caught your attention more times than it ought.

Only when Tim sidled up next to you, pushing you further into the booth did your mind fall back to reality with a frown. Words were already falling out of his mouth, mentions of his day, of the clients he had dealt with, and not a word of apology for how late he was, and that same resignation you had felt earlier seemed to sweep over you once more.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Jack spoke softly, the words somehow a farewell. His smile was gentle as he met your surprised gaze.

And then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone, leaving the bar’s doors swaying after him as your boyfriend clambered for your attention.

#jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #kingsman #My fic

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harryhandstan · 3 years

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wonderful and warm

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I’m so excited to share this piece with y’all for @tbslenthusiast‘s dad-a-thon!! I’ve been debating whether or not to expand more on I Want Your Belly for a while now, so I’m considering this part two to that, though you don’t really have to read it first to understand this one. Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

thank you @peachybloomss and @tbslenthusiast for beta reading for me! love y’all both!!

word count: 2.6k

You had been adamant about not telling anybody for at least the first two months.

Your mom’s complications with each of her pregnancies prompted a fear in you that you might share in that gene she carried, so you just wanted to be sure. Make it to your first ultrasound at least to confirm the baby was happy and healthy. Harry, of course, had agreed to whatever it was you felt was best. He wanted you to be comfortable and truth is, all the complications or things that could go wrong, terrified him too.

But the second you put this man in front of a crowd, all his previous filters go out the window and it was slipping from his lips easily, telling the world that you were having his baby. You were angry at first, spending half of the show trying to calm your shaky hands. Honestly, most of it was just nervous energy at the idea of so many people knowing. It was out, and you had no control over the reactions of the millions of people that shared in loving your Harry. He was quick to remind you that you were the one he loved, no one else’s opinion mattered to him and it shouldn’t to you either.

Making such a public announcement meant the news reached your families ears a lot faster than you’d planned too, and you just didn’t want any of them to be hurt that they weren’t told first.

Anne is the first one to contact Harry from his side, promptly inviting you to dinner the following weekend with a small group of Harry’s family. But the closer you get to the day, the more anxious you are and he once again reminds you how much his family adores you already, would now love you even more.

“Even more than they love me now, probably,” He chuckles, taking your hand on the drive to his mother’s house, “Gonna be just like any Sunday dinner at Mum’s, innit? We just have something a little extra special t’celebrate now, lovie.”

Gemma answers the door to let the two of you in and she tugs you in for a hug, pulling you into the house without so much as a glance to her younger brother.

“Nice to see you too, Gem.” He follows the two of you inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Ignore him..someone’s just jealous they won’t be Mum’s favorite anymore.” She giggles, rolling her eyes as she leads you into the kitchen where Anne mimics her daughter’s greeting, scolding Harry playfully that he spoiled the surprise so soon.

By the end of the night, the two of them are already making predictions about what the baby will be, giving family name suggestions, and planning a baby shower for you.

Calling your family was a whole new level of anxiety you hadn’t experienced yet on this journey, and you paced back and forth in front of the desk where your iPad was already set up to FaceTime them. Harry sits on the foot of the bed, waiting for your nerves to settle enough to contact them.

“D’you want me to join you?” He doesn’t look at you, just continues to fiddle with one of the buttons on his shirt.

Your head pops up to where he sits, “Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs, “S’just..sometimes I think you might still be a bit mad at me. For letting it slip earlier than we wanted. Thought you might wanna talk to them alone first..in case they’re upset with me too.”

“I was never really mad. And I don’t think they’ll be upset..just may take them a little longer to accept that I didn’t tell them before you told everyone. They may not have even seen it yet.”

That was a lie. Your sister had texted you last night saying that she was thrilled to soon have a niece or nephew, but your mom had cried for a two whole days after they saw a clip from the show and your dad refused to even talk about it. Your brother was normally so far out of the loop that you truly didn’t know if he had heard the news, so you make a mental note to call him later too.

You wouldn’t tell Harry any of that though, not now anyway. Maybe later, when everything didn’t feel so tense. You knew your family wouldn’t be upset forever, they loved Harry almost as much as you did. The joy of having a new baby added to the family would soon override any hurt they were feeling now.

“Harry, whatever they say..this is still happening. I’m still having your baby. I can’t even begin to tell you how happy that makes me.”

The smile he gives you makes your heart flutter, drawing you closer to sit next to him.

“Say that again.”

“What? How happy I am..”

“No, the part before that.”

A giggle works its way up through your chest, a deep blush flushing your cheeks, “I’m having your baby,” You can’t resist, the tune now stuck in your head, changing the lyric slightly to fit, “It’s none of their business.”

“What? S’your family, of course it’s their..oh, right.” He shares in your laughter, melting away any tension that had settled in the room, restoring your confidence that everything would be alright.

As many changes as your body had gone through during pregnancy, one thing that hadn’t changed was Harry’s love for your belly. His obsession had grown with each month, constantly finding reasons to be close to you throughout your days spent together. Usually it was a hand nudged gently against the side of your bump, trying to coax the baby to kick or move for him.

Your child already adored the sound of their dad’s voice, would normally start to wiggle around the second Harry would start talking or singing anywhere around you. The first time it happened, the two of you were attending a birthday party for a friend and Harry was halfway across the room, animatedly telling a story to a group of your mutual friends. It was one of the many reasons you had fallen for him so quickly, his ability to have a room full of people so captivated by a tale you were sure they had heard at least 5 times before.

But he doesn’t seem to care about anyone else’s reactions, his eyes continuously flicking back to gauge your feedback, knowing which parts make you laugh the hardest no matter how many times you’d listened to him tell it. When your mouth falls open with a soft gasp and a hand clutching the side of your belly, he hurries through the ending to weave his way back through the party to you.

“You okay, love? Somethin’ wrong?” The tears falling on your dress don’t match the glowing smile radiating across your face and he’s turning his head amusingly from where he hovers over you.

“Everything’s great, H. Think someone just loves the sound of daddy’s voice.” You take the drink he still holds in his hand and set it on the table in front of you, turning your body to face him and tugging his wrist down to where you had felt the kick moments before, “Say something else now that you’re closer. See if she moves for you.”

“She? You find out somethin’ you wanna tell me, darlin’?”

“No, just a feeling. Haven’t you thought about which you would rather us have?”

He shakes his head no, his eyes bright with a pride you’ve never seen burn so intensely, “As long as you and they end up happy and healthy in the end, s’all that matters to me.”

He scoots his body to sit on the bench next to you, bending his head to speak softly, “Hello, little one. S’daddy. Mummy’s here too. Wanna move around a bit more f’us?”

He rests his head there for a moment, a hand rubbing along the side of your stomach, not caring who at the party may see the two of you or how silly he may look. He looks like a child who’s just been granted his one and only wish when your baby responds, a foot landing against where his cheek is pressed.

“There you are, baby. You kickin’ at me? Cheeky little thing y’are already..just like mummy, huh?” He turns to kiss the spot where the foot had been, ”We’re g’nna have so much fun when you get here, angel.”

Harry watches your feet a lot more closely these days.

You didn't notice it at first. But today as you're coming down the stairs, you catch his eyes watching carefully as he waits for you. One of your hands cradles your bump that seems to be growing daily now, while the other glides along the railing to keep yourself steady.

"Am I wearing mismatched shoes or something?" You lean forward in an attempt to look at your feet over your belly, nearly toppling down the last few stairs. The look on Harry's face would have been comical if it wasn't laced with so much fear as he lunged forward to meet you and help you the rest of the way down.

"Careful!" Even with you settled safely now against his side, his voice is full of worry, "Nothing's wrong with your shoes, honey. Just wanted to make sure you made it down safely, know how clumsy y'are."

"You worry too much, Harry. I would've made it down fine if you hadn't been staring at my feet."

"My girl's carrying my baby..m’allowed to worry about you both. Y'sure I can't convince you to stay home and let me do the grocery shopping this week?"

"No, I wanna go. Last time you forgot the bagels."

"Are you ever gonna forgive me for that?" You're glad to see the fear has fallen away from his face as you both reach the bottom of the stairs together.

"Maybe." You shrug, "Might take a few more kisses though."

"Deal." One of his hands comes to rest warmly on the underside of your belly, the other one still supporting the small of your back as he bends down to place kisses across your face.

A kick from within your stomach has both of you giggling and looking down to where it's pressed between the two of you.

"Are you mad at daddy too, hmm? Already two against one around here, I see. Alright then, baby gets kisses too."

“Harry will you please get up? We only have an hour to get ready and make it to the appointment. I don’t wanna be late!”

He rolls over, intending to pull you closer to him for a morning kiss, an important part of his usual routine. He frowns when he finds you’re already out of bed, digging through drawers of your dresser to find what you need to get ready for the day.

You haven’t noticed he’s awake yet so you keep encouraging him, “C’mon, made you breakfast. It’s an important day!”

“You’re not allowed to do that, y’know.”

“Do what?” You’re only half paying attention, tugging a dress over your head and scowling at your reflection in the full length mirror when it doesn’t fit over your belly. You quickly pull it back off and toss it in the pile you’ve already tried (and failed) to stretch over your growing bump.

“Daddy’s s’posed to make breakfast for mummy while she sleeps in, not the other way ‘round.”

“Well, mommy was too nervous to sleep in so she’s up getting ready, as daddy should be!” You tug one of your maternity shirts from a hanger in your closet and throw it over your head, declaring to yourself that it’ll just have to do. Thankfully it pairs well with the black leggings you’ve already struggled through pulling on. You plop on the edge of the bed, a deep sigh falling from your lips as you look around at the mess you’ve made of your shared bedroom.

“Mummy needs to relax. She looks beautiful in whatever she wears, no matter what day it is.” He rubs a hand along your back, up to soothe over the pinch between your shoulder blades.

“Nothing fits anymore, swear this belly gets bigger by the day. If I find out today you put a set of twins in me, Styles, you are gonna be in so much trouble.”

He throws his head back, a deep rumbling laugh erupting from his chest, “Aww c’mon, lovie. Twins would be so fun! Think we’d get lucky and have one of each? A boy and a girl?” He kisses your shoulder.

He’s pulling you in to rest against his chest now, the fabric of his well worn t-shirt cool and soft on your cheek. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pressing a kiss firmly to the top of your head.

“Just lay with me a minute, hmm? Did you get any sleep last night? Felt you tossing and turning for half of it.”

“Maybe a couple of hours. I was too nervous.”

“You should’ve woken me. Hate the idea of you being awake and nervous alone, honey.” One hand trails up to cup your chin, a thumb smoothing over the tension set in your jaw.

“I honestly don’t know how you got any sleep. I wasn’t alone though, I think I kept the baby up half the night too.” You shift to face him, resting your chin on his chest, seeking the comfort of his face, “Are you okay? You’re not nervous at all?”

“M’fine. What’s to be nervous about? We get to see our baby today, find out what it is. I couldn’t be happier about that.” He brushes a strand of hair softly away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Maybe it’s more excitement than nerves. I just felt..restless. Maybe it’s silly, but I just wanted to look nice today too and none of my good clothes fit me anymore.”

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, baby. But now? I’ve never seen anyone look as gorgeous as you look now. S’important to me that you know and believe that as much as I do. I’ll remind you everyday if y’need me to.”

“You really mean that, Harry?”

“‘Course I do. I know this has been new and scary for both of us, and I’m so proud of you. You’ve fallen into this with such ease and grace, already started gettin’ our home ready for our little one. I can’t wait to see you with them when they’re born.”

“You’re gonna be the most amazing dad. Teaching our child kindness and love, reminding them it’s okay to be whatever they choose to be. It’s important to me that you know how much I adore you and seeing you become the dad you were meant to be? It’s gonna be incredible. I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”

“Me either. Think I’d be miserable if it were anyone else.”

“Nah you’d get used to them eventually. Especially if they were having your baby.”

He laughs again, pulling you closer to smush his lips against your temple.

“Alright, up we get,” He scoots away to push himself up and off the bed, offering you his hands to help pull yourself up, “Let’s go see if our little bub got blessed with your nose or cursed with mine.”

You’re over the moon every time you see Harry’s beaming smile when he passes the black and white sonogram photo now proudly displayed on the refrigerator; your son’s nose a perfect mixture of yours and Harry’s.

#dadathon #harry styles imagine #harry x reader #my writing #dad!harry

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stormyweaver · 3 years

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Borrowed Time || Chp. 1

So my latest hyperfixation has been this show on Netflix called ‘Swee/t Home’. It’s a live-action South Korean adaption of a webtoon comic, and seriously if you’ve never heard of it before, at least watch the first episode. If you aren’t hooked, gosh, I don’t know what could make a person want more! But you don’t have to have seen the show to enjoy this I think, but again I’d highly reccommend checking the series out. I adore every single character and I’ll probably be writing more about them all, but for now I’m focusing on Pyeon San/g-wook because h-he’s my fave... He’s basically a mysterious drifter who dolls out justice in his own badass way, and he’s amazing and a super complex character.

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR EPISODE FIVE, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED:

This is after Sang-wook kills the pedophile he was hired to find, and then drags his body outside while bringing two other victims who had died to a monster inside the apartment building. It was pouring raining and my brain instantly went: how can you have a out-in-the-rain scene without sickness? BLASPHEMY! Anyway hope y’all enjoy!

The timing might have been slightly comical if he didn't have a splitting headache. Or, was it a concussion? That... nurse had mentioned something similar, but he truly hadn't paid her any mind. Why would he give someone so prying the time of day in the first place? He hated being touched without his permission, no matter the reason; maybe she had simply been trying to help, but there was absolutely no way in hell he was going to let her continue treating him as if he was some weakling.

No, he only... felt weak, due to all of the stress. He would bounce back eventually - he inevitably did. Though he could never fully comprehend why, his body had an uncanny ability to heal faster than most, and bestowed him with a strength that most people only ever imagined themselves possessing. It had served him well over the years, made him capable of surviving on his own for as long as he'd needed to, aided him in carrying out the tasks others simply didn't have the stomach for. It had of course, had it's downsides - there were injuries and ailments he simply couldn't knock in a matter of hours, and those instances where he'd been forced to finally allow his body to rest were intensely irritating.

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he staggered through the dirtied hallway and, sensing that he was finally alone, allowed himself to lean bodily against a flyer-littered wall. His breath was coming in short, harsh pants, almost bordering on wheezing, though his teeth instantly grit at the idea. He wasn't weak-- damn it, if Jae-heon had just left him out there to die, he wouldn't be feeling like utter, completely useless shit right now. The zealot likely loathed him just like the rest, if not fear then at the very least an intense dislike. Only his 'vows' or whatever meaningless word of God had made him keep the gate open. He swallowed- or rather, made an attempt to, and was unsurprised to find that the action was mildly painful. Pair that was the throbbing near his sinuses, the malaise, and the general feeling of being lethargic, it wouldn't take a medical professional to inform him that he was unwell. What was that old saying? Something about only fools catching a chill from standing out in the rain? Nonsense. But... well, he wasn't about to start pondering old proverbs with a pounding headache. At least he wasn't getting a nose bleed. Just a stuffy one. It took Sang-wook longer than he would have preferred to stand up straight again and continue limping down the walkway, but eventually he did, coming to a stop on the corner of a vacant room. He could practically hear his limbs creak as he perched himself on the edge of a step, and one hand automatically slipped into his jacket pocket. Some habits were harder to break than others. And if ever there a time he truly needed a smoke... With the lit cigarette between his lips, he began to ponder what his next move would be. He had technically finished his business there; no other reason to remain other than the fact that fucking monsters were roaming the city. Of all the positively inconvenient bullshit - monsters. Not that he had any real plans after taking care of matters. He never did. Being a drifter meant not making attachments, not allowing himself to get roped into anything unless it was related to his main task. And yet there he was, with an apartment full of people who either saw him as a thug or a threat or, for some irritatingly insane reason, a person to be pardoned. A laughable concept at best. He didn't even want to be pardoned - he didn't regret the things he had done, to begin with. And wasn't that one of the key steps to getting into heaven? Being repentant for your sins? Well, that was already one big strike against him. Just how did that damned nosey priest expect him to continue on, then? Why had he been so adamant about "saving" him? Why? A trail of smoke filtered past his nostrils, nose absently wrinkling as the thoughts only served to frustrate him all the more. What the hell was he going to do... He brought the stick to his lips again, but his breath caught pre-inhale, mouth forming a deeper frown than normal. A small pin-prick had been stinging the back of his nose ever since he'd woken up, but so far he'd been able to ignore it. Until now. He sniffed harshly, once, twice and, thinking that was that, but the moment he closed his lips around the cigarette, he inhaled harshly through his nose. "hH'KGSHHh!" The sneeze jerked his head down sharply, though he managed to keep it relatively quiet. The last thing he needed was some passerby hearing and having the guts to try and approach him. Though containing it hadn't done his headache any favors, and his teeth had nearly snapped the cigarette in half. Hell, he couldn't even smoke in peace. What was the point of still being alive, again? "You shouldn't be smoking," Ah, there it was. Sang-wook didn't need to glance up in order to place the voice - he could smell the self-righteousness from a mile away. Or, he would have, had he been able to smell anything at the moment.

Resisting the urge to sniffle, he made no attempt at offering even a semblance of acknowledgement towards the other. Not that it would stop him from poking his nose where it didn't belong, so it came as no surprise when Jae-heon stood directly in front of him, gradually lowering himself until he was seated similarly to the other with a soft grunt. Sighing, Sang-wook plucked the useless cigarette from his lips and tossed it to the floor, swiftly crunching it beneath his boot. "I'm not,"

Jae-heon hummed in acknowledgement. "I don't say it to judge," Sang-wook wasn't sure why he felt the need to clarify, but his gaze did flit over to the other's general direction for a moment. He could see the glint his blade gave off out of the corner of his eye. Curious. Although he didn't doubt the other's skill, he just didn't see a point in taking it with him everywhere. But that was ultimately his choice, and he didn't have the mental capacity to bother pondering why he did so. "How are you feeling?" The scarred man barely lifted his eyes to Jae-heon, who gestured with his chin towards the direction Sang-wook had originally walked from. "Yu-ri took a look at your head injury, right? Is it serious?"

The only response he gave was a meager shrug. Sang-wook wouldn't willingly give information about how he was feeling when it didn't matter in the long run. Whether he was fine or slowly bleeding out, what difference would it make? You shouldn't be alive in the first place; why does he care? God, thinking made his head throb. Couldn't he just be alone in this god forsaken complex for more than a solid minute?

