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marlacrane · 4 years

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『COURTNEY EATON ❙ CIS FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like MARLA CRANE is here for HER JUNIOR year as a JOURNALISM student. she is 22 years old & known to be inventive, dogged, heedless & blunt. They’re living in GORHAM, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ mia. 23. pt. she/her.

[without me by eminem plays muffled from the next room as marla wanders thru the door w a mickey of vodka in her left hand and the communist manifesto in her right]

tws for drug use, mental illness

history

she has a happy childhood in a seattle suburb. she’s the youngest of two girls, and even though her mom works all the time, and her dad’s overseas, everything’s fine. until marla gets to second grade, which she hates, gets into a fight with a boy, and nearly bites his finger off. this time she gets off with a warning. then, later that week, said boy and her are working on this paper maché duck together, and the teacher's keeping an eye on them at first but has now dismissed them as totally getting along, and then the teacher glances at them again to find that they have vanished, and so have the art supplies. the two of them are found six hours later hiding in a park. they’ve been hanging out there all day, asking for a quarter from each unsuspecting parent or guardian they’ve seen. they’ve used this to buy as much food from the community centre vending machine as they can carry. their goal: wait until their parents are sleeping, steal the tent from marla’s backyard, and go live in the treehouse in his backyard. upon discovery, they’re both grounded for a month. marla is no longer allowed to read calvin and hobbes –– her mom is pretty sure it’s what inspired the escape attempt.

she and this boy, whose name is jasper, regroup once they’ve been ungrounded. jasper and her are both the sort of kids who bite their nails at the sign of a group project. their fight had been over who got to read the classroom’s only calvin and hobbes anthology. their initial truce had been based entirely around a mutual desire for treehouse living. now, they just want insurance. so they agree to partner up, always.

they’re bad influences on each other. apart, they’re both a little feral, sure, but they understand that certain things are not possible, and they avoid danger if they can help it. when they hang out, though, they egg each other on. jasper breaks his arm because marla dares him to climb the school; marla’s suspended after jasper dares her to pull the fire alarm; jasper and marla accidentally burn down a garden shed; jasper and marla scam five people out of their lunch money so they can go see a movie after school. (they pay them back a week later. they’re not total monsters. also, they were getting scared one of the kids was gonna tell on them).

jasper’s parents are moving. jasper’s moving with them, out to the country. marla hates it, but she steels herself. she can be independent. she’s nearly sixteen now, and it’s about time she started. but she’s going to miss him. he tells her that nothing’s going to change, which she tells him is bullshit. he takes this the wrong way, and they stop speaking to each other. this goes on for five months. marla’s lonely at first –– she doesn’t know how to talk to people who aren’t him. she starts dating this guy, and that opens things up a little bit. he introduces her to his friends, and suddenly she doesn’t feel as wild. she’s no longer a product of the outskirts.

one night she thinks fuck it, that’s enough silence. she sneaks out at one am, texting jasper to meet her halfway. she borrows her sister’s car. marla figures she practically knows how to drive. she’s done it a few times. and, to her credit, she makes it to where she and jasper are meeting. she also wraps the car around a pole. she emerges relatively unharmed, and she panics. jasper doesn’t show up. he texts to tell her he got caught trying to leave. she calls him an idiot. then she waits there, arms crossed, incapable of doing anything but dreading consequences, until it’s nearly morning. that’s when a cop drives by and the process of being in trouble begins. it’s a clusterfuck. this is when her sister stops speaking to her –– marla’s been on thin ice with her for a long time, but now it’s over. it isn’t so much that her sister wants to hold a grudge. it’s just finally too much. and marla gets it. for once, she doesn’t try and change things, or slip out of trouble. that doesn’t mean she doesn’t get into a number of shouting matches with her mom. her phone is taken away, as is all of her money, which goes toward buying her sister a new car. her laptop is sold in the name of the new car too. she can use the family computer if schoolwork absolutely demands internet access.

she hasn’t heard from jasper in a long time. her now ex boyfriend is still sort of a friend, but not the kind she can hang out with. there was one girl she really got along with at their school, but they made out at a party and the next day the girl wouldn’t really look her in the eyes. she turns seventeen, the birthday celebrated more or less alone, and does a little stint in juvie for keying a teacher’s car. she then spends a year at a community college, followed by radcliffe. she picks radcliffe because she’s accepted, and because it’s far from home. being at home fills her with this sick feeling now –– something went bad somewhere along the way, and she’s pretty sure it was her that made the wrong turn at the crossroads. not her mom, not jasper, not anyone else that had power over her life. and she won’t reach out to her friend, or to her sister, because that would mean admitting she cares more than they do.

she sort of wishes she could go back to being a careful person. she wants to understand boundaries. she also wants her life to have a purpose, and she likes writing, and she’s always loved nancy drew, but being a detective would’ve meant being a cop and she'd genuinely rather die, so she’s gone for journalism. she’s not loving the university experience, but it’s better than before, and it’s provided a lot of distractions that she’s grateful for.

headcanons / personality :

she can be a little abrasive.

she smokes weed whenever she can afford it, because if she doesn’t she tends toward feeling depressed and highly uninspired. she carries this apathy with her, and then every once in a while she’ll snap, and either get a lot better or a lot worse. klonopin is her best friend now.

she’s 100% a leftist and the way to her heart at this point is through communism memes. she’s slowly but surely making her way through the works of karl marx. she’d probably be done by now, but she keeps reading romance novels instead. (this is also a secret. she reads them on her phone and deletes them the moment she’s done so that nobody can know).

she lives to pirate movies, but claims that the only movie she’s ever seen is showgirls. this is because she dated a film major during her first year of college and found him so insufferable that she’s decided nobody can ever know she watches movies. she gets that he was just a jackass, and she shouldn’t judge anyone by their major, and yet................ that said, she has a secret letterboxd account (when she made it, she found her ex’s account and blocked him, just in case) and on it there’s a list of films in which richard nixon gets punched in the face.

deep down she’s actually very sentimental and sensitive, which is why she worked so hard to Not Be That growing up. she does her very best to never show that side of herself –– if someone sees her crying she’s just gotta kill them ! those are the rules. and after a while it got more and more difficult to actually access that side of herself. when she cries, it’s an Event.

she’s always broke. she’s also somehow always capable of scraping together exactly enough money to go out.

she knows that if jasper contacted her now, even after the years of radio silence, she’d do anything for him. they’re still friends, even if that friendship only exists in her memories. she realizes she could text him, but that would violate her strict double texting rules. and she’s afraid to.

she definitely makes bad decisions while drunk. like, all the time. speaking of which, she’s up for anything ! wanna attempt to summon a demon at 3 am? she’s ur girl ! wanna break into someone’s house and move all of the furniture over by about an inch before stealing away into the night? she’s already there !

she’s actually a good listener, which is one of the only positive traits she credits herself with. that, and creativity.

she’s a taurus but like . there is almost definitely some pisces / scorpio / sagittarius on her chart

she can play piano. she’s actually pretty good at it. or she was, back when she had access to pianos.

she really really really really really really wants a dog but there is no way in hell she can afford one

she’s bisexual

wanted connections :

(i mean. i will love anything, but....)

exes – whether they dated for a while or just hooked up once or twice tbh

enemies – these are easy because marla often does not consider consequences, so she could easily have done smth :/ to ur muse

friends – pls ! she needs them

unrequited crush – on her part, probably ? maybe they’re friends and she doesn’t wanna fuck that up but she’s starting to care about them in a different way. I Love Repression. what a good trope.

if anyone’s down for spontaneous tattoos............ she loves those (@chase hi, hello, come here)

a good influence would be fantastic

anyone else from seattle / the seattle area who maybe knew her in passing

um i really want this

#radintro #drug use /#mental illness /#alcohol /#i didnt proofread this i just . replaced 'isla' w 'marla' and thats it. same intro

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knybits · 5 years

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- ̗̀ peonies, white roses and camellias ̖́-

hoooooooo boy guys youre all in for SUCH a ride :)) this is 5k words long so i broke it up into 2 parts!! also, this was LARGELY inspired off of the flower shop and tattoo parlor au that @thunderandrainclouds wrote (im linking it here!) and i thought “why not just write the au but with all our ocs” LMAOOOOO

she also drew some art, so i hope youll give her art work some love bc it LITERALLY SENDS ME ALL THE TIME

Akiko is my oc

Chiyo belongs to @thunderandrainclouds

Miyuki belongs to @kny-writings

so without further ado, please enjoy!

Part One || Part Two

“Have you heard? There’s going to be a new shop across the street,” Akiko says, looking out the window at the construction team that’s pointing at blueprints.

“Hah? Why the hell should I care?” Sanemi snaps, not bothering to look up from his client. Akiko rolls her eyes, directing her attention away from the busy scene outside and instead to her two co-workers, whom she hates with a passion.

The ever so quiet Giyuu that once snuck up on her, tapped her shoulder, scared the shit out of her, and made her fuck up on a client.

Sanemi, a royal asshole that can’t control his temper and snaps at Giyuu and herself.

Yup, Akiko is living the life at her job.

Unfortunately, the three of them are the best of the best, and they get clients from all over the world.

What with Akiko’s talented eye for precision, Giyuu’s incredible watercolor designs, and Sanemi’s bold sense of style, their names are well known by other tattoo artists.

It’s such a shame they all hate each other.

Well, maybe Giyuu has no hate in him, but tensions are high.

At any rate, a few more months pass, and Akiko is able to tell that the new store across the street is a flower shop. There are colorful buckets lining the outside of the store, and the windows are big and tall to allow for sunshine. The two stores line directly parallel from each other, and Akiko catches sight of three people that constantly walk in and out of the new shop.

She doesn’t even realize she’s looking at one particular guy until he turns around, and their eyes meet. Akiko blinks once, twice, then she quickly turns away from the window of her parlor.

It’s the next day that Akiko actually meets someone from the new store across the street.

The bell to their parlor rings, and Akiko looks up from her phone to tell them that they’re still closed, only to see that Giyuu is already at the counter.

“Hi! Sorry to just walk in, I read your sign I swear. But we’re your new store neighbors!” A bubbly voice says, and Akiko finds herself look at a pearl haired girl wearing a light green apron with a small batch of flowers in a small mason jar in her hands. Her white short sleeved shirt allows for Akiko to see her muscular arms, and she’s impressed by the size.

