#trying to keep doing low-effort drawings to stay in the art mood!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

horansqueen · 3 years

Text

Stuck With You - Chapter 14

Chapter 14: I Really Like You

🡪chapter 1 🡪chapter 2 🡪chapter 3 🡪chapter 4 🡪chapter 5 🡪chapter 6 🡪chapter 7 🡪chapter 8 🡪chapter 9 🡪chapter 10 🡪chapter 11 🡪chapter 12 🡪chapter 13

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

I really wanna stop, but I just got the taste for it I feel like I could fly with the boy on the moon So, honey, hold my hand, you like making me wait for it I feel like I could die walking up to the room, oh yeah

It's way too soon, I know this isn't love

I really, really, really, really, really, really like you And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too? I really, really, really, really, really, really like you And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?

It's like everything you say is a sweet revelation All I wanna do is get into your head Yeah, we could stay alone, you and me in this temptation Sipping on your lips, hanging on by thread, baby

Who gave you eyes like that? Said you could keep them I don't know how to act Or if I should be leaving I'm running out of time Going out of my mind I need to tell you something

click here to be on the update list

The text message I got of Niall telling me to join him to his car made something stir in my stomach. I rushed to the bathroom to look at myself one last time in the mirror, getting on my tiptoe and pulling on my shirt slightly before quickly running out of the building. I heard the honk of a car and it made my heart jump so high in my chest that I thought I was about to throw it up. It's only when I got closer that I noticed he was not alone. There was a guy in the backseat, and the girl sitting nesxt to Niall was the same girl I found laying beneath him the other day. My smile faltered and I suddenly felt nervous but Niall moved his upper body closer to the wheel to look at me by the window.

"Hey Devie, you ready?"

I glanced at Mandy before looking back at him, sending him a shy smile. I hadn't expected to be stuck in Niall's car with two strangers but I was new to this school and if I wanted to get to know people, I knew I had to make efforts.

"Mmhm." I replied, taking a seat next to the guy who sent me a short nod.

"Okay, so. Devon, this is Mandy and her brother, Noah."

Mandy quickly turned around to take a look at me and sent me a smile. "We've met." she pointed out with a chuckle. "Sorry for the other day, I was a bit embarrassed to be caught naked."

My lips parted slightly and my breath caught in my throat. I sort of expected her to be an ass with me but the sincere smile she was sending me made me feel slightly guilty for thinking wrong of her just because she slept with Niall.

"No, it's cool, I should have knocked."

She laughed again, turning to look at Niall. "No, it's your room too." she corrected me. "It's Niall's fault, he should have told you."

"Sure, go ahead, pin it on me, i've got broad shoulders." he chuckled, glancing at her and making my heart drop in my chest.

Did he ever look at me like that? Was that feelings I saw in his eyes? And why did it even matter if he had feelings for her? I looked down and licked my lips, coming to the realization that it mattered because I liked Niall. I really really really liked Niall. Fuck.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Niall." Mandy joked, tapping his thigh gently. "You're forgiven, right Dev?"

I looked up and blinked a few times when she said my name and pressed my lips together. She was sending me an amused smile and I tried to smile back at her.

"O-Of course."

I felt something stir in my stomach and my eyes met Niall's in his rearview mirror. His gaze changed slowly into a fond look and my lips curled slightly more until he blinked a few times and glanced down. I looked down too only to see Mandy's hand gripping his thigh a bit harder. She moved one of her legs up, putting her foot on the bench before leaning her head against the bench, still looking at him.

She was pretty. She was much prettier than I always would be and I was well aware of that, and I just closed my eyes, trying to think about something else.

"So Devon. " I heard, making my eyes flutter open again. "What are you studying in?"

I turned to look at Noah and sent him a small smile. "Oh, art." I replied in a low tone. "Mostly painting and drawing."

"So, you want to be a painter? That's bold." Noah replied, running his hand in his blonde hair. "I'm all for following your dreams but do you have a plan B?"

"Yea, I'd like to work in a museum, maybe. Restoring historical works of art seems... very amazing." I explain, a bigger smile appearing on my lips.

"Devon doesn't need a plan B." Niall quickly replied, glancing again in his mirror. "She's super talented, she'll be a famous painter someday."

I felt my heart jump again in my chest and pressed my lips together as I tried not to smile too much. It was a bit funny since I was pretty sure Niall had never seen anything I had painted before, but I still appreciated the comment for a reason I ignored. Perhaps because it showed that he was not totally indifferent to me and knowing that he was ready to defend me on something like that made me feel special.

Of course, I knew that concretely, Noah was right : I would probably not end up being a famous painter and certainly wouldn't be able to live a decent life with the money of a few (if even) paintings sold, but it was okay, because I didn't want my biggest passion to turn into a job. I wanted it to remain a passion and a hobby, something I could do to let out all my feelings, something that would make me feel better after a long day or after a heartbreak. I needed painting like I needed to breathe and I didn't want to end up hating it. Obviously, sometimes it was frustrating when I wanted to pain something and it didn't turn out exactly how I had imagined, but It was different than making a job out of it and disliking it to the point of not wanting to do it anymore. If I lost my passion for painting, I knew I would lose a part of me.

It only took a minute of two before Niall parked his car and we quickly got out. I followed them to the entrance and we hopped in an elevator to reach the fourth floor. We could hear the music from the hall and I started feeling so nervous I had to wipe my hands on the back of my jeans. When I looked up, I met Niall's gaze who frowned as he mouthed 'are you okay?' and I just nodded, sending him a small smile.

I was not really okay but at the same time, i didn't want him to feel like he had to take care of me, scared that he'd never invite me again. The only thing that made me feel better was to notice that Mandy and Niall were not holding hands, or even remotely close to each other. I sort of had expected it but realizing I was wrong made me feel less stupid for accepting to go to this party.

The door opened and a whiff of cigarette and weed smell reached us. I was too busy staring at the guy in front of us, a large smile on his lips, as he greeted us with open arms.

"Niall!"

"Hey, Lewis."

They hugged and when Niall pulled away, Lewis turned to me. I didn't know why but I sent him a smile as his lips curled slightly into a smirk. "Devon, it's nice to meet you."

I frowned, a bit surprised that he knew my name, but kept a smile on my lips. Niall probably had talked about me before and since I was most likely the only one he didn't know, he probably guessed it was me, but it was still a bit intriguing.

"Oh, uhm, you too."

I was about to hold out my hand but he took a step closer and pulled me into a hug. His hoodie smelled nice and I chuckled, hugging him back.

"Okay, free drinks in the kitchen." Lewis let out when he pulled away. "You smoke your own shit though I don't pay for that."

Niall walked past him, putting his hand on Lewis' cheek and tapping it gently. "How nice of you mate."

I followed Niall to the kitchen and realized Noah and Mandy had left. I stood behind him as he searched for something specific (or it seemed) and when he turned around to me again, his gaze met mine immediately.

"No best way to get drunk than with vodka."

I chuckled and frowned, finding some space on the counter and pushing myself up to sit on it. Niall's smile faltered a bit and his eyes roamed on me before turning around to grab glasses and filled them. He walked closer to me and I looked slightly down at him, taking the cup he was handing me. He clinked his glass against mine, the plastic of his barely making any sound as it hit mine, and took a long sip. I watched him and did the same, grimacing as the liquor left a burning sensation down my throat.

"So. uhm, are you moving out?" he asked casually before drinking more from his glass.

"I tried but I'm on a waiting list, sorry."

"No, no I think you should stay."

I waited until his eyes met mine and quickly, he shrugged and looked away. "I mean, we can just text each other when we have someone over. I'm sure it can work."

I felt my heart ache suddenly and lost my smile, looking down in my glass and shrugging a shoulder. What did I expect? Niall was clearly not going to admit he was in love with me and then tell me he'd never have sex with any other girl because he loved me too much! Then why did this scenario made my heart thump in my chest?

"Maybe. I don't know."

We remained silent for a few seconds and I felt him move closer to me, his lower stomach brushing slightly against my knees as a wave of warmth invaded me.

"Come on, I'll present you some people if you want."

"Mmhm."

He moved away and I jumped off the counter as an idea popped into my head. It was stupid and probably impossible but It was worth a try.

"Niall?" I asked, making him turn around and raise his eyebrows. "Maybe... your friend Lewis would need a roommate?"

His facial expression changed from confused to surprised but when his lips opened again, I couldn't really tell how he felt about my idea. It was probably a bad one anyway. I didn't know Lewis much and I was not even sure I could afford half of the rent, but if Niall wanted to get rid of me, maybe he could help me see if it was even remotely possible.

"Y-You want to live here? With Lewis?"

I shrugged as he took a step closer to me and I tilted my head. "I mean, maybe? It would be a solution. Just until they find a room for me in the girls' building. That way you can get your room back."

"But I don't-" he replied quickly, cutting himself and letting out a sigh as he closed his eyes. "I think it's a bad idea, Dev."

It took a few seconds but he opened his eyes back. They met mine and I sent him a sad smile, shrugging a shoulder. "Alright."

It was true, I didn't know much about his friend, but he gave me a good first impression and I thought Niall would jump on the occasion to get his room back if only to be able to invite Mandy (or any other girl) whenever he wanted to.

I followed him to the living room as someone handed me a beer and everyone started talking. After a while, I got up and left to go to the bathroom and when I got out, I walked past Lewis, sending him a small smile.

"Thanks for inviting me, by the way." I let out politely as I kept walking.

"Hey Devon!"

I turned around and he sent me a bigger smile. "You having fun?" he asked, his accent thicker than I expected.

"Oh, yes." I let out with a smile. "I'm surprised Niall invited me."

This time, Lewis laughed a bit. "I'm not."

I frowned for half a second and finally licked my lips, walking back slowly to him and shaking my head. "Look, this is going to sound so weird and, don't feel bad to say no but, wouldn't you be looking for a roommate?"

His smile fell slightly and his eyes roamed on my face, and it made me realize that he was quite pretty and I was not sure how I felt about it. He seemed a bit speechless though and I realized that I probably made him uncomfortable.

"Forget it," I added, shaking my head, taking a step back. "It was just something that crossed my mind."

"No, Devon, it's just..." he replied with a sigh as I was leaving. "Let's just say if I said yes, Niall would kill me."

I chuckled and rolled my eyes, shaking my head a bit. "I highly doubt that."

"Dev, trust me. I know what I'm talking about."

I frowned and it only made his lips curl as he raised his eyebrows before turning around and locking himself in the bathroom. I remained there, motionless and lost in my thoughts for a few seconds, and finally breathed in deeply and walked back to the living room. This time, I stopped completely breathing when I noticed Mandy was sitting next to Niall, her legs placed on his lap and one of her arms wrapped around one of his.

I felt a wave of nausea wash over me but swallowed hard. I knew it was only jealousy but it was enough to make me want to leave immediately. I licked my lips and took big breath, trying to get back to my senses. I couldn't just rush out and leave without an explanation and I couldn't tell Niall I left because the girl he has sex with was all over him. Just thinking about it sounded ridiculous and I walked back to them, taking a seat on the floor, in front of the coffee table. Niall glanced at me and his lips curled slightly on the left. Could he tell it was bothering me?

Everyone started playing beer pong but with vodka and I watched them swallow the content of their glasses with a smile. I was not very good with drinking and could easily get drunk but I still enjoyed looking at them. Lewis came back after a while and handed me a beer. I thanked him as he sat next to me and when I turned back to Niall, he was looking at his friend with a frown. My eyes dropped to Mandy's legs still placed on his lap and I just pressed my lips together, trying to ignore it.

About half an hour later, I was leaning on the table, trying not to let my thoughts wonder too much. I looked at Niall who was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes and watching him being so drunk reminded me of one of the first days we met. He was drunk and had tried to show me his cock. Now, I was a bit scared he was going to show it to someone else. The thought of his half-hard dick pressed against me as he kissed me made my inner thighs throb again and I held my breath. I would never get over that.

"Mandy, you're definitely cheating!" Noah let out a bit too loud, moving his chin in his sister's direction. "That's fucking water, innit?"

"You're just pissed because I can hold my drink better than you!"

"Don't even try, you've cheated before!" Noah insisted.

I stared at the scene with my eyebrows raised, noticing that I was myself getting a bit too tipsy but it was clearly nothing compared to them.

"Want a proof that this isn't water?" Mandy asked, getting a bit mad.

"Yes!"

I didn't expect it at all when she turned around quickly and crashed her mouth against Niall's, quickly deepening the kiss as she held the back of his head to make sure he wouldn't move. I felt my heart shatter in my chest as an image of them having sex on his bed crawled back in my thoughts.

Everyone started yelling and laughing except me. I was not tipsy. I was drunk off my ass. How many drinks did I have? I couldn't count, but I knew it was partially why my eyes were filling up with tears at that exact moment. I was not dating Niall and I was well aware that he and Mandy were fuck buddies, so why did I become so emotional from them kissing? I was pissed but most of all, I was pissed at myself for letting something like that get to me again.

I had admitted to myself that I liked Niall and even if I knew it was unrequited, I was clearly not okay with watching him kiss someone else. Where did my resolution to do anything I could to hate him go? What the fuck was I doing?

I held my breath as they kissed, not able to let air fill my lungs, but it seemed like that kiss would never end and after a while, I put my beer on the table and got up. It was only when I reached for the elevator that I allowed tears to fall down my cheeks.

"Fuck off." I whispered to no one as the doors opened and I walked in, turning around to lean against the wall.

And I saw him. I saw Niall, getting out of the apartment and looking around himself until he saw me, and my lips parted.

"DEVON!"

The doors started closing just as he started running but I remained motionless, wondering if the doors would close before he could reach the elevator.

"Devon wait!" he let out, sliding his arm between the doors and making them open again. "Devie."

I let my eyes roam up and down on him, my mouth still half opened. He finally stepped foot in the elevator but remained standing up in front of me as the doors finally closed behind him. We started going down and he shook his head slightly.

"Devie, why are you leaving?"

I frowned, ready to throw at him everything that was actually wrong with him and not even feeling bad about it because of how intoxicated I was but I didn't have time: the power seemed to go off, the lights flickered and the elevator stopped.

#niall horan #niall horan fluff #niall horan smut #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan au #niall horan enemies to lovers #niall horan college au #niall horan uni au #my fanfics #swy

60 notes · View notes

that-scouse-wizard · 3 years

Text

Sightseeing Part One

A/N: Hello everyone, welcome to this little one-shot of mine. I love the friendship between David Willows and Judith Harris that I and @judediangelo75 have developed. So, here’s a tale of David showing Judith around Liverpool, his home city. Originally, I’d intended to show both the muggle and wizarding side of the city but then it got longer than I thought it would and didn’t want it to be a slog. So here’s part one to briefly show the muggle side, part two should be coming soon to show off the wizarding side.

Context: This takes place in the summer between second and third year so David and Judith are about thirteen here. Also my first time writing David’s mum, Rue (should be mentioned, her face claim is Fiona O’Carroll). Some mild spoilers for my ideas but I hope you all enjoy especially you @judediangelo75!

Word count: 2867

MC friends: Judith Harris ( @judediangelo75 )

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

5th of July, 1986

Judith Harris hated the summer holidays, some people would be able to enjoy it, likely going to somewhere abroad with their family but that simply wasn’t an option for her. For Judith, leaving Hogwarts for several weeks meant being stuck with her mother.

She tried keeping her head down but living under the same roof meant little chance of escape from being constantly subject to her mother’s judgements and cruelty. The tension at home was always so suffocating.

Recently though, she had received a letter from someone she knew, David Willows. The younger brother to Jacob Hall, a friend of her own brother, Jamal. Both of them had gone missing in their search for the Cursed Vaults, she supposed it was fitting for their younger siblings to get acquainted.

First impressions when they had arrived at Hogwarts, David was stand-offish, sharp-tongued and short-tempered. He wasn’t afraid to go for low blows in a verbal spar or physically fight people much bigger than him. Oftentimes, they had stayed out of each other’s way. She never tried to pick a fight with him. Although, unlike most of their peers, he had never been unkind to her.

Their friendship was a fairly recent development, only beginning at the start of their second year when they tried out for the recently vacant positions as Beaters on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Practice together meant more interaction especially as they both came under the mentorship of Erika Rath, Slytherin’s top Beater. It was during these practices that she had seen a different side to David.

Though he was aloof, they shared a remarkably high number of mutual friends, the most prominent of which were Penny Haywood and Rowan Khanna. When Judith had asked the two about their fellow Hufflepuff, both had spoken fondly of him. If they vouched for him, he surely couldn’t be that bad?

Though he was snarky, that tended to be when he was aggravated by someone he didn’t like, he had a tendency to give his friends good-natured ribbings. Judith had happily returned the teasing, especially when it had come to her own and David’s respective crushes on Orion and Erika.

Though he could come across as aggressive with a foul temper, it took specific things to put him in such a mood. Namely... rumours about Jacob, especially so if someone dared to openly compare the two brothers. His ferocity wasn’t just to defend himself either, he had very nearly started a fight with an older Hufflepuff when they had made a derogatory comment towards Judith. A fight would have started if professor Sprout hadn’t intervened. They had barely known each other for a month at that point yet he’d still stuck up for her. Of course, she could handle herself but the sentiment was appreciated.

Other than that, Judith and David shared a love of art. Drawing together in silence, maybe occasionally asking how the other’s sketch looked, a peaceful respite from the stress they were under. They quickly gained a reputation on the Quidditch pitch as Hufflepuff’s star Beaters after their team handily defeated both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor

Their titles as the ‘Heroes of Hogwarts’ had only served to connect the two further after conquering the Ice Vault.

All in all, the two of them had formed a decent relationship.

Still, it was a surprise when Goliath, David’s eagle owl had arrived with a letter inviting her to come visit Liverpool for a week. An opportunity she had practically leapt at. Thankfully, the owl had found her bedroom window first. Judith shuddered to think how her mother would have reacted if she found out she was receiving letters from a boy, no matter how platonic the nature of it was.

Keeping that fact about her friend a secret from her mother was definitely the only reason she was currently making the journey. She was sure David would agree to making plans in advance if they wished to do something like this again, lest she risk her mother’s ire.

She had purchased muggle train tickets as soon as she could, sending Goliath back to his owner with the day and time she was expected to arrive. Though expensive, it was the swiftest, and most direct mode of transport between London and Liverpool.

At least the weather had been nice with hardly a cloud in the sky. It had been relaxing, watching the landscape go by slumped back in her seat as the train had weaved its way through both city and countryside. Though it wasn’t nearly as hot as it could get in Barbados, it was still warm enough to justify her current attire, a yellow sundress with matching sandals.

“Now approaching, Liverpool Lime Street.” The automated voice of the train echoed. Judith stood up smiling at the announcement as she retrieved her suitcase from the overhead luggage area. That was her stop, the end of the line, it would be nice seeing David again.

-------------------

Liverpool Lime Street was a large station, two cylindrical dome roofs made up of mostly clear glass and metal provided cover for all train platforms, giving it a tunnel-like appearance. Archways made of stone and mostly filled by windows supported the upper half of the building from the front. Great, red pillars held up the right side, creating a pavement for both foot traffic and a road for vehicles into the station’s car park.

David paced about, unable to keep himself from showing excitement. Wearing a plain grey tee shirt, denim jean shorts and black sandals for the hot weather. Occasionally looking around watchfully through the throngs of people going about their business.

His letter to Judith had asked for her to find the car park at the station and she would be sure to run into him. From where he was, simply turning left after arriving at one of the train platforms, then continuing straight would assure it.

It was about quarter past eleven, the time Judith said she was likely to arrive in her letter back. This would be the first time he had invited a friend around in a long while.

Frankly, although he was excited, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about the whole thing. Though he and his mother Rue had reconciled somewhat, she had tried to persuade him into inviting someone other than Jamal Harris’s little sister. She assumed they were just Quidditch teammates who happened to share a history with the Cursed Vaults and that was it.

It was only when David had told his mother the full story of their delve into the Ice Vault that she had relented. The curse had begun its most dramatic transformation midway through their match against Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup. Ice conjured by the vault had begun encompassing the school, threatening to overcome it entirely.

Together, they, alongside Bill Weasley and Penny Haywood had made their way to the vault. Breaking the seal on the door had caused Penny and Bill to become trapped by the cursed ice; as well as unleash its guardian, an animated suit of armour held together by ice and frost.

In the midst of the Ice Knight trying to carve them up, Judith had used an Incendio that had briefly drawn its attention from David after he was cornered. Whether his mother liked it or not, Judith had saved his life. An invitation to his hometown was the least he could do for her.

He had initially wanted to face the vaults on his own. Though, that plan seemed doomed to fail before he had even set foot on the castle grounds after he had bumped into Rowan. Now, Judith was a part of an ever-growing circle of friends that David was slowly building up, an addition that he was glad for.

He hadn’t thought much of her when he first arrived at Hogwarts. She had made no effort to seek him out, which was just fine for David at the time. Playing Quidditch with her though had shown him there was more to Judith Harris than first met the eye.

Underneath her quiet exterior, she was fierce, witty and a hell of a lot stronger than she looked. The first time they sparred together, David hadn’t been expecting her to use a back kick on him. While she had at first been worried she overdid it, David had shrugged it off despite the sizeable bruise it had left on his stomach. If anything, it had just convinced him it was a good idea to spar with her further. Nothing would keep his own hand-to-hand combat skills sharp like fighting an experienced opponent.

A splash of bright yellow caught his eye, quite distinct amongst a sea of other colours. A dark-skinned girl about his age with long, brown-black locs tied back. Her gold eyes looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings before finally landing on David, getting a beaming smile from her. There was no mistaking who it was.

“Judith!” He called out enthusiastically, grinning back.

“It’s good to see you David.” His friend answered, walking up to him and giving him a brief hug. One that he returned.

“Same here, welcome to Liverpool.” He replied, grandly gesturing to the outside of the station.

Judith rolled her eyes playfully, giving a brief scan of the view. There was a busy junction that ran alongside the station, vehicles coming from at least three different directions. A Neo-Grecian-style stone building and a white tower tipped with a room with blue windows dominated the view. Impressive in its own right but it would definitely be better to explore the city with David to really see what it had to offer.

“Thank you for the invitation, shall we?” Judith’s implication was clear to David, time to head off.

“Of course, mum is waitin’ for us in the car park. Just a heads up, she can be a bit... intense.” David warned.

‘Oh joy.’ Judith thought sarcastically, hoping David’s mum wouldn’t be an exact copy of her own...

She wouldn’t have long to wonder, moving along a pavement that ran parallel to the train platforms, towards the car park, separated from the rest of the station by a wrought-iron fence. A few cars were in it, without their owners of course. All except one.

In front of a silver Ford Escort stood a woman. Pale-skinned with shoulder length dark brown hair. She was dressed in a grey pinstripe suit, a pale pink shirt under it being the only other colour. Curiously, a small, sharp and serrated tooth was hung around her neck by a black thread. She held what appeared to be a red snakeskin handbag.