He heard Jae-heon sigh, noted him shift slightly, but still kept his gaze glued to the floor. "What you did... I can't agree with your actions," Sang-wook almost scoffed aloud. Was he really expected to listen to a lecture about right and wrong? His attention was already split, anyway. The itch sparked in his sinuses still burned, not having been satisfied with the weak excuse for a sneeze, and every facial muscle was tensed as he worked to smother the sensation into submission. At least he always happened to look stoic, so he doubted the other would notice. Still, hearing Jae-heon gear up for a sermon of sorts didn't bode well for his waning resolve. "But I do understand why you did what you did. The others might not - they might still see you as something that you're not-" "What would you know about what I am?" Sang-wook interjected sharply, a scowl evident on his features. Admittedly, it hurt to talk, and he internally cringed at the trace of hoarseness in his voice. But he didn't like anyone thinking of him as some misunderstood wretch worthy of some kind of redemption. He wasn't a hero, he wasn't a villain, not good or evil - he simply was, and he never needed to be more or less than that, didn't need to satisfy anyone's opinion of him. Jae-heon glanced down momentarily, looking as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. Speaking could come as easily as breathing at certain times, and yet there were moments were every point of diction managed to fail him. "I'm not here to pity you. And I wouldn't claim to understand you. Every person has their reasons for what they do - and every person has to stand with those reasons before the almighty. I'm not here to judge," The scarred skin beneath Sang-wook's eye jumped slightly. "Then what are you here to do? Whatever it is, you're wasting your..." He had to pause, throat constricting momentarily before he sighed unevenly through his nose, "... breath. You should be more concerned about yourself," Jae-heon couldn't help but quirk a miniscule smile at that. "That isn't God's way. Besides, I wouldn't still be alive if I had decided to be selfish," His thoughts shifted to Hyun-su, Mr. Han, Ms. Im and Ji-su - he had all of them to thank for his life, for making it this far. People who, while they may not have shared the same faith as himself, had believed that sticking together and looking after each other was the way to survive - was the right path. No matter their differences, they chose to be selfless, and that was what had led them to finding the other survivors. Sang-wook didn't reply, mainly due to the fact that he wasn't sure he could safely do so without breaking his concentration. Though it didn't matter - Jae-heon continued anyway. "You didn't have to bring back Min-Ju and Su-ung. I won't ask you why, because to me, what matters is that you did. That means something," When Sang-wook didn't respond again, Jae-heon opened his mouth to continue, only to be silenced when the other opposite him took in a sharp inhale and twisted off to the side. "hH'GKxnt! h'HCHGnt!" Jae-heon blinked for a moment, not really startled by the sneezes but seeming to examine Sang-wook with a little more scrutiny, to which the the other flashed him a glare. Unfazed, he continued to gaze at the other. "You look pale. You should be resting," Sang-wook simply scoffed, cringing at the phlegm lining his throat. He desperately needed to sniff back the moisture threatening to breach his nostrils, but his pride held the action back as Jae-heon continued to press the issue. "You're up and about after having passed out - and you were in the rain for a good while. You might be getting sick," And if he was? What the hell did it matter? Sang-wook wanted to press both heels of his palms against his eyes and grind until the pressure behind them lessened at least a little. He was exhausted, and fatigue suddenly swept over him like the storm clouds still raging outside. Everything felt heavy and sluggish which, for someone with normally such sharp senses, was more than off-putting. It felt wrong. He felt wrong. Why was the good Christian wasting time worrying about whether or not he was ill when there were literal monsters still roaming the apartment? As if sensing his turmoil, Jae-heon finally moved to stand back up, katana blade resting by his side. "You should go see Yu-ri - at the very least she can give you something for your head," He began to turn away, paused, then uttered something that made the skin on the back of Song-wook's neck prickle uncomfortably.

"Take care of yourself," Jae-heon’s retreating footsteps seemed to echo unusually loud, and it wasn't until he could no longer hear them any longer that Sang-wook finally indulged in a thick, pitiful sniffle and allowed his head to drop into his waiting hands.

#greywrites;#shweet home;#still working on part two but i make no promises lol #unless... heh #borrowed time || part 1

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obsidianfr3sk · 4 years

Text

Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 1)

Summary: Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn't know it yet.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246812/chapters/63886654

I needed to posted this now or I would never do it:))) what did y’all say? “this bitch won’t write again”???? surprise!!! sucks to be you, rules to be me (?)

for those who don’t know, this is a direct continuation from my other fic The Origins, so if you’re interested on this one, you should read the other first! But if your a freaking punk... then, welcome to my fic (?) it’s going to be all about the first year of the OG renegades as superheros, how they became friends, and that stuff. Maybe Ace will make an important appearance, idk, everything can happen. I hope you like it as much as you liked the last one c:

Tag list: @nodrianbcyes @healing-winston-pratt @alecjamesartino @blueraspberry-official @novas-tunnel-of-anxiety @magykaldealings @jacihayle

The Lost Voice

Age of Anarchy

Year 10. Month 10

Kick me under the table all you want,

I won’t shut up.

Simon

It was quarter past eight when their father told Simon and Sophie dinner was served. His sister had her nose stuck in a gothic novel that used language too complex for an eight-year-old girl to understand, and his father sipped his dark coffee, looking through yesterday's newspaper. Simon pretended to be reading the first volume of The Scarlet Enchantress and the Phantom Feline for the eighth time, but really, he was completely absorbed in his thoughts.

He had never hated dinners at his house as much as he did at that moment.

The worst thing is that it had not always been this way. He was still able to remember the controversial topics Laura brought up at the table. “Dad, what do you think about what the mayor did today?” “Mom, did you hear about yesterday's protest?” “What are we going to do about Ace Anarchy?”

His mother almost always agreed with Laura's opinion. His father, on the other hand, made jokes that were inappropriate for the situation. Even his youngest sister participated, while in her mother's womb. Simon joked that when she was born, she would be as “loud and annoying” as Laura. His parents burst out laughing and Laura gave him a bad look.

“Don't call me loud and annoying, Simon,” his older sister scolded. “I am the only ray of light in the midst of anarchy.”

She may have been joking. But for him, she was a ray of light in his life.

All the light left their house along with them. Mom died giving birth to her third daughter after she started bleeding out and there was no time to get to a hospital. Laura said that she had never seen her father cry like that day. All he said was, “Gabriela, oh, Gabriela, my love, please wake up.”

She didn't wake up and he never laughed again.

Laura. His older sister was stocky, with curly hair and olive skin like his. She had a smile that could please even the saddest of hearts.

The light in the midst of anarchy.

What the hell had happened to Laura?

What the hell had happened to Simon?

But most of all, what the hell had happened to their dinners?

Not that he wasn't used to it. In fact, he was so used to dining in silence that when Hugh invited him over to his house for lunch, the fact that he and his aunt kept talking and asking him questions struck him as strange.

So much light inhibited him.

He learned (a little the hard way) to appreciate silence.

However, now all he wanted was for someone to speak. Someone saying something to get him out of his thoughts for good. No matter what kind of conversation it was, Simon was willing to talk about the fucking weather as long as he didn't keep asking himself the same question over and over.

“But what if we did?”

Both of them. Beat Ace Anarchy.

Please.

And yes, it was ridiculous. Simon had even laughed and told Hugh to stop being an idiot, believing that the conversation would end there. But Hugh spent the rest of the afternoon talking about it, so convinced, so sure of his words, that Simon began to hear inside his head a voice that he thought he had lost a long time ago.

But what if you joked during dinner again?

But what if you gave your opinion when the teachers ask you to?

But what if you were the light in the middle of the anarchy?

He shot a glance at Sophie. She was the complete opposite of Simon (and Laura): Sophie had pale skin and straight hair, like their father. No one would have ever believed they were siblings if it weren't for the fact that they had the same dark eyes.

He wondered if she had that voice inside her head. Probably she did. She was a kid. Kids used to be more gullible about that kind of thing, right?

Perhaps it was a voice that you lost over the years.

Although he doubted Hugh had lost his voice. Simon would be jealous of him if it weren't for the fact that the voice was way too annoying.

He had to shut it up somehow.

Simon took a deep breath.

Then, for the first time in eight years, he spoke to his father during dinner.

“Dad, do you think I could defeat Ace Anarchy?”

His father stopped reading at that point. He looked up at him as if Simon were pointing a gun at him. Sophie kicked him under the table.

He knew it immediately. He shouldn't have done that.

“Give me that comic,” his father ordered.

Simon obeyed and handed it to his father. He started flipping through the pages frantically, looking for a single mention of Ace Anarchy in it, like he did with all the comics Simon brought home.

He didn't know how to feel about it. By this time in his life, John Westwood should know that Simon always read the same comics, which had been previously authorized by him. There was no “propaganda” in them. But, of course, it wasn’t like his father paid attention to him. (That, and that Simon never read the last volume in front of him, in which Ace Anarchy was the main villain. If his father saw it, he would go crazy.)

The man wouldn't even let him read superhero comics until a few years ago. Laura used to be a superhero fan, but when she died, his dad carried all her and his mother's things up to the little attic they had. His father wouldn't let him get close to them for any reason. He assured him that comics were full of dangerous propaganda, that they would put ideas into his head, and that they were boring and predictable stories anyway.

Although he believed him, he couldn't help picking up a copy of Wonder Man from a counter the first time he and Hugh broke into a store. Simon thought he was going to be happy. He knew how much his friend liked superheroes. However, it was the opposite of that. Hugh was very nervous and told him that they had to return it and apologize to the owner. But they couldn't return without having to confess their other crimes as well.

Simon could barely keep standing, and although Hugh didn't want to accept it, he couldn't continue for long either. Their families were also starving.

They needed that food.

In the end, they decided to keep it. They read it that same afternoon, in Simon’s basement, while eating a pack of rancid cookies. For some reason beyond his understanding, Hugh told his aunt what they had done and she, instead of getting angry, told him that he would give him a little money every two weeks to buy a new comic.

“Now we can buy our own comics, Simon!” he exclaimed.

And that was great, but Simon couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Miss Everhart needed to improve her parenting methods.

Simon kept his hobby a secret, even when his father gave him an old copy of Wonder Man because he considered that “he was mature enough to read it”. Ironically, it was the same number that he had stolen years ago. He didn't have the heart to tell him he had already read it, and he didn't like it that much.

His father gave him back his comic with a sigh. “Where did you get the idea that you could beat Ace Anarchy?” he asked.

Sophie looked at him curiously. She kicked him under the table again, as if to say, "Come on, tell us."

Of course, Simon wasn't going to tell his father that Hugh was the one who came up with the idea. He already didn’t like him. But he wasn't going to lie and say it was his idea, either.

“It was just— curiosity.” And he felt his body turn slightly translucent with embarrassment.

His father's expression softened. “What a peculiar curiosity you have, son.”

Simon just shrugged.

His sister's eyes gleamed peculiarly. Oh no.

“Dad,” Sophie called.

He kicked her under the table. Sophie didn't flinch and kicked him harder. It hurt Simon so much that he couldn't stop her before she asked, “How were things before anarchy?”

John tensed. And instinctively, Simon too.

Sophie was so young. She was the same age Simon was when Laura died. Back then, he didn't understand how things worked in that house, but now he did.

Linda Sophia, we don't talk about dead people in this house.

“We don't focus on the past, Sophie,” their father replied, squeezing the bridge of her nose affectionately, “it ruins our future—” he fixed his gaze on Simon— “because it distracts us from the present.”

Sophie pulled away, pretending to be upset about being treated like a little girl.

He wished he hadn't said anything. The first thing they said in eight years and it was stupid. He had completely ruined dinner.

Oh, but the voice was so loud. Simon was silent, but in his head, all he heard were screams of despair. There is no future, John! The past has ruined it! The present sucks! That is the problem!

Someone has to do something!

“Now go to sleep,” he ordered, picking up her plate. “Tomorrow is Monday and you have to go to school. Have nice dreams.”

“Dreams are for the weak.”

His father rolled his eyes and smiled at her. “Rest, vampire. You too, Simon.”

Sophie ran out of the dining room to the bathroom. Simon and she always fought about who was going to use it first when they were getting ready to sleep, but he didn't care at that moment. He had to do something first.

With translucent hands, he helped pick up the rest of the dishes. He put them in the sink and took the sponge to wash them. His father pushed him away without violence and whispered that he would take care of it.

That only made him feel worse.

“Sorry, Dad,” he whispered. “It was a dumb question.”

His father did not respond immediately. Every second of his silence was a second that the voice had to get louder and louder. There's no future! There's no future! There's no future!

“Don't worry, son,” he told him. “Seriously, no problem. Go to sleep.”

When he entered the room, his sister was under her covers on the top bunk, reading by flashlight and wearing a lacy nightgown that made her feel like “an evil queen”. She poked her head out from under the covers to see him enter and hissed at him. Was it a greeting? Was it a threat?

Who knows.

He got in his pajamas.

How did Sophie imagine the future?

There's no future! There's no future! There's no future!

On the wall, Simon had a picture of his mother sitting on a park bench, wearing a pink scarf. A five-year-old Laura was on her lap, eating a caramel apple with astonishing ferocity. He wished he had a more recent photo, but that was the only one he could save from when his father removed any remaining traces of his wife and daughter in the house.

How had they imagined the future?

He lay down on his bed and stared at the photo, feeling sleepy.

There's no future! There's no future! There's no future!

How did he envision the future?

It horrified him to realize that he had never asked himself that.

Someone has to do something!

Maybe someone should do something. But he knew that someone would not be Simon Westwood.

The voice insisted once more.

But what if you would?

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years

Text

Bonding Time

Hey y’all, it’s the latest chapter of the Spider-Stan AU! Consider it a late Christmas present. Or... wait... is it still Hanukkah? Have a happy Hanukkah present then!

Breakfast the morning after McGucket left was awkward, to say the least. The only sound was the steady crunch of chewing cold cereal punctuated by the occasional scrape of a spoon. Stan pretended to try and solve the maze on the back of the box of Penta-Grahms, even though it was easy enough for a five-year-old. Ford stared so intently into his bowl it appeared as though he was trying to use it as a crystal ball.

Eventually they both finished eating, and Stan finally broke the silence.

“So, what kinda tests are we runnin’ today?”

“Well…” Stanford trailed off, remembering his argument with Fiddleford the day before. Maybe he could be a little more honest with his brother. “Truthfully, we’ve run about all the physical tests I can think of, so far. We’ve, uh, we’ve learned a lot about how the mutation has affected you and your physical capabilities. And your health.”

Stan’s face fell. “Oh… soooooo… no more tests... does that mean… you want me to go?”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Ford said hurriedly.

“Well, I mean, I don’t wanna stay if you don’t want me to.”

“Who ever said I didn’t want you to stay?”

“No one, I just don’t wanna seem like I’m leachin’ off you.”

“Nonsense!” Ford corrected him. The beginnings of a hopeful smile formed on Stan’s lips. “There’s still plenty more we can learn from you!”

“Oh.” Stan’s almost-smile changed to an annoyed frown before his brother even noticed it.

“I’ve got some inventions I was working on before another project came along and took up most of my time, but you’d be perfect to test them!”

“As long as we don’t have to take any more blood samples, sounds good to me.”

And so Stan followed his brother into a small storage room, with just a few small windows, where several odd objects were sitting around, collecting dust. It all looked like junk to Stan, but obviously Ford knew what it all was. He picked out a large pair of goggles, a pair of weird gauntlets, and what looked suspiciously like spandex, before leaving the room and heading outside.

Ford sat down on the porch steps and tried on the goggles. They were comically large, even fitting over those huge nerd glasses, and made him look even more like a great horned owl. The eye pieces slanted at an angle, reminding Stan of an oni print he’d seen in a Japanese gift shop back in Portland.

After just a couple of seconds, Ford pulled them off, blinking rapidly and massaging his eyes. “They seem to be working, but I can’t wear them for long without getting a horrible headache.”

“What’re they supposed to do?”

“They’re light filtration goggles, meant to help see beyond the visible light spectrum. But they take in more light at once than the human eye can typically handle. I was hoping, with your improved senses, you might be able to make use of it. Either that, or it’ll just give you a headache faster.”

“Gee, thanks.” Stan rolled his eyes, but took the goggles anyways. “Whoa!” He exclaimed when he put them on. The world seemed brighter and more colorful with the goggles on, like someone had fiddled with the color balance on the TV.

“Is it giving you a headache already?” Ford asked with a touch of concern.

“No, my head’s fine. But wow, this… this doesn’t look real. It feels more like I’m lookin’ at some fancy paintin’ of the woods than a real forest.” Stan continued to look around when he noticed a strange trail of purple that definitely hadn’t been there before, leading into the forest. As he focused on where the purple line disappeared into the trees, the goggles whirred, and suddenly his vision zoomed in on the spot. “Whoa!” he repeated.

“The goggles can read the muscle movements in and around your eyes to magnify when you’re looking at something in the distance.” Ford explained.

“Yeah yeah, I noticed that part.” Stan stood and walked towards the trail, “But I’m seein’ some weird purple stuff here.”

“Really?” Ford followed him and crouched down, low to the ground, to get a better look at what his brother was staring at. “Right here?” He pointed to a tiny gnome footprint in the dirt.

“Yeah, except it’s a whole line of little purple streaks like that, leading into the woods…” Stan followed the line back towards the cabin and saw it snake around the corner “...and into your front yard.”

Ford’s eyes widened “That’s the trail the gnomes take to my garbage can! You’re telling me you can see it as a different color?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda hazy purple.”

A triumphant grin spread across Ford’s face. “This is incredible! I originally invented these to enable me to visualize residual weirdness, but whenever I tried them on myself, the visual input was too much, and I couldn’t make out anything through the sensory overload! But it actually works!” He grabbed Stan by the shoulders and turned him back towards the woods. “Tell me, do you see anything else?”

“Uhhh…” He scanned the woods, looking for any more colors that looked out of place. “There’s a tree over that way that looks… I dunno, too green? That one with the really thick trunk, near the edge of the clearing.”

Ford followed his brother’s gaze as best he could, squinting at the trees in the vicinity and finding the thick trunk in question. His eyes widened when he got a good look at it, and he suddenly rushed back into the house. Stan didn’t even have time to ask what his brother was doing when the researcher reappeared on the porch, holding a megaphone in one hand.

“Steve, I told you to stay away from the cars in this clearing! If you take one more step towards my brother’s car, I will get the chainsaw!”

Stan was beginning to think his brother had finally made the leap from eccentric to just plain crazy when the tree trunk, which had to be a few yards around, was lifted out of the ground. Stan pulled the goggles off, sure they were malfunctioning. His jaw dropped in disbelief as he realized it wasn’t a tree at all, but the foot of some bark-skinned giant. A flock of startled birds rose out of the woods and the ground shook as the giant stomped away, it’s full form hidden by the giant redwoods which swayed as it moved past.