Giyuu makes no move to talk, only blinking stoically at the girl. Akiko can’t help but find this odd.

Sure, he doesn’t talk much, but he would at least greet customers or visitors.

Her smile turns a bit wry, she looks nervous in Akiko’s eyes, and she awkwardly places the jar of flowers on the corner of the counter.

“Uhm, anyway, there are two other workers over there, and if you ever want to stop by and say ‘hi’ you’re more than welcome to! No pressure or anything,” she mutters a quick ‘fuck’ under her breath, twiddling with her thumbs.

“Yeah, I’m Takenaka Chiyo, and uh… yeah, I think I’m gonna leave now so… bye!” Chiyo jets out of the store, the bell ringing a final time, and the store is quiet again.

Sanemi walks into the store a few minutes later, an eyebrow cocked at the odd sight of Giyuu and Akiko staring off into the same general direction.

“What? The fuck you guys lookin at?”

Giyuu bursts into a fit of red, and both Akiko and Sanemi’s jaws drop.

---

It’s been a week now, and Akiko finds herself looking out the window more often.

She hates it.

Why?

Because she’s looking out of the window to stare at some burgundy haired guy that works at the flower shop.

He wears a forest green apron that reminds Akiko of a Starbucks employee, and Akiko can see that he also wears hanafuda earrings. There’s also a scar on his left temple, but she finds herself drawn to his bright smile every time he gifts a child a small daisy.

She’s getting caught more often now though, and it’s embarrassing as hell for her. She tries to play it off nonchalantly, but she can’t help the quick blush that spreads across her face.

“Oh my! How cute! Did you get these from across the street?” A lady gushes once Akiko is done with her tattoo and is ringing her up at the counter. Akiko turns her attention to the batch of wisteria, peonies, camellias, and white roses.

Akiko smiles at her customer, handing back the change and replying, “Yeah! Our store smells a lot nicer ever since they’ve come into town,” she laughs, and the lady laughs with her.

“Well I think it’s a nice touch to the store. Perhaps you’ll get a discount and can have more flowers in the parlor?”

Akiko glances over at the window, catching the burgundy boy looking at her, before flicking her eyes back at her client with a polite smile.

“Y’know? I couldn’t agree more!”

---

“Sanemi go across the street and pick up some flowers I ordered.”

“HAH?! Why me?”

Akiko and Giyuu hold up their tattoo guns, continuing to scroll through their phones on a lazy Sunday before chiming in, “We have clients we’re waiting for.”

Thank god Akiko found out she could purchase the flowers online.

Otherwise she would have stayed staring out the window and sent in a telepathic order.

Sure, she wants to walk over and say ‘hi’ to her store neighbors, but she also doesn’t want to meet the burgundy haired boy. Her heart might not be able to handle his smile up close.

Sanemi glares at the two lazy asses before stomping over to them, his own tattoo gun in hand.

“Fuck that. I have clients too. Akiko you go,” he points his gun at Akiko, and on instinct she lifts her gun to point it right back at Sanemi.

He’s giving her the nastiest glare now, and Akiko glares right back at him, slowly standing from her seat to square him up.

“Wait, guys,” Giyuu makes the mistake to point his gun in their general direction, and the two whip their tattoo guns straight at Giyuu within a snap.

And now Giyuu can’t help but actually point his gun at Sanemi out of feeling threatened, and Akiko slowly slinks back to her work area to grab another gun.

The two other idiots do the same, grabbing another gun while moving back and forth between each other and glaring menacingly.

“Put the fuckin gun down you brat,” Sanemi snaps at Akiko, one gun pointed at Giyuu and the other at our golden eyed protagonist.

She scoffs, “You first, twat.”

“Guys maybe we should stop before customers walk in-”

“KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!”

“YOU HAVE YOUR GUNS POINTED AT US TOO DUMBASS!”

“How cool! What do you think is going on?” Miyuki smiles, resting her chin on her hand as she leans over the store’s counter to look through the window. She’s watching the three world famous tattoo artists and their stand off, and to say she’s interested is an understatement.

Chiyo looks up from the register, squinting her eyes at the scene then tilting her head to the side.

“Are those… Real guns?”

“Do I call the cops??” Tanjirou suddenly shows up, quickly putting down the watering can in his hand to pick up the store phone, only to be stopped by the two older women.

“Put the phone down,” they chorus without moving their gaze from the window.

“Miyu, are you recording this shit?”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“I- I really think we should call in some law enforcement to make sure no one dies…”

“Oh wait? Oh? Tea? They’re putting their guns down- THEY’RE UP AGAIN!!”

“This is gonna go viral.”

“Guys I don’t think-”

“OH SHIT ABORT ABORT! OLD MAN IS WALKING OVER!!”

Miyuki scrambles to turn her phone off, shoving it into her apron pocket as Tanjirou scrambles to pick the watering can up again and rushes to the back of the store to hide. Chiyo, for reasons unknown, ducks under the counters and sits there, so Miyuki is left to defend the fort.

She picks up a random rag, wiping the counter and making sure she doesn’t look into the eyes of an oddly hot hell beast, finally hearing the bell chime.

“Hi! Welcome! How can I help you today?” Miyuki goes for a smile.

There’s a crash and a bang from the back of the store, a miserable, “Ow…” then Chiyo popping up from the counter to dash back and check in on a certain baby. Needless to say, the store isn’t making the greatest first impression.

But Sanemi pays the incident no mind, shoving his hands into his pockets before nodding his head back to the tattoo parlor.

“I work there, and one of my stupid co-workers bought some flowers from you guys.”

Miyuki can’t stop staring at his toned chest, which he so brazenly displays with the top half of his silk black shirt popped open. The shirt is tight fitting too, and Miyuki is about to ascend, her mind repeating ‘NICE’ on repeat like some mantra.

“Uhh, yeah, lemme go get that,” she mutters under her breath, then stumbles to the back of the store.

When Sanemi gets back to the tattoo parlor with another small batch of flowers, Giyuu looks up from his work and Akiko swings her legs off a nearby chair. She stares at him quizzically, in no way used to seeing him with a light blush on his face.

“What? You embarrassed you scared the flower fairies?” Akiko scoffs, and Sanemi moves to slam the jar onto the counter but stops himself, setting it down gently instead.

Now Akiko knows something is up.

“She kept me there longer than she should have. Rambling on and on and on about flower language and what the flowers we ordered means and the colors and stuff. God she’s annoying,” Sanemi snaps, and Akiko raises a brow and the newly budding love.

“Yeah, sure Romeo…”

“CALL ME THAT AGAIN AND I’M CARVING AN ‘L’ ON YOUR FOREHEAD!”

---

Akiko almost drops her tattoo gun and through her foot when she sees sunshine boy walk through her parlor doors.

She’s just finished up with a client and rather than setting the gun down onto the metal tray, she starts to cough on her own spit and freaks out a bit.

Sanemi and Giyuu look over at her, and she discreetly mouths at them to casually ‘fuck off’, before helping her client to their feet and assisting them to the counter.

Sunshine boy is accompanied by his oddly attractive friend, but they wait patiently while Akiko quickly explains the steps for aftercare while ringing her client up. She’s quick to notice that she better hurry up though, since sunshine boy’s friend looks to be a bit… energetic.

When her client leaves, Akiko tries her best to smile at her two customers, shutting the cash register door with a clank.

“Hi! How can I help you guys today?”

Sunshine boy looks apologetic, gesturing to his friend, who looks around the store at the examples of what he can possibly get tattooed onto himself.

“Sorry, uhm, my friend Inosuke has been wanting to get a tattoo for a long time, so I thought this would be the best place…”

Akiko starts tapping into the computer, spelling out Inosuke’s name before frowning at the screen.

“Sorry, but did you guys make an appointment?”

“Huh? Why would we do that? Just draw a boar on my arm,” the Inosuke guy stands before Akiko now, his arms buffer that the Chiyo lady Akiko met a few weeks ago. Akiko raises a brow, and sunshine boy quickly rallies his friend back.

“S- Sorry! I didn’t know we had to make a reservation. We’ll just go now-”

“Hold up,” Akiko raises a hand, clicking through the computer to check her schedule for the day. When she sees that she’s all clear, she looks up from the screen with a smile.

“It’s your lucky day. I can squeeze your friend in,” Akiko says, but sunshine boy looks distressed.

“No, that’s okay! We can schedule a real time and date and come back, honest!” He says, but Inosuke rolls his eyes and starts to waltz over to the chair that Akiko’s previous client was sitting on.

Akiko smiles at sunshine boy’s abrasive friend, not too bothered by this attitude since Sanemi is leagues worse, so she turns to sunshine boy and winks.

“Consider this a store neighbor special.”

Wow.

When has Akiko ever been this smooth?

Akiko tunes out her embarrassed thoughts, shoving aside the last 20 seconds to get out her sketch pad and asking Inosuke what he wants.

“A BOAR!!”

“You’re gonna have to give me more to work with. Else you want me to ink Peppa on you.”

So Inosuke rolls his eyes, and Akiko’s pencil dances across the pad of paper. She works quickly, listening to Inosuke ramble on about how cool boars are and how he used to live with a bunch of them when he was a kid (this mildly worries Akiko).

By the end of it, Akiko’s drawn the head of a boar with sharp tusks, and Inosuke marvels at her drawing, claiming it to be badass and worthy enough to be inked on his arm.

Even sunshine boy looks impressed, softly clapping for Akiko from his seat across she.

Akiko ignores her subtle blush, deciding to get to work as she fills up her tattoo guns and swabs the arm that Inosuke wants inked. Then she quickly redraws the boar onto her ipad, gets it printed out, then applies the art onto Inosuke’s arm.

“Is it done already?! That’s fast!!”

The sudden buzzing noise from Akiko’s tattoo gun makes Inosuke jump a bit, and his face pales enough for her to notice. Even sunshine boy takes note of his friend’s alarm, and he offers his hand with a smile. Inosuke turns the offer down though.

But once Akiko starts to get to work, Inosuke becomes oddly quiet, eyes trained on the flowers on the counter with the sound of buzzing clouding his mind.

Akiko looks up from her work to glance at sunshine boy, who is watching with wide and curious eyes, and their gazes meet once again.