Brown eyes were fixed on the pair as they approached her, though especially on Judith. Clearly David had his mother’s eyes, ones that were intent on analysing Judith for their first meeting. Watching her warily in silent judgement, a stoic expression not giving anything away.

Judith could see what David meant. She didn’t like being watched ordinarily, it made her feel like she was being judged. Under Rue Willows’ gaze though, she couldn’t help but feel a nagging sensation at the back of her head, one that commanded attention. Not cruel exactly but not friendly either, it made Judith squirm.

“I-it’s nice to meet you, Ms Willows.” Judith greeted quietly, anxious to see if there was any change in the woman. Receiving nothing but another glance over.

“Ahem.” David coughed, trying to defuse the tension.

It worked, Rue finally spoke up after that prompt, “A pleasure to meet you too Judith.” She replied curtly, her accent making it clear she was from Ireland. She turned her attention to her son, taking a large pouch out of her handbag that clinked as she moved it before tossing it to David. “I was thinking, David. Maybe you could show Judith around the city centre? Even show her Under Mersey. Just be back by five, if you can.”

David’s eyes widened both at the statement and the amount of bronze, silver and gold staring back at him as he looked inside the pouch. Sure, they had talked about loosening the tight restrictions that had troubled their relationship since Jacob’s disappearance but something like this so soon was unexpected.

“Thanks mum.” David answered, sounding grateful for it.

Rue’s features softened slightly as a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, “You don’t want be carrying your case everywhere you go, do you Judith? Let me take it while you and David are out.” She asked, holding out her hand, sounding just a bit friendlier with her offer. Though despite it being phrased as a question, there was clearly no room for argument.

Judith handed her case over, “Thank you, Ms Willows.”

Rue only gave a nod of acknowledgement and a quick “Have fun.” as she put Judith’s case into the boot of the car before driving off.

“I see what you mean, intense is certainly a word for it.” Judith stated, “Question though, what’s an ‘Under Mersey’?

“Well, y’know how Diagon Alley is in London?” David asked as he started walking, getting a nod from his friend, “In every major city across England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland, there’s a place for wizards to go to, Under Mersey is Liverpool’s.” Judith hummed in understanding at that, she had never been to a wizarding community outside of London.

“But, how about a brief tour of the muggle side first? There’s a couple of iconic places in walking distance from here. Any other bits of history, I can just tell you about.” David suggested.

“Whatever you want David,” Judith shrugged, “This is your city, let’s see what it’s got.” The two friends stepped out onto the streets of Liverpool catching the scent of the sea on the wind. The general style reminding Judith of the inner city of London. Buildings being tightly packed together, only allowing roads through. Little to no space for alleyways turning the city centre into a maze of roads.

David grinned at her statement, “Well then Miss Harris, on your right you will see St George’s Hall. A big concert venue, mostly for dead posh events.” He said, making a show of it as he pointed out the stone building Judith had seen previously, “However, if you fancy more modern tastes, to your left you’ll see Radio City, Liverpool’s local radio.”

Judith chuckled at her friend’s showmanship, “Are there any music venues we could go to?” She asked as the two of them crossed the junction, content to follow David’s lead.

“Closest one to us is the Cavern Club. Mostly does local bands, Jazz, Rock and Roll, R&B, that sort of music.” Judith grinned, that was the sort of music she could get into, David wasn’t done with his little tour as they began walked through the streets, “Though it’s only open on a Thursday nowadays. It’s not the original, that was the cellar of a warehouse on Matthew street that got filled with cement when they were goin’ to construct part of an underground railway but it didn’t happen in that part of the city. They tried excavating the place to reopen it but there was too much damage to the structure. So they just built a new one on the same street.”

Judith’s brow furrowed at that, it was definitely an interesting piece of the city’s history but in retrospect it seemed to have been a waste of time.

“But Liverpool itself has been around since 1207, though it didn’t gain much prominence as a port until the 17th century.” David explained before pointing off further in the distance. “Up that way is the Pier Head, used to be where a lot of the goings on at the docks were handled earlier this century. More recently though, Liverpool produced one of the most famous bands in the Muggle world just over twenty years ago. They performed in the original Cavern Club, speaking off, we’re coming up to Matthew Street, right now.”

David suddenly turned onto Matthew Street, Judith following close behind him. It was clear to see where he was heading with the street being devoid of any foot traffic.

The Cavern Club.

Judith cocked an eyebrow at this, “I thought you said this was only open on Thursdays?” She asked as they now stood in front of the black archway, the doors of the club very clearly closed and likely locked tight.

“Oh it is,” David confirmed, “But this also the only way I know of to get into Under Mersey.” He continued, stepping beneath the neon sign of the club into the archway.

“How do you do it?” Judith asked, giving him a slightly sceptical look.

“Take my hand, brace yourself, and you’ll see.” David said, offering his hand to her. Judith took it tentatively, joining him at his side. David tapped his foot six times, the first two beats were slower than the next quick four before he then said, “Hey Jude.”

At first, Judith thought he was addressing her, though she only managed to get out a “Wh-” before she felt her stomach lurch as she and David fell through the pavement beneath them.

#harry potter #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm #david willows #judith harris #hphm mc #other people's mcs #hufflepuff #tigress and hound #hufflepuff!mc #hufflepuff!mcs

9 notes · View notes

westallenfun · 3 years

Text

A Most Unexpected Love, Chapter 5

WestAllen secret santa gift

From: @jade4813

For: @sophisticatedloserchick

Author Notes: For the lovely @sophisticatedloserchick from @jade4813! Merry Christmas, and I hope you like my first fic after a long hiatus!

Title: A Most Unexpected Love

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Iris has loved Eddie Thawne Allen her entire life. When she returns home just before Christmas, it looks like she might finally have a chance to catch his eye…unless an accident puts his older brother, Barry, directly in her path. Story inspired by Sabrina (with some quotes lifted more or less directly from the source material).

Chapters: 5/7

Chapter Five

When Iris’s eyes fluttered open the next morning, it was with the vague feeling that something had awoken her, but she couldn’t bring whatever it was to mind. She was warm and toasty in bed, and though the light coming through her bedroom windows was bright, she told herself that could just be due to its reflection off the fallen snow.

So what could have awaken her? As she debated the various merits of going back to sleep or staying awake to ponder the mystery further, she heard the soft thump of snow against her windowpane. That must have been it.

Dragging her body out of bed, her mind clouded with a sense of muddled confusion, she headed over to the window and peered outside just as another snowball struck the side of the house with a wet thud. Pulling the curtains aside, she looked down into the yard to see Barry beneath her window, bundled up in a thick coat, heavy scarf, and woolen hat. The moment he caught sight of her face, she saw him break into a wide grin, gesturing wildly for her to come out to join him. Laughing lightly, Iris rushed to dress, wrapping a scarf around her neck and buttoning her coat as she headed outside.

It didn’t even occur to her that she hadn’t yet checked on Eddie.

“What is this about?” she demanded with feigned affront, bracing her hands on her hips.

Barry took her show of indignation in stride. “We’re making a snowman! Come on!”

As he stooped to scoop some snow into a ball, Iris followed suit, the first touch of icy snow against her palms an immediate reminder that she’d neglected to pull on her gloves. Stopping just long enough to do so, she threw herself into her task, barely noticing as the chill soaked through her jeans where she knelt to build up the body of the snowman. When it grew large enough, she tried to roll it, but the heavy weight of it quickly became too much for her, her feet scrabbling uselessly in the snow when she tried to give it a push.

Iris giggled, collapsing on top of her creation, and Barry bounded up next to her, as enthusiastic as a puppy. “Need help?” he asked. She nodded and was almost disappointed when he took position next to her, rather than framing her body in his arms. Did she really long for him to hold her? She tried not to give that urge too much thought.

With his help, they pushed it until she decreed it the perfect size before tackling the second piece of the body and the head. Once completed, Barry lifted the snowballs into position while Iris packed snow between them so they would remain in place. It took a few tries, but eventually, the snowman stood on its own, and the two of them stepped back to fix it with a critical eye. “Hmmm,” she murmured, pondering its absent face. “I don’t suppose you have a bunch of coal lying around, do you?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his lips twitch as he demanded indignantly, “Just how bad do you think I’ve been this year?”

Feigning innocence she replied, “I don’t know, but I thought I should keep my options open!” He let out a small bark of laughter, and she suggested, “Okay, no coal. How about…you see if you can find some rocks for the eyes and mouth, and I’ll track down a couple branches for the arms.”

“Deal,” he agreed, racing off to perform his task. Meanwhile, Iris headed for the woods, keeping her eye open for branches that were just the right size. Several minutes passed before she found what she was looking for, distracted as she was by the quiet stillness of the forest around her. Once she turned her attention back to the task at hand, she saw the perfect branch above her head, sagging low under the heavy weight of snow.

Reaching up to grab the branch, she grabbed it in one hand, giving it a hard yank to pull it closer. The sharp tug jostled the tree, which unloaded what felt like a mountain of snow onto her head. Iris let out a loud yelp of surprise as the thick coat of white cascaded upon her head and down the back of her coat, her feet sliding out from under her.

Landing hard upon the ground, she blinked in astonishment, trying to process the strange sequence of events and shivering at feel of snow against the back of her neck. She was about to get to her feet to rise again when she heard Barry shout her name.

“Iris!” he cried, racing through the trees to get to her. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” she asked, taken by surprise. “Yeah, of course. I just fell.”

Kneeling in the snow by her side, he explained, “Oh, I thought you might have sprained your ankle again. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“No, I’m okay,” she reassured him gently, touched by his concern. She didn’t protest as he took her hands in his and helped her rise to her feet. Her eyes met his, and she sucked in a ragged breath, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she found herself swaying closer, the warmth of his breath on her cheek drawing her in.

Their noses met, brushed, and she froze, her mouth barely an inch from his. She couldn’t do this. It wasn’t right. Was it? “We should – we should finish our snowman,” she breathed. But still, she didn’t pull away.

“Right,” he agreed, his forehead pressing against hers as their noses brushed together once more.

Acting on impulse, she stretched up, pressing her lips to his cheek instead. “Thank you for coming to make sure I’m okay, though,” she said, as though in explanation, as she rocked back on her heels.

Her action had broken the tension that had built between them, and he smiled down at her. “No problem.” He helped her retrieve the sticks of her choice and followed her back to the snowman, seemingly as eager as she to pretend that nothing untoward had almost happened between them.

Unless…he hadn’t felt the same urge to kiss her that she’d felt to kiss him? What a depressing thought. Caught up in these reflections, her mood was subdued as they returned to the snowman, but Barry didn’t seem to notice. He applied the eyes and mouth while she added the arms, and then they stood side by side as they considered their creation once more.

“I don’t know. It still feels like it’s missing something,” he remarked with a troubled frown. When she remained silent, he shot her a look out of the corner of his eye and said, “I know!” Pulling his scarf from around his neck, he looped it around the snowman and tied it in a knot, drawing away with a grunt of satisfaction.

“You know, it could probably use a nose,” she offered in a flat voice when he still seemed dissatisfied. “You wouldn’t happen to have a carrot, would you?”

“Good question. Let’s find out.” Grabbing her by the hand, he led her into the house, heading directly to the kitchen. Once there, he went in search of a carrot while she approached what looked like a pile of groceries on the kitchen counter. “I don’t see a carrot, but would an eggplant do?” he called, his head still buried in the refrigerator. “Or how about…oh, no, that’s no good. What even is this? Green pepper?”

“What’s this?” she asked, staring at the objects in question rather than investigate the state of what sounded like possibly some very dubious vegetables.

Her question drew his attention, distracting him from his task. “Oh,” he replied sheepishly as he joined her side. “Well, I thought it would be fun to build a gingerbread house, so I went out this morning and got everything I thought we would need.”

“I’d say!” she said in amazement. “You got enough to make a whole village!” But even as she spoke, she pulled off her gloves and shrugged out of her coat, tossing it on the back of a chair. Unlooping her scarf from around her neck, she tossed it aside as well, all but pushing up her sleeves as she turned to the items in question. When Barry didn’t move right away, she prodded him, “Well? Are we doing this or aren’t we?”

The unfinished snowman forgotten, Barry grinned and shrugged out of his own coat, tossing it on top of hers. “Okay, why don’t you get everything set up and I’ll heat up some hot chocolate. I assume you want mini-marshmallows in yours?”

She threw him a skeptical look. “Is it really hot chocolate without them?”

“Good point!” They each focused on their respective tasks for the next several minutes, but as Barry placed her full mug of hot chocolate by her elbow (complete with six mini-marshmallows, and, yes, she checked), he asked, “Have you ever done this before?”

“Nope. You?”

“Never. Well, this should be…interesting.”

It was interesting, indeed, she decided a short while later. Not entirely successful. But interesting. “We did it! I think it’s – no!” she cried when two walls they’d been trying to cement into place for the last ten minutes collapsed for the sixth time. Throwing Barry a frustrated look, she groused, “I could have sworn the peanut butter would do the trick. It sticks to everything.”

“What can I say? I wanted to be a scientist, not an architect,” Barry pointed out, throwing their efforts a considering look. “You know…there’s nothing that really says we have to make a gingerbread house,” he suggested skeptically.

Pursing her lips, Iris followed his gaze and asked, “What did you have in mind?”

“Gingerbread…modern art?” he offered weakly, making her snort in response. She actually snorted.

“Deal,” she agreed, latching on to his suggestion like it was a lifeline. “But only if you make us some more hot chocolate!”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he grumbled good-naturedly, turning back to the stove. “I’ve dealt with lawyers who drive less ruthless bargains than that.”

“Flatterer.”

Happy to abandon their gingerbread architecture efforts, Iris waited in silence as he refreshed their drinks. She was reluctant for this time together to end, but she couldn’t think of something else to suggest to pass the time.

He seemed as eager to prolong the moment, falling into step beside her as they strolled in the general direction of the living room. “So,” he began, his voice trailing off lamely as they passed through the foyer, shoving his hands into his pockets once more. She was beginning to realize it as something he only did when he was nervous or uncertain.

“So,” she agreed, slowing to a stop. He turned to face her, and she swallowed wracking her brain to think of something more to say. He was so tall, she had to tilt her head back to look at him, her body swaying toward his. Which is when she saw it. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh what?” he asked, following her gaze. When he saw what had caught her attention, he breathed, “Oh.” His chin dropped, their eyes meeting, and she noticed he was blushing. “You know, we don’t – it’s a silly tradition, anyway.”

He was offering her a way out, and she appreciated it. But it only made her realize that she didn’t want a way out. “But it is tradition,” she pointed out, resting her hand on his chest, just over his heart. Her voice dropping to a whisper, she said, “Unless you don’t want to?”

“I want to,” he breathed in return, causing her heart to race.

His hand cupped her cheek, his palm warm against her skin, and she leaned into his embrace. He tilted his head toward hers, and she caught her breath, her eyes fluttering closed. And then his mouth was on hers, his lips surprisingly tender. The kiss was supposed to be brief, but when she felt him start to draw away, she clutched the front of his shirt in her fist, silently asking him to stay.

He hesitated for just a second and then leaned in again, his hand moving from her cheek to cup the back of her head. Iris gasped, her lips parting, stretching on her toes and pressing her body against his as his tongue swept into her mouth.

She was breathing heavily by the time the kiss broke off, and the two stared at each other in silence as she tried to process what had just happened between them.

“Iris I—” he began, but a voice interrupted them.

“Iris!” Eddie cried, and she whirled around to see him hobbling toward the two of them, relying on a cane to support his weight.

“Eddie!” she gasped in surprise, jumping away from Barry. “What are you doing up?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Barry look between the two of them before drawing away. She wished she could reach out to him, but she forced herself to remain still.

“I was coming to find you,” Eddie said with that practiced smile of his. Wait, practiced? When had it changed from boyish to practiced in her mind? “I hope Barry hasn’t been boring you too much in my absence.”

Though his voice had been light and teasing, Iris felt her muscles tense as an automatic defense rose to her lips. “He hasn’t been boring me at all! We’ve been having…fun.”

Barry’s voice was flat and devoid of emotion as he said, “Yeah, but since you’re here, I really do have some work to do. See you later, Iris. Eddie.”

“You don’t have to—” she protested weakly, but he seemed not to hear her as he strolled away, not looking back even once.

Eddie shifted toward her, drawing her attention. “You know, it occurs to me…we never did get our dance in the solarium. What do you say I grab us a bottle of champagne and a couple of plastic cups from the kitchen and we head out there now?”

Torn between the longing in her heart to call after Barry and the memory of the years spent pining for the man in front of her, she asked dubiously, “Are you sure you should be drinking? You are on some pretty strong medication.”

Seemingly charmed by the thought she was worried for him, Eddie’s smile widened. “All right,” he conceded, “we don’t need to drink, but we should dance, at least.”

“And what happens next?” she blurted, unaware the question was even on her mind until she’d uttered it. But, of course, she knew what would happen next. There would be a plane flight to Martha’s Vineyard. A show on Broadway. Dinner and dancing and a carriage ride in the park. And one day, there would be diamond earrings and a goodbye. Because that was Eddie. That was what he did. And while she may have spent the last decade or more telling herself she was special, the truth was…she wasn’t. At least, she wasn’t to him.

“Next?” he repeated, sounding confused.

“After. What happens after the dance?”

“After?” he parroted again, as though the question was entirely foreign to him. As though he’d never before pondered the concept of time or the linear progression of events. For every event, just as there was a before there would inevitably be an after. There was before his injury and after his injury. There was before she returned home and after she returned home. Before she kissed Barry Allen in his own foyer and, well…

Whatever happened next, she would now forever be the Iris who existed after that kiss. She lifted her hand, lightly pressing her fingers against her lower lip as she remembered the feel of his mouth against hers.

Ignorant of her thoughts, Eddie offered her his well-worn charm and admitted, “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. Can’t we worry about that later?”

He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away, pretending she hadn’t noticed his effort. Ducking her head so he wouldn’t see her confusion and the conflicting feelings in her eyes, she agreed. “Yes. Of course. We can worry about it later.”

“So, our dance…?”

“Maybe tomorrow. You really shouldn’t push it. I don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

Eddie seemed disappointed, but he held out his arm for her to take. “My guardian angel. Okay, I’ll go, but only if you walk me back to my room.”

It was the least she could do. He’d injured himself coming to see her, so it really was the very least she could do. Plus, while her unexpected change in feelings left her reeling and uncertain, she did like Eddie, underneath it all. And so she didn’t begrudge looping her arm in his or walking him slowly back to his room, her body pressed against his side.

As she took his arm, however, she felt a shiver go down her spine. “Are you okay?” he asked, feeling her sudden trembling.

Iris nodded. “Yeah, I just…cold chill. I’m one of those people who always feels cold, you know?”

“Really? I didn’t know that. But I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other, and after our dance,” he paused and threw Iris a proud grin, as though he’d just said something charming and clever, “we can spend as much time as want learning it all. And, of course, I’ll be happy to warm you up any time you want.”

She forced a laugh at his wolfish grin, as she knew he’d expected. After that, she let her mind wander as she escorted Eddie back to his room, laughing lightly whenever there was a break in the conversation that seemed to call for one. Wondering what Barry had been thinking as he’d left her standing alone under the mistletoe.

#westallen #westallen secret santa #submission

18 notes · View notes

knb-matchups · 4 years

Note

Okay, I'm tempted to indulge in both the alternate match up and relationship headcanons for the one I got, so feel free to pick from this either or.

˚✶⋆｡˚☆ﾟ✦

i’ll go with both ! because a) i have the time & b) it’s so much fun to come up with these ideas?? (*´▽`*)

˚✶⋆｡˚☆ﾟ✦

your alternate match is . . . 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐀 !!

it was really a toss up between kuroko & kise for this alternative match. however, i leaned toward kise for this! i’m pretty certain that a gemini & a leo are a great match anyway.

okay so hear me out- kise ryouta is literally a ball of goofy sunshine & you’ll never get bored being around him. he’s a natural when it comes to keeping a conversation. to your introversion, he’s the extroversion you need ! you’ll find yourself opening up because of how easygoing & open he is as a person. his good looks helps, too.

it’s a fact he’s popular, yes, but the reality is he’s only got eyes for you. i mean, you are one of the most realest & sweetest girl (who is, by the way, often overlooked) he knows ! in all honesty, he may in passing not bat an eye at you, but by chance (perhaps through a school project or something of that nature), he’ll get to know you. and i swear, this boy will regret not getting to know you earlier.

he’ll cherish the one on one time that he gets with you because you are like breath of fresh air to him. you aren’t the typical crazy fangirl he’s bombarded with; you’re you & he appreciates how you don’t put on airs and bend yourself backwards to be someone he would fall for. in turn, your genuine personality & overall persona has got him wrapped around your finger.

kise also picks up on your little quirks- like how you are with social situations. and while he may not initially understand empathetically why you get drained being around a group of people, he’ll be quick to make a casual exit with you to ensure you’re recharged to your comfortable state.

he may seem like the type who doesn’t care about girls, but with the ones he’s close with, you best believe he’ll showcase his serious & protective side. let’s not forget the fact he’s also a quick learner; as a result, he’ll be informed on all there is to know about you.

also? give him credit for his outlandish romantic gestures! he adores it when you’re smiling, so for special occasions, he likes to go all out. it may take a few tries, but he’ll finally find out what truly makes you happy & cater his gestures to that.

kise strikes to me as someone who is a party-goer & enjoys the social scene, but at the same time, he does enjoy the more intimate affairs. when he’s bored of hanging out with tiresome people, he’ll definitely find solace in chatting with you about the subjects you enjoy such as your ideas surrounding characters & stories.

he’ll gladly talk about his ideas, to which you’re happy for, but the two of you find he’s a bit better at simply listening rather than inserting in his ideas. no offense; i’m sure he’ll get it one day.

also- kise is definitely a touchy-feely person; he’s not afraid of showcasing his affections through hugs or sometimes a small peck on your forehead. you may have to push him away if he tries to initiate this pda. but, kise can’t help but want to display his love for you (especially if you’re shy about such affection).

for someone so outwardly bubbly as kise, it may come as a surprise to some that he does have a cold side. he’ll only showcase this to people, who he, frankly, doesn’t care about. to you, he’s never truly showed you his colder side because in all interactions he’s had with you, he was pretty cheery & upbeat. however, his two-faced nature comes out especially if his protective instinct comes over him.

he’s quick to change his mood if there’s someone being particularly troublesome to you.

to put it simply, you guys would make a really cute couple! yet, there is always some backlash with having two fundamentally different people together. you both would have to compromise & find ways to make it work because some things just don’t work naturally. but if you do, the effort will pay off !

˚✶⋆｡˚☆ﾟ✦

relationship headcanons with . . . 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐈 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐔 !!

PROS

you’re both so considerate of each other ! you guys literally will put each other first, and it’s so wholesome. sakurai will never want to make you uncomfortable around him, and the same applies with you to him.

of the two of you, it’ll be hard to say who’s the better gift giver. both of you are thoughtful & very perceptive in nature, so who’s to say who’s better if you both win the “best girlfriend / best boyfriend” award?

your relationship is equal in terms of give & take. this is also good to know for the long run because you both know that not one person is trying to do it all.

you guys rarely fight. and even when you do, you both have that ingrained need of reconciling ( the moment probably ends up being like that classic moment where the two of you apologize at the same time -- )

your interests/hobbies align! it makes for a natural relationship to occur based on these similarities in character. due to this fact, you both find comfort in doing these activities together & it’s a way for you to always have a connection.

both of your confidence levels are fairly low, so the two of you try to lift each other up by describing in detail all the good qualities you guys have. this becomes such a soft & tender ritual you guys share.

CONS

you both will have trouble communicating woes that you have with one another. i can see you guys walking on eggshells, trying so hard not to bother each other with things that you think don’t matter.

but if you guys bottle up these woes, the reality is . . . at some point, the bottle will. . . explode because of the accumulative amount ! it doesn’t even have to be something big that blows the cap off.

when you guys end up fighting, perhaps due to this, it can get brutal in the sense bottled up feelings will come out like a tidal wave & things that you don’t mean will come out.

things may be a lil’ awkward & tense between you two; guilt & regret being the main feelings you two share. but you guys will reconcile; you always do !

you both don’t have much of a sense of adventure or risk-- you both are more drawn to staying within your zone of comfort. and while that’s perfectly fine, there may be things you both are missing out on.

HEADCANONS/SCENARIOS

as mentioned before, your dates will be so cute.

but the special occasion dates are on a whole different level.

sakurai will worry so much about making it perfect (being the perfectionist he is), and he’ll go back to his habit of apologizing profusely if something minuscule is wrong.

say it’s your birthday-- he’ll definitely want to have an intimate celebration because he knows large parties & groups of people is not up your alley at all!

he’ll be so sweet-- hanging up cute decorations at his house where he’ll lead you to after treating you out on an excursion for your birthday. from the bookstore to your favorite restaurant for lunch, he’ll make sure you guys hit all your favorite places.

it’s basically a way for him to showcase his love & gratitude for you ; he wants to say how lucky he is to have you in his life and while he can’t make it super luxurious, he wants this day to be special.

it’s overwhelming how kind he is. he’ll also have all the trademark birthday decorations-- with a theme of red because he knows that’s your favorite color.

red balloons, red confetti, red dessert . . . it’ll be be quite the party even though it’s for a party of two. but, it’s special because even the idea of the two of you having quality time is more than enough.

then again, he doesn’t skimp out on gifts. he just goes all in just to see you happy.

even with how thoughtful he is about his gift, he’ll still apologize when he gives it to you, saying that he’s sorry if it’s not what you wanted or if it’s a bad gift. . .

you, of course, tell him how much you’re grateful for his gift because it’s honestly so perfect? plus, has anyone ever went all out for you this way before? probably not on the same caliber as sakurai- that’s for sure.

he went above & beyond your expectations- essentially, he picked up on what you’d love through small hints from conversation. you’re not the type to give someone a list of what exactly you’d like as you probably see it as rude (which sakurai kind of adores that aspect of you anyway).

the whole day is basically perfect with the perfect boyfriend and just that fact makes you overwhelmed with happiness.

some other relationship things !!

sakurai would love to watch anime with you?? since it’s the next best thing asides from manga. he’ll get so emotionally attached to the characters that you find it kinda sweet how he’ll say with such a serious expression that this character deserved better and such.

sakurai is the type to draw out happy endings to the anime/manga characters that didn’t get the love they deserve. and you admire his skill of the art. but you definitely help with the writing aspect of it (from the overall development & characterization).

if you guys end up living together in a house or an apartment, sakurai is more than willing to do the house chores-- cleaning to cooking to whatever; he’s quite proficient & you’ll be surprised at how good his food tastes, too!

on that note, he’ll get a warm feeling when you offer to help him; old habits die hard since he’ll apologize and say that he didn’t mean to guilt you into doing chores.

you weren’t "guilted” though.

he basically feels so lucky to live with you, so that’s the reason why he’s so willing to be like a “housewife”.

˚✶⋆｡˚☆ﾟ✦

— lily ! ♡

#knb matchups #kise ryouta #sakurai ryou #knb #kuroko no basuke #kuroko no basket #kuroko no basuke matchups #kuroko no basket matchups #matchups #request #relationship headcanons #alternate matchup

16 notes · View notes

socionicsdatabase · 4 years

Text

Dolores Umbridge - LSI (ISTj)

Beta Quadra: The Quadra who fears "subsurvience" (Stratiyevskaya)

For Umbridge, strict order and control of others are necessary to gain power and prevent chaos. According to her fandom page, "Umbridge's strictness bordered on the ideal representation of the qualities of a totalitarian government." According to Socionics authors such as Stratiyevskaya, in Beta Quadra, control is not seen as a negative thing, but rather, as a source of security. Control means competence and strength. Control can provide comfort and bring order out of chaos, and this is greatly respected in Beta Quadra.

IJ type: “An IJ draws inner stability from a stable reality, especially as seen through his leading function. That makes him confident that things will probably remain as they are despite what he sees as minor disturbances; periods of clear upheaval are very disturbing and the individual is anxious that things will "settle down" one way or the other soon enough.” (sociotype.com) Umbridge was not comfortable with chaos and abrupt changes. She desired predictability and inner stability, and her enforcement of rules and structure helped create this.

Temperament: Phlegmatic - “Phlegmatic people are sociotypes who are calm both externally and internally. It is the most balanced of all temperaments. Introverted rationality makes them reserved and closed, not distracted by external irritants. This does not mean at all that the phlegmatic person is not able to flare up. It just takes a lot of effort to bring it to this state. “ (socionic.ru) Though Umbridge was comfortable carrying out severe punishment, she managed to remain calm while doing so. She seemed to have an inner stability that did not lead her to panic or become anxious easily, and generally had confidence that she could keep everything under control.

Lead function: Ti (4D, Valued) The LSI understands their relation to everything in the world based on their position to it within a system. The lead systems logic of the LSI, in combination with creative Se, leads the LSI to seek a high place of power within a social system. Dolores Umbridge demonstrated this characteristic perfectly. As is typical with LSIs, Umbridge easily integrated into a system and enforced order within it. Most of the time, she was simply carrying out the orders given to her by Fudge. According to Socionist Stratiyevskaya, the LSI "can get comfortable at any level of the social hierarchy. The main thing for him is to take a place in this system. He can carry out any job with equal zeal, and builds his business relations according to the position he holds." We can see that this tendency of integrating into systems and seeking places of power within them was present in Umbridge throughout her life. It is known that at an early age, she began working at the Ministry of Magic and was able to quickly rise to powerful positions within it. She became head of the Improper Use of Magic Office while still in her twenties. While teaching at Hogwarts, she remained fiercely loyal to the Ministry of Magic and served to enforce their positions into the curriculum. Socionist Filatova notes that LSIs are "goal-directed and adheres to order and discipline, requires the same from others. This fact leads him to pursue a place as high as possible in the social structure fit for him". This could be seen with Umbridge, because while at Hogwarts, she was constantly seeking to attain the highest position possible. She was also appointed to the role of "Hogwarts High Inquisitor". To help maintain order, she then created another system known as the "Hogwarts Inquisitorial Squad", which was made up of Hogwarts students who spied on other students and reported back to her any suspicious activity.

Creative function: Se (3D, Valued) Umbridge uses force to ensure that everything remains in order. Everyone and everything has it's place within the system, and she makes sure that it stays that way. When Harry defied her, Umbridge gave him detention and physically punished him by forcing him to etch "I must not tell lies" into his skin. For the LSI, use of physical punishment is not meant to be seen as cruel or shameful. It is simply “business as usual.” As a professor at Hogwarts, it is known that she was placed there to ensure that the Ministry of Magic would be able to monitor the events at Hogwarts and gain even greater power over it's affairs. The "Hogwarts Inquisitorial Squad" that she created also helped to enforce order, and Umbridge severely punished any students who deviated from her rules. Umbridge enforced the rules created by the Ministry of Magic, known as "educational decrees", and was known to ban items and take away privileges from students who were violating them. Umbridge frequently stepped outside of her boundaries and tried to exercise higher power and authority than she was supposed to, which would effectively raise her position within the system. Another aspect of valued Se, along with the trait of aristocracy in Beta Quadra, can be seen in Umbridge's attitude toward those of low status. In her fandom page, it is noted that "During her earlier years, she attempted to charm her superiors for a marriage, in order to raise her status and power..." In Beta Quadra, it is expected that a person will strive to raise their rank and position within the system. It is unacceptable and embarassing to remain in a low rank. This tendency can be seen in Umbridge, who was ashamed by her father's status as a low-level worker. It is noted that she pressured him to retire, and then denied her heritage from that point on. This is very understandable within the Beta Quadra, which values ambition and has high hopes and aspirations.

Role Function: Fi (2D, Unvalued) LSIs are able to adhere to basic manners and courtesy, but they are not able to do this for very long. According to Stratiyevskaya, the LSI "usually easily wins the sympathy and disposition of others - disciplined with his superiors, strict with his subordinates, good-natured and helpful with his comrades, cruel and uncompromising with the enemies of "his camp", sweet and courteous with the ladies...a devoted and caring family man." We can see this quality with Umbridge, who was able to smile sweetly and put on a polite front. However, she was only able to maintain this kind of behavior for a short period of time, and it didn't take long for her lead Ti to take over. In her fandom page, it is noted that she was seen as a "respectable official amongst most of her equals and superiors, but has no trouble tyrannising her subordinates." This is a classic trait of LSIs, who see it as their right to treat those ranked below them as their inferiors. To the LSI, this is perfectly logical, because their subordinates are ranked below them in the hierarchy. It is not behavior that is intended to be evil or cruel, but rather, is simply the logic of the system.

Vulnerable function: Ne (1D, Unvalued) With Ne as a vulnerable function, the free spread of ideas and information is something the LSI desires to limit. According to her fandom page, "From her perspective, free speech, dissent, diversity and multiple points of view could not be tolerated." New ideas are seen as potentially chaotic, and therefore must be controlled and eliminated. We can see this with many times with Umbridge, who spent a lot of effort trying to monitor, intercept, and restrict all forms of communication. According to Socionist Filatova, the LSI "does not always succeed at understanding the psychology and motives of a person." This can be seen with Umbridge, who was paranoid about things that were outside of her control, and was not able to understand the motives of others. For example, when she caught Harry and his friends using the Floo Network in her office, she was willing to resort to illegal methods to try to force him to tell her what he was doing.

Suggestive function: Fe (1D, Valued) LSIs highly value emotional expressiveness in others, and in Beta Quadra, it does not matter whether the emotions expressed are positive or negative. Happiness, sorrow, joy, or rage are all equally valuable emotions, as long as they are sincere and expressed with intensity. According to Stratiyevskaya, the LSI "often feels the need to change his mood." Calm and emotional stability bores them, and if they are not getting enough emotional input, they may provoke others just to get a reaction out of them. Stratiyevskaya notes that "The subconscious need for a change of mood, for acute emotional sensations, as well as the constant need to see the feelings of a partner exactly in the form in which he is only able to discern them, sometimes makes Maxim [LSI] an unconscious initiator of family scandals." This quality can be seen with Umbridge, who often annoyed or provoked others until they reacted. For example, in her fandom page, it is noted that "Umbridge in turn seemed to enjoy bullying Snape over the fact that Dumbledore always refused him the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, which Snape found to be infuriating, and barely hid his rage." Snape's anger and irritation gave Umbridge the emotional input and reactiveness that she was seeking, and it is possible that she was provoking him without even realizing it, in a subconscious attempt to fulfill her suggestive function.

Mobilizing function: Ni (2D, Valued) Like all Beta types, Umbridge was looking forward to the "bright, distant future" reign of the Ministry of Magic. However, she was poorly able to foresee whether this future would actually take place. As with all sensor types, she was primarily focused only on the present moment. According to Stratiyevskaya, "Maxim's [LSI's] time belongs to his work in the system, therefore his temporal categories are directly related to the "temporal indicators" of this system." We can see this with Umbridge, whose entire schedule and day was planned according to the duties she needed to fulfill for the Ministry of Magic. In addition to this, Umbridge also made sure that others were using their time in the way that it was supposed to be used. According to Stratiyevskaya, the LSI "knows how and loves to arrange checks for his subordinates: when they started work, when they left. If his employees fulfill the quota too quickly, he can organize a commission to check, make timing, change the plan, lower prices." Umbridge was known to carefully and closely monitor those around her to make sure that they were doing what they were supposed to be doing, and she organized the "Inquisitorial Squad" to help ensure that everything was in order and that time was not being misused by others. Past connections were also of great important to Umbridge. For example, she was said to have worn the stolen locket around her neck to emphasize her connection to famous wizarding families of the past.

Ignoring function: Te (3D, Unvalued) Umbridge was competent and intelligent, which helped her to quickly rise through the ranks at the Ministry of Magic. However, she preferred to follow her own subjective logic above all. Despite evidence that Voldemort had returned, Umbridge ignored objective facts in favor of the ideology that she was loyal to from the Ministry of Magic. In classes, she taught that Voldemort had not actually returned, and that Harry was simply making it up for attention. Unlike Hermione, who lived by the rules, Umbridge was only loyal to rules that she personally agreed with. For example, she threatened to use the illegal Cruciatus Curse to make Harry tell her what she wanted to know. When Hermione (a lead Te type, LSE) objected to this and told her it would violate the law, Umbridge simply dismissed it by saying "what Cornelius doesn't know cannot hurt him".

Demonstrative function: Si (4D, Unvalued) LSIs have very strong Si, and are able to remain calm and collected in the midst of chaos. Umbridge did not often show her temper or express the full extent of her anger and irritation. Instead, she was often able to calmly and casually carry out punishments, and was even able to smile while doing so. She was not easily stressed and was able to main a cool demeanor despite feeling angry. She was known to decorate her office with things such as chocolates, cakes, tea, biscuits, kittens, and other "cute" and pleasant things. It seems Umbridge was perfectly capable of creating a pleasant and harmonious environment for herself, but she didn't pay much attention to doing this for others, and her primary and overriding focus was on ensuring everything in the system was under control.

#socionics #lsi #typings

7 notes · View notes

standfortheangels · 4 years

Note

What song makes you feel better?what’s your favorite candle scent?what flower would you like to be given?say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical).what calms you down?what’s your ideal date?how are you?what’s your comfort food?do you still love stuffed animals?what’s something you do to de-stress?hugs or hand-holding?morning, afternoon or night?what reminds you of home (doesn’t have to mean house… just things that remind you of the feeling of home)? [for mun

What song makes you feel better?

Ooo, this really depends on a lot of stuff. But weirdly, one song I go to a lot is Tubthumping by Chumbawumba. The names really tell you the vibe of the song >w>' it's silly- too silly to really take much seriously when you're listening to it, so it gradually cheers me up that way. But it's mostly the chorus bit that does it.

"I get knocked down, but I get up again! You are never gonna keep me down!"

Repeated over and over again with pride and happiness like a football chant.

It's the kind of mood that's just infectious, it's a crowd celebrating something, enjoying where and who they are. Pair that with the message in those lines, and, I dunno. It just really helps me~

what’s your favorite candle scent?

Oh this one is tough. My sense of smell isn't that great, usually I can smell a candle if I pick it up and sniff it, but when it's lit I don't tend to smell anything. There are very few candles I can light and smell in the room. So I tend to just pick candles based on colour tbh x'D

One thing I do love though is oil diffusers. A few drops of violet essential oil in the water, it comes out as steam, makes the place smell really nice.

What flower would you like to be given?

Aww, that's a cute one~ I'd love to be given any flower really, but if I have to pick... I'd say a sunflower. I think it'd be really funny to have someone pull this giant flower from behind their back and hand it over. X')

Say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical).

That's six! You can't fool me there >w> buuuuut fine.

Physical: I like my eye colour, I've got a general hourglass shape that I like, and I'm told I have very comfortable shoulders to lean on? Haha

Non-physical: I'm fairly intelligent, have a lot of patience when I need it, and I'm pretty weird, which is often funny for other people x')

What calms you down?

If I'm anxious, I have a few apps on my phone I can use that usually help. 'What's Up' is a great one, it has different tools you can use like grounding exercises and retargeting your thoughts and stuff. I also have games on there like Zen Koi and Alto's Odyssey, which I find relaxing. They're not too complicated to manage but they do grab my attention and have chill music on them.

If I'm calming down from being angry.... Dogs. I find if a dog comes up to me for a hug or something, I have to relax my muscles more, I have to be gentle with them and reassure them that it's all okay, it's like a conscious effort I make for their sake. So it puts a stop to my stressing out long enough for me to just start enjoying the fact that I have a dog. ^^

What’s your ideal date?

Ooo good question...

At the minute I can't really date at all with my health being this bad, so I'd probably go for a casual date where we play a low-pressure game together at home. I'm talking battleship, tetris, any Super Mario game that has a multiplayer feature, Snipperclips, Jenga, Wii tennis, anything. Just us chilling, having a little bit of playful rivalry maybe, a few healthy snacks~ that would be awesome. Some of these games we could even play from two separate places with a video call going, which would mean I wouldn't have to push myself to host or leave the house or even force myself to shower in advance; I could even stay in bed and just prop myself up with some pillows if I really needed to, take a laptop and we could go play something online maybe.

In the future though (because I really hope I'll improve eventually and get some of my life back) I'd still love the more casual fun dates, but not stuck inside. I'd love to go minigolfing and be terrible at it so we can both laugh at my awful shots, and I'll do some hopeless ironic trash talk and then lose by a mile~

I'd like to have a dog we can walk together. We could go to a quiet beach, which will probably be cold and muddy because it's England but we'll let the dog loose and smile at how much fun they're having, maybe play fetch or something, and then at the end be so so grateful that we thought to put old towels over the back seats of the car for our very very happy, very very very wet dog~

It'd be fun to go to a theme park together, or walk around a garden centre and plan out a garden we'll probably never get around to. Or a zoo! That'd be a great date place, a zoo, or SeaWorld, both are good.

I'd like to go for ice cream and sit on some random grassy bank to eat it together. To go to an art gallery with a camera and most of my photos would just be of my date seeing something she likes~ maybe I could even take a sketchbook too, and I could draw her in the styles and/or poses of whichever pieces she wants me to, while she poses in ridiculous funny ways and makes me laugh so much that I have to stop and then we move to the next room.

I've been too ill for too long and had so much emotional crap in my life, I wouldn't choose the rigid restaurant dates with all the same rules and the pressure, or strive to try and be the most romantic couple or whatever else.

For me, what I'd value most is being able to get out of the house and enjoy the world, and having a date with a light-hearted atmosphere.

How are you?

Tired as always! X') but for real, today has actually been okay. The last few days have been really rough pain-wise, but it hasn't been quite as bad today, so hopefully it'll ease off back to normal from here~ I've also been pretty productive in the last two days so I'm very happy with myself rn ^^

What’s your comfort food?

I have a couple! Chocolate, of course, is a classic one (chocolate peanuts in particular are something I reach for for comfort). And also, a hot pasta-based meal like lasagna or, heck just pasta in a nice sauce will do. Those meals are more like the comfort of being warm and homely, the kind of thing I might love if I were really tired and feeling sorry for myself, while chocolate peanuts are the "I'm upset so I'm eating my feelings" food. X')

Do you still love stuffed animals?

Of course! I don't have tons all over my bed purely because it's inconvenient, but I do keep two huge ones- a dog and a shark- on top of my wardrobe, and my littlest childhood friend is always in my room somewhere~

His name is Scruffy, and right now he's sleeping in my crystal box (open) on top of all the empty velvet bags. ^^ I used to take him everywhere, cuddle him every night as a slept.. he usually smelled pretty gross because I never wanted to give him up to be washed, haha X) thankfully he doesn't have that problem now~

What’s something you do to de-stress?

This might sound lame but, jigsaw puzzles. It has to be real ones, at the table with some music in my headphones. If I can't do that for whatever reason, I go to the bathroom and run cold water over my wrists for a minute or two, over the veiny side. It's kind of a mini cleansing ritual. I sometimes combine that with some deep breaths and imagine the water is literally washing the stress out of me, and it really does help. It's something I can do quickly and easily, I can just do it while or after washing my hands or something and that's that~

Hugs or hand-holding?

Hmm... prolonged, I'm not a huge fan of either? Eventually if you're holding hands it's like, when do you let go? What if your hand gets warm and clammy, or sweaty? Same with like a cuddle. Once you're in it, how do you say "hey I'm kind of uncomfortable now, this physical contact has gone on too long"? You don't want to be rude, and it might be hard to explain, so you've probably got to blame on being too warm even if you're not, and then that's a lie, and.. it's just awkward.

A regular hug though, that's okay. It can last longer than usual and still not be a problem, because at least, you know, you won't be hugging for half an hour, at some point soon you'll let go. And it feels nice, you know? From someone I care about and trust anyway~ it's like a physical way of saying "I love you" and it's nice to have someone's arms holding you, to wrap yours around them and just hold them tight.. you both feel warm inside and secure and wanted. I wouldn't be keen on a hug from a stranger or an acquaintance, even a new-ish friend. But someone who's close to me? All the hugs. Give me the hugs, let me hug you back, many many hugs. X)

Morning, afternoon or night?

Night! Actually I love those really early mornings, you know when the air still has that kind of... Crispness to it. That is amazing. But I'm never awake for that anymore.

(^▽ ^;)ゞ

What reminds you of home?

Thunderstorms, loud planes overhead, chinook noises, soft hugs when I'm upset, mum's cooking, pictures of our old dog Harvey, little fluffy dogs running about.

Most of this is easy to figure out I'm sure, but I do want to talk about the first couple.

Until the age of 11 my family lived on a military air base, so there were always big planes taking off and landing, and I really do mean always. We learned the difference between some of them by sound. I could be sat at home and we'd hear one and know, that had to be a Herc landing (landing always sounded different to taking off), or a teacher would have to stop talking at school to let one go by, and everyone knew that one was a VC10. (VC10s are the LOUDEST thing I have ever heard to this day. I'd probably still recognise one now~)

We also saw and heard Chinooks a lot. Now for anyone who doesn't know, those are the weird helicopters that have two... Fan parts? I don't actually know what they're called. X') (I looked it up, they're called rotors!) They kinda look like the bit of a retro telephone that you'd pick up and hold to your face.

Now having two rotors means that they can carry a Lot of weight, but it also means they don't sound like normal helicopters do. The two rotors are timed out so that the blades from each side can go through the same middle space without hitting each other, Left blade then right blade then left then right then left, and you can kind of hear it happening. Instead of the kind of 'Wubbubbubbubbubbub' of normal helicopters, a chinook sounds more like 'Wokka wokka wokka wokka'.

Where I am now, we only hear some small jets once a week at most when they take practice flights, and sometimes a normal police or ambulance helicopter. It took me a long time to get used to the quiet of most places, and sometimes I miss all the overhead noise we had back then.