“Sorry about that.” Ford turned to him and put down the megaphone. “Steve seems to have some kind of problem with cars. He wrecked mine before this cabin was even finished, and I’ve had to chase him off from Fiddleford’s truck a few times. You might want to park a little closer to the house, he’ll only reach so far out into the clearing.”

Stan just stared at his brother, mouth agape.

“Steve?” He finally groaned incredulously.

“He acts like a Steve!” Ford said defensively.

***

After Stan moved his car so close to the house you couldn’t even open the passenger-side doors, they moved on to the next invention Ford wanted to test. The two of them climbed a ladder in the library to the roof, then scaled the steep wooden shingles to the highest peak.

It was an easy climb for Stan, with his ability to stick to walls, but he was impressed by how at-ease Ford seemed up here with just his boots and his sense of balance.

Ford helped Stan put on a pair of strange gauntlets, made of a bulky, segmented wrist strap and a sort of button on a stick that rested just above Stan's palm.

“So, you hold down the paddle here,” Ford pointed to the button thingy that extended over Stan’s palm from the gauntlet thingy around his wrist. “to release the pressurized fluid. The stream will solidify into a sticky fiber ten times stronger and lighter than a steel cable. It’s the same basic principle they use to make nylon, but with an even more robust substance. You just swing it out towards whatever surface you want to use as an anchor, then once it’s stuck, jump up and swing forward. Double-tap to release the fiber, and repeat. When the fluid runs out, hold down on the cartridge,” He pointed to where the cartridge slotted into the wrist gauntlet thingy, “And it’ll pop out. Then turn the wrist strap to the next compartment with a new cartridge.”

“Uh, ok…” Stan nodded, looking over the strange device. He thought he understood what to do.

He took aim at a sturdy looking tree that towered above their perch on the roof of Ford’s cabin. A stream of white goo shot out, quickly weaving itself into a chord of spider silk as it sailed through the air and finally found its target. Stan gave the chord an experimental tug, making sure it was secured to the branch. It held firm.

“Now, the real trick it to pick out a second anchor, take aim with the second web-shooter, and secure a second line while swinging from the first line.” Ford continued.

“Are you even sure the first line will hold me?” Stan asked nervously. He’d mostly gotten over his fear of heights when he gained the ability to stick to walls, but the woods didn’t leave him a lot of options to catch his fall.

“Absolutely. I already tested it out when I first developed this technology.” Ford assured his brother. “I just never got past the first swing because… well, I completely tore my arm out of its socket.”

Stan stared at his brother incredulously. “It’s a good thing I found you before you killed yourself.”

“I was fine! I was wearing an amulet that grants the wearer telekinetic powers, so I caught myself before I hit the ground!” Ford bristled defensively. “And technically, I found you.”

“Whatever. It’s still a miracle you’ve survived this long on your own.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“I wasn’t on my own--”

“McGucket told me you only called him out here a few weeks ago.”

“Well yes, but I…” Ford trailed off. Stan could see he was having an internal argument of some sort. He didn't even notice when Stan gave a start as that strange, twinging version of his spider-sense returned.

This was the first time Stan had ever felt it during the day before, and as he tried to concentrate on the sensation, he was more sure than ever that it had some connection to his brother. Something was wrong with Ford. No, not wrong with Ford. Something wrong was happening to Ford.

But just as soon as he’d noticed it, it passed, and the next thing Ford said threw him off so much, he forgot about his spider-sense for a time.

“I’m not the only one who’s lucky to have survived so long on my own.” Ford said, casting his gaze downward. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, when you told me my specimen had bitten you, and that it was affecting you. I can’t imagine what undergoing that kind of genetic mutation on your own must have been like. You could have died!”

“...Oh…” Stan squeaked. He didn’t know how else to react. He’d never felt like he could have died, not from the spider powers showing up, anyway. There had been plenty of times he’d gotten himself into trouble with the mob or creditors or gangs and he’d felt like he could have died, only to discover a useful new ability. Like sticking to walls when he was pushed off a building, or superhuman strength when he broke himself out of a locked trunk, or inhuman agility when he’d literally dodged a bullet.

“In my defense, you weren’t being sympathetic to my ruined science fair project at all.” Ford continued. “It really did seem to me like you were just being a massive jerk and trying to worm your way out of taking responsibility like you always do.”

“Wow, you are terrible at apologizing, you know that?” Stan grunted.

It was Ford’s turn to roll his eyes. “Nevermind. Let’s just test these web shooters out already.” he said flusteredly.

This unexpected apology caught Stan off guard. He'd volunteered to come out here and be a guinea pig in exchange for room and board. Stan didn’t really mind; it gave him an excuse to stay and… keep an eye on Ford. Yeah. Nobody could deny the nerd needed looking after. Stan certainly didn’t have illusions that things could ever go back to the way things were between them before. No way. He definitely wasn’t getting his hopes up. No one could prove anything.

Eager to leave this awkward conversation and his conflicted feelings behind, Stan jumped off the roof, swinging on the chord. It felt great, like being a kid on a rope-swing again. As he felt himself swing to the opposite end of his human pendulum, he looked around for another good tree branch to anchor from. It was like his spider-sense slowed down time as he found a target, took aim, fired the second web shooter and released the first line, all in a fraction of a second. For just a heartbeat, he was weightless, before swinging forward on the second line. This was fun! It was hard to be worried or upset about anything when he was swinging through the trees like Tarzan.

He managed to reach the outskirts of town in just a fraction of the time it took to walk, and nearly as fast as it did to drive. Stan figured he could get there even faster than driving with enough practice. He enjoyed the view at the top of the old bell tower for a moment, then swung back to Ford’s cabin.

The nerd looked like their birthday had come early when Stan got back. “That test-run went better than I could have hoped! How far did you go?”

“To the old bell tower in town and back.”

“Really? In that short a time?” Ford pulled out his journal and started writing excitedly. “And you never slipped, or ran into anything? The line never broke or detached?”

“Nope. I almost hit a few trees but I always changed course in time.”

“Incredible!” Ford grinned. “Let me see the fluid cartridge, how much did it use?” He grabbed Stan’s wrists and popped out the cartridges without waiting for Stan to answer. “How many lines would you say you used, round trip?”

“Uh, I dunno… maybe ten? Twelve?” Stan guessed. He hadn’t known he was supposed to keep track.

“Hmm… and only used about a fifth of the fluid in the cartridge. Good to know.” Ford jotted the info into his Journal, then snapped it shut. “Fiddleford is going to be so excited to hear this when he gets back! Oh, and it's going to make salvaging parts so much easier!”

Stan raised an eyebrow. He’d used his powers for his fair share of ‘salvaging’, but somehow he doubted that was the same thing his brother was talking about now. “What kind of salvaging are we talking here?”

Ford got that insufferable ‘I know something you don’t’ look on his face. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Ford I literally have super-powers from a radioactive spider. Try me.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

***

They spent a few hours out on the roof, testing out the web shooters. How much fluid did one line use? How many lines did it take to travel a mile? How far could he swing on just one line? Did it take more lines to make a sharp turn? How fast could he travel?

Stan was pretty sure Ford would’ve had him out there all night, swinging back and forth between the forest and the cabin, if not for an incident in the late afternoon. Stan was trying to beat his time from the cabin to the main road when he picked out a branch to anchor from just within sight of the roof. He’d just released his previous line and was about to line up another anchor when he heard a sharp crack. He felt more than saw the dead branch he was anchored to break. He panicked, and instead of thinking to fire the second web shooter and create another secure line, all he could think of was grabbing onto a branch, or a ledge, or a wall, or something to catch his fall. He must have fallen at least 15 feet before he finally stuck to the upper limb of a giant sequoia. Immediately, he hugged it like a life preserver.

“Are you ok?” He heard Ford shout from the roof, witness to the entire embarrassing snafu.

“Fine!” Stan yelled back, his heart still beating a rapid drum solo in his chest.

“I think that’s our sign to stop for the day.” Ford hollered.

Stan didn’t need to be told twice. As much as he had enjoyed himself with the web shooters, this near-accident showed he wasn’t exactly a natural at it. He’d probably do a bit more practice a little closer to the ground before trying that again. Perhaps he wasn’t completely over his fear of heights after all.

***

After yet another canned dinner, Ford brought out the last shelved invention from the storage room. To Stan’s untrained eyes, it looked like several rolls of stretchy, colorful fabric.

“Something tells me these aren’t just to add some accents to your wardrobe.”

“No. It’s an extremely durable fabric. I ruined one too many sweaters while out doing field work, so I developed something that’s water-proof, tear-resistant, protects from abrasions, keeps warm, and most importantly, doesn’t get burrs or stickers caught on it.”

“So, what? You want me to see if I can tear it with my super strength?”

“Well, yes. But also…” Ford paused to collect his thoughts, thinking about how to word what he wanted to say. “I think it could improve your costume.”

Stan blinked. “What’s my costume got to do with anything?”

Ford sighed, looking anywhere but at his brother. How to word this? “I want to help you.”

“I thought that was the whole point of me comin’ out here.”

“No. Well, yes, but specifically… Stan, you’re a hero, don’t get me wrong, you’ve saved so many people, but I know you could do even more with some help.” He finally looked his brother in the eye. “I want to help you be a better crime-fighter.”

Stan broke the eye contact almost immediately. “Uh, Ford, I can’t believe you haven’t already pieced this together yet, but… I’m not really a crime fighter.”

“Not technically, no, and chances are you’ll never be officially sanctioned or acknowledged by law enforcement, but that doesn’t make you any less of a hero. And that’s why I want to help you! You could finally have cutting-edge technology at your disposal!”

“I’m not a hero, ok?” Stan finally burst out. “I never set out to be one, and you of all people should know I don’t act like one.”

“But… but all those people you saved!” Ford protested. “I’ve read the articles! The eye witness accounts!”

“Sure, I may have been in the right place at the right time, and if I saw people needed help, I helped them. That’s just what decent people do, genius! It doesn’t make me a hero! I’m sorry a bunch of nerds blew things out of proportion and made you think I was one.

"The truth is, I've mostly been using my powers to steal. Money. Food. Jewelry. Clothes. Money. Whatever I needed to take care of myself. All those people I threw in jail? Folks I owed money. Enemies I wanted off my back. That's not the kind of stuff a hero does."

At first Ford's only reaction was a blank stare. He was taking a while to process this new information. For all these years he'd had a vision of what he expected the Spider Man to be like, and now, twice in one week, those expectations had been turned on their head. Finally, he collected his thoughts.

"You may have done what you had to to survive. You may have been taking advantage of your powers. But with that power comes a responsibility to use it for good!"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Responsibility? Yeah, right! Like I owe the world anything! The way I see it, these powers are the least the universe could do for me after all the ways life has screwed me over!"

Ford opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but after a moment's pause, he just sighed and shook his head. "Don't you see, Stanley? You've already made a difference in the lives of the people you saved. Hundreds of people already see you as a hero. Why not embrace it?"

"What do you care!?" Stan huffed. "You just wanna play the hero like when we were kids, don't you? Only if you can't be the hero yourself, you'll just live the dream through me."

“Is that what you think?” Ford shook his head sadly, “You just don’t get it.” He trudged back down the stairs to the storage room, the colorful bolts of fabric under his arm.

***

That night, Bill returned to Ford’s dreams. The researcher was getting used to his muse showing up almost every night now. He was also getting used to the otherworldly being’s impatience.

“WOW, FOUR-EYES REALLY DID YOU A FAVOR, LEAVING YOU ALONE WITH YOUR DEADBEAT BROTHER, HUH?”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but this is the first time I’ve felt at home with Stan since we found him in Portland. In years, actually. While I still wish Fiddleford didn’t feel the need to lie to me about it, I think him leaving for a few days was the right choice. Yes, things are still… fragile,” Ford admitted, as he thought back to their argument earlier after dinner, “But our relationship now is better than it’s been for over a decade, and I’m hopeful it will continue to improve.”

“OH, I’M GLAD YOU’RE HOPEFUL ABOUT THAT. ONE MORE SHORT-LIVED HUMAN FAMILIAL BOND RESTORED, WOO-HOO.” Bill rolled his single eye, and then signed “IT JUST SEEMS LIKE SUCH A WASTE FOR SUCH INCREDIBLE POWERS TO GO TO A GUY WHO’D RATHER USE THEM FOR HIMSELF.”

“It’s... unfortunate, yes.” Ford agreed, his annoyance at his brother resurfacing, “But not entirely unexpected from Stanley. At least he’s used his powers to help people in need when he crossed paths with them.”

“STILL, YOU COULD BE A WAY BETTER HERO THAN HIM! I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP YOU THERE.”

“Thank you, Bill, but no. Despite what my brother thinks, I’m really not interested in becoming a super hero myself. I’d much rather be recognized for my scientific accomplishments.”

Bill shrugged. “ALRIGHT, BUT IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, I’LL BE RIGHT HERE WAITING TO MAKE IT HAPPEN!”

***

Stan wanted to scream into his pillow when the twinging, unusual version of his spider sense returned late that night. Sure enough, if he concentrated, he could tell it was strongest in the direction of his brother’s bedroom. But then, Stan got an idea. Those goggles from earlier! They’d helped him see some weird stuff out in the woods, maybe they’d give him a clue as to what was going on with Ford.

So he crept out of bed, down to the storage room to retrieve the goggles, and then into Ford’s room. Stan barely stifled a gasp when he put them on. A halo of sickly yellow was radiating from Ford’s head. That definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

This time, Stan just sat there and watched. Every other time he’d felt this sensation it had come and gone in just a few minutes, maybe even seconds, but this time he was going to really pay attention and figure out what it was, and where it was coming from. What Stan figured out was, of course, really weird. Whatever it was, it seemed to be coming from everywhere, but it all converged on one point: Ford. That’s why Stan had such a hard time pinpointing it that first night, and it was why it had seemed to be coming from Ford all the times he’d felt it before.

After twenty minutes of watching and just trying to familiarize himself with the sensation of this peculiar spider sense, something finally happened. The yellow halo surrounding Ford’s head shifted, and the ghostly silhouette of a triangle appeared. It had a single, slitted eye, just like all those freaky effigies Ford had all around the house, and in the split second before it disappeared, it looked straight at Stan.

“... What the H?” Stan exclaimed under his breath.

****

XSYO BUOL KAQQZVFIGKL BTMOUF. ECG O VIZ APFX ZQGN BB. U QJUUW VRKW BA PBM YRE SUK I NMU WS L ENTM BA GBHPK BUOL JUK NOPNMEKE.

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Spider Stan AU #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #This Jerk #My writing

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fallintosanity · 5 years

Text

oh man y’all liked this one, huh? okay here have some more.

part 1

No one else would have heard the tremor in Regis’s voice when he spoke, but Noctis knew his dad well enough to catch it. “Who are you?” Regis asked softly.

Slowly Noctis drew himself to his full height, taking a court-formal pose rather than the battle-ready stance he’d fallen into. It took a massive effort of will to keep his voice steady as he said, “I am His Majesty Noctis Lucis Caelum, Chosen of the Crystal, the last king of Lucis.” He bowed, every one of Ignis's lessons about etiquette and poise and respect between reigning monarchs clamoring at the back of his mind.

Regis was silent for a long, long moment, his face unreadable as stone. Finally he said, “That is an unusual claim. Can you prove it?”

Unusual was such an understatement that Noctis almost laughed out loud, but he managed to swallow the impulse. He took a step forward and held out a hand, then hesitated. “The ‘Guard won’t jump me, will they?”

Something softened in his father's expression - a miniscule change, but Noctis knew him. His dad recognized him despite the changes ten years and unimaginable heartbreak had wrought. Regis said, “They will not.”

Noctis nodded and swept his hand down, summoning the Armiger.

Despite Regis’s promise, most of the Crownsguard around them twitched, their hands tightening on their weapons, their feet sliding into ready stances. Clarus flinched, too, his hand half-raising as though about to call his shield. Noctis held still and waited, the glaives of the Lucii tinkling softly as they orbited him. He knew the Ring was shining on his finger, knew that as much as he could sense its power, his father could too. He felt the echo from the Ring his father wore - a second Ring, impossible yet here.

His father stared at him, mouth open, more openly surprised than Noctis had ever seen him. Noct said softly, “Hi, Dad.” The words hurt and he had to close his eyes against a sudden surge of grief. He hadn't thought he would ever get to say those words again.

Regis said, “This is… impossible. How…?”

“I'm not sure,” Noctis admitted. He let the Armiger fade as he continued, “I was fighting off Ardyn’s magic, and…” He shook his head. “Something happened.”

“Ardyn,” Regis repeated. “Izunia, the Imperial chancellor? That was actually him just now?”

“Yeah.” Noctis hesitated. The reminder of Ardyn's presence made his back stiffen, his fingers itch for his sword. “We should talk somewhere more private.”

“I agree,” Regis said. He signaled to the Crownsguard surrounding Noctis and his friends. “My Crownsguard will escort you to a conference room. I’ll join you shortly; I need to settle things with my council.”

Noctis inclined his head. “Thank you.” The formality was strange, with his dad - Noctis had rarely bothered with any kind of court etiquette as the spoiled prince he’d once been. Now, he was painfully aware not only that he was a king in his own right rather than a prince… but also that this Regis wasn't his. His own dad had been dead for ten years, even if for Noctis it felt like little more than months. Whether they’d time-traveled somehow, or something even weirder was going on, he had to remember that the man in front of him wasn't his dad. Not really, no matter how much he wanted him to be.

Regis returned the nod, and the Crownsguard closed ranks around Noctis and his friends. Noct let them steer him out of the throne room, down halls which minutes ago had been filled with rubble and now shone clean in the moonlight streaming through the windows, and finally into one of the many conference rooms which dotted this level of the Citadel. Most of the ’Guards took up positions in the hall outside the room, but one followed them in, closed the door, and settled beside it.

The room wasn't large, and the heavy table down the middle made it feel even smaller. Noctis motioned his friends over to the far end of the table. If they kept their voices low, the ‘Guard wouldn't be able to hear them. Probably.

“What the hell is going on,” Prompto hissed. “That was the king!”

“Hey!” Noctis protested. “What about me?” But it was mostly a reflex and they all knew it. Gladio huffed and folded his arms, while Prompto rolled his eyes and looked away. That, too, was a little sting in Noct’s heart. Before - before the Crystal, before he’d abandoned his friends for ten years he didn’t remember, before they’d spent a decade fighting in the dark - Prompto would have teased him back. But now Prompto’s teasing was as dark as the world to which Noctis had returned, and nearly as unnatural. Often, his jokes came a few beats too late, like he was forcing himself to do it; or worse, didn’t come at all.