She decides to strike up a conversation while she has his attention, flickering her eyes back down to make sure she isn’t messing up then casually saying, “I never got you name.”

He blinks to snap himself out of his concentrated daze, flushing a bit and scratching at his cheek.

“Oh, sorry! We’ve been store neighbors for months and I never properly introduced myself. I’m Kamado Tanjirou.”

Akiko smiles to herself, “Finally, I can call you something other than sunshine boy,” she chuckles.

Throughout the rest of the conversation, Tanjirou remains red in the face and Akiko busies herself as to not flush red too. Of course, the minute she puts down the tattoo gun, it’s over for her.

hhhh so for some last minute notes, ill,,, explain a few things :)

that tattoo gun scene? yeah think of that one episode from the office. cant picture it? literally type “the office showdown gifs” into google and bam, a live action of the scene.

this was such a joy to write!! and i cant wait for you guys to read the next part! this was like,,, the set up of the ships so :)

a huge huge thank you to mari and chuu for letting me use their ocs!!!!!!!! check our their blogs guys, theyre so so nice and such a joy to collab with :,,)

#machute #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #au!!#tanjirou #sanemi #giyuu #tanjiro #tamura akiko #himi miyuki #takenaka chiyo #chiyuu #sanemiyu #taniko

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areyouscarletcold · 6 years

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KF Barry Au with Iris and any of the other ladies + .Are you kidding me? We are not fine!

This one may or may not be based off of a couple of self-indulgent additions we’ve been chatting about involving two lovely ladies whom we both adore and deserved better. Because fuck canon, that’s why. So enjoy :)

104. Are you kidding me? We are not fine!

Iris stopped cold in the middle of the hallway, gaping at the limb on the floor.

The impossibly long, winding, flailing arm that kept flopping around at her heels, struggling to gain purchase on the slippery floor.

Somehow, after gaining superpowers and fighting metahumans and returning from the Speed Force, the sight of a slender hand inching closer to her foot was the thing that sent her running. As much as she longed to bolt away from the arm, though, she found herself following the arm to its source, shuddering amongst the crackling purple energy embracing her like an old friend. She caught the sound of muffled voices as she drew nearer to the Cortex and realized everyone was crowding in the medical wing.

“Just - hold still!”

“Maybe a sedative would be easier. It won’t do any good if you keep - ”

“What the hell - ”

Iris blew past Wally, who didn’t so much as flinch at her presence, likely having felt her arrival, and couldn’t help but gape again, not at the arms jerking on the bed but who they belonged to.

“Please,” Caitlin was saying, a syringe in hand and a tight smile on her face, “you need to calm down. Everything is going to be fine - ”

“Are you kidding me? We are not fine!”

“Would someone like to explain what is going on?” Iris spoke up, unable to take her eyes off of the arms - and legs, oh god, they were everywhere - twitching beside her feet, off the gritted teeth and pure terror in their guest’s eyes, blonde hair haloed around her head as she kept glancing down at her growing limbs.

Cisco, who’d been slowly making his way toward where Wally stood at the doorway, flashed her a chagrined grin of his own. “Uh, well, see - ”

“Wait,” the blonde shifted on the bed, her eyes widening as she spotted Iris, and the lightbulb of recognition definitely went off if her shock was anything to go by. She struggled to sit up but being unable to control her puddy-like limbs only allowed her to flop back onto the bed. “Iris? Iris West? Is that you?”

Iris glanced between the others, at Wally’s shrug and Cisco and Caitlin’s uncertain expressions, and stepped closer, making sure not to trip over the various growing limbs. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. Patty, right?”

It was a weak question and they all had to know it; there was no way Iris could’ve forgotten Patty Spivot, certainly not after the woman had come to her for dating help with Barry years ago - and wow, those were simpler times even before she got her speed. Not after Barry had confided quietly to her about how he’d broken up with her, had been unable to confirm he was Frost when Patty pleaded with him to tell her the truth, even when she knew he was lying. Not after she’d quit the force after Singh asked her to take a break, after her increasingly reckless conduct, and how guilty Barry had looked when Patty seemed to vanish from Central City.

Until now, that is, when she turned into human silly putty.

Oh, god. Barry. Did he know? Had he seen Patty yet?

“Yeah, Patty Spivot. I used to, uh - ” Patty’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, if we’re at S.T.A.R. Labs, then - ”

“We think her cells have been polymerized by dark matter,” Caitlin cut her off, running a hand through her curls. She looked thoroughly exhausted. Iris wondered if she’d gotten any sleep the night before.

“What does that mean, exactly?” Iris asked.

“The walls of every cell in her body have elasticized,” Cisco explained, gesturing toward Patty’s tangled legs by his feet. “Meaning this girl can stretch and stretch until - ”

“Oh, god,” Patty muttered, closing her eyes, her head hitting the pillow with a soft thump. “Is this what Rapunzel felt like, just with…hair, I guess?”

“Not helping, Cisco,” Caitlin whispered. She set down the syringe and laid a hand on Patty’s shoulder. If she was deterred at all by Patty’s new state, she didn’t show it. “Look, it’s going to be alright. I just need to get a blood sample so we can find a way to return you to your normal state and figure out how this works.”

Patty hesitated, but something in Caitlin’s earnest expression must’ve broken down her defenses because she sighed and shoved one of her endless arms toward Caitlin. “Please. They’re a lot heavier than they look.”

Iris turned to Cisco and Wally. She made sure to lower her voice, keeping an eye on Caitlin and Patty. “What do you mean by ‘dark matter’? If she were hit by the Accelerator, we would’ve known.”

“Not the Accelerator,” Wally said with a shake of his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “The bus metas.”

Iris’s heart sank. The guilt over creating those metahumans after she’d been freed from the Speed Force had never quite gone away, despite the fact that she knew it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t have known what would’ve happened.

Her brother’s expression started to soften, likely sensing where her thoughts were going, and Iris forced herself to stand a little straighter, clearing her throat. “She was on that bus, then?”

“She admitted it when Dad and I went to see her.”

“Went to see her?”

“Apparently she never left Central City,” Cisco said, raising an eyebrow meaningfully. “Works as a P.I. downtown now, I guess.”

At least Patty was still working toward what she loved. “And she didn’t know about her powers until now?”

“Some guys were trying to attack her while we were leaving.” Wally grimaced at the memory. “She, uh, stretched her way down the side of a building to safety. Which - impressive. But also a little disturbing at the time.”

“Tell me about it. A little head’s up next time I wander down the hall would be nice.” Iris bit her lip and leaned closer. “Speaking of head’s up, did… Wally, did you guys tell Barry about Patty?”

Wally frowned. “No. Why?”

Cisco winced and muttered something in Spanish under his breath. “Shit, didn’t even think of that. Should I - ?”

“Sooner rather than later, yeah,” Iris agreed. “Is he on his way?”

“I called him a few minutes ago, he said he was already driving here so…”

“Right. You and Wally go, Cait and I can handle Patty.”

“You sure?” Cisco asked. “Because she’s a little more…cranky. Than she used to be.”

“I’ll be fine,” Iris assured him. “We got along well enough years ago, and we have a lot in common. Besides, don’t you have your girlfriend’s dad to see to?”

Cisco groaned and Wally ducked his head to hide a small laugh. “Why did you have to remind me of that? Why?”

“I’ll drop him off and warn Barry,” her brother promised, his mouth quirking up at the corners before he disappeared in a whirl of yellow lightning along with a grumpy Cisco.

A gasp behind her drew Iris’s attention back to Patty, whose mouth was slightly agape, staring after where half of their team had once stood. Caitlin shot her an unreadable look, the syringe of blood in hand as she moved to deposit it on her work table.

“Uh, hey, Patty, about - ”

“He’s the Flash,” Patty said, something close to but not quite awe coloring her voice. Her brow furrowed the longer she stared at the empty space. “That was your brother, right? We met at the Christmas party - he’s the Flash?”

Well. No wonder they had problems with keeping secret identities secret. “Yeah. Wally’s the Flash.”

“Then you’re…” The former cop tried to move onto her elbows, forgetting herself for a moment, but her elbows were halfway out the door. “No wonder Momentum looked so similar to him, you’re siblings!”

Iris couldn’t help but laugh. “I got my powers after Wally did. Like, years after, actually. Is it that obvious that we’re…?”

“Pretty obvious. I mean, your suits are similar and you don’t see many speedsters running around these days. Those masks are kind of flimsy.”

Caitlin made a quiet noise, her lips pursed as she fought back a laugh of her own. Iris couldn’t bring herself to glare at her friend, even jokingly, because…well, she had a point. Maybe they ought to talk to Cisco about that. Even Barry’s only defense against the public was a thin blue mask over his eyes.

“So much for hiding, then.” Iris walked over and sat in the chair next to Patty’s bed. “You don’t look too surprised, though.”

Patty rolled her eyes, any humor dissipating from her face, and Iris thought she understood what Cisco meant by cranky when her green eyes met Iris’s, steely and hard. “Please. I didn’t expect it, no, but I did date a superhero for a while. Would have to be pretty stupid not to guess that his team-ups with Flash and Momentum had to come from friends rather than acquaintances.”

Right. That answered Iris’s next question about Barry, she supposed.

“Well, you’re a lot smarter than most of the city,” Caitlin teased weakly.

“It’s not that. Just…” Patty exhaled deep through her nose. “You see what you want to see sometimes. If most people don’t know, it’s not that they’re stupid but that they don’t want to believe that a CSI could be one of Central City’s heroes.”

“They want to remain blind,” Iris said, sympathy churning in her gut. “Seems better to romanticize them, right?”

Patty’s mouth twitched. “Something like that.”

Caitlin’s phone buzzed on the table, inciting her to pull off her gloves to answer it. Patty turned her head away from Iris, her expression shuttering, and Iris thought back to having coffee with the woman in Jitters, laughing over Barry and explaining carefully how he’d always been bad on letting people in - he can be cold, she’d said, a half-joke that Patty wouldn’t have recognized at the time, she’d thought she was so clever. A guilty part of her wondered if it’d been Barry or something else that drove Patty to leave the CCPD, venture out on her own.

“Linda’s on her way up,” Caitlin announced, typing a quick reply. “Apparently she ran into Barry, Wally and Joe in the hall.”