And we got so many thunderstorms! Every single summer, usually at night. Now that I think about it the pollution from all the aircraft might have been involved in this too. >w>" But I loved it. We'd all gather in mum's room and open the curtains wide to watch. My little sister was scared of thunder back then so it was better for her to have people around and to make it fun. I was always just excited! And I still get that way if I hear thunder now~

#wow this is a long post #i actually fell asleep a couple questions from the end #ive just finished it off this morning #haha #ooc #mun stuff #asimplerper

3 notes · View notes

lnc2 · 6 years

Note

2 for marichat?

“Their pickup line wasn’t as good as mine, just saying.” - Marichat

“Can we please just drop italready?”

Chat paused, halting just at the ledgeof the rooftop across from her parent’s bakery. He glared down at thegirl in his arms.

“Absolutely not.”

“It was just a fan, Chat. They weremaking conversation.”

“They were trying to pick youup.” He growled, his grip tightening around her shoulders and thighs.

Marinette snorted. “You mean like youdid when my earrings started beeping? That’s going to be all over thenews and god knows Alya is probably having a field day.”

“So?”

“So…? So it’s not true!Don’t you hate having people gossip about you?”

Her partner merely shrugged.

Marinette bit back a frustrated scream. This stupid, stubborn cat.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tikki saidpeeking out of her purse. “But do you think you can have this conversationinside? That akuma took a lot out of me.”

“Sorry Tikki,” She said, reaching outto pet her kwami’s head. “I should have been more prepared.”

“We couldn’t have known Hawkmoth wouldsend out two akumas in one day.”

“He’s done it before,” She said,prodding her partner’s arm to get him moving. She stifled her yelp whenhe vaulted them onto her balcony before unceremoniously dropping her onto thelounger.

“Nice,” She sniped, rolling upfrom where she’d landed.

“Oops.”

Marinette resisted the urge to callback Tikki and transform.

She’d show him oops.

“Why are you acting like this?” Shesaid, instead, scowling up at him.

His mouth was pulled into a black frownand his tail whipped behind him like a shock wire. He was clearly agitated butinstead of bounding away to sulk he just stood there, practically vibrating.

Things had been weird between themsince her accidental reveal. If Marinette were less secure she may havewondered whether or not he was disappointed. But those thoughts, if theydid intrude, were quickly tossed away. Chat wasn’t like that and she was Ladybug, spots or not.

But he had been off.

Especially when she insisted he keephis identity a secret– “To be safe.”

It wasn’t all the time - in somerespects they were closer than ever if only because the alleycat knew where tofind her. The first time he’d dropped into her room – literally– she’d practicallyhad a heart attack. She scolded him for not calling first, ignored him when hesaid he didn’t have her number, and then promptly panicked when she realizedChat was in her room and everything that entailed.

Particularly the pictures of her longstanding crush plastered all around her workstation (she’d removed the rest ofher collection after Troublemaker because apparently nothing was sacredwhen it came to Hawkmoth.)

She’d received a fair amount of teasingafter that particular discovery. But even then, Chat knew where todraw the line.

No, the weirdness came wheneverMarinette spoke about hanging out with Juleka and her brother or mentionedstaying late in the art room to work on a piece with Nathaniel. Evengaming sessions with Max were a sore subject. It wasn’t anything overt butthere were always… vibes… that made her think it was best to keepthings like that away from Chat.

Apparently that didn’t stop him fromaccosting random civilians though.

“They just bugged me that’s all.��

“That’s my job,” Marinette said,rolling her eyes. He didn’t smile.

She sighed. “Come on, Chat. You’ve been pouting for the last three weeks. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Chat.”

“We have things to do.” He said,crossing his arms over his chest. “We don’t have time to stand aroundtalking to people after every attack.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

He shrugged.

“Come on, just talk to me.”

“It’s nothing,” He snapped. “Just… just drop it.”

“Fine,” She jumped up from the lounger. “Fine.”

Chat frowned as Marinette headedtowards her trap door.

“Where are you going?”

“Inside,” She said, scowling over hershoulder. “I have things to do.”

Feeling frustrated, angry, and morethan a little rejected, Marinette started climbing down to her loft. If hewanted to act like this, fine. She didn’t need to put up with hismood.

He could sulk alone.

Just as she was ready to jump down Chatspoke, petulant, voice low.

“Their pick up line wasn’t as good asmine.”

She nearly dropped the door on her headin shock. Chat grudgingly kicked his boot against against her roof.

“… What?”

“Their pick up line,” He said, daring aglance up at her before going back to his boots. “It wasn’t good.”

Oh my god.

“Seriously?” She cried, nolonger frustrated.

She was furious.

Marinette scrambled back onto the rooftowards her partner. Chat didn’t pull back but he winced when she startedpoking at his chest.

“That’s why you’ve been such ajerk?” He looked away. “Chat, that’s so messed up.”

“Marine–”

“I don’t even have words.” Sheshoved him back and paced the balcony. “I’m not some– some cat toyyou can claim.”

“It wasn’t like that,” He protestedweakly. Marinette wasn’t listening anyways.

God she wasn’t sure she’d everbeen so angry with him. After weeks of worrying, tense conversations, andshut outs it all came down to what? Jealousy?

Ugh.

“I’m allowed to have friends, Chat.” Shesaid, whirling around to glare at her shame-faced partner. “I’m allowedto like someone. I do like someone. I’m not wrong for that and you don’tget to make me feel bad about it.”

“I never meant any of it like that.” Hesaid, quietly. “I never meant to act that way at all.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Well youdid and you are so where does that leave us?”

Chat’s shoulders slumped forward, earsfalling back.

“I’m sorry.”

She sighed, long and loud andirritated.

“We can’t do this. It can’t belike this.” She said, holding her partner’s gaze. “It’s not fair.”

“I know.” At her skeptical brow, onethat clearly asked do you really? Chat continued. “I do. And I’m sorry. I don’t… don’t know how to handle all of itsometimes.”

“All of what?”

He shook his head. “Nothing– well no,not nothing but nothing you’d want to hear.”

Marinette took a step closer and leanedagainst the railing beside him.

“Try me.”

Chat laughed. It wasn’t hishappy, whooping laugh that warmed her from the inside out. It was moresad than that. Embarrassed anddisbelieving.

She hated it.

“You just love so easily,” He said,turning around against the railing to face out towards the city. “You’re lovedso easily.”

Marinette listened, feeling her angerdeflate like a balloon as she watched her dearest friend’s expressions rise andfall with his words.

“Chat,” She murmured.

“You… you consider so many people” Hecontinued, shyly meeting her gaze. “Sometimes– sometimes I wonder if you couldever consider… me.”

Marinette felt a little helpless underthe sincerity in his eyes.

“I just… don’t want to miss my chance.”

“Oh.” She said, because it’s all she couldsay. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” He said, lookingaway and trying to shrug off his confession as something it wasn’t. It was afine effort spoiled by the red peeking out from beneath his mask.

She stared at his profile infascination.

“Chat,” She started, unsure of where tostart but knowing it was important she did. “Chat, I don’t… we can’t.”

“I know, my lady,” He murmured taking astep back from the railing. “You don’t feel that way.”

Marinette’s heart flipped as he tookanother step away from her, forcing a smile where there shouldn’t have beenone. Not while his flat ears gave him away.

“Th–That’s not… I mean it wasbut–” She stopped. Breathed. Triedagain.

“Chat,” She said, stepping forward toclose the gap he’d created. “It’s not that I’m not… interested.”

His eyes snapped to hers but it wasMarinette’s turn to look away. She reached for one of his hands instead.

God was this embarrassing.

“It’s just… what kind of relationshipcan we have behind masks?” He opened his mouth to interrupt her. “I knowyou want to tell me. And– and I want to know. I really do. You’re mybest friend.”

“You’re my best friend too,” Hewhispered and she felt his words down to her knees.

Calling on her last reserves of courageshe looked up..

Mistake.

Chat always had a way of looking at herthat made her feel like she’d painted the stars. Electric eyes, soft andbright and so goddamn hopeful she wanted to die.

But she wasn’t Ladybug for nothing.

Instead of taking up his invitation,the one that screamed out from every inch of him and called out to every inchof her– begging her to say fuck it and take something she was only nowrealizing she wanted– Marinette brushed his hand against her lips

and let go.

“I’m not saying not ever, Chaton.” Shesaid softly, stepping back. Away from an ever too close for comfort. “I’m only saying not now.”

Not now, but not no.

Knuckles tingling, Chat stared,dumbfounded at the girl before him.

Not now, but not no.

It was more than he’d gotten fromanyone before and more than he’d ever dreamed to hear from her.

Not now, but not no.

He could wait for that.

He could wait for her.

Chat could wait for the wonderfullydisruptive, beautiful, genius girl before him. He could wait for the girlwith the smile he could feel and the eyes so blue and wide and kindhe wanted to dive into them and never surface.

He could wait for Marinette.

“Okay,” He said, voice cracking, toohappy to be embarrassed by the rawness in his throat. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Marinette said, the beginningof her smile sending shocks through him.

Chat hastily wiped at his eyes, turningthe gesture into a sweeping bow to hide just how okay he was. Reachingfor her hand, he placed his own kiss on her open palm and gently closed herfingers.

“I’ll be waiting.”

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #ladynoir #lnc2 writes #look this was supposed to be short #idk what tf happened #always happy endings folks #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #ladybug

834 notes · View notes

theamberfang · 4 years

Text

Journal 304: Rituals

Brain “Hacking”

Last night I mentioned having had something to discuss regarding how the music I listen to influences my mindset, and a post I saw on my dash this morning reminded me of where I wanted to go with it. (I didn’t reblog it because it’s an art thing, which isn’t immediately part of my wheelhouse, but maybe I could have anyway.) It’s about drawing warm-ups, and the part I found interesting was the bit about the process/ritual helping to get an artist into the mindset/mood to draw, calling it a sort of “brain hack.”

It all actually goes back to something I discussed when I tried out removing timestamps from “Tomorrow’s Tasks”: building routines—rituals—that can more reliably lead me into doing whatever it is that I want to do. If I were to start practicing drawing (which I honestly would like to), then simple warm-up exercises sound like a great thing to start any session with. Something simple that I can’t really “mess up” to get the fingers and arm moving.

Actually, now that I think of it, it’s sort of what the self-dialogue bits in NaNoWriMo kind of were. Talking to myself, in writing, helped to get the fingers moving in a low-stakes manner. If I intend to move forward with my story-writing efforts beyond NaNoWriMo, maybe I can keep doing the self-dialogue as a warm-up ritual.

I guess it’s not quite the same as the music, since warm-ups more directly lead into an actual activity, but it’s similar in how I’ve associated specific types of music with either work or play for a few months now. It’s not perfect since I’ve been distracted several times from writing this post, even with my work music going, but I figure it can help alongside some other rituals and routines. I think I need layers of these things to help myself stay on track—and in a way that doesn’t leave me feeling stressed out.

There isn’t anything I want to build a routine for right now; this is all just something I want to keep in mind for the future. Whenever there’s an activity I want to do, but I have difficulty mentally getting into it, I can try to build a ritual/routine that leads up to it. In way, it’s a different take on my advice to “break things into smaller steps.” The “ritual” would be something that is small and easily performed—such that I wouldn’t ever have any qualms doing it—that I would always follow up with the desired activity. If I do it enough, it should end up feeling weirder to perform the ritual and not do the activity than it would to just do it.

This is something I’ve actually put into practice for getting to sleep. For awhile now, I’ve put on an episode of Welcome to Nightvale and just listened to it while lying in bed. Afterwards, I brush my teeth, then watch a specific part of a particular ASMR video, then I go to bed. I’ll be on episode 104 of Welcome to Nightvale tonight, so that’s about how many nights in a row I’ve been through this routine. Save for a few exceptions, I’ve been sleeping regularly ever since I worked out this routine.

If I can get something similar started for working on personal projects, then that would be great.

Wrapping Up

There was probably some other stuff I could have discussed today, but I’m feeling worn out after eating the take-out Thanksgiving dinner my parents brought home for me today from the place that they’ve been going to every year—I don’t typically go out with them for it.

Speaking of, while they were out, I actually cooked a thing. I think I mentioned some time ago that my mom started making these small pizzas using pita bread as the base. It’s something I’ve occasionally watched her make, and I made one myself. It’s not all that complicated, but it’s still quite a step up from peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. One thing I didn’t do was chop up some vegetables to put on it, so it was just cheese and pepperoni; I don’t know how Mom would want me to store the parts I didn’t use (like, I wouldn’t be using a whole bell pepper on this small pizza) and I wasn’t quite ready to try handling a knife.

I also managed to take a shower. I ended up having to wait until my parents came home since my mom had taken down the shower curtains. (Apparently she accidentally dropped them into the toilet when she was cleaning.)

I didn’t get into NaNoWriMo, but I still do want to close it out properly, even if it’s just a bit of self-dialogue.

Lastly, I want get back into thinking about Night in the Woods and whatever other things I had going on before NaNoWriMo started.

Tomorrow’s Tasks

Dance for exercise; 1000

Khan Academy; 1100

NaNoWriMo closure; 1300

Journal; 2000

#daily journal #personal #mental health #self care

1 note · View note

pengychan · 5 years

Text

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 7

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

To see the version with art by Dara, check it out on Ao3.

Tag for all parts up so far.

A/N: I mean did anyone here really expect Ernesto and Imelda keep up the truce for long. (Also Tumblr is a baby so go check out the illustrated version on Ao3!)

***

The shower in Ernesto’s small apartment is nowhere as large as his and Imelda’s own, so Héctor is rather glad they’re doing this at their place.

Not that he’s that picky, nor is the shower that small; it works perfectly for one person. Two people could fit in without too much trouble… but with three people, one of them being so ridiculously broad, it would be a very tight fit. Maybe someday they will give it a go, but for now, Héctor is pretty happy they’re using the big one.

He’s got to admit that maybe Ernesto has a point in life: there is a lot to be said for being the center of attention. Especially when - and maybe it’s just some wishful thinking, but maybe not - he’s got those two actually working together to get him over the edge, focusing on him rather than trying to best each other.

Or maybe just focusing more on him than they are on competing against each other. Either way, Héctor will take this as a victory… and it is a very, very sweet one.

Héctor draws in a sharp breath when a soapy hand grasps his cock firmly, giving it a squeeze, and some of the water running over him - it is hot enough to redden skin and yet now it barely feels lukewarm compared to skin against his own, the hand on his cock and the kisses Imelda is trailing across his chest - gets into his mouth. It causes his next moan to come out as almost a gargle; Imelda pulls back for a moment, and there is a chuckle against his ear.

"New song?" Ernesto asks, stroking him idly. Héctor doesn't have enough breath to reply, and he just tightens his own grip on Ernesto's drenched hair. He doesn't even seem to feel it; Héctor can feel him smirking again against his skin. There is water and steam everywhere, the touches on him are turning him into a quivering mess, it is hard to breathe and oh, he’d trade this for nothing else.

"You know he can sing better than this," Imelda speaks, her voice so dangerously, dangerously sweet. Héctor opens his eyes, squinting against the water, to see a smile curling her lips. She looks past him, right at Ernesto. "Better than you, for sure."

"Oh?" Ernesto asks, and there is challenge in his tone, but the amusement is not gone. He presses a finger against the slit of Héctor's cock, getting another moan out of him, a buckle of his hips. "Does he now?"

"Get your hand off my husband's dick," Imelda says, and her smile turns lopsided. "And I'll show you how to make him sing."

Oh, God.

Héctor gasps, shutting his eyes. There are a few moments of silence aside from the rush of water, and he breathes in the steam just as Ernesto speaks again.

"Very well." One more squeeze and he is letting go of him, his other hand still firmly grasping Héctor's hair. "Show me."

Héctor opens his mouth to say something - not that he has any idea what to say, or the capability to string together anything that makes sense anymore - but of course all that leaves him is an low moan. The sight alone of Imelda kneeling in front of him, hair and skin wet, is enough to make his head spin, no matter how familiar; her mouth on his cock a moment makes him cry out and shudder violently.

Normally he’d reach out to steady himself against the walls of the shower, because he’s never had such a great sense of balance, the floor is wet and collapsing on Imelda would be just about the worst way to interrupt a very pleasant start of the morning. But this time, there is no need: Ernesto is there, solid and steady as a wall, holding him tightly, chest to his back as Héctor buckles his hips, shuddering.

He leans his head on Héctor’s shoulder - something he started doing after a particularly powerful fit of pleasure caused Héctor to throw back his head with reckless abandon, which almost resulted in a broken nose - to gaze down at Imelda’s head, and chuckles.

“She got you good,” he murmurs against Héctor’s ear, getting a wordless groan as a response. Imelda is pulling back slowly, trailing a vein with her tongue, and lets her teeth scrape just slightly against the top in a way that never fails to turn Héctor into mush. He gasps, getting more water in his mouth just as Ernesto speaks again in his ear.

“... But I think two of us would get this over with quicker.”

Wait, what?

In the haze of pleasure, under the relentless cascade of water, Héctor can only blink when Ernesto’s steadying, reassuring grip faces. He glances back to see he’s kneeling down, feels his hands on his ass, prying the cheeks apart, and then something warm and wet--

“Ah!”

The startled cry leaves his mouth with no words, not one single coherent thought to it. Héctor finds himself reaching down, grasping Ernesto’s hair with one hand and Imelda’s with the other, holding on like a castaway to a piece of driftwood.

But that’s what you do, isn’t it, it’s what you’ve always been doing, clinging onto them to avoid drowning because you know you can’t make it on your own.

The thought is sudden as it is jarring, and Héctor is quick to chase it away because oh, Ernesto and Imelda are making it so easy now, to abandon all thought and just enjoy the feeling - their hands on him, and the heat of her mouth and the strokes of his tongue, the wet hair his fingers are tangled in and the hot water falling over them all, the steam he breathes in with each helpless gasp.

He lasts no more than two minutes, and he cannot even bring himself to feel sheepish: he’d dare anybody to last one moment longer than he did, he truly would. His legs give in - does he eve have bones anymore? - but Ernesto is there to hold him up, Imelda is turning off the water and reaching for a dry towel, and Héctor isn’t worried at all, safe in the certainty that neither of them is going to let him fall.

***

“Your parents sounded in a good mood.”

“Hmm.”

“Shame we didn’t catch your brothers home, but I bet they’ll call back. Hey, did you see the latest video on their channel?”

“For the sake of my sanity, I try not to look.”

“Heh. Good point.”

Silence.

“... Tell me it did not involve rockets.”

“Nope.”

“Oh, good.”

“There was a circular saw, though.”

“What??”

“But everything went fine! I mean, the experiment failed, but no limbs were lost and they walked out with ten fingers and toes. I’d count it as a success.”

“Ten fingers and toes each, or between the two of them?”

“Each.”

“Thank God for small miracles.”

“To be fair, this one wasn’t that small.”

“Aaaand this is why I make a point to never look at their channel. What kind of experiment was it, anyway?”

“Beats me. They didn’t make it very clear.” Héctor laughs, and leans his head on her shoulder, a hand reaching down to massage her lower belly to help her through the usual cramps that come with her period. They’re both in bed, and she’s reading a book Ceci recommended to her when she popped in to get some fabrics – which means she very nearly threw it at her head bellowing for her to read it.

It isn’t half bad, but it hasn’t really captured her yet. Then again, she’s only some thirty pages in... and she is getting distracted by thoughts of their trip to Santa Cecilia in about two weeks, to visit the grave of Héctor’s parents and attend to a special Mass in their memory.

It is mostly sorted, with the parish and with her parents, who are going to let them stay in the guest room as they always do, once Óscar and Felipe are done taking all of their clutter out of it. They have booked their train tickets, because both dislike long car rides, and she is well ahead with the orders, so that she can afford staying away three or four days.

Yes, everything’s in place, as per every year... but this year, for the first time, Imelda finds she’s bothered by the one absence she never gave any thought to before.

“Isn’t Ernesto coming?” she asks, closing the book. She glances at Héctor to see him pause, taken aback, before he shakes his head.

“No. He’s... busy.”

“Busy, every year?”

That causes Héctor to look away. “I can’t ask him that.”

“You can’t ask your best friend to be with you on the anniversary of your parents’ death?” Imelda asks, more harshly than she meant to. She shuts her mouth, already feeling guilty, when Héctor’s gaze grows distant... but only for a moment. Then he just shrugs, like it’s nothing.

“I can’t ask him to come to Santa Cecilia.”

“It’s his hometown.”

“He doesn’t like it.”

“We grew up there,” Imelda says, and has to make a conscious effort not to let anger show in her voice. “His family is there. Does he think he’s too good for it? For them?”

Héctor shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he says, a defensive note to his voice. Sometimes it frustrates her, it really does, how defensive he is of his best friend because that’s just how Ernesto is. Like it’s supposed to make everything he does right, or at least more bearable.

“Then what--”

“I promised not to tell,” he cuts her off, and he looks genuinely sorry. “I really can’t. Just believe me, it’s all right. He cared about my parents, you know that. He doesn’t need to come to Santa Cecilia to show it.”

Can’t tell her.

Somehow, the thought hurts. There are supposed to be no secrets between the two of them; that is something they established early on. She certainly keeps nothing secret from him, and this is the first time she realizes it’s not quite the same for him. It is fair, she cannot fault him for that – it’s nothing she has any business knowing, after all – but the sting is there anyway, impossible to ignore.

A cutting remark - “did he get some girl in trouble?” - almost makes it to her lips, but she manages to hold it back, and swallows it along with her annoyance. “I understand,” she says instead. It isn’t the entire truth, because she can’t really understand what she’s not told, but it is the only right answer to give and the one Héctor needs right now, so she says it anyway,

And when he smiles at her, relief plain on his face, the smile she gives back is far more sincere than her words were.

***

Great as their teamwork can get in bed - and in the shower, and occasionally in the living room or the kitchen - Ernesto and Imelda’s first attempt at singing in a duet goes about as disastrously as Héctor expected it to.

He’s always been an optimist but, to be entirely honest, it would have taken a miracle for it to go down well... and miracles are hard to come by these days.

“If you could be bothered not to sing over me--”

“Well, I had to do something to fix the mess you were making!”

“Excuse me?”

“You were trying to breathe in and sing at the same time, don’t think I didn’t notice! Or are you always just this bad?”

“Says the one who keeps coming in at the wrong time! And why are you even wearing a charro now? We’re in my living room! Are you trying to impress the cat?” Imelda snaps. From the chair she’s curled on, Pepita chooses that moment to hiss in Ernesto’s general direction as though to point out that, if that was the intention, he’s entirely failed.

Ernesto scoffs, brushing his jacket in a somewhat defensive way. “Well, at least one of us needs to put in some effort! Either you’re not trying, or you couldn’t carry a note if it were stapled to your ba--”

All right, maybe it is time to say something. Héctor sighs, putting the guitar down on his knees. “Uh, guys--” he begins, but he has no time to say anything more. The next moment Ernesto scoffs dramatically, throws up his hands dramatically, and marches through the living room to the door. Dramatically.