Like now. There was a moment of awkward silence before Ignis said, “I’d rather like to know what’s going on, as well. King Regis and his court appeared here?”

“Other way around,” Gladio said. “There’s moonlight out the windows, and no signs of decay.”

“We went back in time,” Noctis said, tasting the impossibility of the words. “I think… I felt something, when I was fighting off Ardyn’s magic. I don’t know how it worked, but we went back in time.”

“Do you think you could reverse it?” Ignis asked. “To return us to the present?”

Noctis hesitated, remembering the feel of the magic permeating the room as he and Ardyn battled. “I… I’m not sure. I might need his magic again. It wasn’t all mine.”

Gladio swore under his breath, the kind of curse hunters and Glaives used that hadn’t ever been allowed in Noctis’s presence. Ignis tilted his head, somehow managing to give Gladio a Look despite his eyes. Actually… Noctis blinked. Ignis had both eyes open, the silvery film over them all but invisible behind the sheen of his visor. “Iggy?” Noct said quietly. “Can you—your eyes…”

Ignis actually turned his head to look at him. “Whether we’re in the past or not, I’d prefer not to broadcast my situation,” he said. “I trust you understand.”

“...yeah.” It was a valid point. If they were in the past, that meant a younger Ignis was running around somewhere - an Ignis who had no idea of the fate which awaited him in Altissia. But Noctis knew his advisor well enough to know that wasn’t his primary concern. No, Ignis didn’t expect the people here to be on their side, and wanted to hide his weakness.

Gladio said, “Best guess, we’re only a few years before the—before the peace treaty.” His eyes slid pointedly toward the Crownsguard standing near the door. “Regis had the knee brace and cane, and he didn’t start using both of ‘em until, what…”

“The summer before my last year of school, I think” Noctis said. “Two or three years ago.”

“Twelve or thirteen,” Ignis corrected absently, and Noctis winced. It was still too easy to forget the time he’d lost to the Crystal. Ignis added, “Still, that gives us something to work with.”

“Does it matter?” Prompto asked. “I mean… what are we gonna do in the past?”

“Good fu—uh, good question,” Gladio said, with a glance at Noctis.

Noct snorted. “Fucking, Gladio. I know the word fucking.”

“Yeah, but your Shield’s supposed to be respectable,” Gladio retorted. “I got ten years of bad habits to undo. Better get started.”

“When were you ever respectable?” Noctis teased. That, at least, brought a flicker of a smile to Gladio’s face - the most Noctis had managed to get from him in the days since he’d returned. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Gladio’s expression turned to stone once more.

Prompto said, “So… could we stop it?”

“Stop what?” Noctis asked.

“The, uh. The ten years of bad,” Prompto said. “If we’re in the past, doesn’t that mean we can change things?”

Noctis stared at him. Honestly, he hadn’t even thought that far yet, too stuck on the emotional shock of seeing his dad alive. But if Prompto was right… if they could fix things…

“Doubt it,” Gladio said. “The grandfather paradox, right? We try to change something, we end up with a world where the shit we went through didn’t happen - so we don’t exist anymore to go back in time to change things.”

“Maybe,” Noctis admitted. But something was already sparking deep within his chest, something he hadn’t felt since Insomnia fell.

Hope.

“We have to try,” he said.

“Noct—” Gladio protested.

Noctis held up a hand to silence him. “I know it’s unlikely. It’s a pretty common storyline in some of the comics I used to read. But we have to try, Gladio. If we have even the slightest chance of saving people - saving even one person who died…”

“He’s right,” Ignis said. “Whatever happened to bring us here, whatever else it might mean, we could save lives.” More quietly, he added, “The Stars know we’ve too few survivors in our own time.”

Gladio winced, then looked over at Prompto, one eyebrow raised. Prompto returned his gaze, some silent communication passing between them, and a surge of sudden jealousy hit Noctis so hard that for a second he couldn’t breathe. He had no idea where it had come from, why seeing them look to each other for confirmation—

Oh.

Before, they would have both looked to Noctis. Before, Noct would have been involved in whatever silent conversation they were having.

Now, he was ten years a stranger, and didn’t speak their language anymore.

Noctis swallowed hard, forcing down his emotions until he could focus again. When he looked up, Gladio and Prompto were both watching him. “Noct?” Prompto said. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Noctis said, and tried a smile. “This is just… just weird, y’know?”

“Tell me about it,” Prompto agreed vehemently.

Before Noctis could say anything else, the conference room’s door opened. The Crownsguard beside it snapped to attention as Clarus entered the room, followed by Regis, with Cor Leonis bringing up the rear. Cor visibly started when he saw them, his eyes widening and his jaw dropping before he got his expression under control. “I see what you mean,” he said to Regis.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #chocobros #fanfiction #time travel #sanity's time travel fic

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faunusrights · 5 years

Text

‘AFTER THE FALL’ - LIVEREAD III

The more I hear about the latter half of this book, the more depresso espresso I’m drinking. Let’s see how it goes, huh?

(Since there’s more chapters in the latter half than the first half, short chapters will probably get combined together for the sake of. I’m lazy.)

CHAPTERS EIGHT AND NINE

I love that Velvet’s the one who enlisted Weiss and Yang, expecting shit to go sideways. She saw these two gays on main and went ‘they look like they can party’. Was she wrong? No. Did she invite Cinder for the express purpose of drama? Yes. Can you make me stop shipping Sinnamon Bun? Also no.

Okay, this book has read my mine though!!! Ruby pitches a Beacon Battle Club where they play music as they fight, and no word of a fucking lie, that happens in Great Weiss Shark AU! I am not kidding! I had this whole story planned out! This is theft of the HIGHEST order.

“Doilies are absurd and elitist,” Yang said.

This is simultaneously the least Yang-like line and also the most Yang-like line I’ve ever heard. The duality of idiot, I suppose.

I like Fox! I really do, actually! He’s my son now. Although, the bad news is I dunno if I can replicate him in The Frapp Logs, so he’ll just have to keep dragging Coco to the ends of the earth. Same thing, right? R-right?

“Leaders can’t be the comic relief.” Fox raised his eyebrows. “Jaune.”

Is this the second time Jaune’s been dragged? I’m living for it. Also, sleepy Blake! And CFVY knowing she’s (they’re) a Faunus! And the second book behind a book! I love you, Blake.

Velvet correcting Yatsu’s ‘catnap’ joke! I wrote a ficlet about this exact thing once, so I TOLD you my Velvet’s NEARLY CANON. SHE JUST NEEDS TO EAT MORE PROTEIN IS ALL.

Onto chapter nine. God, these chapters get thinner by the second, huh?

BACK TO THE DESERT WE GO, and there’s... fog? Which is now gone! Wow! Is this a plot device? Foreshadowing? I sure hope so, because why on earth it would warrant a mention we’re just not too sure!

A sandstorm is incoming and hidden tracks are gonna get blasted away. I’m trying to figure out if this is all pathetic fallacy or if I’m reading too much into handy-dandy plot devices. Why not both?

Heart-to-heart with Coco and Yatsu... and we’re back to Yatsu giving Velvet all the hugs. Now that I’m sensing the Velv/Yats vibes, I’m extra suspicious. You stop that. Let Velvet have a fashionable GF at least if you won’t let her kiss Weiss!!!

‘[...] even the women were down to halter tops. Focus, Coco, she thought.’

Ah, lesbian as always. I’m soothed. Carmine enters the tent and Coco gets even gayer. I’m very soothed.

‘What was Jaune doing after losing a member of his team, a friend... someone he clearly cared about.’

I don’t care about what Jaune feels. Why the heck would Coco even care? There’s literally so many more people that impacts than just Jaune, lawd.

CHAPTER TEN AND ELEVEN

Back to Fox, who is honestly the shining star of this book by now. I love you, my blind and sassy son.

I love Ada and the battle mechanic she has! I’m really enjoying how Fox interacts with the world around him and using his Scroll and AI as an accessibility device. It’s neat! I didn’t expect them to go as ham on him as they did, but they did.

“Update,” Ada said. “Weapon has projectile capabilities.” “You mean it’s also a gun.”

Obligatory gun meme.

Combat stuff happens, Fox wins a fight against a confused Edward, and it turns out Gus is the one summoning Grimm and Fox just got jumped, so we slide into another flashback for chapter eleven. Lemme tell ya, this book ain’t afraid of moving fast.

“I guess you slightly oversold your ability to track the survivors,” Coco said.

Again, this is one of those lines that reads as very... callous? Kinda mean? I’ve always had Coco in my head as someone who very broadly puts her team (and their feelings) first, even if it’s rough, so lines like this make me go 🤔

Velvet falls, Yatsu panics, Coco gets up in everyone’s grill. There’s a lot to this dynamic I am not enjoying right now, and even then this seems inconsistent with the CFVY we’ve seen in the book itself. I know the author’s trying to communicate that Coco is tired and frustrated, that I get, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t how... it would really happen given her character? I dunno. ‘S weird.

Was that a fat joke I spotted there? From Coco? I need a nap. Also COCO LET VELVET DO THINGS JESUS CHRIST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!!!!!!!!!!

Coco has claustrophobia! I wrote her as having agoraphobia, so this is a hilarious turn of events. Also Coco has two brothers, not one: Mate and Toma.

Coco is fighting Grimm in a cave with CFVY, but still finds time to criticise Velvet in combat. Hey, maybe if you let her do things, she’d prove you wrong, dingus. And then she does! See!

Aaaaaaaand the six survivors are all dead. This was a pretty traumatic event, all told, which makes it weird that they look... less affected in the show? Still, this chapter was VERY weird for the characterisations because Coco seems especially inconsistent, alas. Anyway, onto:

CHAPTERS TWELVE AND THIRTEEN

The sandstorm is approaching and catching the wagons, which I have just realised are actually vehicles that use fuel. Mostly because that’s the First I Heard Of It.

‘Velvet noticed a pistol tucked in the back before she closed the door.’

Hi, can Chekhov please pick up his gun from aisle twelve? Thanks.

GIANT SAND TURTLE. AVATAR AANG C’MERE Y’ALL GOTTA LEARN HOW TO DEFEAT THE FIRELORD.

“You said it’s big enough to ride on?” Velvet asked.

Maybe this is why Coco dismisses Velvet so often. She only pitches the craziest ideas, which is why I love her. That said, Coco finally lets Velvet do something! It’s a miracle of man! Climb that turtle, bihh!

Yatsu calls Velvet V. I’m so used to Velv that V sounds entirely too cool for this idiot.

Everyone’s pissed again, but-- IS THAT THE SAND WORM THING FROM ARRAKIS?! What A Tweest!!!!!!!!!!!!! Nobody coulda seen THAT coming!!!!!

So let’s go to chapter thirteen, where Fox has had the shit beaten out of him behind a Denny’s. Sound about right.

So what’s-his-name-- Bertilak, whomst from now on shall be called Bert because what sorta water tribe name even is that (wow the ATLA references are on fire today). Anyway, Bert is being paid by someone else to deliver people with Stronk Semblances like summoning Grimm! Gee I Wonder Who That Might Be (I don’t actually know but I’m honestly not going to be surprised either way).

“Yeah, [Bert]’s a real bastard.” “Even I can see that,” Fox sent.

I love it. Fox really has been the highlight of this book for me.

Fox is on the ground and the referee is counting him to ten, so it’s mid-chapter-flashback time! We learn how Fox’s parents died (sinkhole) and how that became his motivation for... going to Beacon? Okay, tenuous link at best, but I’m going with it.

Carmine is full of trouble and Fox is determined to take Bert with ‘em. Let him DIE.

I’m gonna keep going since we’re not four chapters from the end, so:

CHAPTERS FOURTEEN AND FIFTEEN

Flashback time! Again! Only it’s CFVY’s POV of their return to Beacon. I wouldn’t mind this if like. We hadn’t already seen this from RWBY’s perspective in the show? People know this from my tastes in fanfic, but I’m not a huge fan of retellings of canon events, it’s soooooo boooooring. So I’m just gonna grind through this asap.

(I do like that RWBY and CFVY have all these parallels being called to. As they should.)

Okay we’re past the recap and OH LAWD I HEARD OF THIS BIT. Goodwitch is here (I love u Glynda no matter what) but yeah, I’ve heard this part is Big Oof so uh, let’s see this happen go down. Velvet is being requested to see Ozpin so /buckles down.

Velvet’s being questioned alone for the Whole Thing, and team CFVY have burst into the office demanding to know why, and Velvet’s a crying wreck! I’m still very >:I for everyone being overprotective of Velvet, c’mon, but also: Oz, can you please have tact? Just once in your life? Tact? Do you has it?

Anyway, CFVY have reconciled and we turn to chapter fifteen, in which: Yatsu.

Carmine has Gus, everyone’s on the Turtmobile, and shit’s hitting the fan. Yatsu’s going after Gus and Carmine alone, and I’m still waiting on Chekov’s Gun to Chekov its way right into someone’s butt. Unless it’s Chekov’s Red Herring.

Here comes a fight scene! I never have much to say during fight scenes, so, uh, yeah. There’s some real last-minute exposition in places, though, where it really shouldn’t be.

Eey, Carmine is telekinetic! Very powerful and also OP, gotta nerf that shit right down, Edward.

Yatsu’s very nearly defeated, Bert is back, baby, and shit’s getting real. Time for chaaaaaaaaaper sixteeeeeeeeeen.

CHAPTERS SIXTEEN AND SEVENTEEN

Today’s livereading soundtrack is Simple Things by Zero 7. The whole album, I mean. This is a fun little fact to make sure you’re still awake and aware, ‘cause I sure ain’t!

Roy Stallion of BRNZ is presumed dead, along with the whole team, so big RIP to May, who was cute and deserved better. Swear to God if ABRN are dead too I will kill a man. Two men, to be specific.

Velvet admits she never wanted to come to Vacuo, Coco promises they’ll return to reclaim Beacon in future. This reads like a protagonist’s last speech on hope and strength in friendship... and it should, as Coco gets swallowed by a worm! Straight up just down the hatch! This should be a tragic beat, but this is honestly so funny. Coco, pick better ways to die.

Anyway, we’re onto chapter seventeen. I was very kindly given this message:

And I-- OH HELL YES! HELL YES IT’S A SCHOOL DAY TIMETABLE!!!!!!!!!! THE LORE! THE CLASSES! THE NAMES! THE FACTS! THIS IS THE BEST THING IN THE ENTIRE BOOK SO FAR WHICH REALLY GOES TO SHOW I HAVE NO HOBBIES!

Is this a... flashback? Flash... forward? I’m not sure, actually. Either way, CFVY are in Beacon clearing the place of Grimm. Actually, this must be a flashback to before they went to Vacuo, I suppose, which would make sense to follow Velvet’s little admittance last chapter before Coco got swallowed like a paracetamol tablet.

Velvet waited for someone to ask her what she thought, what she wanted, by no one did.

Now I’m SAD why won’t people be NICE to VELVET just ONCE!!! God, this book really just gives her the short end of the stick every time.

Off go CFVY to Vacuo. Bye.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN AND EPILOGUE

Heremst we go.

Coco’s alive! I mean, no surprise. And full of the Joques as ever:

Coco figured sacrificing your life for a teammate was one way to be remembered as a good leader, but maybe that was just cheating.

RIP Coco and her claustrophobia! Hey, now that was good foreshadowing! That gets a whole Murphy Cookie of Approval. 🍪

Coco loses her Scroll and her hat, but Velvet swoops in to save the day! Meanwhile, Bert has been convinced that Carmine double-crossed him, so they’re battling it out! Basically, Gus cast frenzy. Finally, it works in everyone’s favour.

“I can’t believe I thought you were cute,” Coco spat.

Some lines in this book haven’t been very good. This one, on the other hand, very much is.

So Carmine goes underground and starts creating sinkholes everywhere like a weird desert gremlin, and Edward manages to block her Semblance and like. Carmine flat-out nearly suffocates herself to death. Another death I would have found both gruesome and hilarious for its irony. But Velvet uses Flynt’s trumpet to quite literally doot the sand away, and-- I’m so sorry, this line has me literally laughing to myself. She fuckin’-- doots the sand. Oh my god.

Anyway they win, catch up with Slate and the Nomad Fam, and meet team SSSN! The boys are back in town!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Things are looking good.

Epilogue time. I’m still laughing about the sand-dooting.

So, we don’t know who paid Bert and Carmine, I guess? I do believe there’s maybe a sequel or something in the works, apparently, so maybe this is part of an overarching plot type thingie. Still.

Ah, yep, Coco confirms that they’re not through with this line of investigation yet, But, Velvet wraps it up with a heart-felt, if not a little bit cheesy, segment about home being wherever CFVY is, and so the book comes to a close.

WRAP-UP

So, I’m definitely gonna have a second read-through of this without having to constantly stop and do a liveblog, but the book was... okay, I guess? I feel like this plotline wasn’t the greatest one for CFVY, and that the author doesn’t have a crazy good handle on the characters -- he’s likely more suited to original content, which is valid. It’s a good romp and we do get new lore, but as expected, I feel like CFVY would be best used in the show that conceived them in the first place. A book is nice, but I’d love to see their return in RWBY itself, especially since this book wasn’t really... long enough, I don’t think? Seriously, y’all’ve met me. I do write hundreds of thousands of words in this world and I still haven’t written everything I wanna yet! I’d also like to see more Velvet as seen in RWBY Chibi, in which was she Cool and Good, and maybe less Yatsu alongside her directly. But! It’s a book! It’s decent! It’s CFVY! For most people, it’s Good Enough. And they’re valid too.

#after the fall #after the fall spoilers #rwby #liveblog #liveread

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jewishlensnart · 5 years

Text

So it’s the holiday season, which in a lot of households means presents. You know who has more merch than almost any other Flash villain (1. being Reverse Flash as of my last count)? Captain Cold!

Have a Len lover in your life? Need to give your family gift ideas? Peep this list, y’all!

I used to own...basically everything with Len on it. I had the largest Flash collection in the southern US until about 3 years ago, when I sold the vast majority of it, and gave away even more. These reviews come from in-hand experience. Let’s start with the Original Lad:

DC Direct Captain Cold

Holy macaroni, was this figure terrible. Yes it was comic-accurate at the time, but you could not pose it, you could not keep it standing, and the face when you removed the glasses? Nightmare fuel. Still, it was a figure from 2001, and they really were doing their best, so I’d have to rate this guy a 2 out of 5.