“Great.” Iris watched Patty tense, though whether it was the mention of her ex or her old partner that did it was beyond her. She squeezed the higher portion of Patty’s arm, grabbing her attention. “Do you want me to stall them? Or have Linda - ?”

“No!” Patty seemed startled by her own outburst, the surprise fading quickly into exasperation. “No, that’s… It’s been years, it’s fine. I just… It’s been a while. This isn’t exactly how I ever pictured, not that I did…well, seeing him again.”

“We’re going to help you with the elasticity,” Caitlin affirmed. The smile she gave Patty was genuine this time. “Powers just take a bit of getting used to.”

“Are you…?”

Caitlin shook her head and laughed. “No, I’m normal. Not a metahuman, I mean. Me and Joe are the only ones who are. And Cecile.”

“We’re one big dysfunctional family,” Iris joked to see Patty’s features lighten, even a smidge. “You’ll fit right in, don’t worry.”

For the first time, Patty let out a snort, loud and unabashedly amused. “A family, huh?”

“We’ve been through…a lot,” Iris admitted. “Started with Barry, then the rest of us got powers one-by-one through various means, and then we gained Linda. We know what we’re doing.”

Patty studied her for a moment, and Iris could hear footsteps approaching the Cortex, quick and light, probably Linda hurrying to arrive before Barry and the boys. She always was better at mediating conflict than Iris. The bags under Patty’s eyes seemed softer the more Iris stared back, somehow fading as the P.I. relaxed with a shake of her head.

“If I’m getting a superhero name, it better not be anything like Play-Doh Girl or Silly Putty. Ooh, wait! Can I come up with my own name?”

Iris patted Patty’s arm and exchanged a look with Caitlin, who moved to the door, ready to intercept Linda. “Cisco usually comes up with the names around here, but something tells me he’ll make an exception. Anything would be better than Silly Putty.”

“Silly Patty, more like it,” Patty grumbled through another laugh, but Iris could already see that familiar excitement lighting up her eyes, that determined spark she remembered returning in tenfold, and she didn’t need to be able to time travel to guess that the newest addition to their team was going to be just fine.

Send me prompts from this list

#agentmarymargaretskitz #the flash #patty spivot #iris west #caitlin snow #killer frost!barry au #wally west #cisco ramon #my writing #linda - for those confused - has doctor light powers and becomes part of team flash. because i said so and i love her #also you cannot tell me patty wouldn't have made an EXCELLENT elongated lady alright?

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hakuyamazakisensei · 6 years

Text

52 Weeks of Prompts

Week Eight, I think! Prompt: "Don't think too much. You're going to get a headache." Sent in by @lescahiersdesable An Okita/Hijikata non-romance

NOTE: This is a continuation of my OkiSai AU. Most of the 52 weeks of prompts will be for that AU. I hope you enjoy! You can also read it over at AO3 and get a sneak peek of the next one!

Hijikata pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to ignore the headache that was growing more pronounced with each passing minute. Time was wasting, and he wanted to be out there looking for the son of a bitch who put Saito out of commission. He hated waiting. He glanced around the waiting room and watched Kondo pull Heisuke aside. Hijikata’s eyes moved past them to Harada as he guided Chizuru to one of the empty seats and gently forced her to sit.

Hijikata studied the girl for a moment, torn between demanding she go home and allowing her to help. She had earned the right to stay —had fought hard to prove herself— and she had succeeded. And yet, Hijikata was loath to send her out in the field. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was female, or even that she was so terribly young. No, it was because she was so damned trusting, assuming people spoke the truth because she spoke the truth. She was naïve and that made sending her out dangerous. He glanced back toward Kondo and saw that he was standing by himself, watching Hijikata with knowing eyes and a gentle smile. Kondo slowly made his way over to stand beside him.

“Toshi, I sent Heisuke-kun home to rest. I want him guarding Saito-kun’s door tonight.” He paused and then asked, “How would you like to proceed?”

Hijikata gave Kondo a sidelong glance before looking back over the sea of faces that had turned to watch them speak. He moved his eyes from one face to another as he considered his options. It was just like Kondo-san to hand him the reins and, though he would never admit it aloud, he appreciated the level of trust. He shook his head and gave himself a small, rueful smile; he was feeling far too sentimental all of a sudden.

“Kondo-san, I think you should head to the office. Take Gen-san and Yukimura. Look at Saito’s records and see if you can come up with a list of names —people who might have it out for him personally.” Hijikata turned to Chizuru as she rose and moved closer to the two men. “Yukimura, as reports come in, it will fall to you to keep that information organized and passed along. Gen-san can assist you if you need help.”

“Hai, Hijikata-san!” Chizuru said, squaring her shoulders.

Hijikata sighed inwardly and moved his attention to Gen. “Gen-san, call Sannan-san. Have him go over Saito’s computer with a fine tooth comb; search for any hidden or encrypted files.”

“Of course.”

Hijikata thought for moment before speaking to Kondo once more. “I know you aren’t crazy about doing this, but we’re going to need to use your ties with the police department to stay in the loop on this one.”

“I’ll do whatever needs to be done, Toshi. Now,” he added, turning to smile at Chizuru and Gen, “I suggest we head over there right away.” As the trio headed toward the exit, Kondo turned back, his eyes piercing Hijikata’s. “We will find who did this, Toshi. We won’t rest until we do!”

Hijikata nodded, a tight smile playing across his lips. He kept his eyes on Kondo until he disappeared through the door, followed silently by Chizuru and Gen. When they were gone, Hijikata turned and faced the remaining members of the team.

“Yamazaki, Shimada...take Saito’s apartment. Go over it top to bottom. Yamazaki, you handle his laptop. Report anything to HQ.”

“Sir!” Yamazaki gave a slight bow, and took his leave with Shimada.

“What about us?” Harada asked as he and Nagakura stepped forward.

“You’re with me,” Hijikata said. “We’re going back to the scene of the accident. There won’t be much left by way of evidence; I’m sure the police have had it sectioned off and cleaned up. But I want a fresh pair of eyes on the layout.”

“Didn’t I hear something about a witness?” Nagakura asked.

“Two, actually. We’ll have to wait on the reports, if Kondo can get them. His contact at the department should be able to do that easily enough.”

Satisfied with that, Nagakura nodded and the three men headed toward the parking lot.

***

Shiranui Kyo watched the police officers from a distance, a disdainful scowl on his face. He was more disgusted with himself than the moronic humans he watched scurrying across the asphalt like ants. His hesitation had caused him to lose the men he was tailing, and now he was stuck trying to piece together where they might have gone and why they had tried to kill this man, Saito.

He moved in closer, making sure to keep himself hidden. It wasn’t difficult--hiding from humans--they only saw what they expected to see. But he wasn’t taking any chances. After all, every once in a while, a human surprised him —noticed him when he was trying to go unseen.

The crowd was beginning to disperse and only the cops remained, along with a few die-hard gawkers. Shiranui mixed in with the latter group, peeking over the shoulder of a rather short, dumpy man who was snapping pictures with his cell phone. Shiranui rolled his eyes and nudged the man out of the way.

“Hey! Watch where you going, punk!” the man said, staggering to the side.

Shiranui ignored him, instead focusing on the large, black SUV pulling up next to the police sedan on the far side of the taped off area. Three men exited the vehicle, and Shiranui knew instantly that they weren’t officers. These men were something else entirely. He moved a bit closer and halted as three pairs of eyes swung his way immediately. Shiranui instantly turned to the picture-happy man behind him and shouted with feigned belligerence.

“What the hell, man? Quit your damn shoving!”

The man, flustered at being accused of something he didn’t do, spluttered angrily before shoving back into the crowd and disappearing from view. Shiranui chuckled and glanced back at the trio who were now walking the scene. He saw that he was no longer of interest to them and smiled, glad that his ruse worked — and bonus points for getting rid of the idiot with the camera.

He watched the men as they studied the roadway: a muscled buffoon, a pretty boy and...well, another pretty boy, but the scowl on that one’s face looked to be permanent. Even with those amethyst eyes, Shiranui was certain he wouldn’t be any fun. He turned his gaze back to the lanky red-head. The man was gorgeous and moved like a cat; like he was comfortable in his own skin. Shiranui grinned. This just got a bit more interesting. If he was going to have to deal with humans, he might as well make the most of it.

Putting on his best smile, Shiranui sauntered around the taped-off crime scene to get closer to the men. He made sure to leave his hands in sight, certain that his movements were already being tracked by at least one of the newcomers, if not all of them.

“Heeeeey,” he drawled, brightening his smile as he moved in closer to the red-head. “Did you catch the dudes that did it?”

Three pairs of eyes looked to him immediately —angry purple ones, shrewd blue ones, and thoughtful golden ones.

“You know something about what happened here?” Golden Eyes asked him, striding forward.

Shiranui let his gaze travel up the length of the man, not bothering to hide his interest. When he finally reached the face, Shiranui chuckled. Those eyes —at first widened in shock and then narrowed in suspicion— were so emotive! He loved it. He looked to the men behind pretty boy and found both were watching him. He flashed a grin and gave a small wave before focusing on Golden Eyes once again.

“I might,” he drawled, “but I don’t think it was what you would call an accident.”

“Is that so? Were you here? Did you see it go down? What makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”

“Woah, slow down man. I’ll answer your questions...if you answer mine. What’s your name?” After a brief silence during which Shiranui was scrutinized through narrowed eyes, he finally received a response.

“Harada,” was the clipped answer. “No games, you hear? What do you know? Did you see what happened?”

“Shiranui...remember the name, ne? And yeah, I was here. I was behind the car that hit the bike. It didn’t slow down,” Shiranui said with a shrug. “I think it might have even sped up.”

Harada watched Shiranui carefully, trying to determine what was setting warning bells off in his head. For one thing, Shiranui looked out of place here —skin-tight black jeans, a mesh top that did little to protect him from the cold, boots and belt covered in silver studs. He had to be some sort of entertainer —either a dancer from one of the nearby bars, or a prostitute. That latter didn’t seem quite right, at least not for this section of the city. He was too clean.

“You liking what you see?” Shiranui asked, an eyebrow raised and a definite smirk on his lips.

“Hardly,” Harada responded. Perhaps he was wrong about the prostitution. “Wait here a minute,” he added before turning and jogging toward Hijikata and Nagakura.