“Fine! I’ll go find some company with those who appreciate my skills!”

“Hey now, you know we appreciate--”

“Your dogs?” Imelda asks, raising an eyebrow. The only reply she gets is a slammed door, and then a few moments of silence.

“... Well,” Héctor finally says. “That went well.”

“It did not.”

“There was no blood.”

“And that’s enough to say it went well?”

“For a first attempt, yes. Like your brothers not losing any limbs is enough to call whatever they’re up to a success,” Héctor quips, and that gets a smile out of her before she frowns.

“The first attempt, and the last. He is insufferable, even without a public. I can’t begin to imagine how you can share a stage with that self-centered drama queen and his inflated ego.”

He grins. “He doesn’t mind sharing with me,” he says, and is somewhat taken aback when Imelda gives him a look that is almost angry, and unexpectedly bitter.

“Oh, he would. But you’re his best friend, and I’m just your wife,” she huffs, and walks out towards her workroom, leaving a very confused Héctor behind. He blinks, not knowing what to say – not knowing what to think of her last words – as Pepita jumps off her chair to go after Imelda, silent as a ghost.

***

Ernesto doesn’t like Los Chachalacos.

All right, fine, so that is a lie: he likes them, if begrudgingly. Their music isn’t half bad, if nowhere near his-- their -- own, and they are good fun. In the several occasions they found themselves playing at the same venues, they’ve always been good company for a drink or two.

Still, they are competition, as Ernesto has to nearly constantly remind Héctor. They’ll join them if they have to, laugh and swap jokes and some gossip about yet another producer who had to pay up to silence some scandal, but that doesn’t mean they have to like them. They shouldn’t.

If only they weren’t so insufferably likeable.

“Oye, look who’s there!”

“De la Cruz!”

“Ernesto!”

“Come over here!”

“Where’s Rivera?”

“Have a drink!”

Their voices were the first thing he heard as soon as he stepped in the cantina, and sure enough there they were, crowded around a table and with a glass each. He could tell Marta is already in the process of drinking the rest of the band under the table. He joined them gladly enough, anything to get the argument out of his mind - not even much of an argument, but she was the one who was trying to sing over him - and explained that Héctor couldn’t come out.

“The tragedy of married life,” he mutters now, a glass in his own hand, and there is laughter, which makes him feel better. That is the reaction his jokes should get, not the exasperated sighs and biting remarks Imelda keeps giving him. She got… better, for a while, but now there’s something wrong and he cannot tell what it is - but like hell he’s going to ask. It's her problem, not his.

More drinks are ordered and soon enough everyone is singing, if somewhat drunkenly, and Ernesto joins in. They sing Los Chachalacos’ songs, Héctor’s own, popular ones, some unholy mixture of all of them - and no one complains about his voice being too loud, no one calls him an attention hog or complains about him at all, and that is precisely how Ernesto likes it. They see him, and like what they see. Listen to him, and love what they hear.

Before long, Ernesto is laughing hard enough to tear up and thinking that yes, Héctor is missing out, stuck home with that bore of a wife. He pulls out his phone, calls everyone to move closer for a group picture, and sends it over to Héctor with a brief message.

You’re missing out on life. Remember, divorce is an option! ;)

***

“Divorce is an option.”

“I-I’m sure he was just joking! You know, that’s what Ernesto is li--”

“Do not. Finish. That sentence.”

Héctor shuts his mouth so abruptly his teeth click together. He’s regretting dearly the moment he asked Imelda to check the phone in his place, since he was elbow-deep in water trying to unblock the sink. He expected her to read aloud whatever message he just got, and instead there had been silence… and he turned to see her absolutely livid.

You’re in trouble, amigo. If she doesn’t strangle you, I will.

There is a long sigh, then Imelda looks up and give the least reassuring smile she ever gave. Her frame relaxes, all tenseness gone, a glint in her eyes.

“Héctor, mi amor,” she says, her voice rotting honey. “Let’s get in the bedroom.”

***

Ernesto is in the middle of a really funny joke involving a bellringer, a train and a nun when his phone bleeps. He grabs it, still talking and glass still in his other hand. Maybe it’s Sofía - he wrote her earlier to ask if she’s free tonight, because she’s good fun with no strings attached and no desire for any on either side - but it isn’t her. It is Imelda.

And she’s sent him pictures.

For a moment or two Ernesto stares down at the screen as though not comprehending, glass still at his mouth. He can see Héctor; he can see lingerie; his brain, however, is momentarily refusing to put the two things together into a single image for him to elaborate.

Then it does, and the beer he was about to swallow comes out of his nose in a sudden, foamy stream.

“Hey, Ernesto!”

“What is it?”

“Are you all right?”

“I-- ack! I--” Ernesto stands suddenly, dropping the glass, phone still held tightly in his hand. He coughs and wheezes, which doesn’t give the words he manages to choke out - I’m fine - the barest semblance of credibility. His head is reeling, he cannot breathe, he’s sticky with beer… and the images are still before his eyes, as though imprinted in his retinas.

“Whoa, easy there!” there is a relieved laugh, a hand on his shoulder. “Need a towel and some wat--”

“Toilet,” Ernesto croaks. He must be growing redder by the second now, his face unberably hot… and not just his face. He’s got a problem there, one he needs to take care of before it becomes too obvious - which will likely happen any moment now, since he had the brilliant idea to put on such tight trousers. “L-lo siento, I need-- restroom-- just a minute.”

Thank God no one argues, and he’s able to stumble his way to the toilet. By the time he gets there he’s painfully hard, Christ, he can’t remember getting this hard so quickly since he was eighteen, but no one noticed the bulge at and so all is fine, he can take care of it and walk back out laughing with an excuse - maybe something about his last meal being just a bit more than a human being can handle.

Then he will march out of here, and he’ll strangle Imelda or die trying. For now he settles for gripping something else entirely, though not tight enough to cause harm, thank you so very much. With a grimace, Ernesto begins to stroke himself… and just then the phone bleeps again.

He shouldn’t look; it goes against his best judgment. But then again, what harm can it do him now? He’s already in a toilet stall, taking care of the problem - may as well see what else that bruja has sent him. So he grits his teeth, squeezes the head of his cock, and lifts the phone to his eyes.

From the screen, a scowling Imelda is staring straight at him, her middle finger raised. In the background, he can see Héctor sitting on the bed, taking off what looks like a pair of stockings, caught in mid-laugh. Below the pictures, there are only a few words.

Who’s missing out now, pendejo?

There is a rush of something that Ernesto mistakes for anger, and his grip on the phone tightens - as does that of his other hand on his cock. It was Héctor’s pictures to reduce him in this state but now, as he finishes, he’s scowling back at Imelda.

And telling himself that, somehow, he’ll make her pay.

***

“Let me get this straight. You called me to ask if I’m going to pose for pictures? And here I thought you were up for a fuck.”

“Well, that too.”

“What’s with the sudden interest in taking photos of women in lingerie?”

“You could say it’s an artistic pursuit.”

“Ernesto?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

All right, so maybe Sofía knows him too well by now. Ernesto sighs. “Well… uh…”

“... Wait a minute. Are you trying to make somebody jealous?”

“Wha-- no!”

“You are!”

“I am not!”

“And who is it? Was it the same one you wanted to impress with your absolutely non-existent culinary skills?”

“I wasn’t trying to impress anyone!”

“Oh, please. There is always someone you’re trying to impress. Fans, friends, flings, the old lady next door, the mirror…”

Ernesto snorts. “Fine, fine. Let’s say there is someone I’m trying to get back to--”

“Good luck.”

“I need your help.”

“You’re not seriously expecting me to-- I don’t even have much lingerie. I don’t see why anyone should bother. If someone gets to see my underwear at all, chances are it won’t stay on for another minute.”

All right, that is a logic Ernesto can’t really argue with. “Naked, then? You look great naked.”

“I’ve heard you bullshitting better compliments than this one, but nice try. I’m not posing naked for pictures you’re going to share with your crush. Are you drunk?”

“My wha-- I don’t have a-- all right, a little drunk, but that is entirely beside the point. Will you let me--”

Click.

“... I’ll take that as a no.”

***

“No.”

Of course, that is just about the answer Héctor was expecting - and the same he already got from Imelda, too. Neither of them has any interest in trying to sing in a duet again, and maaaybe that attempt has been just a bit too rash from Héctor’s part. He should have given it more time.

“Are you sure? I think you could sound great together, if you just work a little on--”

“I don’t need to work on anything. She’s the one who’s nowhere near my level!”

“-- on your teamwork.”

That causes Ernesto to scoff, glaring down at his phone. Throughout the whole lunch, he’s hardly looked up from it and hasn’t looked at him in the eye once. When Héctor glanced over, he seemed to be scrolling through some amazingly useless dog toys and gadgets; he’s not sure he wants to know how much money his best friend has been spending on the four pups who, after a few attempts at nipping the waiter’s ankles, are currently snoozing under the table.

“We are a team,” Ernesto is gritting out. “Me and you. A great team. She has no part in it.”

Héctor rolls his eyes, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand. “Still mad about those photos?”

Ernesto stiffens before shrugging. “What photos?” he asks, and he even sounds convincing.

Except that Héctor knows him too well. He grins. “I bet you didn’t delete them.”

“Shut up.”

“To be fair, you started it. Just admit we outdid you. If you’d like to be in the next photoshoot--”

“Shut. Up,” Ernesto snarls. Héctor grins.

“Oh, come on. I didn’t pout like that when you went wild with that vibrator.”

“I didn’t go wild,” Ernesto protests, but his scowl is fading into amusement. “My finger slipped on the remote a few more times than it was supposed to.”

“A few more times.”

“All right, a lot.”

“Slipped.”

Ernesto rolls his eyes. “Stop it. I showed your wife how it’s done. And you creamed your pants.”

“And so did you when you got those pics, I bet.”

“No.”

“Oh?”

“... I made it to a toilet,” Ernesto grumbles, then scowls again. “And anyway, that time you got your revenge the following week.”

“And you enjoyed it.”

He doesn’t argue that point. “I still think the handcuffs and costume were entirely unnecessary.”

“Are you kidding? Those were an integral part of the scene. And I'd been looking for an excuse to borrow it from Imelda.”

“Unnecessary. And so was your wife taking pictures!”

“Which you asked to be sent later,” Héctor reminds him. Ernesto has the good grace to blush.

“That is beside the-- the--” he sputters. “What point are you trying to make?”

Héctor shrugs, glancing around to make sure no one is close enough to listen, and reaches to play with an ice cub that was left in his glass. “Well, Imelda had an idea for something...”

He tells him what she has in mind, in good detail. Ernesto turns crimson, sputters indignantly, snaps that they must be out of their mind and that he’ll never submit to such indignity. Héctor smiles, shrugs, and says it’s all right, he’ll never bring it up again. And he doesn’t; he acts as normal, and waits.

Within a week, he gets exactly the text he’d been expecting.

***

“I’m not saying yes.”

“Of course.”

“We got it the first seven times.”

“Good, just so we’re clear. I’m-- enquiring.”

“Clearly,” Imelda says, sounding perfectly serious, and takes the coffee to her mouth. From his seat, Héctor can see her lips curling in a smirk behind the cup for just a moment. “So, enquire away. Which part of the whole scenario confuses you?”

“Well…” Ernesto starts, then pauses, clearly at a loss, before clearing his throat and letting his expression fall into indifference. He looks perfectly in control: his shirt is spotless, his hair carefully styled… but there are dark shadows under his eyes that bespoke of at least a couple of sleepless nights. Héctor wonders if he’s dreamed the scenario. They have tied him up on a couple of occasions, yes, but this would go quite a bit further.

“For one… er…” Ernesto is saying slowly. “The binds are going-- would be safe, right? Not that I can’t take it, of course, but I sort of needs these hands to play…” he says, glancing at Héctor.

He shrugs and holds up his hands, flexing his fingers. “Perfectly safe. No damage to these hands, is there?” he says, and smiles. “Safe, sane and consensual, no?”

Ernesto stares at his hands for a couple of moments, maybe trying to imagine them bound, before looking away. “Right,” he mutters, and takes another sip of coffee, seemingly very interested in a specific spot on their kitchen table. “The ginger thing - what is it about?”

Imelda smiles a little. “Oh, that. It causes burning.”

“What?”

“With no damage. It’s perfectly safe. You’ll only feel the burn.”

“You mean I would feel the burn,” Ernesto corrects her quickly. “I’m not saying yes.”

“... Right. Anything else?”

“That with-- the rod, and--” he pauses, and swallows. His attempt of seeming at ease is less and less believable. “I’d be able to stop it any moment. Of course.” Another pause. “... Right?”

Imelda nods. “Of course. We’ll agree on a safeword. You say it, and everything stops,” she says, and tilts her head on one side. “You’ve never done anything like this, have you?”

There is no trace of mockery in her voice - this is too serious not to be perfectly straightforward about; if this is to go on, they all need to be on the same page - but Ernesto seems to take it as such, and he suddenly seems flustered at the suggestion he has absolutely no experience while they do.

“Of course I have!” he protests. “I was just… making sure.”

Imelda raises an eyebrow. “So, you know how all of this works.”

A scoff. “Of course I do. I know everything,” he snaps.

It is a lie, one Ernesto will regret telling. Neither Héctor nor Imelda question it.

They will regret that, too.

***

[Back to Part 6]

[On to Part 8]

#pixar coco #hector rivera #imelda rivera #ernesto de la cruz #coco #mind the gap

15 notes · View notes

paladin-kai · 6 years

Text

I put this in the tags of the cute art with hunk delivering his wrapped-up burritos with kosmo but i’m really into it now, so:

#this was so practical. i loved it #i needed 500% more road trip practicalities #in the show #i couldve watched three seasons of them just figuring out #how to live in their lions and going thru a bunch of road trip tropes and bonding moments and finding ways to kill time

space wolf transporting everyone into black for their weekly m&m games (keith pretends not to care but actually ends up getting really intensely into it and secretly looks forward to every time they play)

hunk trying to teach romelle and allura and coran how to cook earth-style food, and they in turn try to teach hunk some classic altean dishes to mix up everyone’s menu as the months go by

UGH can you imagine it’s like, hunk’s birthday at some point and they’re so low on food supplies that they realize they can’t make a proper cake for him, but all of them try to come up with various solutions and they just end up making this giant mess of a thing that tastes and looks terrible and hunk cracks up over it

pidge and lance staying up late to play video games in green, going mad because they cannot get past this one boss level

coran and allura doing various small maintenances on the lions, coming to terms and healing over all that’s physically left of their altean roots

romelle doesn’t know how to act around shiro at first, but they both have bad nightmares that they don’t want to talk about, so sometimes they’ll both be awake when no one else is, just sitting alone in their lion’s cockpits, and shiro will make tea and have kosmo bring some to romelle and that’s how she gets comfortable with him.

pit stops on various minor planets to gather supplies and sight see!

like, stopping at dingy alien pubs and bustling street markets where they can stay off the grid and not draw too much attention to themselves

and buy NEW CLOTHES. omg outfit changes?? can you imagine lance trying to help keith shop for clothes, i mean

speaking of, did allura grab her fancy diplomatic dress from the castle?? i’m pretending she didn’t, and at one point she falls in love with a fancy new dress while they’re out shopping, but the shop owner is rude to her or something so she leaves heartbroken, and the paladins surprise her later on by revealing they bought the dress for her anyway, oh my heart.

omg what if one of the offbeat towns they stop at has a voltron play like in atla??? COME ON

if anyone ever gets really sick, they’re allowed a whole lion to themselves to rest in peace and quiet, and everyone takes turns checking in on them and bringing them warm compresses and soup.

whenever they all get cabin fever shiro makes them get in their space armor and fly around outside their lions for a while

music playing through their shared comm systems, of course

allura trying to get keith to let her give him a haircut. everyone else lets her give them trims except frickin keith and it drives her nuts

romelle makes lance teach her some fighting moves, which his ego goes crazy over

krolia sneaks some hard drinks aboard and convinces shiro to get in on a binge with her late one night and they both get a little too drunk and lost in reminiscing and try to hide their hangovers the next day

keith insists everyone get up early to run drills and then accidentally sleeps in one time and no one ever lets it down

i can imagine a bunch of them always wanting to stop and provide help to whoever needs it, but their side missions keep slowing them down on getting back to earth and that causes tension and differences in opinions amongst them

allura pierces romelle’s ears parent-trap style

every few weeks, like once everyone is impossibly rank, they have to find some sort of planet with public showers or a river or whatever and everyone has private bathing time, but it’s always a group effort to wash all their clothes and the animals, and everyone is always in a much better mood afterwards

coran tries to get everyone to do yoga with him

i can literally go on forever.

#voltron s7 #i'll try to think of more later

18 notes · View notes

philosophiums · 7 years

Text

@requiemofkings‘ super painful art got me thinking, and that’s never a good thing, so here’s the scene in question and there’s probably going to be a fic that comes out of this but honestly who knows with me, am i right? anyway this is almost 3k and probably the longest “short” fic I’ve written so yeah >_>

Andrew nudges Neil into their room and watches him shuffle inside, appearing a good bit drunk without a drop in him. “The next time you want to risk endangering the mission,” Andrew says once the door is closed and the lock has been slid home, “leave me out of it.” He arms their security system, the pocket-sized one that Renee insists gives them a perimeter of the room’s exact boundaries. Andrew believes her, but Neil is low-tech, so Andrew sets the far cheaper early-warning system of a string, a crowbar, and a bell as well before backing away from the door.

Neil scoffs, the drunk act dropped, and Andrew turns to find him already shucking off his tie, working out of his grey jacket. “Please. You’d be bored if I wasn’t constantly keeping you on your toes.” Neil finally discards the thin outerwear, and he’s left standing in just the black button-up and trousers. Andrew never liked the color on him.

“Bored but alive,” Andrew says, stepping forward to start undoing the buttons of Neil’s shirt. Inch by inch, scarred flesh opens up to him, ending too soon when Andrew tugs the shirt free of Neil’s waistband.

The soft hum that slips from Neil is just as soothing as the man’s fingers skimming Andrew’s throat before working at undoing his tie. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Andrew settles a glare on the idiot, but Neil doesn’t meet his gaze, focused on his own long fingers and the path they sear down Andrew’s front as they undo each button with an artist’s precision.

“I hate it when you flirt on the job.” Andrew’s throat is tight despite the shedding of his tie and the loosening of his collar.

It doesn’t seem to be any sort of a problem for Neil. “Makes information easier to come by. And she was touch-starved and lonely; I was barely even flirting.”

Reading between Neil’s thin lines is so easy now that it should be terrifying, but Andrew only ever finds himself at ease for his efforts. “It’s not a job requirement, Neil.”

“Is that why you’re in a mood?” Neil asks, pushing Andrew’s shirt from his shoulders and finally meeting his eyes. “It’s not as if it wasn’t consensual; I was the one who initiated.”

Andrew meets Neil’s gaze unwaveringly, and sighs when he sees only Neil’s usual brand of honesty. He hates that Neil knows him so well, just the same way that he hates how well he knows Neil. Getting so close to someone is dangerous, opens them to the risk of loss and the blindness of revenge. Andrew got in this business to get away from those ghosts, but they’ve found him anyway. He calls Neil the murder magnet, but it’s… possible that it’s the both of them. “I’m going to start bringing a thesaurus with me and beating you with it,” Andrew says, running his hands along Neil’s torso one last time before stepping away. “Maybe that will finally get through your thick skull.”

Neil blinks at him, three shades of confused, but he just shakes his head and undresses the rest of the way, trading out dress clothes for a blue t-shirt and skinny jeans. Andrew tugs on his skin-tight sleeveless shirt that gives him maximum movement and watches the hunger that engulfs Neil’s gaze. As soon as they’re someplace safe, Andrew’s going to bury himself in Neil and not emerge for hours. With this part of the mission wrapped up, they should be back at home in under three hours. They can both wait that long, even if Andrew could use an adrenaline fuck right now.

The sultry way Neil walks up to Andrew and reaches out to play with his piercing doesn’t help, either. But Andrew is nothing if not a vice of control, so all he does is kiss the inside of Neil’s wrist with a promise of later, and steps away to start packing.

‘Will you two stop flirting and just get out of there?’ Kevin’s voice hisses through Andrew’s ear piece. His scowl must alert Neil, because the other man narrows his eyes and taps at his own ear in question. Neil doesn’t wear an ear piece, considers them distracting and doesn’t see a need for one when Andrew is so good at relaying the messages to him. Fucking bastard.

Andrew nods and mouths ‘Kevin,’ and Neil rolls his eyes in response. “Tell him to shut the fuck up and leave us alone.”

Kevin huffs, because the microphones on these are expensive and sensitive. ‘Well you can tell him –’

“I’m not a carrier pigeon,” Andrew snaps, clicking shut the suitcase with his and Neil’s clothes. “Is there something that you wanted, Day, or are you just trying to live vicariously through us again?”

Even Neil winces at that. Maybe it was a low blow – so what? Kevin should know better than to interrupt them for something pointless.

The other end of the earpiece is silent for a while, and in that silence Neil and Andrew pace through the room, picking up anything that could be used against them and stuffing it into Andrew’s shoulder bag. Normally their gear is larger and a hell of a lot more practical, but they run less on necessity when they’re meant to be playing a part. Middle-class businessmen don’t typically carry utility backpacks, which is their loss, really.

When the line picks up again, sound pitching into a burdened sigh, the voice on the other end is Boyd’s. ‘We just wanted to let you both know that the target is off the premises and the tracker is working. You’re clear to leave.’

“Excellent, thank you for getting to the point. We’ll be on the street in ten or less.” The finality in Andrew’s voice keeps Matt from saying anything else, and he and Neil can finish cleaning up in piece. “Start taking down the perimeter and I’ll do a final sweep,” Andrew directs at his lover, ignoring Neil’s rebuttal muttering about Andrew not being the boss of him. The man can be such a child, really.

Andrew takes a step and glass shatters, so loud that Andrew thinks he must have stepped on something – a shot-sized bottle of liquor, maybe, or one of the glass crystals that fill the flower vase on the vanity to his left. But the dull thud that follows isn’t his doing, can’t be explained away by something like that.

“Andrew.”

No. No. He knows what he’s going to see before he turns, but he’s never ready to see Neil bleeding, arm pressed across his abdomen, blood weeping from between tense fingers and white knuckles. “Boyd!” Andrew shouts, and rushes across the room to grab Neil before his weak knees send him crashing to the floor. “Neil – 10’s been hit. We’re compromised.”

‘What? 03, repeat that.’

“I said we’re fucking compromised,” Andrew snaps, hooking Neil’s arm over his shoulder and yanking him out of the way as another bullet rips into the room, shattering the mirror above the vanity. Andrew watches a single petal fall off of a white rose, and then he moves.