These next two came out around roughly the same time, but could not be more different in quality. First up, DC Direct Justice Captain Cold

Strictly speaking, this figure was beautiful. Yeah it was in the hyper-realistic style of Alex Ross, who I’ve never been a fan of, but it was toned down in a way that made it less uncanny valley. The figure had stubble painted on, and if you removed the hood (which you technically could but shouldn’t), he had hair under there! But still, this was a DC Direct figure from 2008, so it had all the same flaws that a figure from that time period tended to have: absolutely a bitch to pose, hard to keep upright without the base (I let mine lean against the wall whenever I needed the base for even more precarious figures), joints prone to snapping if you worked him too hard. Still, by far my favorite of the DC Direct/Collectibles Len figures, if not my favorite full-size figure. 4.5 of 5.

Meanwhile in big box stores across the nation, DC Universe Classics was releasing their best wave yet, wave 7. Man, I had that whole thing aside from Aquaman; Big Barda, Flash, Kid Flash, Blue Beetle, Booster Gold, and of course, Captain Cold

This is the ugliest Len figure. Hands down, the least visually appealing. Which is a shame, because it’s also one of the best! Completely comic accurate until you hit the upper torso/head area, a ridiculous amount of articulation, with the single best cold gun of any of these figures...but jfc that expression. The weird poncho/hood always bothered me too, because while it was almost comic accurate, something just threw it off the track and made it look more ridiculous than cool. 3.5 out of 5.

After the New 52 hit, DC Collectibles released 2 Captain Cold figures in rapid succession, one that was packaged alone, and one that came as part of a 7-figure set

Can you spot the differences? There’s just one: the Len from the 7-figure set is in a dark blue suit, and doesn’t come with the ice mace and ice dagger. Like all DC Direct figures before them, these DC Collectibles figures are pretty to look at, but offer very little in the way of articulation. They could be hard to keep upright, which was annoying, as neither came with a stand, and do not try to take off the hood. Nothing under there. Still, they were very pretty depictions of a popular redesign, so I feel alright giving these guys a 3 of 5.

DC Collectibles spat out a final Len figure for the CWverse line back in 2015

As a big fan of Wentworth Miller and his face, I feel this figure could have been better. I mean, I’ve seen Arrowverse figures that are spot on, and this one just is not. Maybe it’s because the goggles obscure a good portion of the face, I don’t know. That being said, I love this figure, and it’s actually one I re-bought at a convention recently, along with the Heatwave figure from the same line, that hadn’t been released when I’d started selling off all of my toys. The costume is show-accurate, the figure comes with an extra set of hands, and the gun is just really cool. This is a solid 4 of 5 figure.

These next toys aren’t action figures per say, as they don’t do much in the way of action, but they’re cute and I like them, for the most part.

Funko took over the market and the world back in 2010 when it first introduced the Pop Vinyl figures, but it took a hit TV show to get Flash villains other than the Reverse Flash into production. There are 3 Captain Cold Funko products currently out, the two Pop Vinyls and a Re-Action figure

Now, I love the first Pop Vinyl. The round, lifeless black eyes of the Pops have freaked me out for a long time, but with Len in his sweet goggles, this Pop is perfect for me. I actually have him on a shelf in my closet. The variant...look, I like how they included the actual real-life hairline Wentworth Miller has, but those creepy eyes just kill it for me. The Re-Action figure, by the way, is garbage. They’re supposed to be based on the lines of toys that came out back in the 80s, but all that means to me is little to no articulation, weird molds that look nothing like the character they’re supposed to be, and few if any accessories. Why is he wearing a tie??? Just. The worst. 5 of 5 for Pop 1, 3 of 5 for Pop 2, and 1 of 5 for the Re-Action figure.

There are a bunch of figures that came out before Funko’s reign that have little to no articulation, and here they are:

Action League Citizen Cold, from the Batman: The Brave and the Bold line

I love a good boy??? 5 of 5, absolutely perfect. No you can’t pose him, but he already comes in a dynamic, interesting pose. This is my absolute favorite of all the non-poseable figures, and I miss mine all the time.

Imaginext, a line of toys for very young superhero fans, made a New 52 Captain Cold a few years back

Honestly, Imaginext toys are ridiculous, and I love every single one of them. They’re great toys for little kids, and yeah, Len is completely bald underneath that hoodie and ice gun backpack, but he has a snowball cannon to compensate with, so who’s the real loser?! 5 of 5, beautiful.

Did you kno w that back in 2011, McDonalds put out a line of Happy Meal Young Justice toys featuring Captain Cold??? Did you want to know? Too bad, you know now.

My dad’s dog chewed up his ice projectile, rendering the actual immobile figure completely useless...but I still really like it??? Like, it’s a toy that came with food that I sweet-talked the counter guy into giving me. It’s a worthless little nothing of a toy...but I still like it. 3 of 5.

Pocket Heroes were a weird little line of 3-inch figures that came in two-packs. One of those packs contained Flash and Captain Cold

You can basically only move their arms and legs, and while this figure comes with a cold gun and a remarkably ripped set of abs and pecs, the design never really appealed to me. 2.5 out of 5.

I collected MiniMates once upon a time. 2.5 inch figures that were basically fancy LEGOs? Deal me in! ViniMates are uh. Not that.

ViniMates are 6-inch figures and I Do Not Like Them. Being made of vinyl makes them almost completely free of articulation, so the post you get them in is the one they stay in. Also, this one is based on the show-interpretation of Len and it seems to be smoldering at me. Don’t like that. 1 out of 5.

On the other end of the vinyl spectrum, the Mini-Mezitz line from Mezco is simply delightful.

Mini-Mezitz were 2-inch figures with articulation in their arms, legs, and neck joints. I love mine, and they have been hanging out on the top of my bookcase for like 7 years now. 4 out of 5, absolutely weird-dorable.

Eaglemoss once put my blog on the front page of their website without telling me, back when I was actively snapping pictures of my Flash collection. The Eaglemoss lead figures, once you get past the fact that yes, these dudes are made of painted lead so maybe handle with care, are a good staple in any collection. Captain Cold got two

Both Eaglemoss figures came with information booklets about Captain Cold, though the chess piece New 52 version focused almost solely on his New 52 history. They’re both very detailed, and I really like them. 3.5 out of 5.

I never watched Thomas the Tank Engine as a kid...but I saw this weirdass thing in a HomeGoods one day and just kinda. Stopped and stared.

He’s a train. Len is a train now. Don’t like it. 1 out of 5.

So there’s this company called Kotobukiya. They’re most famous for their bishoujo statues, but they make guys too. I had the Flash Kotobukiya statue, back in the day. I was not collecting Flash stuff when they made a Captain Cold one.

I’m actually apparently getting this as a gift from my boyfriend for Hanukkah. He finally got access to my wishlist. This statue is based on the Francis Manapul New 52 redesign, and it is what we call Big Sexy. Frankly, I give it a 5 out of 5.

No offense to Wentworth Miller, but my favorite Captain Cold TV appearance is always going to be his role in the JLU episode, Flash and Substance.

The JLU figures were all godawful, but hell if we as a fandom didn’t gobble them up back in the day. I had all the available Rogues, Len, Heatwave, Captain Boomerang, Weather Wizard, “Justice Lords Flash” (who was really just Reverse Flash, let’s be real), Mirror Master...it’s the most complete set of Rogues you can get, actually. But they were terrible figures; the Dorito-like shape of the shoulder to waist ratio combined with the narrow feet of the figure guaranteed that these toys would not stay upright without a stand. They had no articulation, and most came without weapons. But you could get three-packs of them in Target for like $12, and they were designed with children in mind, so. 3.5 out of 5, because frankly, the Timmverse designs will always tug at my nostalgia strings.

Captain Cold is available in two official LEGO forms

The first is from the Mighty Macros line, and features Len vs the Flash in a racecar vs snowmobile race. It’s very cute and easy to build. The second is the more challenging Gorilla Grodd Goes Bananas set, which also includes Flash, Grodd, and strangely enough, Batman and Wonder Woman. I never owned that set, and it’s pretty hard to find these days, regularly running $80 and up. Both sets are a 5 out of 5, though, because LEGO does not mess around when it comes to quality fun.

I saved my favorites for last. In the 70s, there was a line of toys called MEGOs, which were plastic-bodied toys with cloth suits. Mattel, and later the Figures Toy Company, would both do their own versions of Captain Cold

The first version, by Mattel, is amazing. Mine is literally sitting next to me as I type this. I took him to Universal with me when I won a trip to Halloween Horror Nights back in 2015, I take him to the movies with me when I don’t have anyone else to go with, he’s my little buddy. My dad’s dog, again, chewed his left arm completely off at one point, but I don’t care. I love him. As for the Figures Toys version, I actually won a fairly cheap auction for him earlier this week, so we shall see! I don’t know if I like how he has the whole “Super Friends hypothermia Len” look going on, but I do like how his costume isn’t just cheap, tearable vinyl. We shall see what’s under that hood soon. I give the Mattel one a 5 out of 5 for the years of joy he’s given me. The Figures Toys one is pending, but I’m gonna give a tentative 4 out of 5, because it really does look nice.

You could get Len in other forms, like as a game piece in the Heroclix and Dice Masters games, as a paintable figure for a Batman tabletop roleplaying game, as trading cards, as a set of guitar picks, as a card holder, as a very hard to find but still lovely statue from DC Direct, in official pin form from Funko and Fansets, on an old 7-Eleven cup, and of course, in the pages of the comics...but I’ve always liked toys, so that’s what I decided to go over. Hope y’all enjoyed this, and maybe got some ideas for your own collections.

#Len Snart #Captain Cold #Flash Rogues #toys #long post #image heavy

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itsthejuggernautbitch · 6 years

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You Look Like Trouble (Morning Glory Wine) - Cable/OC

Here’s chapter four! And the corresponding playlist! Believe me, y’all. From here, shit gets real.

(And as always, not to be that person but if you’ve got the time and the inclination, kudos or a comment would be greatly appreciated.)

Taglist: @this-that-and-every-thing-else @ptite-shit @lesbianyondu @chromecutie @gallifreyangrandtorino @ra-ra-rasputiin @akihecko

Wade always had a bad habit of showing up at the most inopportune times. He would ring the doorbell (and keep ringing it) right before Vivian had to leave for work, right before bed, in the middle of dinner. He barged in when she was in the shower, using the bathroom, literally whenever he could get in. Hell, he’d probably interrupt in the middle of a date, if she ever went out on a date.

His latest visitation time choice was eight a.m., which Vivian wasn’t exactly happy about. She wasn’t sure if his unusual early streak had anything to do with him living at Xavier’s mansion, but she was getting way too used to seeing him on her doorstep at the break of dawn.

At this point, she might as well just give him a key to her apartment.

Wade wasn’t exactly a morning person, either. He wasn’t necessarily grumpy when he showed up, but he could definitely use a cup of coffee (or several). He always showed up shuffling his feet, bedraggled in his drug-dealer-esque getup of faded gray sweatpants and worn black hoodie. He kept his hood up when he was walking the streets because he didn't like for people to stare.

Today was no different. Honestly, she’d seen him looking worse. In fact, he looked pretty good for eight a.m. on a Friday as compared to how he looked every other morning.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Vivian said as she closed the door behind him. As an early bird herself, teasing Wade was the highlight of her morning.

Wade didn’t respond, just flopped down on her couch and stretched out, making himself totally comfortable.

Vivian walked back into her bedroom and started dressing herself for the day. It was - hopefully - an extra special day: court day. She pulled on her nice professional suit (the one she wore to talks and panels) and fished her heels out of the back of her closet. She even put on earrings, something that she didn’t do unless absolutely had to do so (she couldn't wear jewelry to the clinic because kids were grabby).

She stepped back out into the front room with Wade, spreading her arms. “Alright, ego boost me, Wilson.”

Wade sat up and whistled appreciatively. “Look at you, all dressed up again! Looking snazzy, Dr. House! What’s going on today? Big date with Daddy Kink finally?”

“Not quite,” Vivian said, rolling her eyes. “Court notice. I’ve been summoned for a modification to my visitation rights. Potential modification, that is.”

Today was the day for the yearly review of parental visitation. Vivian would sit on her side of the room with her lawyer, Jack would sit on the other side with his. They weren’t allowed to talk to each other, so Vivian would glare while Jack avoided looking at her. Shelly and Benji would not be in attendance because it was a school day.

Wade clapped. “My girl! Might get the kiddos on the weekends now?”

Vivian slid into her heels and flopped down on the couch next to Wade. “Unlikely, but that’s the best-case scenario. I think this judge might be really special, so I might have a chance...”

The last judge she'd dealt with - the only one who would oversee child support court - finally retired. The replacement judge was rumored to be sympathetic to mutants’ parental rights, so she was hopeful that she might finally get visitation. Sympathetic could mean anything, though. She may get full visitation rights, or she may get good active listening skills from the judge and a door in the face anyway.

“Well, best of luck to you!” Wade said, stretching out across her lap. She wiggled into a better sitting position so that her suit wouldn’t get wrinkled. “Uncle Wade can’t wait to meet the niece and nephew in person finally!”

That would certainly be a disaster, the likes of which Vivian could only imagine. Shelly would love him. Benji would glare at him. Destruction would be imminent.

“It would be so great to be able to stay here with them on weekends,” Vivian opined. She leaned her head back against the couch, suddenly extremely tired. “Wade, I really need for this to go well.”

She did, badly. Over the last five years, she’d only seen Shelly and Benji a handful of times. In fact, she could count on both hands the number of times she’d seen them.

Vivian was starting to feel the years of stress settling into her bones. It seemed like she found a new gray hair every morning, which was totally unfair. It's not like she was old. But yeah, Wade always did tease her that she'd go gray early if she didn't find a way to relieve some of the stress. Not that he’d ever know that he was right - that’s why hair dye exists.

“I know, Viv,” Wade replied, yawning. “And if it goes well, I won’t have to take rolls of money to a middle school. I get funny looks every time I walk in…”

“Yeah, but Lucy at the front desk loves you,” Vivian said. Wade’s yawn was contagious, and she kind of wanted to just crawl back into bed. “And you get funny looks because you dress like a serial killer every time you go there.”

“True.”

Vivian ignored the weariness creeping over her. Contrary to popular belief, she was always glad to see Wade because he helped relieve some of the stress. He was literal comic relief.

Vivian checked her watch. She really needed to get out the door, but she supposed a few more minutes of relaxation wouldn’t hurt. “So why are here? Do you need me to do something? Did I forget to pay you?”

Wade snorted, stretching. His joints popped. “Oh, no, I just heard about your little incident with Cable. Finally.”

It had been a few weeks since then already. Vivian hadn’t told him because, frankly, she knew Wade would never let it rest. She could feel the teasing coming, ready to burst out of his chest like a nasty parasite from that alien movie.

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah, that. He hauled a guy into a bar to make him apologize to you? And then bought you a drink?” If Wade had eyebrows, they’d be wiggling. “I think our little grumpypants has a crush on you.”

“A crush? What are you, a teenager?” Vivian did have a crush and she was pretty sure that Cable did too, but she wasn't going to give Wade the satisfaction of hearing her say it just yet. “I’m thirty-four and he’s definitely older than me. There’s got to be a more age-appropriate term.”

“Besotted? Enamored. Horny?”

“How about doing his job, Wade? He just did what I asked him to do.”

“Oh, yeah, he went far and beyond the call of duty for you.” Wade crawled out of her lap and sat up, but he just went right back to leaning on her shoulder. “Look, if I know Cable, and I know Cable, he’s not going to drag a guy into a bar, make him apologize, and then not accept payment.”

Vivian had already figured that out.

“Come on, he’s just doing what I asked. He’s like you - he looks like a hardass, but he’s a marshmallow on the inside.”

“A marshmallow who wants to play doctor with you, McSteamy,” he replied. “And I think you want to do a little examination of your own.”

“I'm not going to be examining anyone who isn't bleeding.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Wade said. “What you had was the degenerate’s version of a date. Weasel was there. He analyzed the situation for me.”

“Weasel is always there, and he’s an unreliable witness.”

“I can’t refute that.”

“I know you can't. Now get off of me. I don’t want to be late for court.”

“Mama’s getting the kiddos back!” Wade exclaimed, stretching back out on the couch. “Can I take a nap here?”

“Yes. Don't break anything. Again.”

Cable’s day had been fantastic so far. Quiet, relaxed. All the things that Xavier’s mansion usually never achieved.

Wade had been mysteriously quiet. In fact, Wade had been so quiet that Cable actually started to wonder where he’d gone for the day. Not that Cable was ever going to complain about the silence. It was a rare day that he didn’t have a job to do and an even rarer day when Wade left him alone for long stretches of time.

The problem was, Cable didn’t really know how to relax, especially if he was alone. He’d never been one to lay around in bed all day, never one to just sit down and read a book. He’d messed around and cleaned his equipment, gone downstairs to workout, cooked lunch for himself. He received a lot of funny looks every time he went downstairs; clearly he needed to make an appearance more often if this many people were staring whenever he showed up.

Despite how great the relaxation was, he finally figured out (shortly after lunch) that he was fucking bored. He couldn’t imagine how maladaptive it must be to be bored when he wasn’t being shot at. Nevertheless, the boredom finally sank in.

It was still too early in the day to head to Sister Margaret's and try to drum up some business. The bar had a pretty steady circulation of regulars at all hours of the day, but the paying clients didn’t show up until late at night. Anyone who was there at lunch was an alcoholic or had just found themselves in the wrong place.

Cable was starting to wish that it was time to head over there already anyway. He thought about maybe going on over there to see if any paying stragglers were there, but he eventually decided against it. If no one was there, he’d have to talk to Weasel. He really didn’t want to talk to Weasel.

Too bad Vivian didn’t work this early in the day; Cable would head over there if she did. He’d finally found someone in Wade’s bubble of weirdos that he could relate to - someone he could actually talk to without rolling his eyes or making a snide comment.

Cable liked Vivian a lot. Too much, maybe. It scared him a little bit to think that maybe he’d grown accustomed to this time period finally - that he could maybe, sort of, kind of, think about a woman other than his wife. It had been a year already since he’d gotten stuck here, after all. He wasn’t exactly the type of guy to move on from things, but even he could agree that wounds do eventually heal.

He’d had a lot of wounds, and he had a lot of scars to prove it.

In any case, it made things easier to know that she liked him, too. She hadn’t said it in words exactly, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew how to read people, and Vivian was pretty easy to read. She was definitely reluctant to admit to any mutual attraction, even more so than him, but that gave him a little bit of comfort oddly enough. Her nervousness was endearing.

It was Friday night, so Vivian would come in and do her shift, then come have a beer with him. He enjoyed the hour or so of camaraderie, of just light teasing back and forth. She would swear up and down that it wasn’t a date and so would he. A beer at Sister Margaret’s was not the kind of date he’d take a woman like that on (or any woman, as a matter of fact); she deserved better than that.