“What the hell does he want?” Hijikata asked the moment Harada was near.

“He saw the whole thing...so he claims.”

“You don’t believe him?” Nagakura asked.

“I don’t know. There’s something off about him, but I can’t really pinpoint it. Maybe he’s just an odd duck."

“Mnm...get what information you can. We’ll decide what’s worth keeping later.”

Harada nodded and moved back toward Shiranui, trying to analyze what bothered him about the man. It was more than his look, though that was pretty memorable. It was his attitude. He was far too aloof. He frowned at Shiranui as the man grinned at him almost predatorily. Harada was beginning to feel like the women Shin went after.

“Alright...Shiranui, was it? Why don’t you follow me? I have some questions I’d like to ask.”

***

Souji sat on the stool next to Saito’s bed and, for the first time in a very long while, second-guessed himself. Of course, he wouldn’t even be considering a fault in his choices if Hijikata-san had bothered to reply to even one of the numerous texts Souji had sent his way, asking for updates on what they had found out, if anything. But he hadn’t responded, and now Souji questioned his decision to stay behind and leave the investigation to the others.

Frustrated, he surged to his feet and paced the length of the room. A glance at the clock on the wall told him two hours had passed since anybody had contacted him. He dug the phone out of his back pocket and punched in Kondo-san’s number.

“Souji! Is everything alright? Has something happened to Saito-kun?” Kondo asked immediately.

“No, no, nothing like that. Hajime-kun is sleeping. I was hoping to get an update, Kondo-san. Hijikata-san hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

“Ah, I see. Toshi is probably busy, then. I’m sure he will let us know the moment he finds anything. I’ll call you the moment I hear something.”

Souji muttered under his breath —a small jibe at Hijikata— but kept the comment to himself. Kondo-san wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. He spoke for a few more minutes, then said his goodbyes and hung up. He tucked the phone back in his pocket and resumed his pacing. He hated staying still when there was so much to be done. He glanced over to Saito, who slept on, oblivious to the world around him. Souji moved back to his stool and sat, his eyes scouring Saito’s face for any trace of pain.

“Hajime-kun, I wish you could tell us what happened here. That would save us a lot of trouble, you know?” Saito was so pale —more so than usual. Seeing him like that reminded Souji of why he had stayed at the hospital in the first place. He reached up and swept a lock of hair off of Saito’s forehead.

Ove the past year, Souji had begun to realize that his feelings for Hajime Saito had grown into something...more. He no longer thought of him as a best friend, though he wasn’t clear about how he did feel for the man. He was fairly certain Saito’s feelings had changed as well, but to what? And to what end?

His thoughts were interrupted by the pinging of his cell. He took it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Hijikata had finally sent a message. Souji opened it with a slight sneer, certain that Kondo-san had contacted him.

He read the message and scoffed aloud.

H: I told you I would let you know if I learned anything.

S: What’s the matter? Did Kondo-san call you?

H: You know damn well he did. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

S: You should have answered my texts. So what have you learned?

H: Not a damn thing. Harada might have something. He’s talking to a possible witness now.

S: Is that so?

H: Guy doesn’t seem very reliable. We’ll have to see.

S: I want to be kept in the loop.

H: You will be.

S: I haven’t been so far. Not until Kondo-san stepped in.

H: That’s bullshit! I think I told you I would let you know what we found out. And we’ve found nothing.

S: Yeah yeah. Don’t think too much. You’re going to give yourself a headache.

Chuckling to himself, Souji put the phone away and leaned forward, resting his elbows on Saito’s bed. He considered contacting Harada, but decided to wait. Not for long, though. He would give him time to question this witness first. Shouldn’t take more than an hour. Then Souji would find out what was learned. Until then, he’d keep Hajime-kun company.

#52 weeks sentence prompts #hijikata toshizo #harada sanosuke #okita souji #saito hajime #shiranui kyo #kondo isami

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dragonologist-phd · 6 years

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Kittens Are Cute (And So Are You)

Critical Role Relationship Week Day 2- Grog/Keyleth

(Also on AO3)

Keyleth works at an animal shelter. Grog wants to help abandoned kittens. Fluff ensues.

Working the morning shift typically means that Keyleth is the first person to arrive at the tiny animal shelter on the outskirts of Emon. Today, however, someone waits for her at the gates. She can barely make out the figure- the sun has just barely started to rise- but they sit quietly on the sidewalk, looking down at a box in their lap. How long have they been waiting? Keyleth wonders guiltily. She hurriedly parks her electric motorcycle and rushes to meet them, fumbling for the keys.

“Good morning! I hope you haven’t been waiting too long!”

The guy on the sidewalk looks up quickly at her voice, and his face breaks into a grin. He’s broad-shouldered, and when he stands up Keyleth is surprised to see that he’s actually taller than her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, his voice a low rumble. He scratches at his beard, and Keyleth can’t help but notice the tattoos that line his neck and disappear into his gray sweatshirt. Even beneath the sweatshirt, it’s easy to tell this guy has real muscles. The keys nearly slip from Keyleth’s fingers, and she hurriedly turns to give the lock her full attention, and to hide her blushing.

“How can I help you?”

“Uh… I found these little guys this morning…” He holds the box out hesitantly, and for the first time Keyleth looks inside. Seven little faces blink up at her.

“Oh!” Keyleth’s instincts kick in, and she takes the box of kittens from the man. “Come on, we should get them inside right away!” She leads the man into the shelter, drilling him with the typical questions the whole way. It seems he works late hours, found the kittens in an alleyway after his shift, and rounded them up.

“They’re just so little,” he says, concern etched on his face, and a small smile creeps across Keyleth’s face. Working at the shelter, she’s seen the way people treat animals. Sometimes, it makes her angry. But every now and then people do things like this and she’s reminded of the good in the world.

“I have to take them in the back,” Keyleth says, eyeing the kittens. “They need food.” They need more than that, of course, but the paperwork and vaccinations and examinations can be taken care of later. “Wait here,” she tells the man, and quickly gets to work.

After the kittens have been taken care of, Keyleth makes the rounds to the other animals of the shelter. She feeds and cleans and refills water bowls, and after a couple hours Vex pops her head into the kennel.

“Uh, Keyleth?”

“Vex! I’m glad you’re working today-” Keyleth is about to tell her friend about the new kittens when Vex interrupts her.

“Who’s the giant asleep in the waiting room?”

Shit. A strangled noise of surprise escapes from Keyleth’s throat. How in the world could she forget? “He’s still here?!”

He is indeed still here, although he wakes with a start when Keyleth bangs into the waiting room. “I’m so sorry!” she says. “You didn’t have to stay here so long!”

He shrugs, stretching his arms. “S’no problem. I’ve slept in worse places.” He rubs the sleep from his eyes, then looks hopefully at Keyleth. “How they doin’?”

Keyleth hesitates, then motions to the door. It’s the least she can do, after this guy brought them in and then camped out in the waiting room. “Wanna come see?”

He jumps up, knocking the chair over in the process, although he doesn’t seem to notice. He approaches Keyleth with a wide grin and sticks out his hand. “Name’s Grog, by the way.”

“Keyleth.” She shakes his hand, then pulls him through the door.

The kittens, despite being hungry, are doing well. It’s hard for Keyleth to hide a smile as she watches Grog wave his fingers at them through the cages. “So they’ll be okay?” he asks for the umpteenth time.

“They should be. We just need to find them good homes.” Keyleth peers through the cage at one of the kittens, a fierce gray one that stares her down through the cage door. The tiny kitten reminds Keyleth of her own cat, Minxy. She wonders idly if Minxy would object to a bit of company.

Next to her, Grog is smiling at the largest of the litter, a black and white kitten that sits quietly, looking back at him with serious eyes.

“Would you like to hold her?” Keyleth asks.

Grog looks startled. “She’s so tiny. I don’t wanna hurt her.”

“Just be gentle.” Keyleth undoes the latch and slowly lifts the kitten, moving her to Grog’s arms as Grog stands frozen. He strokes her softly, almost as if he’s afraid to touch her. The kitten starts to purr, and a look of surprised delight flashes across Grog’s face.

“She likes you,” Keyleth says. “Would you like to adopt her?”

“I dunno,” Grog replies slowly, but Keyleth knows the look on his face. It was the same look Vex had when she found Trinket, and the same look she herself had when she found Minxy. “I gotta ask my roommate first. But I think Pike would like her.”

The kitten yawns, and Keyleth takes her back and returns her to the cage. “These guys are lucky you work crazy hours,” she jokes, and Grog laughs.

“Nightclub hours. I’m a bouncer at a few different places around town.”

“Ah. Makes sense. Do you often end up rescuing baby animals?” Keyleth teases.

Grog strikes a jokingly heroic pose. “You’d be surprised. I see all sorts of crazy shit.”

“Like what?”

That’s all the prompting Grog needs to launch into a variety of stories, most of which involve bar fights and have to be exaggerated. When she calls bullshit, however, Grog, refuses to back down, insisting that he did too get away with punching out a cop, and that he did too celebrate by drinking a jar of mayonnaise. Keyleth retaliates with her own stories, and it might be the first time she’s been proud of the embarrassing amount of times she’s been arrested for accidental misdemeanors.

“Aw, hell,” she says finally, looking at the clock on the wall. “I gotta get back to work. Thanks again for bringing these guys in, and I was serious. You should think about adopting.”

“I will,” Grog promises. Then, suddenly, he adds, “You should come to the club tonight,” He fishes around in his pocket and finally produces a card that reads The Greyskull. “My buddy Scanlan is playing. ‘Gonna be a good show. And you could say hi.” He looks away slightly, as if embarrassed.

A warm feeling blooms in Keyleth’s chest as she takes the card. “Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you there.”

Grog beams at her, and Keyleth watches him go, chuckling as he ducks through the narrow doorframe. She turns the card over in her fingers for a moment, then slides it into her pocket with a smile.

#critrole rsweek #fanfic #grogleth #grog #keyleth #i was so blessed to get this pairing #my fav rarepair #critical role #based on heavily on my hc that if grog ever held a kitten he would being crying over how small and helpless it is

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avidfanficwriter · 6 years

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Rollin vs. Amado (Chapter Two)

Characters: Nick Amaro. Amanda Rollins.

Ratings: M.

Warnings: Cursing. Drinking, mentions of Alcoholism.