He props Neil against the wall and tells him to stay with a hard shove to his chest. It’s a quick dive across the room to where his shoulder bag is propped on a chair, and he snags it and hits the ground rolling, hiding himself behind the bed and barely misses a third bullet. He watches it shatter into the back of the chair and then glances at Neil and the mirror, connecting the three impacts together. “They’re using 5.56 NATO rounds,” he says, voice too loud in the anticipation of death hanging in the room, but far too quiet after the escape of a bullet. “Who the fuck are these guys?”

‘Amateurs? Or just trying to throw you off?’

“Not my fucking job, 04. Earn your own keep,” Andrew says, propping his feet under his body and propelling himself forward. He’s not as lucky this time, and the round grazes his shoulder, but he catches himself against the wall next to Neil.

“They’re using… an M4?” he asks, swallowing thickly, his head tipped back and blue eyes barely open. “Fucking… why?”

Andrew rips a bandage out of his bag. He can’t answer Neil’s question, but he knows at least what’s going on. “Flushing us out,” he says. They can’t stay here forever. “It is interesting that they don’t seem to want us dead.”

Neil snorts, and Andrew uses the distraction to shove Neil’s hand out of the way and slap the bandage on. Neil muffles a curse and a shout into the fleshy part of his thumb, teeth flashing white but not drawing any of their own blood. The bandage isn’t going to do much in the long run, might barely hold until they can get onto the street, but that’s all Andrew needs. Though a miracle and a hospital would be appreciated.

“I… hate you… sometimes,” Neil grits, his hand dropping to rest in Andrew’s hair. “Too… god damn calm. Always make… makes me think I’m about to die.”

Andrew stands up and presses Neil’s hand back to his side. There isn’t an exit wound, so the bullet is still inside of him, and Andrew knows exactly how much pain Neil’s in right now. “Someone has to keep a level head. It’s not my fault that you never think things through and only have yourself to use as a comparison.”

“…asshole,” Neil mutters, but he meets Andrew’s lips in a quick kiss anyway.

Andrew presses Neil’s Walther compact into his hand. “Shoot if you can, otherwise stay on me.”

“Oooh you wish,” Neil says, sarcasm and insinuations heavy in his tone, but his eyes are hard and flat, pinched in determination as he pushes away from the wall. His first step is wobbly, but Andrew waits, and his second step is much more solid. It’ll be slow going, but barring any further – yeah, no, they’re not that lucky.

“If I have to carry you out of here, I’m going to be pissed,” Andrew says, sliding the clip out of his Beretta to shove an extra round into it, at full capacity now with one in the chamber. His knives, as always, are tucked into his armbands, just waiting for the moment they inevitably get their taste of blood. Neil’s the faster, better shot, so with him down, the knives are going to see more use than they usually do.

’09 says to press the yellow button on the alarm system and then get the hell out.’

“I remember,” Andrew says. He adjusts his bag over his shoulder, making sure that the strap is tight so that he won’t lose it. Renee is good at her job – the best – but some things Andrew just won’t leave to chance, and hoping that damnable things like engagement rings and DNA will get destroyed is not on his agenda. That’s shit he needs to be sure about, to keep Neil safe. He glares at Neil with his hand hovering over the alarm. “Say. On. Me.” And then he presses the button and jerks open the door.

It’s chaos from the first second. The shooter across the street was a flusher and a distraction, keeping them occupied long enough to get the other men closer. Andrew gets off one shot and Neil two before they’re surrounded. Andrew discharges his clip and throws his gun and doesn’t miss it, following the distraction with a lunge and a jerk of his knife. There’s a rush of blood and then nothing. Neil shouts and Andrew’s worldview narrows, back to the idiot with the bright red hair and those stupid blue eyes. The idiot who blocks a knife and fires a shot, nearly killing Andrew’s hearing. But it incapacitates everyone else, too.

Andrew becomes a ghost as he works his way back to Neil, ripping his way through the men who become bodies. Neil shouts again, gesturing, but Andrew just hooks an arm around Neil’s waist and yanks him away from the room rigged to blow.

They wasted too much time.

Not even to the elevators yet, the explosion knocks them off their feet, sending them careening into the wall, falling hard to the floor. Andrew drags his body over Neil’s, protecting him from the anger of the survivors, the shouts and the bullets that Neil blindly returns their way.

“They’re definitely trying to kill us now,” Neil says, blood in his mouth that makes his words thick and unpleasant.

Andrew rolls off of him and helps him to his feet, steadying him when he sways. “Maybe,” Andrew says, assessing the damage. He doesn’t want to tell Neil what he really thinks, not right now. It can wait until they’re safe, until the martyr can’t do anything about it.

“Are you a whetting stone now?” Neil teases, his way of bitching about all of Andrew’s blood soaking into him when he drapes his arm around Neil. Andrew says nothing, just tightens his hold and gets them moving. “Maybe if you hadn’t thrown your fucking gun at them…”

“I don’t need a lecture from you, mister I-don’t-wear-a-comm.-piece-or-carry-more-than-four-weapons-at-any-one-time.” Andrew leans around the corner of the stairwell and starts them down, not trusting the elevator to still be the fastest way out of here.

Neil snorts, but it’s followed with a cough, and it sounds rough and wet and painful. “I don’t need more than four, because I don’t throw perfectly good side arms at the enemy.”

“I hate you,” Andrew says. He supports nearly all of Neil’s weight as they move down the stairs, Neil somehow still gripping his gun, three bullets down and seven left to go. Andrew still has all five knives, his longest one ready in his hand, and his own compact holstered to his thigh. They had to come into this mission light, what with their covers to uphold, and he’s regretting it now. Better to have and not need than to need and not have.

He’s going to kill Wymack.

They’re just about to the ground floor when Neil stumbles and Andrew nearly loses his hold. “Not good,” Neil whispers, looking down at the bullet wound. Andrew follows his gaze, finds blood flowing freely through the bandage, and curses colorfully enough to get Boyd’s attention.

‘What?’

“You better have a getaway car, that’s what,” Andrew says, steadying Neil against the wall. They can’t stay here long, need to get out before the opposing side catches up with them, but they both need to breathe.

‘How bad is he?’

Andrew’s jaw clenches tight enough to hurt, tight enough that Neil notices and rests his palm against Andrew’s cheek until he relaxes. “You know just as well as I do that 5.56 NATOs have a tendency to yaw in soft flesh. He’s running on borrowed time.” Andrew meets Neil’s gaze when he says the last part, and Neil nods because he knows. Neil doesn’t have the encyclopedia of knowledge in his head the way Andrew does, but it’s his body. Anyone else would have passed out by now. Andrew isn’t ashamed to count himself in those numbers.

‘Fuck. 01’s working on it. Give us time.’

“We don’t have any more of that to give you,” Andrew says, nodding once at Neil before tugging him back into the shelter of his arms and taking them down the stairs.

The main level of the hotel looks… normal. Andrew feels filthy walking across the lobby with so much blood dripping a damning trail onto the floor, Neil stumbling beside him, tucked into Andrew’s side.

Someone screams, but Andrew doesn’t have time for them. Someone else yells to call 911, and Neil huffs out something that might be a laugh or might be ‘useless civilians,’ but he’s fading fast and Andrew’s ears are still ringing from all of the close-quarter shooting.

The moment they step out onto the street, they’re target practice again. Andrew snarls and jerks Neil along with him as he runs to the side, ignoring a bullet that plants itself in his thigh and just keeps dragging Neil and shielding him until they’re around the side of the building. Andrew collapses against the smooth brick, holding Neil against his chest.

A bullet buries itself in the wall opposite them, but it’s obvious that whoever is shooting at them wasn’t prepared for Andrew and Neil to run down the street. The safe thing would have been to stumble back into the lobby, but they would have been trapped there.

Neil’s breath stutters in wet rasps against the column of Andrew’s neck, and the weight of him is shaking against Andrew’s chest. “Hang in there, 10,” Andrew says, thumb brushing over Neil’s spine. He hates calling Neil by his number, but names are traceable. Numbers mean nothing.

The forced huff that follows is definitely a laugh this time, sardonic though it may be. “C-can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Andrew says. Neil has survived worse, Andrew thinks. Neil has survived so many fucking horrors; he refuses to let a stupid anonymous bullet take him out.

’03, where are you?’

“Surrounded,” is Andrew’s immediate response to his twin’s voice, but sarcasm isn’t going to get Neil to a hospital. “North. Around the side of the hotel. That bastard with the M4 is shooting at us, and there’re three people on the –”

He stops talking to the feel of Neil’s body slumping, going completely boneless in a fight against Andrew’s strength to hold him up. There’s no hiss of breath against Andrew’s skin, no twitch of a hand gripping the back of his shirt.

“Neil?”

But it’s just Neil’s death and the drip of his blood onto Andrew’s boot echoing in the emptiness of the alley.

#the foxhole court #andreil #spy au #espionage au #tfc #fn #mine #my writing #god i'm literally vibrating y'all #i already know how i'm going to write this fic #or at least the first part of it #i have a need #if anyone wants the rest of it let me know #i live for validation and encouragement #my fics

678 notes · View notes

edh-a-to-z · 6 years

Text

17 - Anax and Cymede

LORE:

Go tell the Spartans. It’s time to abuse the Heroic mechanic.

Anax and Cymede are the King and Queen of Akroas, AKA Theros version of Sparta. Except with less slavery and more noble warrior stuff.

From here:

Anax is a burly man in his late 40s, once a follower of Iroas. In his later years he has turned to Purphoros as he steers his people through the creation of a small empire. This shift is reflected in the trend in art now seen from Akroan artisans. Swords and armor are now decorated. Pottery, clothing, wall paintings, and weaving show ancient Akroan patterns and symbolism handed down for generations. To his people, Anax is a great leader to be followed without question. To other poleis, he is known as a skilled tactician and heartless killer.

Cymede worships Keranos primarily. She is a skilled warrior but a more powerful seer. Having herself been struck by lightning and given a glimpse of the future, Cymede is seen by some as being partly responsible for her husband's effectiveness as king. Cymede is beginning to become aware of the power of godly creatures such as nymphs. She has seen abstract glimpses of their power and feels the gods are bestowing gifts on the faithful. Because of this, the cult of Keranos is gaining a foothold in the Kolophon. Cymede has even had a special temple built on a distant mountain summit where the storms are particularly severe. During the storm season, she visits there, meditating on a silver platform.

THE CARD:

Though it takes a bit jumping through a hoop, Anax and Cymede offer something rather rare in Boros colors - Trample.

The card is also pretty solid for a 3 drop - First Strike and Vigilance are great on a 3/2 three drop, and the aforementioned buff will be how we win.

BUILDS:

We want to abuse Anax and Cymede’s Heroic ability. For that, we need combat tricks, Auras that can be cast multiple times, and the ability to go wide. And we need them to stay alive.

Luckily, we’re in Boros colors. We have plenty of cheap and effective combat tricks and auras that we couldn’t use elsewhere. We’ll have plenty of tokens, and we’ll use an equipment fetching tech to keep out commander alive.

This deck is also super budget. The basic version can be done for under $100 (probably lower, but I’m not in the mood for math), and can be easily upgraded.

BATTLE PLAN:

We want things that work like Heroic (Anax and Cymede plus the best of the Heroic cards).

Then we want things that target - multi targeting cards with Strive, Enchantments that can bounce to hand and target again, anything to activate heroic. Then, we need to make use of A&C’s ability - we need to go wide. Lots and lots of tokens to throw at the enemy, that get buffed and have trample.

Akroan Crusader, by Johann Bodin

First we want Akroan Crusader, Akroan Conscriptor, Akroan Line-Breaker, Dawnbringer Charioteers, Fabled Hero, Favored Hoplite, Hero of Iroas, Leonin Iconoclast, Phalanx Leader, Tethmos High Priest, and Vanguard of Brimaz are all great Heroic choices (most of the remaining just have some +1/+1 counter syngery, which is a little underwhelming).

We also want Mirrorwing Dragon and Zada, Hedron Grinder. We cast battle tricks and buffs on them, and they copy it for the whole team.

EDIT: Whoops! Looks like I got that wrong, the copies Mirrorwing and Zada make won’t trigger Heroic for your whole team, as Heroic works on a casting trigger, not just being the target. They’re still amazing cards to play with since we’re running this many combat tricks, so try them out! Thanks for the catch, @imadrewid!

For spells we want two groups: reusable enchantments, and combat tricks that can target multiple creatures (alternatively, you can just do single targets with the desire to hit Anax and Cymede and nothing else).

I wish this card wasn’t 10 dollars. - R Angelic Destiny, by Jana Schirmer & Johannes Voss

Conviction, Crown of Flames, Flickering Ward, Ghitu Firebreathing, Mark of Fury, and Sun Clasp are all enchantments that can be cast more than once. They’re all super cheap, and if you have more money to burn, there’s Angelic Destiny and Eldrazi Conscription.

Next, we have the instants and sorceries. We want the best of the Strive cards, plus some fun combat tricks, preferably ones that replace themselves or hit multiple targets.

Ajani’s Presence, Desperate Stand, Launch the Fleet, Phalanx Formation, Rouse the Mob, and Twinflame are some of my favorite instants. Check here for some more ideas.

C’mon guys, we’re almost at Arbys! Launch the Fleet, by Karl Kopinski

Finally, we need an army. Any token generators, especially ones that make multiples or can do it repeatedly, are great choices. We already have Akroan Crusader and Vanguard of Brimaaz, and there’s Assemble the Legion, Hanweir Garrison (don’t forget Hanweir Battlements too!), Captain of the Watch, Hero of Bladehold, Monastery Mentor, and Sram’s Expertise. There are more, but these are my favorites.

THE REST:

If the deck has one weakness, it’s the Boros color’s aggro - weak draw. We can make up for this with a few cards.

We also want to protect Anax and Cymede - our deck is really designed around them not dying. So a basic equipment package is our go-to, so check this out here. Plus, anything that adds hexproof or indestructible are great choices. The Kaldra trio, Darksteel Plate, Mask of Avacyn, Swiftfoor Boots are great equipment.

On the enchantment side of things, try Shielded by Faith, Unquestioned Authority, Indestructible, Spirit Mantle, and Holy Mantle - a mix of Protection from Creatures and Indestructible works great on the battlefield. Add some enchantment tutors to speed things up.

“Alright peasants, this is a sword. Hold it like this” - Mentor Mentor of the Meek, by Jana Schirmer & Johannes Voss

We can draw with the White classic of Mentor of the Meek (given all the tokens we’ll be making). Plus Sram, Senior Artificer works great with our auras that jump around. Also to consider - Mesa Enchantress and Kore Spiritdancer for more draw.

There’s also spell doublers. Chandra, the Firebrand, Dual Casting, Primal Amulet/Wellspring do it on the cheap, and Dualcaster Mage, Fork, Reverberate, Howl of the Horde, Increasing Vengeace are more doublers, but need mana to fire off to make copies. Extra copies is extra heroic triggers. May or may not work with the deck.

There’s always classic Boros Legendaries like Aurelia, Blade of the Legion, Iroas, God of Victory, and Gisela, Blade of Goldnight. I just love having these guys around, and they work in any Boros deck.

WEAKNESSES:

Heavy reliance on the board state leaves us vulnerable to Board Wipes, and Boros colors has a hard time recurring that.

”SCREW YOU, STUPID SWORD!!!” - That guy, probably Disenchant, by Andrew Goldhawk

Defensive measures likes Propaganda or Silent Arbiter hurt our efforts. We need to bring White’s responses of Disenchant, Oblivion Ring effects, and Return to Dust. Plus any artifacts that can do they same are also good.

We can’t wipe the board easily. While Mass Calcify can be an option, the presence of red cards in our deck, plus White creatures potentially being in other players decks, makes this card less reliable than I like. Alternatively, you can run Avacyn, Angel of Hope, Thalia’s Lancers (to tutor her), plus as many Board wipes as you want.

Boros also lags behind in ramp, so add in the normal - Boros Signet/Cluestone/Keyrune are great, as are basic fetches of Evolving Wild and Terramorphic Expanse. Knight of the White Orchid is great, Land Tax, Solemn Simulacrum, Burnished Heart, Weathered Wayfarer all pricey, all great.

Knight of the White Orchid, by Mark Zug

RATINGS:

Control: 4/10

You don’t have a lot of options outside of White’s Hate creatures and Board wipes, but you can’t use the latter whenever you want since you’re married to the board.

With the exception of the Avacyn + board wipes, you’re relying almost 100% on the board, aside from whatever white single target removal you run.

Aggro: 9/10

This deck rewards aggressive behavior, and does it great. With evasion and team buffs, Anax and Cymede go for the throat. The cards I reccommend are heavily influenced by this idea.

Combo Potential: 7/10

Depends what you mean my combo. There’s lots of potential here without insane levels of power. The commander itself has combo synergy, but doesn’t break the game.

Overall Power: 4/10

While a decent choice for EDH, and great in Tiny Leaders, it’s a cEDH Tier 4 leader, and lags behind the pack in most respects. And Boros is the weakest EDH color pair.

Versatility: 6/10

There’s a lot of way to build it for a Boros deck. Not unlimited, but they’re there. Unfortunately they’re all limited to aggro versions.

Affordability: 10/10

This is one of the fiscally cheapest commanders I have covered. Easy manabase, easy mechanic to abuse, a lot of stuff at low rarities.

Overall Score: 40/60

A surprisingly respectable score. Anax and Cymede offer aggressive players a lot to work with, and a lot of room to work in. Plus, cards that work well with them are super-budget, or work excellent in other Boros aggro commander decks.

One of the 99: Decent

While it takes some buildaround to use Heroic, Anax and Cymede have a decent body for a creature, and can add a lot of value to an Aggro Boros build.

FINAL VERDICT:

While a little small, with some work, they make a solid workhorse of a Boros commander. While not a powerhouse, they can hold their own against a lot of decks.

That’s it for now campers! Stay tuned for Angus Mackenzie, Bant god of turbofog decks!

#mtg #edh #edhatoz #commander #theros #anax and cymede #atoz commander

41 notes · View notes

singingisfun · 7 years

Text

Changing Tides - Chapter 19

link to cover art by @otpapprovedbythegods

And here’s a link to an adorable pic of Dopey as a pirate by @clockadile

ff.net: From the beginning - Current Chapter

AO3: From the beginning - Current Chapter

Tumblr: Prologue - Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9-Ch 10 - Ch 11- Ch 12 - Ch 13 - Ch 14 - Ch 15 - Ch 16 - Ch 17 - Ch18

A/N: A big thanks to @optomisticgirl for putting up with my rambling and bringing my back from the ledge when this chapter was pushing me to the brink - and for being an all-around sweetheart as well. You're the best, B!

The Apple and The Brother

To say Killian hadn’t been looking forward to this little excursion would be a vast understatement. He remembers all too well the last time he and Emma visited a tavern, the near suffocating jealousy he’d felt when he’d been forced to watch her sidle up to and flirt with another man. It had been nearly unbearable.

Tonight, however…

Tonight is different. Tonight, she’s throwing him conspiratorial grins and flirtatious winks every chance she gets. Tonight, she’s flittering around the tables with Patricia, moving from man to man, never allowing one to get too familiar.

He’d forgotten that about Jeff and Patricia; how the two of them have perfected this game of intel gathering. There’s been a steady stream of women coming and going from his own table, as well. It’s a bit awe-inspiring the way Jeff manages to dismiss them while still making them feel lucky to have so much as sat with them for a short while. A few pout as they leave, but even those do so with a smile.

There’s still a twinge of jealousy, to be sure – on both sides. Earlier, a particularly overzealous sailor’s hand had wandered over Emma’s backside and he’d nearly seen red. Before he’d been able to move, however, the man’s hand been bent back at an awkward and painful angle, causing Killian to switch from anger to pride at Emma’s quick reflexes. After that, there’d been a lass who had draped herself on his arm and practically crawled into his lap which had had Emma’s eyes flashing until he’d unseated the woman by abruptly standing and excusing himself to the privy.

He smiles to himself as he remembers the quick tryst that little insurrection had spiked, Emma catching him in the back hall and yanking him into a darkened stairwell, her breath hot in his ear when he’d made a jest about her jealousy, “Just remember who you’re dealing with, Hook. If I were jealous, the place would be full of toads by now.” His resulting chuckle had been swallowed by her mouth, and when she’d teased him back about his own jealousy, he had pointed out swiftly that, “All the bastards are still alive, aren’t they?”

Yes, tonight is very different than their last excursion, the jovial atmosphere of the tavern and the obvious enjoyment Emma is taking from their mission turning the evening into a singularly entertaining experience.

It helps having Jeff at his side again, his boisterous behavior and outgoing personality making it feel almost like a celebration. It’s clear he and his family will be able to stay in Portsmouth and, as such, Jeff seems determined to relish their last evening together. It’s a bit bittersweet when Killian thinks about it. It could be Captain Hook’s last night of revelry with his original first mate, and Killian can’t deny he wants to enjoy it as much as possible. So he orders another bottle of rum from Phoebe (who has now recovered from seeing him and Jeff together - her eyes had nearly popped out of her head when they’d walked in) and even pours her a drink when she delivers it.

He’s tempted to buy a round for the whole bloody tavern.

And that’s another thing that has leant to his good mood. He’s still receiving distrustful looks but not nearly as many as he usually gets and he admits to himself that it does lift a bit of the weight from his chest. He’s not sure why people seem less anxious around him, whether some of them believe he and The Hatter truly are partners or if it’s just the fact that he’s now squarely in the corner of being a common enemy of Regina’s, but the patrons around him are looking at him with more curiosity than fear.

He's just won a round of dice against Jeff, lifting his glass of rum to toast his victory when something catches his eye. The glass nearly slips from his fingers and he gapes at the sight, all the air in his lungs releasing in a rush. As he starts to rise, he hears Jeff breathe out an awed but harsh curse, immediately followed by a curt dismissal to the ladies presently sitting with them, then Jeff is rising, too. The blood pumping through Killian’s veins makes his head light as he watches the new arrival study the room, terror crawling up his chest. His eyes fly to Emma to find her engrossed in conversation with the sailor she’s next to, oblivious of what’s unfolding mere feet away. He’s tempted to call out to her, to tell her to run, but he doesn’t. She’s safe in disguise. The thought of which reminds Killian that he’s not – and neither is Jeff – not when it comes to the person across the room. He reaches for his friend, but it’s too late – the man’s eyes have made it to their corner of the tavern and the moment they land on his own, they widen with recognition.

K&EK&EK&E

An uneasy feeling spikes in Emma’s stomach as she lowers her glass and her eyes immediately seek out Killian. As soon as they land on him she freezes, alarm jolting through her system. He’s staring at something off to the side that she can’t see, his eyes wide in disbelief. His posture screams danger and Emma grasps Patricia’s hand, slowly rising to her feet. It doesn’t take Patricia long to see what Emma does and they move as one across the tavern, trying to casually make their way around the obstacles that have their view blocked to whatever Killian and Jeff are so captivated by. She stares a hole into the side of Killian’s head as she goes, trying to get him to look at her, to give her some indication of what’s happening but his eyes stay resolutely on the same spot. The fact that he won’t even flick his eyes in her direction is a message in and of itself, and when the subject of their attention finally comes into view – a dark green cloak and chestnut hair – Emma immediately realizes why.