Yeah, Cable enjoyed the Friday night beer. And if he could find something to alleviate the quiet, relaxing boredom until then, he’d be right as rain.

“And that’s what happened with the last guy,” Vivian said, waving her empty beer bottle. “It took thirty-two stitches to get him under control, and then poof, the other guy shows up and slits his throat wide open.”

Vivian was done for the night. She’d been at Sister Margaret’s all day, ever since she left court. It was just past midnight on Friday, which was usually her late night, but she’s been feeling pretty charitable when she left the courthouse and came into the bar for the entire day. Weasel was ecstatic, of course. Her presence and availability to treat people meant that the already-packed hub of degenerates was at maximum capacity the entire day.

“So if I walk in the med room, there’s going to be blood splatters everywhere?” Cable asked, draining the rest of his glass. He was just about finished for the night as well.

Cable had been at the bar for a couple of hours, but it was kind of a slow Friday as far as business was concerned. He’d been paid by a couple of people (that Vivian had seen), but so far, no black cards had come a-callin’.

“Looks like a bad horror movie in there,” Vivian replied, handing her bottle to Weasel. “I cleaned up the floor but the walls are going to need some extra attention.”

Weasel took the bottle wordlessly; he just looked over at Wade without comment. Vivian noticed his lack of snark and the mutual look, as well as the latent development on his tongue of what she was sure would be an asshole comment. She glared at him wordlessly, and he bit back whatever remark was brewing on his tongue.

Vivian and Cable had been sitting at the bar, flanked by Wade and Weasel, for about an hour. They’d each had a beer, but they’d been talking for so long that it had taken a while to finish their respective drinks.

“Damn, darlin’,” Cable said, laughing. “You sure you don’t want me to hang out back there so hitmen don’t take out their marks while you’re trying to stitch them up?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. Hitmen don’t come after me,” Vivian said. “In fact, the guy paid me afterward because he felt bad that he got blood everywhere.”

“How polite…” Weasel said. It was the first comment that he’d felt safe to say as of yet, mostly because he was a little perturbed that someone made a mess in his backroom.

“He felt that I deserved a little cash in return for the arterial spray.”

“That you do,” Cable replied, handing Weasel his own glass.

Behind him, Wade smirked; he looked just about as self-satisfied as a cat wallowing in catnip. Vivian glared at him, daring him gloat.

At that moment, one of the bar patrons walked up and handed Cable a black card - the first one of the night. He looked down at it, strangely unenthusiastic for such a lucrative job. Vivian knew the guy putting out the word; he was about as rich as it got and even more crooked. She suspected that Cable found some distaste in some of the jobs he was asked to do.

“Alright, let me go take care of this,” Cable said, slipping the card into his front jacket pocket. “See you next time?”

Vivian nodded. “Of course.”

She definitely wasn't ashamed to say that she watched him walk out of Sister Margaret's, gaze fixed on his retreating back.

Yeah, the end-of-shift beer had become a bit of a ritual between the two of them over the past few weeks. Vivian would close up for the night, and if Cable was still there, she’d cash in on a couple of IOU’s and sit down with him to talk about the day. It was nice to just… be friends. Nice to talk to someone who seemed a little bit lonely too, even if he didn’t let on that he was lonely in any way. They’d talk for an hour or two then part ways for the night, either because Cable had a job to do or Vivian was close to falling asleep on her barstool.

Wade and Weasel, of course, thought the whole situation was just hysterical.

“So, like, are these dates?” Weasel asked, leaning against the bar. “Because we’ll leave you two alone for the night.”

“No, you won’t, and it’s literally just a beer.”

“Because, I mean, he walks you out if you leave at the same time,” Weasel poured up another couple of beers and handed them off to Vivian and Wade. “Are you making out in your car? Fucking in the backroom when you don’t have patients? What’s going on here?”

Maybe in her dreams, not that she would admit it. Not so much in real life.

“That’s a negative on the making out and fucking. I’m having a beer with a friend,” Vivian replied, accepting her second drink.

Weasel snorted. “While making googly eyes at him the whole time.”

“Look, if I want to make googly eyes at the hot, scary guy, I have a right to do that. I haven’t even been on a date since I got divorced.”

“I think you wanna do more than make googly eyes at him.”

Wade had been strangely silent up to that point. He slapped the tabletop and leaned over Vivian’s shoulder. “Well, I fully encourage it! You deserve some good dick, and it’ll get him out of my hair for a while!”

“You don’t have hair, Wade,” Weasel said.

“You should make a move,” Wade continued, ignoring Weasel’s comment. “When’s the last time you’ve gotten any or had someone take care of you for once?”

“Not your business, and I don’t have time anyway. Two jobs, remember? My showerhead is my boyfriend right now. I bought one of those fancy jet-pulse ones and I’m perfectly satisfied.”

“I think the old man could fix that.”

“Who says he’s even interested?” Vivian asked, shrugging. “He might just think I’m good for business, which I am.”

Indeed. Cable seemed to get more jobs when she was sitting next to him, usually because whoever was bringing him a black card needed her to look at some oozing wounds.

“Ha! Daddy Kink was making googly eyes back at you, in his own special way.”

“Which means he was staring at you like he was thinking of drowning himself in the toilet to get your attention,” Weasel explained.

“This is why I don’t talk to you two about my intentional lack of a love life.”

“Why are you so back and forth with this anyway?” Weasel asked. “You like the guy - can’t imagine why - and I’m pretty sure he likes you. Just smoosh your faces together and make some babies already.”

“When do I have time to give a partner my full attention? I’m here, or I’m at the clinic.” Vivian said. “This is convenient because Cable is also always here.”

"Who said he had to be your partner? Just fuck him," Weasel replied, wiping out a beer glass he'd just washed. His advice was always so helpful.

"That's usually what partner refers to, Weasel."

“Hey, opportunity’s there. You’ve already made a step in the right direction.”

“Stop trying to be inspirational, please. I’m trying to figure my life out.”

Wade took that moment to interject. “Well, if we’re on the topic of figuring your life out, you know who’s great at helping with that?”

“Don’t say Coloss-”

“Colossus!”

Vivian massaged her temples. “Fuck, Wade, I already said no.”

“Come on, give him a chance!” Wade groused, leaning all over her shoulder. “I really want to stop wearing the trainee crop top!”

“No,” Vivian huffed. “He’s going to lecture me for two hours about the benefits of returning to the X-Men, and then lecture me about how my night job isn’t safe, and then he’s going to ask me to be the school nurse, which I won’t do because they won’t pay me.”

“Just do what I do and stare at him until he stops talking!”

“My brain doesn’t work like that.”

Wade laughed knowingly. “Don’t worry, once he starts lecturing, it’s like a light bulb just goes off.”

Vivian, of course, knew that she was going to give in, finally. Wade would never give up and stop asking. “Alright, fine, I have Monday off from the clinic. I’ll be there by lunch.”

“You’re my favorite!”

“You owe me, Wade.”

He made that awkward winking face that he’d been known to make on occasion. “Ah, you'll thank me after Cable gives you the good-good.”

“Not everything is about sex. I like to actually talk to him.”

“Yeah, well, the talking is better after the sex.”

“I’m done discussing this with you, Cupid.”

Wade gestured to Weasel for another round of drinks. “Topic switch, then. How did your court date go?”

It wasn’t the worst court date she’d ever experienced. This time, Jack didn’t even say a word to his lawyer when the judge handed down the decision. He just avoided Vivian’s eye with every fiber of his being, which Vivian was totally fine with. She needed to keep her temper in check - at least in front of the judge. That was easier to do if Jack wouldn’t look at her.

“I got Christmas.”

Wade grimaced. “One holiday?”

“Hey, small victories,” Vivian said as she accepted her third drink from Weasel. “Next time, I’m asking for all holidays.”

Wade offered up his glass for a toast. “Well, here’s to small victories, then!”

Vivian touched her glass to his. “Or any victory at all.”

#cable #MCU!cable #cable x reader #cable headcanons #cable imagines #deadpool headcanons #deadpool imagines #deadpool #MCU!deadpool #wade wilson #MCU!wade wilson #mcu!weasel

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mamaredd123 · 6 years

Text

A Taste of Something...New

A/N: It’s been awhile since I posted anything on here and for that I offer my apologies. Writer’s block and life in general have been wreaking havoc on my creative tendencies. But I do have a brand new little tale to share with y’all and I hope you enjoy it. Not exactly sure how long this one will be but I am already 3 chapters in. Hopefully y’all will stick around and see how it plays out.

WARNING: can’t think of any in this chapter.. if you spot any please let me know and I’ll tag them though

WORD COUNT: 1566

PAIRING: none yet... the best is yet to come

Mama’s Master List

Mama’s Tag List

Just as a gentle reminder, if you happen to enjoy this (or didn’t), leave some feedback or even hit the reblog button. We all know how great it feels to get some feedback from our writings.

‘I'm gonna work late again tonight baby’

She read the text and then sat the phone down almost nonchalantly. Same words, another day. She knew he had to work, had to get the job done to put the money in the bank to pay the bills. Somehow, after seven years of this, it had just become monotonous. It was just words.

Was he actually working? Was THIS job that important? Just last Saturday he had promised to take her out to eat, finally a date night, but work had delayed him and they had missed their reservation. The one question that nagged her more than anything though, even after twenty-three years, was did she even really care?

Glancing over at the phone, with a slight hesitation, she picked it up and texted back her usual response.

‘Ok… try not to be too late.. love u’

Within seconds she got her “love u” text back and she knew he was done communicating with her for the night. She would not hear anything else from him unless he woke her when he came home in the wee hours of the morning.

Recently, she had been having these thoughts more and more when she got his recurrent texts each night, always the same theme, work. It hadn’t always been like that between them. They had met and fell in love early in life, such a joyous thing! He had been so full of life back then. Even after the kids were born nothing had changed. He used to always make sure he was home in time for dinner, he planned all their family vacations, and even surprised her on more occasions than she could remember with small weekend getaways for the two of them.

Presently, she was forty-three, both their kids grown and out in the world on their own. Now it was just him and her. Mostly, it seemed like it was just her. He very seldom was even home at night before she fell asleep. This should be the best years of their lives! They should be enjoying a few years (hopefully about five or nine years) before grandchildren and then spending the rest of their lives entertaining the younger generation with tales of laughter and words of wisdom. With life, there's always some obscure twist of fate though.

Her days and nights seemed to run together, with blurred lines, each one appearing to be a mirror image of the one before it. She would get up each morning, get him dressed and out the door. The rest of the mornings, she spent tidying up the house, maybe a load of laundry, and taking care of any bills that needed to be seen to. Her afternoon’s were just as exciting. Usually, she would make a quick run to the grocery store for a few items and if she really wanted to do something thrilling, she might even stumble into the local Walmart for a little window shopping. Then she would return home and prepare a dinner that would not be eaten hot.

After all of the ‘wife chores’ were done, however, she made the rest of each day her time. In between binge watching and casual surfing on the net, a few months ago, she had stumbled across a website that shared, which was new to her, fan fiction. Between all the things going on in her life, the new obsession of her new favorite show, and obviously her freedom, she was immediately hooked. Fanfiction! Who would have thought! She remembered the eighties and the nineties so she knew all about fangirling over someone, or so she thought.

So here she was sitting alone, again, in the middle of the night. She was all bundled up in the covers of their bed, computer up and running, and scrolling through her new favorite internet site. Reading the stories she stumbled upon drew her back to her high school fantasies. In the nineties, yea she had her crushes on the favorite celebrities but even in her wildest dreams, never had she ever some up with some of the stuff she was reading tonight. That was really saying a lot, really, cause the things that she thought of doing with Marky Mark HIMSELF (and still thought about doing today), well, they definitely made her blush when she thought about them. But.. these stories she read! There were things described in them that she had never even thought possible and she had been married FOREVER, or so it seemed.

Finishing the latest tale of unabashed lust, she shoved the laptop away from her. Leaning back on her pillow, she looked over to his side of the bed. The emptiness of it seemed to weigh even heavier tonight for some reason. She tried to think back on any given day/night when things seemed to change between them. Nothing stood out. Not one single moment. Except this one. A deep sigh escaped her as she realized she really did love him. That was why she was here, alone, every night, by herself. But was that enough? Business was good. She always tried to make sure nothing interfered with that. The kids were as good as they were gonna get. She always made sure he had clean clothes in the morning, a clean house or at least a semi clean house, a cold beer in the fridge, and something to eat when he was hungry. Doesn’t sound like much but that was basically all he ever asked from her all these years. If you thought about it, she really had it made.

Shaking her head, she climbed out of bed and headed to the kitchen. This way of thinking was definitely not a good thing, not if she was going to find a way to find some kind of passion, lust, love, anything to salvage her marriage. She grabbed her tumbler and filled it with ice. Reaching for the cabinet door, a small voice echoed in her head ‘all you do is drink yourself to sleep every night’. Shaking her head again, she reached in the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of bourbon. She filled the cup and mixed in the coke with zero hesitation well maybe a second's hesitation when she rethought about how she was trying to figure away to salvage her marriage. Taking the first sip, however, always felt like a open act of rebellion, even though no one was there to see it. She really didn’t drink much, usually a couple of drinks at night, maybe a glass of wine or two.

The thoughts running through her mind weren’t very productive as she moved from the kitchen and back to the bedroom. ‘Screw him’ was the basic principle of them. Most of these long nights, she felt like she was spinning out of control. One second, desperate to fix her marriage and breath life back into it. The next, angry as hell at him for always leaving her alone. Getting back under the covers, nursing her drink, she pulled her computer closer. She had to get out of her own mind, she thought to herself as she settled down to read some more fanfiction. Instead of going to her notification page to see who had posted another chapter of delicious, flesh devouring, sin ridden fiction, she chose to scrolled the main page. Maybe she would find a few new authors to stalk.

The first thing she noticed was a post from one of her most favorite authors stating that she was attending a comic con, in her state! This woman, oh man, she had been reading her stories since the day she joined the site. There was a lot of hype going on about the convention she realized as she read through the comments on the post. The entire cast of the show was going to be there! Out of curiosity, she opened another browser and looked up the convention. To her surprise, it was actually being held here in town. The thought of meeting any of the cast would be delightful but also possibly meeting her? Would he care if she went? Would he even notice she was gone?

She glanced over at the empty side of the bed and sighed deeply. She longed for romance like the ones she read. She hungered for some passion in her life. She ached from the loneliness. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the emotions, who can really say what compelled her but she clicked on the Buy Tickets tab and bought herself a gold package! He would probably kill her when he realized how much she had just spent but oh well. She very seldom ever asked for anything from him. She finished her drink, tucked her laptop away for the night, and settled down in the bed. Her dreams that night, for once, were not bleak or dismal. Instead, they were full of delicious fantasies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he came home that night, he found her balled up under the covers with a soft smile across her face. He paused and watched her for a few moments. It had been a long time since he had seen her smile like that. Quietly, he slipped out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him. He would sleep on the couch tonight so maybe he wouldn’t disturb her.

Random Tags (gonna try to do an updated tag list soon... maybe.. hopefully)

@megansescape @madamelibrarian @chelsea072498 @jayankles @feelmyroarrrr @docharleythegeekqueen @crowleysdemonknight @motleymoose @sumara62 @mrstheorossix3 @evansrogerskitten @waywardjoy @dwaynii @jensen-jarpad @deathtonormalcy56 @supernatural-jackles @ruprecht0420 @charliebradbury1104 @relmi-llorrac @wonderange @sandlee44 @tom-is-in-my-tardis @kmb99t @summer-binging-spn @posiemax @ohmychuckitssamanddean @thedevilinthedetails @bohowitch @tmccarney @dragon-tail @suli155 @mrsbatesmotel53 @petrovadixon @thewalkingmombie @mogaruke @spontaneousam @uniquewerewolfsuit @firstlady36 @goldenolaf25 @lunarsaturn88 @babypieandwhiskey @impalaimagining @sis-tafics @chaos-and-the-calm67 @inmysparetime0 @idreamofhazel @nichelle-my-belle @firstlady36 @bohowitch @whispersandwhiskerburn @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @ilostmyshoe-79 @roxy-davenport @mrsbatesmotel53 @plaidstiel-wormstache @spn-hetalian-from-Hogwarts @carribear31 @captainemwinchester @watercolor31 @sea040561 @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @impalaplots @faegal04 @missjenniferb @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @emoryhemsworth @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @tattooedmomster13 @sardonicpsycho @dwgrl1903 @tankcupcakes @atc74 @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @iwantthedean @paintrider13-blog @d-s-winchester @death2thevirgin @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @ellen-reincarnated1967 @just-another-busy-fangirl @waywardjoy @winchesterprincessbride @willowing-love @redlipstickandplaid @mirandaaustin93 @kiranagoya

#A Taste of Something New #mama's writings #new series #spn fanfic

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years

Text

Tripping Over the Blue Line (30/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Casino Night. Caaaaasino Night. Casino Night emotions! I cannot quite believe there are thirty chapters of this story on the internet or that you guys keep clicking on this, but I am so grateful for both. Y’all are the best. As are @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan who made this better. Living on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

She was mumbling.

Or talking to herself.

Definitely talking to herself and that was kind of depressing and just a bit alarming because everything was going to be fine. Mary Margaret had promised it would be and Emma believed Mary Margaret by default. Ruby had promised too and Merida as well and Emma should probably trust Merida the most because she’d been charged with keeping track of the schedule that night and making sure she didn’t have some sort of Casino Night mental breakdown in the back corner of Gotham Hall.

God, this place was enormous.

Emma knew that going in. She knew that when the season started and they told her Casino Night was hers in some sort of professional-possession type of way, but now it didn’t just look enormous, it felt enormous – even chock full of those tables they’d gotten out of storage a few days before and there were fans filing in through the enormous doors with comically large handles and the team was supposed to start getting there in a few minutes, a string of town car arrivals that were listed, in order, on that schedule Merida was carrying around.

“It’s fine,” Emma muttered, leaning against the wall in the far corner of the main room, tugging on the laces around her wrist out of habit. “It’s all going to be fine.” “Are you having some sort of episode?” Ruby asked and Emma jumped when when she met her gaze. “Uh oh, you’re totally talking to yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine.” Ruby twisted her eyebrows and even crossed her arm, tapping the toe of one of her undoubtedly expensive shoes. “Yuh uh,” she said, sounding as unconvinced as Emma felt. “You know if you keep using that word, it’s going to lose some of its meaning.” Emma groaned, resisting the urge to sink down the wall she was leaning on until she’d crumpled up into some sort of incredibly unprofessional heap in the corner of this absolutely enormous building.