Summary: The night she got into the fight with Nick should have been the worst but it’s the day that really got it in for Amanda.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3.

Tags: @wolflhards

Chapter Two: The Aftermath Of Hazardous Amanda.

Amanda awoke to the sound of her cellphone chirping near her ear, the stench of alcohol burning her eyes and nose as she rolled over reaching for her phone only to collide with another body instead. Last nights events were a blur, a mystery, brief memories came back but nothing clear. She saw alcohol which was a given and… Nick.

Her eyes opened wide and she tried to make out the body next to her, he was laying on his stomach, sound asleep. “Oh, god, Nick…” She moaned.

No response.

“Nick, are you okay?” He didnt respond and her mind panicked, she remember Cragen waking up to the a dead body in his bed after a night of ‘drinking.’ She fought the pouning in her head and the ringing in her eyes as she reached over trying to desperately move to roll the man over.

“Nick!” She shouted, vigoursly shaking him.

“Whose Nick?” The man asked, groaning.

“What?” She asked confused. The man pushed up on his arms and she could see that it was in fact not Nick. No where close to Nick. A random guy with a tattoo on his neck and a shaved head. She searched for her cell phone, reaching over the man, grabbing it. She ignored the missed calls she had from Fin and Olivia, quickly jumping out of bed and hiding in the bathroom. She locked the door behind her and pressed the number four on her phone.

“Hey, this is Nick-”

“Nick, my god it’s me! I’m so sor-”

“Amaro, I couldn’t come to the phone right now, leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.”

“Dammit.” She said stomping her foot.

She tried again and it went striaght to voicemail. A third time and nothing.

“He’s at work, that’s why he’s not answering.” She whispered, starring at her cell phone. Outside of the small restroom she head the small thumps followed by a knock on the bathroom door and a man’s deep voice. “Left my number on the dresser hit me up if you want to have a fun night again.”

Amanda shook her head in annoyance. Desperate to erase the memory of last night, she clutched her phone to her ear as if the sheer panic coursing through her veins could somehow make him answer his phone. Time and time again, she’s met with the sound of his voicemail until she collapses onto the floor, tears flowing down her face and her cell phone abandoned on the cold marble floor.

He’s at work. He’s working on a case. Interviewing a suspect. She says trying to convince herself, wiping her now swollen eyes. Amanda has no idea why she’s crying or why she’s overacting but it’s happening and it won’t stop. Her phone buzzes again, the blonde nearly falls over to answer it, putting it to her ear and shouting into the phone.

“Nick...Nick.”

“It’s Fin.” The voice causes her to jump.

“Fin, Oh, sorry. I just called Nick.” She says sniffling.

“Amanda, where are you? Liv’s pissed. She’s been calling you all morning, we’re short handed today, you need to get in.” Fin’s voice is like sirens going off in Amanda’s head, she pulls the phone away and glances at the top of the screen. It’s almost noon.

“Yeah... Yeah. I had a thing.” She says shaking her head.

“A thing?”

“It’s nothing. I’ll be in soon.” She says quickly hanging up.

Amanda had tried to clean herself up, to hide the bags under her eyes that rose from both her tears and sleep deprivation. She showered and covered the horrendous hickeys her bald lover had given her but it didn’t do any better, she was still a mess. She looked like been through hell and back all in one night. She could apply all the makeup she wanted but she was a mess and anyone who looked at her could see just that.

Amanda hadn’t even made it into the prescient before she spotted Fin, worriedly standing outside with his hands in his pocket searching for her. He sees her in no time and the questions begin. “Where have you be--Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Coming down with a cold.”

“Must be some cold.” Fin retorts.

“It is.” She argues.

“I covered for you.” Fin says trying to get Amanda to say what actually happen but she doesn't budge.

“Thanks.” She says pushing her hair behind her ears and walking away from Fin. Inside the squad room it’s dark and damp, more importantly there’s no sign of Nick anywhere just the angry eyes from Olivia whose in her office, starring daggers into her. “Where’s Nick?” she finally found the courage to ask Fin.

“Out sick. That’s why Liv is so angry. She’s got one cop out sick and the other M.I.A.”

Little by little throughout the day, Amanda’s memories slowly start to come back and it isn’t a pretty scene. She had crossed a line with Nick and now he was avoiding her but would he actually sacrifice his job to steer clear of her?

“Amanda.” Olivia says in a voice full of annoyance.

Almost in a panic, Amanda struggles to stand up and walks into Olivia’s office, closing the door behind her with her eyes low to the ground.

“Yes?”

“Where were you?”

“Liv, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time.”

Olivia doesn’t dare to pretend to be friendly, she’s angry. “This is the third time this has happened, Amanda.”

“Liv, I know. I--” Amanda desperate for any excuse to come out, her sister, her mother, her neighbor. Something... anything but she’s frozen. “I....”

Olivia stands up from her desk, glaring at Amanda. “Are you hungover?”

“What?”

“Were you drinking?”

“No, no... of course not.”

Olivia walks closer to her detective, starring straight into her eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

Amanda opens her mouth. “Last night... it just got out of hand.” She finally says in a hesitant voice.

Olivia shakes her head and lets out a deep breath. “Go home, Amanda.”

“Liv, I’m good.” She tries to argue.

“Go home, sleep it off. You better be on time tomorrow.” Olivia’s voice lowers, filling with compassion.

Amanda lowers her head and sighs, whispering a low thank you before exiting the room. She walks past Fin whose fighting the urge to ask her a where she’s going, she walks out of the prescient and hails a cab but instead of going home she goes to the bar and starts her nightly routine of drinking.

At Maison’s apartment, Nick is sound asleep on the couch, a small blanket is wrapped around his chest and his hand covering his face. Maison walks into the apartment, shoving her keys into her pocket and immediately stops when she sees him on the couch. She quickly looks at the clock before turning her attention back to Nick. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” She asks standing over the couch and peering down at Nick.

“Shouldn’t you?”

“On Lunch.” Nick slowly sits up and glances at his watch, before groaning. “So, what’cha doing sleeping beauty?” She jokes with a small grin on her lips.

“Avoiding work.”

Maison sucks air in through her teeth. “Avoiding work or avoiding a certain blond that has an attitude problem and possibly drinking problem?” She remarks.

“Both.”

“So, how long are you going to duck out in my apartment?” Maison asks as she enters the kitchen and pulls a water bottle out of the refrigerator.

“Till you kick me out.”

“Need I remind you, i kicked you out the first month you stayed here, told you to go home to your wife but I came home after work and you were back on my couch. If it didn’t work then I don’t think it’ll work now.” Nick chuckles, putting his hand over his eyes. “Your phones blinking.” She says.

“Was it Maria?” Nick asks shooting straight up with a voice full of hope.

His heart starts to race until he sees her pull her bottom lip in between her teeth. “No, Amanda.”

Nick groans and lays back down down, defeated. “She leave a message?” He asks with a gloom tone.

The younger detective smirks. “Yeah, i’ll say about forty of ‘em.”

“Forty.”

“Homegirls, got problems.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Nick retorts.

“No. Of course not. I always call a divorced men I’m not sleeping with forty times over.”

“Maria and I are still married.” Nick shouts causing Maison to stop in her tracks. She turns in shock, facing the couch with fear in her eyes.

“Bad choice of words.” She says quietly.

“Maria and I aren’t getting divorced.” he adds.

She goes silent, her eyes trailing the room, hoping that she can get out of the situation. “I know... I know that. It’s just...”

Nick sits up, only this time; he’s standing up. His hand balled up in a fist near his sides and covering his face. “It’s just what? Have you spoken to maria?”

“No. Of course not... It was just bad--”

“What?” He interjects.

“Bad judgement on my part.” She says holding out her hands defensively. “I’ve had a rough day. Some guy is getting away with murder, i just got confused.” She pleads trying her best to contain Nick. “

Nick stares at her, his eyes burning holes through her. “You know we aren’t getting a divorce...right?”Maison isn’t by any means scared of Nick but she knows his wrath, she knows exactly what he’s capable of and just what can push him over. Maria is one of those subjects. “Look, let’s just chop it down to a simple mistake. I know you two aren’t getting divorced, I know that. I’m sleep deprived, over worked, my brain isn’t in the right place, Nick.”

Nick nods. “You don’t think Maria would do that to me, do you?” He asks, walking next to the counter and plopping onto the bar stool in front of Maison. His anger slowly starting to fade.

“I...” She starts but trails off.

“Honestly.” He adds.

“Up until six months ago, i never would have thought she would have kicked you out.” She groans lifting Nick’s hand to glance at his watch. “Who knows what could happen? You two could work it out... if not you have Amanda whose one step away from stalking you. She smiles tapping his hand.

Nick shakes his head trying to hide his smile. “Shes really not that bad.”

“Anytime you have to describe someone as ‘not that bad’ they are worse.”

“She really inst’.”

“And I’m sure Jack the Ripper wasn’t that bad.” She squeals with a large smile.

“You can’t compare the two.”

“Mmhmm...” She says mocking him. “If you’re wanting Maria back... which you obviously do. Don’t you think you should limit your contact with Miss drunkie?”

“I’m not spending more time with her than before.”

“Still. If i was Maria.”

“--Which you’re not.” He interjects, putting his hand under his chin.

“If i was... I wouldn’t appreciate my husband haning out with some chick that didin’t ahve an off switch.

“You know, Maria didn’t like you tat first either.”

“I’m an acquired taste, Amaro.” She says flashing a smile. “Besides I didn’t over drink the first time i met her.”

“No.. but you did start trouble.”

“I didn’t flirt with a happily married man.” She says leaning forward with a nother smile.

“Amanda wasn’t flirting with me.” He argues.

“Thank god, you’re married. You’d never make it as a single person.”

Nick rolls his eyes at her. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“I’m sick.” He says and Maison smirks, tossing her water bottle onto the counter near the fridge. “See you later sick boy.: She jokes.

“Bye...” Nick waves quickly ‘Drinks on me?” He asks watching her walk towards the door.

“I’ve heard that before.” She says opening the door and waving a quick goodbye before leaving.