She comes to an abrupt halt and Patricia nearly crashes into her. “What’s happening?” she whispers. “Who is that?”

Emma doesn’t answer right away, the implications of his sudden appearance racing through her brain. She can feel each breath she takes, every one of them more labored than the last as those implications become more dire in her swirling thoughts. He’s already seen Killian. There’s no way he doesn’t recognize him – which is exactly why Killian won’t look at her. He’s not going to risk drawing attention to her and, in a flash of clarity, it hits her that standing here staring is not the smartest thing. So she turns away and pulls Patricia toward two empty chairs at the bar, situating herself so that she can inconspicuously watch the scene by looking over Patricia’s shoulder.

“What’s happening?” Patricia asks again.

“It’s just been discovered who Captain Hook really is,” Emma whispers back, “and it may now be impossible to keep it from the Evil Queen.”

Patricia’s face blanches. “How? Who is that?” she asks.

“A man I thought was dead,” Emma replies. “The captain of my mother’s personal guard. His name is Graham.”

K&EK&EK&E

Tension hangs thick in the air, so much so that Killian is surprised its weight doesn’t alert the other patrons to the danger in their midst. But none of them seem to notice, the lively music ringing through the room almost a mockery to the gravity of the moment.

Graham now knows who Captain Hook is and while that, in and of itself, is alarming, it’s not the main concern racing through Killian’s brain. The greater concern is why his old friend walked into this bloody tavern in the first place because he obviously wasn’t expecting to find Killian Jones. But was he looking for Captain Hook? Possibly as an assassin? Could he be after The Hatter? Or worse, could the Evil Queen have sent him after Emma?

“Could it be coincidence, do you think?” Jeff asks in a low voice.

Not bloody likely.

The words almost leave his tongue but they stick there when Graham makes a sharp movement, turning to study the other side of the room. He goes back to searching the rest of the establishment and Killian’s stomach clenches, the question as to why the huntsman has suddenly appeared now answered: He’s looking for Emma.

Somehow… Somehow the Evil Queen has discovered that the Swan Princess is in league with Captain Hook.

“It’s not a coincidence,” he replies, “he’s here for Emma.”

“For what reason? To capture her? He’s not even carrying a sword. It makes no sense that she’d send him to capture Emma since she already knows about his heart. It’s not like she’d go anywhere with him willingly.”

No, she wouldn’t. Of course, she wouldn’t. And Graham would know that. And the Evil Queen would know that which means –

Bloody hell.

Which means Graham isn’t the danger. He’s here for another reason… “He’s trying to draw her out.”

Jeff straightens. “He’s bait,” he surmises grimly.

“Yes, which means Regina is here… watching us all.”

As if Graham has overheard their conversation, his eyes suddenly meet Killian’s again and they both freeze. In the periphery of his vision, Killian can see Emma sitting at the bar with Patricia and it takes everything he has not to meet her gaze.

“What do we do?” Jeff asks out of the corner of his mouth.

“We need to move this outside. Whatever Regina is planning, we don’t want it to happen with this many innocent people around.”

“And… Gwen?”

It takes a herculean effort not to look to Emma. “She needs to get back to the Jolly. Make your way to her and give her the message without raising suspicion. I’ll go out the back. Tell her to use the front.”

“What if Regina sees?”

“She can’t watch both of us and I’d be willing to bet she’s more interested in keeping an eye on me.”

Jeff nods nearly imperceptibly and starts moving away. Killian doesn’t waste any time, going in the opposite direction toward the door with the hope of splitting the Evil Queen’s attention as much as possible. He only makes it two steps before his path is blocked, a sultry voice whispering into his ear, “Going somewhere, Captain?”

Too distracted, he doesn’t even bother to look at the woman, simply moving to step around her but she takes the step with him, her fingers closing around his upper arm. It’s then that he drops his eyes to hers and what he sees makes his heart thud against his ribs. He’s seen those eyes before. Once, a long time ago, those eyes looked directly at him. They were embedded in a different face then, but they’re definitely the same eyes. There’s no one else in the realm whose eyes harbor such madness and distain.

“Nature calls, love,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice flippant, “but when I return,” he glances up and down her body, intentionally letting his gaze linger appreciatively, “perhaps you’d allow me to buy you a drink?”

It doesn’t fool her and he’s not surprised. He’s not really trying to fool her so much as he’s trying to buy time for Emma to get out of here. But she pretends to play along – at least for a moment – slowly raising up on her toes to invade his space, her hand moving to his shoulder for leverage.

“Did you really think that would work, Hook?” she purrs into his ear, “Do you really think I’m that gullible?”

His skin crawls from her proximity and he clenches his teeth. His hand is squeezing his sword with a death grip but he doesn’t draw the weapon yet, hoping to move a little further from the crowd before having to do so.

Taking half of a step back, he meets her eyes, “I think you want something from me, love. Otherwise I’d already be dead. And I’d much prefer to discuss whatever it is with an empty bladder and a full stein.”

That makes her chuckle, “Look at the pirate being all civilized,” she chides, her finger running down his chest while those malicious eyes sweep him from head to toe. After a thorough examination, she’s back in his personal space, her hands fisted in collar of his coat and her breath on his lips. “Fine. Let’s sit, shall we?”

She releases him with a smirk, and in one last ditch effort to move this away from the crowd, Killian nods in the direction of the door, “I really should run to the – ” but he’s cut short when his vocal chords contract, the feeling akin to a vice closing around his neck.

“Don’t push your luck, Hook.”

The vice is gone as soon as she’s finished speaking and he gasps in a breath. She’s already walking toward his abandoned table and he raises his hand to his throat, taking advantage of the few seconds her attention is elsewhere to find Emma. She’s standing close to the front door with Patricia, her eyes wide with comprehension. She has obviously surmised just what is going on here and he wants to tell her to run, to leave him and save herself, but just as the thought enters his mind, she shakes her head and nods in the direction of the empty seat at the bar she’d only recently vacated. His eyes flit to Patricia and Jeff as well, only to find them thinking the same thing. Whatever is about to happen here, they’re all staying.

As casually as he can manage, he takes a seat next to the Evil Queen and watches her pour two glasses of rum. Without a word, she hands him one, then clinks the glasses together in toast. He doesn’t even feel the burn of the alcohol as it slides down his throat and when he lowers the glass, she’s studying him over the rim of her own.

“Have we met before, Captain?” she asks as though she’s just now noticed something about him that she finds familiar.

His jaw hardens to the point of aching but he doesn’t even try to disguise it. Instead, he stares her down.

“Aye. We have.”

K&EK&EK&E

Most of it is a disjointed mess, the hazy memories he has of the days in the dungeon after the Evil Queen’s takeover. He was in and out of consciousness from pain and despair, freezing one moment and burning with fever the next. He remembers the foul smell of body odor and bile. He remembers Liam cleaning his wrist, murmuring reassuring words, telling him to rest.

But that day… That day he remembers in perfect detail.

He awakens to the sound of iron creaking, the words, “Get them up,” in a commanding voice ringing through the cell.

Liam shifts behind him and he realizes he must have been sleeping against his brother’s chest. They’re both wrenched to their feet and Killian immediately sways. He feels hot, feverish. He sees the floor rising up to meet him when his legs give out but Liam is there, grabbing his good arm and securing it across his shoulders to keep him from falling.

Then they’re moving. He’s not sure if his feet are actually walking or not but he’s definitely moving. He hears Liam grunt and he tries to help, tries to put one foot in front of the other but it’s no use.

“I’ve got you, sailor,” he hears Liam say. “Don’t try to walk, save your strength.”

He has no strength, he wants to respond – but he doesn’t. He’s gotten a glimpse of the castle corridors and the black knights surrounding them and he refuses to admit weakness in front of them.

They’re ushered into the Great Hall where he sees some men from their ship along with a mixture of other sailors and a few of the castle guards, maybe fifteen men in all. A gasp sounds at their arrival immediately followed by an urgent whisper from Liam to keep quiet. They stand there as others are escorted in and a moment later, he feels a presence on his left. Jefferson wordlessly and gently lifts his left arm to take some of his weight as Graham appears on the other side of Liam.

“They’re looking for him,” he hears Graham whisper.

Killian feels a moment of relief – the king must have escaped – but the relief quickly gives way to confusion when Liam stiffens next to him.

“Do they know what he looks like?” Liam whispers back – which makes no sense at all. Why wouldn’t they know what the king looks like?

“Apparently not,” Graham replies. “Just a vague description. The king and queen were smart to keep them around only those most loyal.”

The conversation is too confusing for Killian to follow in his weakened state and he’s just about to give up on trying when Liam turns him in his arms and shakes him until his eyes open.

“Listen to me, brother. I need to you swear… Swear to me that whatever happens in the next few minutes you won’t say a word.”

The jostling brings Killian’s foggy mind into focus long enough for him to notice that the doors are barred and the black knights have left the room.

“Why? What’s happening?” he asks in sluggish tone.

“Just swear it to me, sailor,” Liam says urgently, shaking him again.

Killian wrinkles his brow and reopens his eyes, doing his best to keep them open this time. He’s never seen Liam so intense and foreboding settles into his chest but he nods anyway, too weak to argue or insist Liam explain further.

“Say it,” Liam demands.

“I swear,” Killian immediately responds in a voice stronger than he feels.

Liam’s eyes leave his to look at Graham and Jefferson in turn, nodding to each of them. Then he looks at the others standing around. “That goes for the lot of you,” he announces in the voice he uses when he captains his ship, “not a word, do you understand?”

The men nod their agreement, many of them placing their right hands over their hearts and responding, “Yes, Captain,” as they do so.

Killian slumps again and Liam and Jefferson turn him so that his weight is shared evenly among the two of them once more. As they wait, Killian does his best to survey the room. It takes some effort, his eyes heavy, but he manages to notice several things.

The tables from the ball are still present, though most of them have been tipped over, but the thrones on the dais seem to be untouched. The banners with the king and queen’s crest are still hanging from the walls but they’re askew and riddled with holes. Rubble litters the floor, pieces of stone from the pillars and wood from the broken tables alongside shattered dishes and discarded wine goblets. There’s a stain of blood a couple of feet in front of him and he remembers vaguely that he’s standing in almost the exact spot where the king had been the last time he saw him. That thought has him giving in to the weakness again, sagging further and letting his head fall.

When the door behind the dais swings open with a loud bang, it startles him out of the near unconscious state he’s drifted back to and, when he looks up, he sees several black knights enter followed by the Evil Queen herself. The men in the room shuffle nervously and Liam turns to the side, subtly positioning himself between Killian and the queen as she comes to stand before the thrones and surveys the room.

“Oh, this won’t do,” she says offhandedly when her eyes land on the banners.

With a wave of her arm the banners behind the thrones disappear to be replaced with new ones, black, trimmed in silver with the crest of a lion.

“Much better,” she announces to no one in particular before turning back. “So, these are the prisoners.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” one of the black knights replies.

Hands on her hips, she paces the dais, taking the time to look at each and every one of them. When her eyes land on him, he holds her gaze, the dark brown not nearly enough to hide the demented evil in her soul. She raises a brow and he feels his jaw tighten, fury boiling in his veins. Her lips quirk into a smile at his defiance before she flicks those insanity-riddled eyes to the next man.

K&EK&EK&E

“I must admit, I’m surprised I don’t remember you. It’s not like me to forget such a handsome face.”

The words call him back to the present but the memory lingers in his mind, his fury so intense that he’s sure she’ll notice. But if she does, she doesn’t let on, her posture casual as she leans back in her chair with a deceptive air of nonchalance.

Doing his best to relax his jaw, he mimics her cool demeanor. “Well, I wasn’t looking my best at the time.”

Regina’s answer is a sly smile but she doesn’t pursue the topic and Killian assumes it’s because she’s simply lumped him into a pile of other countless faces that she’s left bereft over the years. Instead, she gets down to business. “You know why I’m here, of course. Why don’t we make this easy and you just tell me which one she is?”

“Never.”

“I can offer you gold,” she suggests and Killian chuckles.

“I’ve got plenty of gold. A fact you should be well aware of considering how I procured most of it.”

Her eyes flash for an instant – but only an instant – before she sighs in exasperation. “Fine, we can do this the hard way if you’d prefer... In this very crowded tavern... With all these innocent people about.”

The threat is clear and Killian can’t stop his eyes from glancing to the people around him, all of them still blissfully ignorant of what's happening in their midst.

“It would be much easier if you tell me of your own free will.”

His eyes snap back to hers so quickly that she actually looks startled. “Free will?” he asks and even he can hear the sharp accusation dripping from the question. He knows he’s treading on shaky ground but he doesn’t care, the absolute wrath those words invoke too violent to hold his tongue. “Interesting choice of words, Your Majesty.”

K&EK&EK&E

“Well, they are a sad looking lot,” Regina says condescendingly once she’s completed her assessment of each man.

“Do you think he’s here, my Queen?” the knight to her left asks.

The queen takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. “There’s one way to find out,” she replies, “Bring her in.”

There’s a collective gasp from the men when Snow White is escorted into the room, her arms held securely by two black knights and Killian feels some of his strength return as rage fills his chest.

Snow’s eyes scan the men as she’s led to stand before Regina. When she meets his gaze, her step falters and her eyes widen but no one else seems to notice.

“Ah, Snow, darling, what do you think of my new decor?” the Evil Queen asks with delight, waving a hand toward the banners.

Snow glances up and then meets her step-mother’s eyes. “I think they match your black heart,” she replies in a strong voice.

The Evil Queen laughs at that. “Yes, they certainly do,” she agrees with amusement, placing her hands on her hips and turning again to admire her handiwork.

Snow rolls her eyes at the queen’s display of glee. “You didn’t summon me here to discuss interior design, Regina. What is it that you want?”

Regina turns back to Snow, dismissing the knights holding her arms by waving a hand at them. “Oh, I want so many things, my darling Snow… But right now,” the queen’s voice turns hard, “I want to ensure a certain prophecy is thwarted before it has a chance to come to fruition.”

Snow White’s shoulders stiffen for an instant. “What prophecy?” she asks.

“You know what prophecy!” Regina bursts, making everyone except Snow shuffle nervously. Then the Evil Queen immediately turns away to take a calming breath.

Snow’s eyes dart to Liam while the queen isn’t looking and, for the first time, Killian can see fear in them.

“Are you really going to play coy with me? I know you know what I’m talking about. That’s why you’ve kept his identity a secret for so long.” Then, turning back, she adds, “Tell me, is he as handsome as they say?”

Snow White straightens but doesn’t answer.

Regina is undeterred by Snow’s silence. “Ah, I’m sure he is. How could he be anything else to have won the heart of a princess?”

Killian stiffens, realization hitting him hard in the chest: The Evil Queen isn’t looking for King David, she’s looking for him. Liam’s hand closes over his arm in warning, subtly reminding him of the promise he made to keep silent.

Killian averts his eyes to the ground and finds himself studying the blood stain in front of him as he tries to process this information. A prophecy? What prophecy? A thousand questions run through his head but he can’t make sense of them, his mind too foggy with fever. He looks to Liam questioningly but Liam won't meet his gaze, instead simply increasing his grip again and Killian turns back to Snow who is staring Regina down as she says something about a sailor.

“He is a sailor, isn’t he? I’m surprised at you Snow, that you’d give your blessing to your daughter with a commoner, but I suppose I shouldn’t be considering your own ‘prince’ is a simple sheep farmer.”

“That’s rich coming from the granddaughter of a miller,” Snow retorts.

The Evil Queen’s eyes turn murderous at those words. “My father was a KING!” she shouts.

“So was MINE!” Snow immediately responds, “And my mother a QUEEN, not some conniving, opportunist – ” Snow cuts off in the middle of her reply, her hands going to her throat, struggling for breath.

“Be careful what you say about my mother,” Regina hisses, looking absolutely livid, her hand raised in front of her in a way that looks like she’s gripping the queen’s neck.

Several of the prisoners grumble, some even taking a step forward to protect their queen but Regina waves a hand and they stumble back. It’s not until one of the black knights steps forward, voicing a wary, “Your Majesty,” that Regina lowers her arm.

She huffs out a breath. “Thank you, Claude,” she responds, “I nearly forgot why we’re here.”

Snow gulps in air, rubbing at her neck while Regina waits patiently, weaving her fingers together in front of her. Once Snow’s breathing normalizes, Regina speaks again, her voice sounding almost conversational, “As I said, I won’t let this prophecy come to pass. My knights are scouring the kingdom looking for your daughter but there are rumors that her lover didn’t escape. As such, I’ve gathered all the men of the right age from the dungeon. Tell me which one he is and I’ll spare your daughter’s life.”

Snow shakes her head in denial, straightening and letting her hands fall from her throat. “I won’t tell you anything,” she states with finality.

Regina laughs at that. “So this is a secret you think you’ll be able to keep? I find it interesting that when I had a secret, you weren’t so tight-lipped.”

“I find it interesting that you still blame me and defend your mother when we both know – ”

“Enough!” Regina cuts her off, her voice rising again and taking a step in Snow’s direction. “You can tell me what I want to know of your own free will or I will make you tell me!”

Snow White seems completely unimpressed and actually smiles a little at that. “Free will,” she replies thoughtfully. “You know, I remember the last time you gave me the choice to do something of my own free will. Do you remember, Regina? You offered me an apple and told me if I took a bite, you’d let Charming live. You were lying then and you’re lying now. You’ll never let Emma go free. You will hunt her until your dying breath.”

“Perhaps,” Regina replies, her tone slipping into something that makes Killian’s blood run cold. “But you’ll never know. I’ve wanted to crush your heart for a long time, Snow, and I think the time has finally come.” She starts rolling up the sleeve to her dress, walking with purpose toward the other woman. “But before I crush it, you’re going to tell me what I want to know. And fair warning: Once your heart is in my hand, I’ll know if you lie.”

Snow doesn’t hesitate when Regina’s hand shoots out, quickly knocking it away from her chest and darting across the dais. She sinks to her knees in front of an ornate chest and yanks open the lid.

Regina laughs wickedly with what sounds like true amusement. “There’s no escape Snow. You’re not getting out of this room.”

While the Evil Queen speaks, Snow’s eyes meet Liam’s over the chest before locking onto his own. She doesn’t nod, she doesn’t say anything to him, but her eyes carry a command that Killian will forever understand: Be safe. Survive.

When she turns back to the Evil Queen, she’s holding an apple in her hand.

The apple, Killian realizes with a shock. They’ve kept it here all this time?

Regina grasps what’s happening and starts rushing forward a moment before Snow lifts the apple in the same way someone would lift a wine glass for a toast.

“Free will, Regina,” she says with a smile…

And takes a bite.

K&EK&EK&E

Regina’s eyes narrow on him and he knows without doubt that she’s piecing the puzzle together. There’s a part of him – a very small part, mind you – that worries over the dangerous turn this conversation has suddenly taken but the bigger part just doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this for years. He’s bided his time and lived in the shadows long enough. Besides, he knows there’s an excellent chance he’ll never walk away from this table alive, anyway, so if these are to be his final moments, he will, at the very least, use this opportunity to seize any amount of satisfaction he can get.

“So that’s where I remember you from,” she says slowly, “You were there that day.”

“Aye,” he replies.

“And that’s how you know my… pet,” she adds with a nod in Graham’s direction.

Killian flicks his eyes to Graham who has now moved to lean against a pillar in the middle of the tavern and he feels his jaw tighten. “He and I have known each other for many years.”

“A friend of yours, was he?”

“He still is.”

“Even after he betrayed his country? His princess?”

“He never betrayed his country or his princess. It’s not a betrayal when you have no choice.”

For some reason those words make her pause, her eyes narrowing on his and considering him carefully. Her fingers drum lightly on the table and Killian gets the impression that she’s working through some complex riddle in her head – a riddle, it seems, that she thinks he has the answer to. Her thorough study is enough to send his mind racing, trying to think why his statement would draw such a reaction but before he can reach a conclusion, she tilts her head to the side, her voice low, “So you believe the betrayal hasn’t happened yet.”

It hits him then that she’s talking about the prophecy, a vague memory of Leroy mentioning something about a betrayal the night he found Emma in Arendelle. He tries to think back to exactly what Leroy had said but the only clear memory he has of that night is the terrifying moment when Emma had collapsed at his feet.

Regina must see his confusion and she chuckles. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

Killian chooses not to answer that because it seems his lack of knowledge has eased some of the tension in her shoulders and while he’d like nothing more than to throw it in her face, he doesn’t have a death wish.

“So, you weren’t close enough to my step-daughter and her husband to be privy to their plans but you were close enough to the princess that she trusts you – and not only trusts you, but has enough conviction in that trust to seek passage on a pirate ship?”

Again, he chooses not to answer, instead simply raising an eyebrow.

“Just who are you?”

Killian can tell she’s trying to act like it’s idle curiosity but he can see the wheels turning in her head and it makes foreboding settle into his stomach. “I’m not sure you’d believe me even if I told you,” Killian evades, casually moving his hand closer to his sword.

“Well, you must have been a member of Snow’s court. A duke, perhaps? Or an earl? Or maybe you were a mere stable hand,” she adds with scorn, “but – it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? The only thing that matters now is that you seem to be a better choice than my pet over there.”

He catches her meaning instantly and tries to twist away but she’s too fast, her hand shooting out and boring into his chest.

Her cold fingers close around his heart in the same instant the magic bursts, the force of it colliding with Regina’s so strong that it sends him and everything nearby flying. There’s a ripping feeling as her hand leaves his body but it’s overshadowed in the next moment when he lands hard on the ground, hard enough to knock the wind out of him and leave his head reeling. Stunned, he struggles to stand, but his muscles are sluggish and protesting and he can't manage to get his legs under him before he's knocked back to the ground by the panicked horde of people scampering and shoving toward the door.

Someone's foot lands on his stomach and another makes hard contact on his hip but he can't even worry about that right now. The most pressing concern is whether his heart is still in his chest. He can hear it pounding in his ears and that gives him some relief but it’s not until Regina’s voice booms through the air, her words laced with fury that he knows for certain that it’s not in her possession.

“WHAT THE HELL!?!”

The outrage and volume of Regina’s shout causes the entire pub to stop moving and it’s only an instant later that every single window and door slams shut, trapping the remaining patrons inside. A quick glance around tells him that a good number of people made it out and he frantically looks for Emma in the mass of bodies. The task is easier than he’d anticipated when her face appears in front of him just as strong arms lift him from behind. A glance over his shoulder reveals Graham who immediately shoves Emma to the side with a whispered ‘stay back,’ and for a moment Killian feels a flash of anger at his old friend but it’s squashed in the next second when the mass of bodies starts moving again and the space between them and Regina clears.