And Ruby was totally right – she’d used fine so many times in the last two weeks that Emma wasn’t convinced it was actually a word anymore, just an idea she’d come up with as some sort of coping device.

She mumbled under her breath again, sighing softly when her phone buzzed in her hand and Mulan wanted to know if she should be outside waiting for team arrivals or taking pictures of fans and Emma didn’t really want to answer.

She wanted to go home. She just wasn’t really sure where that was – and that might have been even more concerning than the madness she was quite obviously falling into if she kept talking to herself.

She missed the idea of a home and the feeling she’d gotten whenever she’d walked through the door of that apartment on Amsterdam Ave, far too big for just one person, but maybe just big enough for two. She’d lost control of her thoughts.

Fine, it seemed, was a much bigger lie than Emma had even realized it was.

She missed the pillows.

Emma missed Killian. And that was the first time she’d actually allowed herself to think that. She was actually going to slide down the wall.

Ruby was still staring at her, eyes narrowing just a bit when Emma’s thumb tugged on the laces that didn’t match her very fancy, very expensive dress covered in theme-appropriate fringe. Emma sighed again, answering Mulan – because she was a goddamn professional and the guys weren’t supposed to start getting there for another fifteen minutes, at least.

She had fifteen minutes to organize her entire life.

“So,” Ruby said slowly, moving next to Emma to brush her shoulder against her. “On a scale of one to ten how not fine is fine?” “Did those words make sense in that order?” Emma asked.

“The fact that you have to actually ask me that leads me to believe you’re sitting somewhere around one on the fine list.” “I have no idea what you’re saying to me.” “Sure,” Ruby said sarcastically, dragging four letters out until they sounded like the entire Gettysburg Address. “You know I talked to him.” “Jeez, Rubes I can’t do this right now.” Ruby eyed her skeptically, those stupid eyebrows doing something completely stupid again, and Emma groaned loudly, not even caring about the growing crowd of fans and season tickets just a few feet away.

“When exactly would you like to do it?” Ruby asked.

“Not during the biggest charity event this team does every year,” Emma answered and her phone was vibrating again. Mary Margaret and David were there.

“I thought that was your game.” “Oh my God.” “I talked to Regina too,” Ruby continued, seemingly unimpressed with any of the noises Emma was making in protest of this conversation.

“I don’t care.” Emma was getting very good at lying – or at least she thought she was until Ruby actually laughed in her face, a loud, obnoxious sound that probably shook some of the paint off the very fancy walls of that very fancy building.

Fine. Fine. Fine. Everything was going to be fine.

“Yeah,” Ruby laughed, nodding towards Mary Margaret and David when they somehow worked their way towards the other side of the room in a few seconds flat. “That’s absolutely why you keep tugging on those laces or why you haven’t taken those laces off despite the fact that everyone on this stupid team read The Times story.” “It wasn’t true,” Emma reasoned and that seemed to catch Ruby by surprise. “He’s not going to LA.” “Yeah, he said that too. Then what’s the problem here?” Emma didn’t answer, just closed her eyes and shook her head, plastering the same almost-honest smile she’d had on her face for the last two weeks.

They’d swept the western swing – and Killian had points in nine of his last ten games, snapping Robin’s goal drought when he set him up in front of the net against the Oilers. The tabloids were going nuts.

Emma read about it that morning, the back page of The Post claiming Killian Jones was The King of New York just a month out of the trade deadline and the Rangers were still sitting in the first Wild Card, closing in on the Blue Jackets for third place in the Metro.

And she couldn’t remember him playing as well as he had in the last two weeks, some sort of other level talent that had Ruby working overtime with all of the media requests for one-on-one interviews as soon as they got back to New York.

Which might have explained why, the three days they were actually in New York – a home game against the Caps coming in the middle of the road trip – Emma hadn’t actually seen him any more than in passing, a flash of dark hair and blue eyes moving out of the locker room as both Ruby and Regina tugged him from interview to interview.

Or, maybe, Emma was just a giant coward who’d actually overscheduled herself during those three days so she didn’t have some sort of emotional reaction in the middle of Madison Square Garden.

It was fine.

And, well, she’d totally needed to work those days – she had to finish prep for Casino Night and there were an absurd amount of auction items, not to mention another meeting with Hopper at the Piers and a meeting with Zelena about the meeting with Hopper.

Emma was busy. Too busy for emotions. And she was going to pull her laces apart if she kept tugging on them.

“You’re an idiot, you know that,” Ruby said sharply and Emma’s eyes widened out instinct. “I’m sorry, what?” “An idiot. And you’re not going to be able to schedule yourself out of the conversation tonight. You’re going to have to figure this out.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma said quickly and Ruby laughed in her face. “Sure.” The room was starting to fill up and Mary Margaret was rushing towards Emma, eyes scanning her hair to make sure none of the several thousand bobby pins had fallen out of place. “You look incredible,” Mary Margaret announced to no one in particular and her eyes were just a little bit glossy when she met Emma’s gaze.

“Jeez, Reese’s, you saw me a couple of hours ago.” Emma said, not quite able to stop herself from laughing. “You’re the one who did my hair.” “And your makeup.” “And my makeup.” “I know, I know, but your dress fits into the theme so well and your hair hasn’t fallen out of place yet and you look really good.” Emma smiled – and it almost, almost felt legitimate – but then she remembered everything she had to do and everything she definitely didn’t want to do and there wasn’t really a way to avoid either one. Mary Margaret, however, didn’t move, just pulled Emma’s fingers away from her wrist and squeezed – tightly.

“Did Ruby tell you she thinks you’re an idiot yet?” Mary Margaret asked, something that almost resembled amusement flashing across her face.

Emma’s mouth hung open, breath rushing out of her in one quick, vaguely unprofessional exhale, and she didn’t have time for this. Her friends, however, did not seem to care. And maybe she hadn’t been quite as fine as she’d promised.

Maybe she was somewhere in the realm of vaguely terrified and that was vaguely overwhelming.

“Did you guys coordinate on this?” Emma asked, eyes darting between her two friends and the matching looks of not-quite-innocent on their faces. “Oh my God, you did, didn’t you? Was there a schedule? Let Ruby get in there first, get the insults out of the way, the slightly abrasive start so I was more receptive to Reese’s good cop scheme?” “It’s not a scheme,” Mary Margaret muttered and David scoffed under his breath. That earned him a glare from all three of them.

“It’s not really, Em,” Ruby said and Emma got the distinct impression she was being placated. She felt like one of Mary Margaret’s fourth graders. She’d kind of been acting like one. “We just...you know might have talked about it a little bit.” “Sounds like you’ve been talking to just about anyone who will listen,” Emma accused. “Where’s Mer? I need a drink.” Mary Margaret looked disappointed – as if the idea of staging some sort of Emma Swan intervention in the middle of her charity event without alcohol was a good idea. Ruby just kept glaring at her.

“It’s not like that, Emma,” Mary Margaret said softly as David waved down one of the waiters who’d started circling the room. He handed Emma a glass, doing his best to look supportive without Mary Margaret actually noticing and it didn’t really work.

Ruby kicked at his ankles.

“No?” Emma challenged, downing half her champagne in one gulp. Mary Margaret’s eyes widened. “Because that’s absolutely what it feels like.” “Well, you’re being stupid,” Ruby reasoned. She didn’t drink her champagne as quickly as Emma did, but they’d both need refills in a few minutes if they kept going like they were. “I talked to him. I talked to Regina. No one from the Kings has even talked to him.” Her champagne was gone. “David, I need more to drink.”

He tried to move, but Mary Margaret tugged on the back of his tuxedo jacket, pulling him up short before he’d even gotten a complete step away. “No,” she said sharply and Emma made a face, glancing at a suddenly repentant looking David.

“Teacher voice,” Emma mumbled.

“Emma, I’m serious.” “I can tell.” Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but it wasn’t the sarcastic expression it had been on Ruby’s face. And that probably came from four years of college and a decade of being able to read each other’s minds and Emma still hadn’t left the loft, hadn’t even tried to leave the loft because the loft kind of felt like home too.

Fine was somewhere sitting out on the sidewalk at this point – probably getting run over by the players who were scheduled to start arriving at that very moment.

Emma’s shoulders sagged, a fresh glass of champagne pushed into the hand that wasn’t holding an empty glass of champagne and she shot a grateful look David’s direction. He winked at her.

“He wants to stay,” Mary Margaret said softly, but Emma heard them as clearly as if they’d been shouted at her. It kind of felt that way.

“Ok.” “Emma.” “I know, Reese’s. These are all things I’m aware of, painfully so, but that doesn’t mean they’re an option!” Her voice cracked on the last word and Emma felt three pairs of vaguely stunned eyes land on her face. She bit her lip and stared at her shoes – red, they matched her dress. And she absolutely hadn’t bought a red dress because he’d noticed the red dress in the restaurant that very first night.

Emma Swan wasn’t a sentimental fool.

She was just the biggest liar in the entire world.

Mary Margaret’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ and Ruby scuffed her heel along the tiled floor and Emma licked her lips before she could will herself to look back up.

“It’s fine,” Emma whispered and Ruby made a noise that sounded like a mix between a groan and a scoff.

“You tell him any of that?” Ruby asked. “Because I promise he doesn’t know.” “You didn’t need to yell at him for me.” “I didn’t. I just spoke with very direct words and a very specific focus. At least I didn’t punch him in the face and get a five-minute major for it.” Emma rolled her eyes, but that knot of whatever that had been sitting in the pit of her stomach for the last two weeks, three days and, somewhere around, six hours, seemed to loosen just a little bit. She, at least, felt like she could take a deep breath.

That was, however, until the lights in the hall dimmed and the fans that had filed in in the last few minutes exploded into cheers and the TV broadcast crew started announcing players by name and position as they took their predetermined spots on a stage that cost an absolutely ridiculous amount of money to rent.

Mary Margaret’s fingers found Emma’s arm, wrapping tightly around her wrist and pressing the laces against her skin and neither one of them tried to pull away from each other – four years of college and a decade of this, the kind of support Emma hadn’t ever really allowed herself to believe in, appearing just when she needed it the most.

David’s hand fell on her shoulder and Emma almost breathed easily as they continued making their way down the roster, Ruby moving just on the edge of her vision.

And fine didn’t feel like a complete lie.

He was last.

Of course.

Emma gulped the rest of her champagne, appreciating the soft buzz that she felt in the back of her mind and maybe her veins and, God, he looked good.

The tux fit perfectly, but it wasn’t black, it was navy and there was a pocket square and a tie that Emma kind of already wanted to tug off and she probably should have talked to him before Casino Night. He looked nervous, the fingers on his left hand tapping out an impatient rhythm while he stood in front of the crowd and listened to a list of his most recent accomplishments, that back page flashing up on the screen behind him.

“You did that on purpose,” Emma accused, leaning around Mary Margaret to glare at Ruby who just shrugged in response. She’d been in charge of one thing – getting clips and photos for the screen behind that ridiculously expensive stage – and it shouldn’t have surprised Emma that she’d pulled The Post back page from that morning.

“I’m pleading the fifth,” Ruby answered easily.

“Yeah, that’s not how that works,” David laughed and his hand tightened on Emma’s shoulder. He didn’t seem to realize he’d done it.

The TV broadcasters announced the official start of Casino Night – as if it hadn’t been going on this entire time, every single moment of the entire goddamn thing planned by Emma – and the players moved towards the tables they’d been assigned and the crowd was probably going to cheer for the rest of the night.

“Boss,” Merida shouted, jogging towards them with a clipboard in her hand and a headset pressing down on her curls.

“Still on schedule?” Emma asked.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, everything is good. The guys that are supposed to be at the tables are at the tables and then some of them are doing that Instagram thing we set up and the stragglers are auctioning things.”

“Instagram thing?” Mary Margaret repeated and Emma knew she didn’t imagine the note of pride in her voice. “We’re making them pose. You know like they do on the award shows? They’ve all been told to act as ridiculous as possible.” “That’s a really good idea.” “It happens from time to time.” “All the time,” Mary Margaret said, squeezing Emma’s forearm again.

Emma rolled her eyes, but she could still feel that buzz in the back of her head and she was half certain it wasn’t because of the champagne. “So if we’re all on schedule, what’s the problem, Mer?” Merida pressed her lips together and Emma tried not to let her impatience show on her face. “There’s a couple asking for you.” “Who?” “Van...something.” Emma bit her lip tightly and, now, four pairs of curious eyes were staring at her and she could use some more champagne.

She hadn’t forgotten – not really. She’d sent the tickets before the All-Star break, had gotten an actual thank you note mailed to her office from Mrs. Vankald after, but Emma hadn’t really considered the possibility of seeing them during Casino Night, certain, when she sent the tickets, that she’d have a few other things going on.

She hadn’t considered the possibility that she’d come into Casino Night riding two weeks, three days and, now, closer to seven hours, of avoiding Killian Jones. Except for that one phone call, but Emma wasn’t certain anyone else knew about that.

She certainly hadn’t told anyone about that.

“They were wondering if you were around,” Merida continued slowly, staring at Emma like she was some sort of emotional bomb.

It kind of felt that way.

“Ok,” Emma said quickly and maybe a bit breathlessly, but she didn’t pull her arm away from Mary Margaret.

Ruby moved before any of them, shooting Mary Margaret a conspiratorial glare that all but confirmed Emma’s suspicions that they’d planned something, and slung her arm around Merida’s shoulders. “C’mon, Mer,” she said. “Let’s, uh, let’s go shout things at the guys while they try to pose for the internet.” Merida stared at Emma, clearly waiting for further instructions, and she tried to make sure her voice didn’t shake when she spoke. “It’s fine, Mer,” Emma said, wincing slightly at that word. “We’re all on schedule, go see what’s happening out front and I’ll check on the auction after I say hi to the Vankalds.” Mary Margaret actually gasped and Emma’s stomach did something she wasn’t sure was medically possible, pressing her heels into the floor so she didn’t run – again. “It’s fine, Mer,” she repeated. “Seriously.” “If you say so.” “I just did.” Ruby made a face, lower lip sticking out slightly as she pulled Merida back towards the front doors, shouting, “Don’t be an idiot, Emma,” over her shoulder.

Emma still didn’t move. “You invited his parents?” Mary Margaret asked softly, tapping her thumb meaningfully against Emma’s wrist.

“I mean, not technically,” Emma argued.

“Yuh huh.” “And they want to talk to you,” David pointed out.

Emma’s neck cracked when she moved her head back, staring at the ceiling like that would, somehow, help her. “Well, I haven’t seen them since Christmas.” “And haven’t talked to Killian in weeks.” “Rude.” “Honest.” “Have you guys just been plotting these conversations since I got back from LA?” Emma asked and neither one of her friends had moved away from her side. There was a cliché in there somewhere.

“No,” Mary Margaret said and David made a noise that wasn’t quite the disagreement it probably should have been.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. It’s almost nice. Almost.” “It’s super nice, Emma, and you know it,” David said. “And it’s not like you’re the only one who’s upset and just a bit terrified.” His eyes widened as soon as the words were out of his mouth – like he’d just given up state secrets. “Wait, what?” Emma snapped and her head was on a swivel at this point, bouncing between Mary Margaret and David and both of them had squeezed their eyes shut.

“Reese’s,” Emma continued. “What did you guys do?” “I didn’t do anything,” Mary Margaret promised, finally letting go of Emma’s arm so she could hold her hands up in the air, pleading innocence with one, quick movement. “This has all been David.” “Thanks a lot,” he muttered and Mary Margaret didn’t drop her hands. “To be fair, it’s not like I sought him out. He came to me.” Emma’s heart had fallen on the ground and her stomach was there too and maybe her jaw because it had dropped open so quickly it actually was starting to hurt. “What?” Emma whispered.

David smiled sadly at her, pulling her against his chest without a word and he couldn’t really cup the back of her head – Mary Margaret’s quick gasp about her hair making him rethink the movement almost immediately – but he wrapped both his arms around her and held on tightly and that was enough.

“He texted me,” David muttered. “And called and asked what he should do and if you were ok. He’s worried you’re not ok.” “What?” She needed to come up with another word.

“I think you terrified him just a bit, Em.” “But….what? I mean, how?” “Are you serious?”

Mary Margaret made a noise, smacking at David’s shoulder slightly. “Emma,” she said slowly and the teacher voice was back. “He could probably go anywhere in the league, right?” Emma nodded. “He doesn’t want to. You’ve changed that.” And somewhere in the back of her mind, Emma knew Mary Margaret was right – knew Killian had told her the same exact thing in that alley in Los Angeles – but two weeks of feeling like she was walking on the edge of something had left Emma without much confidence in the NHL’s free agent market.

“He looks at you like you are...everything,” Mary Margaret continued. “You just have to believe that.” Emma scoffed and they’d gotten to the center of the issue in a way that she hoped they never would. She did – and that was why she’d run.

Emma didn’t do maybe’s and hopefully’s and max-deal negotiations. She did schedules that she had memorized for the better part of the last two weeks.

She wanted something certain and Killian Jones was far from certain.

“Why didn’t you tell me he called?” Emma asked, staring at David.

He shrugged. “Would it have made much of a difference?” “Probably not.” “You were mad, Em. And so disappointed you practically reeked with it and I know you. You ate an entire box of pop tarts in two days. That’s, like, other level. So he called me and I told him you’d be fine eventually and then they had to go back on the road and he couldn’t really do anything, so there didn’t seem to be much of a point in adding to your pile of very obvious worries.” “I’m fine.” “You are a horrible liar.”

“Is that why you’ve made pancakes every other night? Because you totally knew?” “Obviously.” “And bought that extra box of hot chocolate,” Mary Margaret added.

Emma laughed under her breath and the Vankalds were making their way towards them now – God she was the worst girlfriend in the world. Oh, fuck, was she still a girlfriend? She hoped so.

“How do you guys do this?” Emma asked suddenly, head snapping up almost painfully.

“Do what?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Be so certain...in each other? I mean you guys turned around one day and just knew. How is that even possible?” “That’s not what happened.” “I was there.” “Well, ok,” Mary Margaret admitted. “It kind of happened that way. But you’re forgetting David being a jerk that whole semester and it’s not like it’s perfect. You think I’m just ok with him going out and maybe getting shot every day?” Emma’s eyes widened and she’d never heard Mary Margaret be so blunt in her entire life. “I’m not,” Mary Margaret continued. “I am terrified. I jump every time my phone rings while he’s on patrol. Even when I know he’s sitting at his desk. He could leave and just never come back.” “So what do you do?” “Believe.” “You make it sound so easy,” Emma sighed.