Nick stares at his cell phone watching the blue light blink before finding the nerve to pull it towards him. Maison wasn’t exaggerating by any, there was indeed forty missed calls from Amanda. He knew immediately that it wasn’t work related, he had one missed call from Olivia and the rest was Amanda. He looked around Maison small apartment, starring at the boxes still sitting in the hallway and the untouched spare bedroom he refused to sleep in, insisting he’d only stay here for a little bit. Originally it was only suppose to be a week, he showed up and said a weeks, two tops and now he was here for six long months still sleeping on the couch insisting he was going home with in the week. He had five hours until Maison was off work and decided it was time to finally stay in her spare bedroom to go in there and actually use it as a bedroom not just a place to change his clothes.

Amanda was still at the bar by the time seven o’clock came around, drunk off her ass and flirting with anyone that passed by. Amanda sat at a small table with three empty glasses in front of her and another on the way, her cell phone vibrating insistently. It was Fin, calling to check up on her.

“Don’t you think you should take it easy?” A man asked approaching Amanda, he was the perfect guy. The guy she would eventually wind up in bed with.

“Oh, I didn’t know my dad was here.”

“Snippy, aren’t you?”

“I could be more.” It was constant flirting between the two, nonstop. On flirted and the other responded it went on and on until Amanda had so many drinks in side of her she couldn’t’ even tell what color his eyes were anymore. Eventually, they moved to the outside of the bar, Amanda so drunk she didn’t realize he was referring to her as a different name. He gripped her waist shoving her into the alley and into a nearby wall with brute force. Her held her to the wall, attacking her lips with his own and starting to unbutton her pants.

“Stop.” She protested, pushing him off of her.

“What the hell?’ He shouted as she broke free, walking away from him and pulling her hair back ap into a ponytail. “Hey, you get off on getting guys hard and leaving ‘em?”

“I’m not driunk enough.’ She said stumbling back into the bar and finding another seat closer to the liqour.

It hadn’t felt like she hadn’t drank in years, the burning sensation from the mans beard still lingered as the wetness of his lips had yet to dry along her neck. Meanwhile Nick and Maison entered the bar, her hand in her jacket pockets and Nick starting to take off his.

“What if i dyed my hair red?” She asks as they sat a teh bar.

“I-I don’t know.” he said chuckling at her, he didn’t think he would recognize her with red ahri.

‘What? I can’t pull it off?” She asks twirling a few strands in Nicks’ face.

nick was starting to answer when he heard Amanda's voice from across the room. “Hey, just give me another one.” He looked around immediately loosing focus on Maison to find Amanda. She was a mess, her blonde hair smeared all over her face.

“What?” Maison asked noticing the change in his demeanor.

“Amanda’s here?”

“Drunkie Amanda?” Maison asked dropping her hair and turning to direction Nick was looking.

Nick’s eyes moved back and forth from Amanda to Maison. “You know, I’ve got a few things to say to her.” Maison said standing up.

Nick grabs her jacket, pulling her towards him. “No, Maise, we’re here to drink.”

“I don’t get you.” She shook her head a little while raising the glass of alcohol to her lips. “ I mean she begs you to hit her and you’re still not mad with her? Are you incapable of being mad at women?”

“Maison, it’s not that.” He says glancing over at Amanda again. “She just need help.”

“Mentally.”

They sat drinking their beers trying to ignore the sounds of Amanda arguing with some man. Maison had all but given up, realizing that no mater what she said about Amanda, Nick would ultimately defend her. Just as he was about to when Nick heard Amanda for the third time yell at some guy for touching her.

“Nick.” Maison pleaded when she say him stand up. “We’re here to drink!” She whined. “Nick!” She groans. “I can’t go over there but sure, you can.” She says to herself.

#Nick Amaro #OFC #Amanda Rollins #Law and Order: SVU #SVU #law and order: special victims unit #law and order svu #Law and Order Fanfic #Danny pino #kelli giddish #mariska hartigay #ice t

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letsplayscrabble-blog · 7 years

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feels like the first time. [ch. 1]

author's note: hello all and welcome to my new little pride and joy- "this feels like the first time." it's an au linstead fic and i'm thinking of making a story out of this and continuing for quite a while- but only if i get feedback! this first installment focuses on erin lindsay and kind of dives into her dark and messy backstory (yes, it's heavy) which varies a little from the show. it's set back when she's in her early twenties. the next chapter will focus on jay. leave me reviews and comments because reading all of those make my entire day. happy reading!

The flickering and sputtering neon lights of the bar's namesake flashed just off to her right, like a pathetic beacon of hope and warmth, the first three letters of "Goldie's" nestled in the shadows and buried in a heaping pile of snow, having burned out a few months prior in one of Chicago's ravaging blizzards. "Die's" was all that remained and she didn't bother to stifle a bitter chuckle at the irony as she ducked her head and eyes in the direction of the ground and began to cross the street, careful to avoid any more piles of mush and mud and snow because she was pretty damn sure her toes were purple or maybe even black and in the process of detaching from her body. Her fingers weren't faring any better, shoved so far down into the pocket of some ripped and bedraggled Cubs sweatshirt that the pathetic excuse of a fabric was tearing further at the stitches. Of course the church's lost and found box was going to be a waste.

Just like the damn college prep school which promised her that "living out her own faith" or "loving herself as a person worthy of love" would bring her some streak of good fortune or something if only she could manage to behave and keep her temper in check until graduation and if only she believed that the great man upstairs could see little ol' Erin Lindsay and feel an ounce of regret for dealing her this deck of cards and all these shitty circumstances. But because apparently living with an ass of a cop and his wife and his son in his perfect little house with his perfect little family had been the extent of her lucky break, a whispered rumor of her dealing heroin out of the locker room during a basketball pep rally of her senior year had been enough to seal her expulsion, and the warning she had given to some miserable excuse of a preppy snot of a girl to back the hell up out of her business had been enough for the administration to completely terminate her enrollment and to pool the anger in Hank Voight's eyes and the disappointment in Camille's. Had been enough to send her upstairs to what they had begun to call her bedroom with all of her things tucked nicely and neatly inside and suddenly that was the last place she ever wanted to be. It took her only four minutes to pack a suitcase with all of her belongings, a suitcase that wasn't even really hers but that she was sure Hank could afford to miss. She was down the hallway, down the stairs, and then out the front door before any of them had moved from the kitchen table, the slamming of the front door an almost foreign sound in the serenity that was their life. How easy it was for them to have a warm meal on the table, or scalding hot water whenever they needed the comfort of a shower. How simple it was for them to keep the electricity running and a fair assortment of clothes in their closets. Erin knew she wasn't being fair or smart in any sense of the word as she stepped down onto the sidewalk and then down their driveway, onto the street of the suburban neighborhood and then finally realizing she didn't have a shot in hell at making it somewhere for a warm cup of coffee that night but the sinking feeling in her stomach and the tightening of her throat caused her to keep moving hastily away from the only safe place she had ever really known, without giving him a chance to comfort her in soft whispers and murmurs of her favorite soft and scratchy gravelly voice he possessed. Because she was just a street kid and he had given her a chance to make something of herself and she had still found a way to turn it straight to shit. Because after all the abominable acts she had committed in her eighteen years of life she was certain that she deserved the life of scrounging for money from men who just wanted a quick fuck or the slight comfort of an empty mattress nestled in a dark corner of a bustling shelter that if she was quick enough or looked pathetic enough someone would let her sleep on for a few hours. Yeah, maybe that's just where she belonged.

But it had been three years since she walked out of Hank Voight's house. Three years since she'd refused to answer any of his calls and hid in her poor excuse of a mother's apartment wacked out of her mind whenever he found a spare minute out of the bullpen and off of a case to come searching for her. Three years since she'd failed to graduate high school, failed to follow her dreams of joining the police force, failed to escape from the poisonous clutches of her drug addict of a mother and a prisoner of a father, locked up for god only knows what but at least she didn't have to feel his hands tightening around her neck or the sting of a slap across her cheek whenever she didn't have the balls to stick a bottle of whiskey under her shirt and sneak out the tiny flap of a bathroom window in the Shell gas station because she was tiny and innocent and maybe the man behind the cash register would forgive her if she didn't make it across the parking lot to the waiting motorcycle and the man her nightmares revolved around that she got the pleasure of calling her father.

There had been three years of avoiding that ass of an Intelligence sergeant and slumming it on the streets when her mother forgot to pay the electric bill but managed to find comfort in the arms of some disgusting creep of a man who probably paid her for the heroin that never seemed to leave the four walls of that damn apartment or maybe just paid her for the vulgar moans of her pretend pleasure but whatever the reason was Erin could never stomach being anywhere near the woman who'd somehow earned the title of her sole caregiver because she'd walked away from Camille's gentle eyes and warm embraces and Hank's concerned frowns and gruff grunts of appraisal whenever she brought home an essay or exam she'd passed because he believed in her and her brain and the fact that she not only had street smarts but a hell of a lot of book smarts. Three years of selling heroin for a solid chunk of change because even though she'd gotten rid of her sad excuse of a high school boyfriend who was nearly twice her age and actually into the blonde, big boobed hooker type she still worked the drug business with her mother, and discovered she still made a bigger pile of bills when she tacked on the promise of a strip show or a half hour of mindless fucking which made her feel numb and dirty and shameful for weeks.

But Goldie's, or at least the old, frail man who had run the cash register and owned the place for the past fifty years had given her a chance these last few weeks, promising her what was left of the burgers and fries and a fountain soda if she stayed to wipe down the place after hours though to be honest she was sure more than anything she was simply keeping him company. He hummed as he counted all the bills and she couldn't hide the urges she felt to give him a good shove and bump and snatch all the money and maybe make it home to her mother to pay the water bill and the electricity bill and hell maybe even splurge on a good steak and some nice red wine before she got there but the good parts of her, the parts of her that knew deep down in her heart that she would make a decent cop and maybe even one day a decent human being stopped her every time, as did the gurgling and sharp pains of her starving stomach. The cold streets were a tiny bit more bearable with the comfort of a full stomach.

The bell above the door dinged then, as she was in the midst of shoving a ketchup soaked french fry into her mouth in a feeble attempt to soothe her ravenous stomach. She realized then she forgot to lock the door, much too focused on the enticing smell of her long awaited meal and opened her mouth to at least explain that the place was closed but the men walking in the general direction of the bar and the liquor and the old man behind the counter and her were all in uniform and one in particular with piercing blue orbs eyed her a bit longer than all of the others and she lost every single damn word that she meant to say. Fidgeting with a loose string on the sleeve of her poor excuse of a sweatshirt which really should have been a winter coat, Erin hoped and prayed she didn't reek of the streets or of the damn drugs or hell, even one of men she'd had on top of her only a few hours ago because the blue-eyed stranger was still looking at her and she had never before been at a loss for words and it was then she knew that she was in trouble.