She’s not in disguise anymore and whispers filter through the crowd as they press into the shadows. He can see Emma on the periphery of his vision being pulled further back by Patricia but he doesn’t look because Regina is walking straight for him, looking absolutely livid.

“How did you do that!?” Regina demands at the top of her voice.

The strength of her anger projects across the room along with her words and Killian feels it hit his chest. He’s still reeling from his flight through the air and it’s only Graham holding him steady that keeps him from swaying on his feet. He inhales deeply while the crowd watches with bated breath, everyone seemingly enraptured by the scene playing out before them. They’re separated into two main groups, one gathered at the front door and one at the back with a few scattered against the far wall underneath the windows. Jeff is standing on the edge of the group at the back door, just off to his left with his sword drawn but pointed to the ground. Emma is to his right, subtly struggling against the grip Patricia still has on her.

“How did you do that?!” Regina demands again, but doesn’t give him a chance to answer before she goes on. “That magic came from inside you! It’s not possible! Just who the hell are you?”

Satisfaction fills Killian’s body at how enraged and insane the Evil Queen looks in that moment. She’s completely unhinged, her eyes wild and frantic but, underneath the intimidating exterior, Killian can also see fear – the panic-stricken terror she’s trying to hide.

He can’t help but smile. This moment is going to be as rewarding as he always knew it would be. It’s going to be worth all the hiding, all the secrets, and all the pain to witness her reaction when she finds out.

“WHO. ARE. YOU?!”

“I thought you said it didn’t matter anymore,” he taunts.

The queen’s eyes darken dangerously, reaching into the folds of her skirt and pulling a glowing red heart from its depths. She holds the heart out in front of her, and without looking away from Killian gives it a slight squeeze. “Who is he?” she snaps to Graham but the huntsman just grits his teeth and shakes his head.

When her fingers contract harder over the heart, Jeff rushes forward, both he and Killian supporting Graham to keep him on his feet. “WHO IS HE?”

Pushing Graham into Jeff’s arms, Killian steps between them and Regina, leveling an even gaze on her. “This is starting to feel a bit familiar, isn’t it, Your Majesty?”

K&EK&EK&E

A chorus of gasps sound as Snow crumples to the floor, immediately followed by stunned silence as the apple falls from her hand and rolls ominously across the dais where it stops right in front of the Evil Queen.

But Killian’s eyes don’t follow the apple, they stay on his queen, Emma’s mother, the most gracious and kind woman he’s ever known. She’s lying on her side next to the chest in an unnatural position and Killian’s eyes sting with tears.

No. The word hammers in his head over and over again. No, no, NO!

He wants to go to her, at the very least straighten her neck from the awkward angle it landed in, but he's frozen to the spot, her final unspoken command ringing in his head.

His attention is drawn back to Regina a moment later when she makes a sound of utter rage and bends to pick up the apple, hurtling it across the room. Then she stalks toward her fallen adversary, fury coming off her in waves that Killian swears makes the air harder to breathe. But once she’s standing over Snow’s lax firm, she stops abruptly, her eyes widening as she inhales a sharp breath. “’One will sleep both night and day,’” he hears her whisper.

Another inhuman sound leaves her mouth and she spins, lashing out at Snow’s throne and sending it crashing to the floor. The resounding bang that follows echoes through the hall and makes even the black knights jump in fright and step back.

She’s completely insane after that, sending one thing after another sailing across the room, causing everyone else to duck or take cover to keep from getting hit. Killian closes his eyes and braces for impact when a table comes flying at them but Liam and Jefferson manage to move him just in time. Pain lances through his arm, making him see stars when Jefferson inadvertently brushes his wrist and he falls to his knees, cradling his maimed wrist to his chest while Jefferson and Liam hover over him, protecting him with their bodies. They stay that way until the mayhem quiets and, when he risks opening his eyes again, Regina is leaning over while bracing her hands on the arm of the Emma’s throne.

The sudden quiet is tense while everyone watches carefully for her next outburst, bracing themselves to run but not daring to move lest they draw her attention. She takes several deep breaths before lifting her head in a sharp motion, turning to the prisoners with a wicked gleam in her eyes as she seems to realize something.

“He’s here,” she says softly.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty?” the one called Claude asks.

“He’s here,” she says again, louder this time. “She wouldn’t have taken a bite of that apple to save herself, only to save another, which means he’s here.”

Straightening to her full height, she walks to the center of the men, looking at them with disdain. “Which of you is Killian Jones?” she barks.

Liam and Jefferson look to each other over his head but neither say a word, nor does anyone else.

At their silence, the Evil Queen opens a palm and produces a fireball out of thin air.

“If Killian Jones does not make himself known to me, I will kill each and every one of you!” Regina shouts.

Still silence.

People are scattering in the next instant as Regina raises her hand to throw the fireball at one of the men, ducking behind tables and hiding behind columns and Liam takes advantage of the distraction to bend down in front of him, meeting his eyes with determined resolve. “Not a word,” he whispers urgently, then he raises a hand and clamps it around the side of his neck, holding him there and giving him a small smile before adding, “I love you, little brother.”

Killian’s eyes widen as he realizes what his brother is about to do and he opens his mouth to protest, but before he can Liam turns away and steps into the middle of the room, announcing, “I am Killian Jones.”

There's a scream bubbling in Killian’s throat but it doesn’t make it past his lips, a whispered, “Don’t,” coming from Jefferson, making him gulp it down. So Killian watches, frozen in place as Regina turns on Liam, the fireball in her hand extinguishing with a tightening of her fist. Slowly, she makes her way across the room, her eyes alight with maniacal glee as she studies his brother.

“So, the rumors were true,” she says in a velvety voice when she reaches him, extending a hand to run it down his chest, “Handsome. It really is such a pity that a man of your… caliber… has to die.” She lifts the hand and runs it along Liam’s cheek. “And those eyes… they’re as piercing blue as I’ve been told. Such a pity,” she repeats.

Liam says nothing, just stands straighter and clenches his jaw.

“And so noble,” the queen adds with mock admiration as she steps back and presses her hand over her chest. “But I wonder,” she continues, narrowing her eyes and tapping a finger to her lips, “Are you honest? Are you really him?” Regina’s eyes snap to Graham. “You’re the huntsman. The Captain of Snow’s personal guard. If anyone here knows who Killian Jones is, it’s you.”

Before Killian even has time to blink or consider what those words mean, she steps forward and plunges her hand into Graham’s chest, wrenching a startled gasp from him. His friend’s mouth falls open and his eyes widen as the queen yanks her hand back, clutching his still beating heart in her hand.

K&EK&EK&E

Regina's eyes narrow, the glowing red heart beating frantically in her palm. “If you remember that day, you know I can make him tell me.”

“I remember it perfectly. The question is: Do you?”

“Of course I remember! Snow thought she could outsmart me, but it didn't work. She ate that apple and I still won.”

Emma releases a small gasp that he prays Regina doesn’t notice just as magic starts gathering in his stomach. He knows she’ll be angry later but he tamps it down because she can’t reveal herself yet. They’ve got to get Graham’s heart first. If they don’t, the man is as good as dead.

Killian directs his attention back to Regina, taking immense pleasure in the tinge of madness in her eyes. “Did you, Your Majesty? Did you win?”

“You were there! You saw me crush Killian Jones’ heart!”

Killian doesn’t answer and Regina’s eyes switch to Graham, realization starting to flicker across her features. “I crushed his heart! I pulled it from his chest and turned it to dust in my hand!”

No one answers but Graham walks forward to stand to Killian’s right, a satisfied smile lighting his face. At the same time, Jeff comes to a stop on Killian’s left. Regina glances between the three of them, her chest heaving. “You couldn’t have lied!” she yells at Graham, “I was holding your heart! You couldn’t have lied!”

She sounds nearly hysterical now and Graham takes another step. Killian is tempted to pull him back but there’s something about the set of Graham’s shoulders that stops him. He knows what he’s doing – after all, he’s been defying Regina right under her nose for years now. He’d helped Emma escape, kept Killian’s secret, done god only knows what because the Evil Queen had ordered him to, and that’s not even mentioning the fact that he’s the one in the most danger at this very moment.

Graham stops a few feet away from Regina. “Think back to that day, Regina,” he says softly. “Do you remember what you asked me?”

The Evil Queen’s eyes drop to the floor, her brow furrowing. It takes several strained heartbeats but when her eyes fly back to him, there's panic and understanding in them.

Graham smiles. “I didn’t have to lie.”

K&EK&EK&E

Graham falls to his knees and Liam rushes forward to catch him.

“You don’t need confirmation,” Liam yells desperately, “I am Killian Jones!”

“We’ll see about that, sailor,” she says, seemingly intent on studying the heart in her hand while she absently motions for two black knights to separate Liam from Graham. Liam struggles furiously against their hold, grunting and twisting as he's pulled away, but he can't get free.

Once Liam is no longer blocking her path, the Evil Queen changes her attention from Graham’s heart to his face, leaning over to line up their eyes and giving the heart a small squeeze. Graham winces and grits his teeth but not a single sound escapes.

“Is he?” she asks quietly, almost gently, “Is he Killian Jones?”

Graham doesn't reply, his eyes filled with fury when he squares his shoulders and boldly stares down the Evil Queen.

"More nobility," she comments, straightening and stepping back. "Resistance is pointless, you know. You will answer."

Graham shakes his head even as he winces again at the way Regina tightens her grip on his heart.

Wincing himself, Killian looks to Liam who is staring hard at Graham, both arms held tightly behind him by one of the knights. When Liam's eyes shift to his, he sees fear in them but he doesn't make a move or say anything.

"Is that man Killian Jones!?" Regina shouts and Liam directs his gaze back to Graham.

But Killian doesn't look, he keeps staring at his brother, his heart pounding in his ears.

It won’t work! Killian wants to yell, the queen is going to find out the truth and when she does, they’re all going to die! She’ll kill Liam for lying and everyone else for helping him. She just said that she’d know a lie while holding someone’s heart. Graham is a strong man but he won’t be able to resist forever…

“ANSWER ME!” she commands.

Killian only barely notices Graham's grunt of pain or the way he falls forward onto his hands, too busy straining against Jefferson's grip. He won't speak, he gave his word, but he's got to do something. Everyone in this room is about to die because of him, but when he tries to break free his body betrays him and his head swims at the exertion, a wave of dizziness nearly sending him to his knees. It's only Jefferson's arm around his waist that keeps him from falling, squeezing warningly even as he pulls him back.

His body sags, pain and fever threatening to pull him under and a dizzy haze filling his mind that blurs what's happening around him while he struggles to remain conscious. He can tell the queen is becoming more outraged by the way her voice raises, he can hear Graham's agony filled shouts of pain as he continues to resist, but the actual words don't register.

Why are they even bothering? he wonders in despair as blood rushes to his ears and blocks out everything. He already feels like he's dying. They shouldn't even be trying to save him. There's an excellent chance this fever will kill him either way.

It's the jolt of Jefferson catching him as he nearly crumbles to the floor that brings him back to consciousness and he opens his eyes to meet Liam's across the room. His brother's look is hard, carrying a message that Killian can practically hear shouting in his head. He’s telling him not to die. He’s telling him to fight, that there's something bigger going on here and he's got to survive.

Somehow, Killian nods to his brother, and the clear relief he sees on Liam's face fills him with such determination that he starts to feel his strength return, the world sharpening back into focus and the blood clearing from his ears.

Turning back to Regina, undiluted rage rockets through him just as Regina shouts again, “IS THAT MAN JONES!?”

Graham slumps instantly at the question, seemingly giving up the fight, but Killian knows better. Then, the huntsman raises his head to the queen, pain still riddling his features as he grounds out the word, “Yes.”

She didn’t ask if it was Killian Jones, just ‘Jones.’

It’s not a lie.

Killian feels a mix of satisfaction and agony flush through his body. Satisfaction that they have managed to thwart the Evil Queen and agony because he knows what’s going to happen next.

Regina looks positively giddy when she straightens. “Thank you,” she says to Graham in a sickeningly sweet tone, holding his heart out to the black knight to her left. “I think I’ll keep this,” she says of his heart, “It might come in handy.”

The queen turns on Liam in the next second even as the other prisoners all start yelling things at her back.

Killian is struggling again. He won't speak, he knows there's no way to stop what's about to happen, but his body acts instinctively because he can’t just bloody stand here and watch his brother die for him but –

But Liam doesn’t struggle, he doesn’t run. He stands straight and tall as the queen approaches, his voice full of conviction when he speaks his final words. “My princess will destroy you.”

Liam’s calm faith and utter belief makes Killian still and even the Evil Queen's step falters for one second.

“Not now, she won’t,” she replies, quickly closing the remaining distance and sinking her fist into his chest. Liam’s eyes land on Killian as the queen yanks out his heart and an instant later he collapses to the floor.

Dead.

K&EK&EK&E

Regina shakes her head in disbelief.

It can't be. It just can't! The moment of her greatest victory cannot, now, be the moment of her most devastating defeat!

But…

But the pirate has blue eyes – bright, smug-filled blue eyes – that are glittering with an air of cool triumph that no one else in the realm has dared level on her in years. And the princess… she has her magic now. And Merlin said only Killian Jones could unlock it. And he'd been in Arendelle… the first place she’s sure the princess had used her magic. And he's been her most persistent adversary… the most illusive…. the most mysterious… and…

And it can't be true but...

But when he raises his eyebrow at a cocky angle, when those intense blue eyes sparkle in mockery, when his pristinely white teeth flash in victory, she knows.

“You're – ”

His grin widens into a full-fledged smile. “I’m Killian Jones.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs ff au #changing tides

51 notes · View notes

childrenofathoria-rp-blog · 7 years

Photo

◆Out Of Character Information◆

Name/Age: Natalia, but you can call me Nat. I think I’m going to be the youngest member in this group, I’m 19 years old. Don’t underestimate me though, my smut skills are 10/10. Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Timezone: GMT Desired Character: Ivar Callum

◆Character Information◆

(1) What pronouns will your character be using? Would you like to list their sexuality at this time?: He/Him. Ivar will be heterosexual, although he’d still flirt with everything that has two legs.

(2) Any changes or comments? Nothing!

(3) Why this character? I absolutely enjoy characters that offer me challenges, even if the character proves to be the challenge itself. I consider Ivar to be such a challenge (because let’s face it, his personality is so wily) and would love to get a deeper insight into who he is and how his mind works. He basically fits right into the character trope that I usually go for and it’s been a while since I got to write it. People like Ivar always prove to have such depth to them, more than one might assume upon first glance. In a nutshell: Complex muses for the win!

(4) Interpret this character: He’s basically Littlefinger’s much more handsome and younger brother. Stupid sense of humor aside, here’s what I think about Ivar Callum:

His astrology sign is definitely Scorpio. Why? Allow me to quote right away from an astrology website that I found earlier today:

↪ “The scorpion — a small but dangerous animal, invoking both fear and fascination. It does not attack with ferociousness like a tiger or bear, but instead dances around its enemy, drawing their attention to its pincers while it slowly draws near enough for the fatal strike from its tail.”

In a metaphorical sense, I think that this represents who Ivar, Lieutenant of The Emerald Hand, really is. I will elaborate on this some more.

This underdog witch is a man of smarmy smiles. He carries himself with arrogance and confidence. You will never see him in a bad mood. Yet beneath this easy-going, content veil there is sheer determination, and, if truly provoked, biting malignity. He is certainly not wise, but cunning and perspicacious. Jealous, greedy and competetive by nature, if you cross him; you’re done. If Ivar dislikes you, he won’t show it plainly for everyone to see. He will make use of his, over the years well-constructed, façade to charm you, entice you. He will get close to you and make you feel as though you are the most precious individual alive. And when you least expect it, he will stab you in the back with poisonous vigor. He is fascinating as he is intimidating. This is why I made the comparison with the scorpion; although he looks small and seemingly harmless, he’s quite the contrary and his bite nothing but deadly.

Past musings: Before Ivar joined Aerion thus became a member of the Emerald Hand, he was probably a very lost and hateful kid. Resentment and disappointment were eating him up from the inside out. Getting shunned by his Coven must have been an incredible blow to his psyche; therefore, when he met that robber who wanted to steal his gems, everything that weighed heavy on his mind exploded like a bomb.

Until this point, he was made to believe that he was a worthless piece of shit. When Aerion found him however, everything changed. He gave him a place to stay and belong. Ivar probably looked up to Aerion in a way and worked his ass off to prove that welcoming him into the Emerald Hand was a good decision. Along the way, Ivar became arrogant because he was good at what he did. He became greedy and hungry for power, caring for no one except himself.

In the end, I think that this was what truly caused for Aerion to choose Jiaying over Ivar; he was a selfish bastard who cared little for others and always strived for more, which would explain why the majority of the Guild stood by Jiaying despite all the controversy regarding their new rank.

Present musings: Ivar feels like Aerion betrayed him. Despite all his efforts in the past, he wasn’t rewarded with the title of Hermes and he resents Aerion for it. He definitely doesn’t understand his decision, which is why he can’t accept Jiaying as the new leader. As a result, he wants to force his way to the top via (sure as hell) unfair means.

He will probably play around with the fact that ever since she became Tyche, bad luck is befalling the clan (+ with the fact that she’s sending some of her own people to jail). He will plot some evil schemes, rest assured, sprinkle some salt into Jiaying’s wounds (that he will cause) and add fuel to the fire.

His magic: Ivar is such a pitiful witch. Although he’s now aware that he is gifted with magic, he actually doesn’t know what kind of magic nor how to control and wield it. I imagine him to sometimes secretly sneak out into the woods to try his luck, but he always fails to feel any magic. I want him to seek out all kinds of other witches for this purpose, leaning more towards those who dabble in the dark sort of arts. I’m still unsure about whether to headcanon it, but what if Ivar’s Coven was well aware of the fact that he was gifted with magic? And we’re not talking about healing magic here, but dangerous magic? Maybe there was a fortune telling that predicted that he could/would cause havoc with it and in order to prevent this, his Coven sealed his powers away?

This would explain why he was such a hateful kid in the past, because he grew up in a negative setting with people who feared and turned away from him. I’ve been having these thoughts and so far they’re entertaining.

Eventually, I want him to be able to control his magic, but it will be a long process until we get there. I will headcanon that he recently has bad sessions of depression because of this whole magic topic. He becomes unnecessarily angry during these sessions and usually locks himself away in his home. This man got a reputation to keep.

Interactions: Ivar doesn’t discriminate: Wether man or woman, werewolf or vampire; he is ready to steal from all. Ever since Aerion died, he has no one to confide in anymore and rejects every person who tries to understand him. He lies whenever possible and is never honest, not even with himself. He is a lonely creature who forgot how it feels like to rely on someone else and he’s generally afraid to show weakness. He sees weakness in everything that could limit his freedom and involves showing emotions. Respectively he’s never settled down with someone before and has plenty of lovers to keep him warm at night.

He doesn’t care about the Athor family, nor about Athoria as a whole. According to him, it might as well burn; as long as Ivar stays unscathed and surrounded by treasures, he will manage. He will survive.

Theme Song: CLICK ME. I’m joking here. Or not.

◆ Interview Questions ◆

(1) Question One: Why do you think you’re better fit to lead The Emerald Hand?

“This questions sounds like you’re assuming that Jiaying and I were equals from the start.” Ivar snickers. It’s a low, dark sound. Amusement glimmers in the depths of his eyes. Lie or truth, you couldn’t tell. Suddely, the smile on his lips drops and the atmosphere around him becomes heavy. “Our Tyche is weak. Weakness in a leader doesn’t bode well. She has a soft heart, believes that she can unite this guild of thieves. Speaks of trust. Loyalty.” He plays with a coin in his hand and eventually holds it up. “Our people are greedy. Selfish. Nobody needs loyalty in this business. You can’t take it for granted. Betrayal is a part of this lifestyle and is as sure to happen as day follows night. I will teach her that lesson.” He slams the coin on the desk. “Wealth is power. Friendships are useless. And nobody takes what is mine. No one.”

(2) Question Two: Have you reached out to any mages yet about discovering your magic? How do you keep this a secret from your guild?

”Not yet. Although I have made a list of some mages and witches from all over Athoria, it is not time yet. They aren’t the right ones.” A scowl sits between his brows. “I’m always watching out for rumors. Travel the countries. It’s frustrating. It feels like I’m suffocating underneath a current of water. Whenever I’m trying to break through the surface, I’m getting pulled away from it. My guild doesn’t know anything about this, of course. Sometimes I take advantage of heists. Make them search for an artifacts that belong to certain witches. Nothing comes without a price in this world, I need to be prepared for everything.”

◆Writing Sample:◆

(In this sample, Ivar went on a heist alone. His targets were pretty clever asshats however and managed it to slip some drugs into his system. I tried to describe how he dealt with that situation. Yeah, my creativity is about as colorful as a unicorn fart. Fun fact: I listened to this while writing my sample. Enjoy.)

It was different to the other times in which he’d sunk to despairing wretchedness. Fear did not come easily to Ivar. He was a man of damnation, a man of almost clichéed self-importance and indestructibility; what did he, one of the deadliest assassins in Athoria, need to fear?

N o t h i n g.

That would have been the correct assertion. It should have been the sole notion to warp its coils into his finely tuned mind. But the drug had wrought him into confusion. It had overridden all carefully placed internalisms to render him more vulnerable than he would ever loathe to be – and perhaps therein was his innermost fear: vulnerability. But it was not this that twisted the greatest knife of all into his stone heart; notions of weakness had irked him at other times, after all – they were not entirely alien, though this time he could not toss them aside.

This was the culmination of all his dreads: shadows skirted from his path, leaving nothing but a blinding light that slashed his eyes to shreds; every touch upon his skin launching shocks into his bones; his head was pounding, his ears unable to distinguish between the bastards’ riotous voices and the sounds of pins dropping miles afar. He desired rest, and yet there was no peace to be had, no place to pause and allow his rampaging senses to settle. It was akin to his rare despairing bouts, and yet it was far more – more real, more threatening, more inconsolable. When such fits occurred, he would take himself to private rooms within his own home, remaining there for days until they passed and he could bear to leave the taunt of death to return to be amongst the living.

Assailants surrounded him, never-leaving and untouchable. Hallucinations brought him gods of far greater ability, witches with infuriating protections, and humans – humans who could withstand his assaults. Yet in-between his imaginary battles, his fists would find those who truly existed, delivering blows that appeared to leave no bruises and bites that did not seem to pierce the flesh. Fear poured from them in droves, as they felt his swift attack and attributed it to the horrors of their own existence.

It was delicious.

Exquisite and sharp, he felt the drug’s thrill at last, coursing past his personal terrors to pulse within his veins. It was adrenaline and aphrodisiac. It was pain and it was pleasure. The more he fought to pursue each plaguing nightmare, the more he seized each blissful fearful spark. And then, as time passed and he began to see familiar, forgotten faces in the crowds, he found that the flames existed in himself, as well.

Sweet terror.

He had always loved the scent of victory.

#athoria accepted

1 note · View note