“It’s not. It’s not even in the realm of easy, but if you want this, Emma, the way he seems to, then you’ve got to let yourself believe. It’ll be worth it. Love is always worth it.” Emma’s breath caught in her throat and she blinked quickly so she didn’t actually start showing a ridiculous amount of emotion in the middle of Casino Night, dimly aware of the fans around her and the sounds of roulette tables spinning a few feet away. David’s hand landed on her shoulder again.

“That was one of your better ones, Reese’s,” Emma mumbled, hugging her friend close to her and Mary Margaret chuckled against her.

“That was just off the top of my head.” “What am I going to do?” “Tell him the truth,” Mary Margaret said evenly.

“And maybe introduce us to his parents,” David added. “Vankalds incoming at two o’clock.”

Mrs. Vankald was wearing feathers in her hair and Mr. Vankald’s tux actually had tails on it and Emma couldn’t stop the smile from forming on her face as soon as she saw both of them, something that almost resembled contentment snuffing out the anxiety that had been lingering in the pit of her stomach.

It was all Mary Margaret’s fault – she was far too good at those hope speeches.

“Emma,” Mrs. Vankald said, smiling as she greeted her. Emma’s feet moved before she was quite ready, David’s hand falling away from her shoulder just quickly enough that Mrs. Vankald didn’t inadvertently pull him into a hug as well.

“Hi Mrs. Vankald,” she mumbled, voice stuttering just a bit as she tried to stay upright on her heels. Emma glanced up to smile at Mr. Vankald and his tuxedo tails – or at least try. It felt a bit nervous.

She was a bit nervous.

“It’s so nice to see you,” Mrs. Vankald continued and if she had any idea about the whatever that was going on between Emma and Killian she didn’t show it. Or sound it. She looked genuinely happy to see Emma. Huh.

“This is incredible, Emma,” Mr. Vankald added. David’s hand was back on her shoulder. Older brother, pride mode, activated. “So much better than the one Casino Night we went to before.” “You only remember that because they ran out of appetizers at the one Casino Night we went to before,” Mrs. Vankald muttered and maybe this could be normal if they all kept laughing like that. Emma should probably talk to Killian.

Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope.

Mr. Vankald made a noise in the back of his throat, a scoff that didn’t quite ring true, and Mrs. Vankald smiled at Emma again, glancing at David and Mary Margaret in unspoken question.

“Oh,” Emma started, waving her hands quickly. Mr. Vankald’s head tilted slightly when her laces shifted on her wrist, falling down her forearm slightly and she’d definitely need to get them re-tied at some point because they kept doing that. She should also probably stop tugging on them in emotional moments. “Um, Mr. and Mrs. Vankald, these are my two best friends, David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes did something meaningful at the title Emma so casually dished out and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes – or pull on her laces. David just stuck his hand out, waiting for one or, maybe both, of the Vankalds’ to take it.

Mr. Vankald did.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” David said and everyone in this conversation sounded so sincere Emma wasn’t sure it could possibly be real.

“Are you part of the team as well, David? Front office?” Mrs. Vankald asked and Emma did roll her eyes at that, David’s eyes almost flashing at the question.

“Just a fan,” he answered, disappointment obvious in his voice. “And Emma’s food supplier.”

Mrs. Vankald lowered her eyebrows at that and Mary Margaret wasn’t all that great at conspicuous, very clearly elbowing David in the side.

And it kind of felt like Emma was introducing the Vankald’s to her parents.

“He’s a detective,” Emma supplied and, well, if David could do pride then so could she. And maybe thank him for buying her several boxes of varying pop tart flavors over the last two weeks. “Saves us all, all the time.” Mary Margaret was absolutely going to start crying in the middle of Casino Night – Emma was certain – and David was staring at her like she’d only recently been abducted by aliens, eyes wide and mouth slightly open and he hadn’t stopped shaking Mr. Vankald’s hand yet.

“Swan?”

David pulled his hand back to his side, palm colliding against the side of his tuxedo pants like it had crashed there. Emma wondered if there was any truth to that whole scientific idea that when one of your senses was dulled, the rest seemed to enhance, because she’d absolutely lost the ability to speak, but she could hear everything clearly and her eyesight had suddenly turned 20/20, picking up on every single detail in Killian’s face when he looked at her.

She felt her mouth open, hopeful the words were just on the tip of her tongue and maybe she wouldn’t sound like a complete fool when she actually said something.

No such luck.

“Is your tie...shiny?” Emma asked. Mary Margaret made some sort of strangled noise and Mrs. Vankald’s smile got even wider.

“I’ve been told on very good authority that metallic is in,” Killian said. There was a smirk – of course there was a smirk – but it looked a bit nervous and his eyes didn’t stop moving, tracing across Emma’s face and she knew the moment they landed on her lips.

He rocked towards her, one foot moving in front of the other before, it appeared, he thought better of it, sticking his hands back in his pockets and staying exactly where he was a few feet away from her.

“Doesn’t seem to really go with the theme,” Emma pointed out. She needed to stop talking. Or, at least, stop talking about his tie.

She needed to talk to him – without his quasi-parents there, without her quasi-parents there. No one moved.

“Ah, well, not all of us are as confident in our fashion choices as Mr. V here,” Killian laughed, nodding towards the man next to him. “Where’d you even get a jacket like that?” “Oh, leave him alone,” Mrs. Vankald chided, flicking her finger on Killian’s shoulder. “He’s just excited to be here.” “Ah, well, that makes two of us.” Killian’s shoulders moved when he took a deep breath, eyes flitting back to Emma. She bit her lip and she was totally going to ruin Mary Margaret’s makeup job. “It looks incredible, Swan.” Emma just nodded, far too aware of Mary Margaret’s stare on the side of her head and David’s hand lingering in the general area of her shoulder and when she blinked she was positive she’d imagined that look of frustration on Killian’s face.

“The, uh, the appetizers should start circulating in a couple of minutes,” Emma said, rushing over the words quickly and ignoring how blue Killian’s eyes looked with that stupid, navy suit and shiny tie. “We won’t run out of them this time, I can guarantee that. I’ve just, uh, got to check on the auction stuff and make sure the broadcast guys stick the script we gave them. I’m so glad you all could make it.” Mrs. Vankald just kept smiling at Emma, muttering something about being busy and enjoying yourself when you have some time and Mr. Vankald nodded in approval at the idea of never-ending appetizers.

Mary Margaret and David looked disappointed.

“Alright,” Emma snapped and she nearly tripped over her heels backing away. “I’ll see you all later. Eat, there’s an absolutely ridiculous amount of food.” She moved as quickly as she could, spinning on the spot and her lungs felt tight and her throat felt dry and her vision swam in front of her eyes as she took a few steps forward.

God, there were a lot of fans. They were still cheering – although most of them were cheering for blackjacks and red 22 and someone a couple of feet away yelled about the green square – and the wait staff, all of them with theme-appropriate uniforms that Emma had signed off on weeks ago, was starting to make their way through the crowd. That only made it more difficult to get to the back room, a hallway that, maybe, hopefully, would be just a bit quieter.

And maybe Emma could remember how to breathe.

She got to the hallway and it was, at least, ten degrees cooler there than it was in the main room, but silence, it appeared, was a commodity she couldn’t quite afford.

“Swan,” Killian said and Emma’s head snapped to her side when she heard the edge in his voice. “What are you doing?” He was already closer than he had been during that entire conversation with the Vankald’s and Emma’s lipstick was a lost cause at this point, a casualty of nerves and an attempt at hope.

“Are you following me?” Emma asked.

He blinked, eyebrows low and something that probably could have been a sneer on his face. He was frustrated – again. “What? No, well, kind of, but only in a sense to make sure you’re alright.” “I’m fine.” She’d answered quickly, words falling out of her mouth easily and she hadn’t really looked at him yet, just stared at the opposite wall and tried not to focus how she could feel him standing next to her, lingering just a few feet away like he was nervous to come any closer.

Killian hummed in the back of his throat, a sound that was so familiar now Emma couldn’t stop the smile from forming on her face even if she tried.

He was holding glasses – she hadn’t noticed that before, far too focused on the wall and her shoes – and she heard him exhale softly before he turned on her, nervous smile tugging on one side of his mouth.

“Don’t make a man drink alone,” Killian said softly, tilting one of the glasses towards her.

“I’m not all that interested in a drink. Or a man. I’ve got a job to do. Several, in fact.” “I think the waiters can move trays without your assistance, love.” Emma huffed, rolling her whole head so she could really drive the point home and Killian’s smile wavered. He sighed again, crouching down to put the glasses behind him.

“You’re going to spill those,” Emma said and she was back to staring at her shoes.

“I’ll remember they’re there.” “Ok.” It felt a bit like that phone call – when she’d watched the Vancouver game with her mouth hanging open and her eyes going wide, breath catching in her throat as soon as Graham’s fist landed on the side of Killian’s face. There was still the ghost of a bruise just under his eye, skin slightly more purple just above his cheekbone than it should have been if everything was as fine as Emma kept promising it was.

They’d danced around it then too, stuttering through the conversation in a way they hadn’t since the first set-up and the silence Emma had been so desperate for just a few moments before felt oppressive in the middle of the hallway.

Killian pressed his thumb into the back of his left hand, rocking on his heels and Emma forced herself to look up at him – a mix of disappointment and frustration and hope on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice finding its way into every inch of her. “I know you’ve had the weight of the world on your shoulders and that story couldn’t have come out at worse time, but you’ve got to trust me here, Swan. I want to be in New York. With you.” “Wait, what?” Emma asked, a picture of well-spoken responses.

“I need you to trust me, love.” “I do.” Killian lowered his eyebrows and he was absolutely going to knock over both of those champagne glasses if he kept rocking on his feet like that. “Somehow I’m not getting that,” he admitted.

“You think that’s what this is about?” Emma asked incredulously and Ruby’s voice echoed in her head. I promise he doesn’t know.

“Isn’t it?” “No,” Emma said, half sighing out the word. “I, mean, not now at least. It was in LA, but that was just because I wasn’t expecting the story and Neal was all self-important about you going to the Kings and I kind of lost my perspective a little bit…” “Wait, Neal? Neal showed you the story?”

Emma nodded slowly. “I guess we never got to that part of the explanation.” “We did not.” It wasn’t getting any easier to breathe, particularly when Killian took another step towards her, the toes of his exceptionally polished shoes just a few inches away from her red heels and Emma kept her hands trained at her side so she wouldn’t tug on his belt out of instinct.

“Of course I trust you,” Emma continued. “That’s why I called in the first place. I was...I was worried about you.” “Then why this?” Killian waved his hand through the space between them, eyes widening just a bit when he met Emma’s gaze. And he might be in one of the best scoring streaks of the season, but he didn’t look like he’d slept much during it either. He looked as exhausted as Emma felt. “Why do you keep pulling away from me?” “Because everyone left,” Emma said, nearly shouting the words at him. “Everyone. All those families and the houses and Neal and Walsh and even Reese’s and David will at some point. I’ve got to get my own apartment eventually and they’ll get married and they’ll...they’ll leave. And I can’t.” She paused, closing her eyes and she didn’t see him move before his fingers traced over the back of her hand. “I can’t lose you too.” Killian’s hand twisted, fingers lacing through hers and she felt his thumb come up underneath her chin. “Emma,” he said softly. “Come on, look at me.” She did and she wasn’t entirely ready for everything she saw – nerves and frustration replaced with something Emma was convinced, just a few moments before, only existed in movies and young adult novels. It made her breath catch again and her stomach do something impossible and her heart beat so hard it actually hurt, thudding against her ribs until she was certain it was the only sound she’d ever hear again.

His thumb moved across her cheek, brushing away the tears she didn’t realize she was crying and Emma’s mouth opened when she realized it was his left hand.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Swan,” Killian continued and his voice cut right to the very center of her, lingering there like someone had lit a tiny fire in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He tugged on her hand – fingers still wrapped up in Emma’s – and she all but crashed into him, letting out a soft oof when the beading of her dress hit up against her legs. And then there was just him and his hand on her hip and his lips on hers and Killian sighed against her, like he’d been waiting for her to catch up to the moment.

He probably had.

Emma moved with him, or maybe against him, out of instinct, heels popping out of the back of her shoes so she could reach him better and his fingers traced across the line of her spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

And if she’d been trying to find that feeling of home in the last two weeks, three days and, now, seven and a half hours since the story and the nerves and the fear, Emma had found it as soon as Killian Jones kissed her again.

He lingered in her space when oxygen became more of a necessity than continued making out in another abandoned hallway, hand still moving up and down her back like he was trying to make up for lost time when it came to touching her.

“You can’t promise that,” she mumbled and, someday, she’d find some sense of consistent confidence. “I just did.” “But,” Emma argued, shaking her head and, God, she was still crying. “You can’t. It’s not like you can just demand a contract extension.” Killian shrugged. “I can help my own cause though.” “Is that what this has been about?” “What?” “The scoring streak and King of New York back pages. You’re trying to prove yourself to the New York Rangers front office?” “In part.” “What’s the other part?” Killian grinned, eyebrows doing something wholly unfair for the emotional conversation they were having. “Well,” he said slowly, leaning forward to drag his mouth against the curve of her jaw and Emma could feel every letter of every single word. “There’s this community relations director and she’s kind of thrown everything on its head.” “Was there a compliment in there? And don’t forget fan experiences and events.” “I’m getting there, Swan.” “Ah, of course. Go ahead.”

He chuckled against her neck, both hands heavy on her hip at this point and Emma wasn’t sure when she’d been backed against the wall, but that’s where she’d ended up. “I am one-hundred percent showing off for you,” Killian said.

“That so?” “Unquestionably. How’s it going?” “Better now,” Emma muttered, voice catching when he actually started kissing behind her ear.

“Good.” He kissed her again or maybe she kissed him and they probably moved at the same time because that’s how the night was going, staying in each other’s space even after they’d actually pulled away from each other.

“I do believe you,” Emma said, hands pulling on the front of his tuxedo jacket. “I know you want to stay.”

“More than anything.” He smiled at her and Emma nodded, but she knew what was coming before he even said anything else. “You’re still worried.” “Aren’t you?” “Of course I am. And I know half the reason we’re in this entire situation is because of me and what I wanted and didn’t want, but I’m going to fix this, Swan. I’m going to keep scoring goals and we’re not that far out of first really, if you look at the standings, we could make a run at the President’s again, and then we’re going to win a Cup.” There was no way to argue the conviction in his voice, no way to doubt the certainty in every single word and she let we linger in the air for a few moments before responding.

“You’re almost as good at those motivational speeches as Reese’s.” “That’s why they pay me the big bucks. Or, at least, will. In theory.” “They will,” Emma said, tugging on his jacket for emphasis.

“Confidence, Swan?” She shook her head slowly and Mary Margaret would be disappointed that the bobby pins had given up, a piece of her hair hitting up against Emma’s forehead. “Hope.”

They auctioned off every item Emma had gotten signed and the VIP meet-and-greets for the game at the Piers sold for an amount that would probably make her eyes widen for the rest of her life, the self-satisfied smirk on Killian’s face when she told him the number making her roll her eyes as well.

“Ah, well, who could deny themselves the chance to watch me lead a team to victory?” he asked and Mrs. Vankald flicked at his shoulder again.

“You guys didn’t have to bid on anything,” Emma said for what felt like the tenth time. They’d bid on everything, Vankald seemingly written on every other line of the silent auction when Emma went to check between rounds of appetizers.

They only actually won one thing, however – a signed stick by the Rangers front line and Will had laughed about that for a solid five minutes, appearing after he’d wrapped up his required roulette duties.

Robin asked Killian about it on camera, making sure to jab him about his parents buying his merchandise during the special Casino Night edition of Locked in With Locksley. Killian had thrown his microphone towards the other side of the room.

Mrs. Vankald brushed Emma off – again – and squeezed her hand. “We wanted to,” she promised. “It’ll go downstairs with everything else.” “Just don’t tell Liam how much his stuff sold for,” Mr. Vankald muttered. “Elsa won’t ever hear the end of it.”

Emma nodded seriously and, that time, Killian rolled his eyes, wrapping his arm around her shoulder without a word. She might have leaned into it. “Deal,” she promised.

“And I’m glad you didn’t run out of appetizers this time.” “You and me both.” Mrs. Vankald hugged her again and Mr. Vankald might have winked, clapping Killian on the shoulder before they both made their way to the doors and the street and for as crowded as Gotham Hall had been that night, it was almost as empty then, fans gone and most of the front office gone and there was still an arm wrapped around Emma’s shoulders.

“Did David and Mary Margaret leave yet?” Killian asked and Emma hummed in response, forehead brushing against his jacket when she shifted against him. “And you didn’t go with them?” “I have a key.” “Oh.” “What are you getting at?” He smiled at her and Emma’s stomach flipped. “That I’d very much like you to come home with me. And stay there so I can get some goddamn sleep.” And her stomach might have flopped at that.

“Romantic,” she mumbled and it wasn’t the insult it might have sounded like.

“I sleep like garbage when you’re not there.” “So you said on that message.” “You got that?” Emma nodded and did her best to ignore the way his eyes ducked down when he realized she just hadn’t responded.

“Hey,” she said quickly, resting her palm flat against his chest. “I’m sorry for running. I just...you’ve caught me by surprise and I wasn’t ready to want as much as I do and that was kind of terrifying because there’s no promise this is going to work.”

He lowered his eyebrows and, well, there it was – the admission she hadn't said, too caught up in the kissing in the hallway before. “I trust you, implicitly,” Emma continued, staring at the floor. It was going to take forever to clean this place. “And I believe you want to stay in New York, but what happens if you don’t? There’s no…”

She trailed off and he turned her towards him, hand lingering on her shoulder when he stared at her.

“Yes there is,” Killian countered, clicking his tongue when Emma opened her mouth to argue. “I don’t mean a contract, Swan. I mean you and me. No matter what happens. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, hating how small her voice sounded in that giant room.

“Yeah.” She believed him.

“Can we go home?” Emma asked, pulse picking up almost audibly when she used that particular word. “I’d really like to sleep.” “I can’t imagine how tired you must be, love. This was incredible. I actually didn’t hate Casino Night this year.” “That’s not what I meant.” “Hmmm?” “I meant, I sleep like garbage when you’re not there.”

She felt him breathe against her, chest moving slightly as he tugged her tighter against his side and his answering smile was enough to power the generator to several small islands in the Pacific Ocean.

“Yeah, Swan,” Killian said, arm still around her even after they’d found their way into the backseat of a cab. “Let’s go home.”

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #i cannot possibly overstate how much i love casino night #it's the absolute best

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