#linstead #jay halstead #erin lindsay #linstead fanfic #linstead fanfiction #chicago pd #cpd #cpd fanfic #cpd fanfiction #chicago pd fanfiction #one chicago #chihards #fanfiction

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nightships · 7 years

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Like Rum on the Fire

Look familiar? This is an update to a fic I wrote in 2015. I re-read it the other night, loved it, and found things I wanted to tidy up. Read on AO3 here.

There’s a moment when the ship leaves Neverland in the distance behind them — a second when he crosses into safe seas and out of reach of Pan and his ever-growing handful of lost little children — where Killian Jones feels hope creeping up his spine. It’s not a bright thing, as the promise of finally finding the Crocodile is still steeped in months of searching once he leaves this place, but it’s more than he’s had in the last century. That, and he’s looking forward to leaving the bloody sweltering jungle for more than a couple nights on end.

(Finding himself so close to the lost boys’ camp on the island had been a dangerous accident, especially when he heard them whispering about the boy ruler of the island as they patrolled the beaches. Relief had flooded through him when he’d realized they were unaware of their shadow; the more he overheard from them without making himself known, the better.

Most of it was obvious. They were looking for him, of course. Terrorizing Captain Hook and his men was their favorite pastime. Less obvious were their plans to leave this realm and retrieve a child, a true believer. Pan never sounded more eager than he did when he spoke about the boy, about welcoming him home to this island and luring him into the comfort of their little tribe.

It was at the hushed mention of enchanted hearts that he forced himself to stop listening. The tattoo on his arm still stung, and memories of the woman he wore it for stung even deeper. Milah was his anchor, a reminder of what he was doing on this island in the first place — as if he ever forgot.

But then Pan’s voice turned sour. Mention of someone else, of a Savior, tore his attention away from the shadows of the boys in the firelight. Pan’s voice turned sour as he warned of someone who was rumored to be able to break the Curse, who could bring magic back, who could make it possible for them to find their Truest Believer — and by extension, Rumplestiltskin.

The Savior was his key to getting revenge, and it only took minutes to convince Pan he was the man for the job. It didn’t matter what he promised, so long as he could leave.)

Emma was supposed to be home by now, changed out of this dress she’s been tugging down her thighs all night and into her favorite pair of pajamas. The particularly charming bail skip she’s spent the night chasing down has made her late to her annual date with her Princess Bride DVD. Emma doesn’t linger on the wish that her world was more like the one Westley and Buttercup adventured through, especially given the night she’s just endured, but she does think a birthday girl deserves a little leeway. The cupcake her supervisor sent her home with seems like it’ll do the job just fine.

Emma toes the door shut with her heel before resolutely kicking the it into the back of her couch along with its partner. Sitting on the cushioned barstool at her kitchen counter has never felt so comfortable.

The quiet that surrounds her as she hums happy birthday to herself isn’t uncomfortable in the least. It’s familiar, she tells herself. Practically tradition.

(Never mind that she’d spent most of her early life reaching out and hoping she would feel something in the hands of the families who took her home. It wasn’t exactly the definition of true love she’d grown up hearing about, but it was the one her younger self had craved. True love didn’t mean a soulmate or romance to ten-year-old Emma. It meant a sure meal every night, an actual mattress to sleep on, someone who made her feel like she was welcome when she walked in the room.

And when she met Neal and grabbed at his wrist that first time, nothing happened at all, but it didn’t matter then. She’d stopped waiting for true love a while ago.)

Emma closes her eyes to make the only wish she’s ever allowed herself since she got out of jail, but before she can take a breath, something topples to the floor in a far corner of her apartment. She can’t place the kind of noise it is, but she doesn’t question the hair raising on the back of her neck. Silently, she slides off the stool and reaches for the first blunt object her hands can find: the cast iron skillet in her drying rack.

It could just be a noise. It could be her neighbor. It could be any number of things, Emma supposes, but the warning feeling in her gut doesn’t just go off for nothing. She shifts her grip, grabbing the pan handle with both hands as she slides into the room and finds what she’s looking for in a heap on the floor near her bed, surrounded by broken glass from her window.

There’s a man in her room, too busy cursing under his own breath and swiping at a small cut on his cheek to notice her. He’s bent over at the waist, chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon, and his breaths sound so ragged that for a moment she simply stares.

Then, as if he can actually hear her thinking, blue eyes shoot up and strike lightning into hers. Before his expression can even change, Emma’s arm is swinging, and then he’s out cold on the floor. She spends another long moment catching her own breath and staring between him and the hole that used to be her window, eyes finally landing on the shiny metal hook at his wrist.

Why did she always attract the crazy ones?

The man starts to wake fully a minute or two after she’s handcuffed his leather-coated arm to the leg of her bed frame. He doesn’t realize it at first, pulling his hand away from its restraint as if to rub at the lump on his head, but eventually the cold metal slides and hits his skin. His head lolls down when he blinks at the metal attracted to his wrist. To her surprise, he only chuckles, as if this is a regular Tuesday night for him.

“I’ll admit, Swan, I’m impressed. I can count the number of people who have bested me on one hand.”

She bristles at that, changing him from burglar to stalker in her head when she hears her own name roll off of his tongue. He isn’t an old skip; she’s sure she would have remembered the way his eyes are piercing her now. Emma schools her face into one that shows no vulnerability, only impatience and authority, and meets his stare head-on.

“You’ve got sixty seconds to explain how the hell you know my name and how you found me.”

He falters a little, but only for a second. In a second he’s grinning at her in a way she might have found charming if she saw it out on the street instead of handcuffed to the foot of her bed.

”I’m not sure I can dutifully tell the tale in such a short span, lass.”

Emma considers this, abandoning her mental countdown. He’s hiding something under that rough, accented voice, but she’s too busy ignoring the way his eyes are trailing over her to linger on it. If there’s one thing she won’t do, it’s letting him see he has an advantage over her.

“I don’t really know how this kind of thing usually goes for you,“ she says, taking a half-step to the side in an attempt to prove just how ineffective his tactics are, "but you picked a really bad window to climb through. You can sit here and tell me who you are and how you got here,” she offers, “or you can sit here and wait while I call the cops.”

The unnamed man sighs wearily and considers her for a moment, resting his hook and his hand in his lap as he weighs the cost of replying.

“I doubt you’d believe me if I told you,” he says.

Emma searches for the lie tucked under his words. If it exists, she can’t see it, although it’s not for lack of looking. The curve of his hook glints as he shrugs, and then those blue eyes are on her again, begging her to ask him what he’s talking about. Despite her better judgment, it’s almost working.

"Why?” she finally asks him. “Because I don’t put much stock in liars?”

“Because you don’t know who you really are.”

If there’s a time to stop talking to him and go to the police, this is it. Bail bondsperson or no, she’s probably crazy not to have called the police yet, to have allowed him to distract her with stories as ridiculous as the outfit he’s wearing. It’s hard enough even looking at him when he sounds as serious as he does now. It occurs to her that he may not be the only one trying to get to her tonight, that he may not be working alone, and all of a sudden she’s feeling a little desperate herself.

“You’ll have plenty of time to tell me on the ride to the station,” Emma tells him, reaching down with the intention of cuffing his other, hooked wrist. Only now does she realize he’s been picking the damn cuffs with his hook.

Emma dives for his arms immediately, taking advantage of her position above him. His hooked arm swings up into her vision, sending her backwards down onto her knees. Adrenaline takes up residence in her veins for the third time tonight as she ducks to avoid his elbow, trying to stand herself up again without giving him room to knock her over.

It’s uncoordinated, not even a full-on fight. Had this been just another bail skip she was bringing in she might have even called it fun, given how he keeps rattling off little one-liners about good form and how he’d much prefer a woman on her back. In the end, it only takes a second for Emma to forget herself.

She means to swat him away, to create the distance she needs to think for a second and restrain him properly. What she does, though, is grab for his wrist where it waits protectively near his face. It’s that kind of recklessness that leads to her fingers brushing against the skin of his neck when she swipes at his collar. It’s why the backs of her knuckles skim the line of his throat. It’s why her nails brush along the stubble underneath his cheek as she grips onto the leather. It’s why she sees an actual static spark light up the room for a second as her skin meets his for the first time.

It’s completely silent in her bedroom now. He’s looking at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, and she can’t stop blinking over at him. Both of them are crouched together, frozen in the darkness of her bedroom, minds trying to accept what their bodies already know to be true.

“That was —”

“Shut up,” Emma hisses. Killian watches her scramble away from him, but he knows there’s nowhere to go. He can tell from the terrified look on her face that she knows exactly what’s just happened to them, that she knows what it means. True love.

For a second or two, it’s like he has a complete out-of-body experience. Something else must have happened, some kind of bizarre mistake, because there’s no way in all the realms that he could ever find this again. Not after Milah.

Killian knows two things about the woman he’s staring at right now: her name and what she’ll be capable of if she believes the story he came here to tell. Emma Swan meant blind hope before, but this is different. The certainty of knowing his happy ending lies with her changes everything.

Emma stares back at him, stiff with the sheer force of her own retreat. She can feel the future washing over her bones; even though she can’t see it yet, it’s the knowing that has her pushed against the wall.

Twenty-eight years of loneliness falls thin onto the carpet around her ankles as she stares at the dark-haired man in front of her, taking him in, at his full height. Certainty comes from nowhere within her chest, blooming as she meets his eyes in search again. Just like before, the lie isn’t there.

She doesn’t know how he manages to convince her, but by the end of the night Boston sits in her rearview and Killian sits in the passenger seat. Emma drives, hoping with everything she’s got that trusting someone won’t leave her empty this time.

(It doesn’t.)

#cs au #cs ff #cs soulmate au #cs crew #captain swan #ouat #jess writes cs #like rum on the fire #round 2 #man i wish i had the fic energy to continue this #but i really also like it how it is #how long did i spend photoshopping a cast iron pan into emma's hand?#TOO LONG

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